Tag Archives: quotes

Superlatives of 2013

Last December I wrote about “the year in movie music,” so this year I’ve chosen to reprise that tradition and add a little extra. Below are my favorite song uses and much more:

Songs

Bastards

Bastards

The ending of Claire Denis’s Bastards is as haunting as anything I saw all year, and a huge part of that is “Put Your Love in Me” (originally by Hot Chocolate, here covered by Tindersticks) which plays over that ghastly video and the film’s credits. Throbbing and downbeat as the rest of Bastards’ score, the song makes it clear: We have passed through limbo. We are decidedly in hell.

Cate Blanchett’s beleaguered heroine spends much of Blue Jasmine wishing she could return to the past, a time of cocktail parties and plush interior design. Woody Allen symbolizes that wish with, what else, a jazz standard—namely Rodgers and Hart’s “Blue Moon,” a ballad both wistful and romantic, which (as Jasmine repeatedly babbles) was playing when she met her late husband.

The year’s best musical, Inside Llewyn Davis has a half-dozen numbers I could cite. The performance that bookends the movie? Llewyn’s audition for Bud Grossman? The unforgettable “Please Mr. Kennedy”? Instead let’s say Bob Dylan’s “Farewell,” which plays in the aural periphery of the film’s conclusion, an echo of Llewyn’s own “Fare Thee Well” and a mordant punchline to his shaggy dog misadventures.

Sometimes truth is catchier than fiction. Once you’ve heard “La alegría ya viene,” the real-life jingle employed in Pablo Larraín’s political comedy No, it’s near-impossible to scrub it from your head, or to stop hearing the rhythmic hand claps that accompany it. “¡Vamos a decir que NO!”

I was very pleased when Spring Breakers opened with Skrillex’s “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites,” and I did enjoy its cast’s rendition of Britney Spears’ “Everytime,” but best of all? Ellie Goulding’s “Lights,” the concentrated dose of pop that plays over its Lisa Frank-esque credits. The ideal way to send me out of the theater in a good mood.

The Worst Movies I Saw

Dallas Buyers Club

Dallas Buyers Club

I found the following movies not just aesthetically displeasing, but odious. They may not strictly be the “worst” released this year (I didn’t see e.g. any number of widely panned sequels) but they did piss me off.

Matthew McConaughey’s typically great in Dallas Buyers Club: charismatic, physically invested, a seemingly bottomless fount of energy. But the movie around him! It’s as clichéd a “loner vs. the system” story as ever I’ve seen, hemming each of its stars into these one-dimensional character types. The Mean FDA Guy, The Initially Skeptical Doctor Who’s Won Over, The Junkie Trans Woman Who’s Called “He” and Then Dies. It’s a less inventive Catch Me If You Can with an addiction drama stuffed into the margins. It’s an AIDS history with straightness at its center. We shouldn’t penalize movies for the stories they don’t tell, it’s true, but when you talk about the recent past in terms this blinkered, this selective, that’s dangerously irresponsible.

(And though I’m loath to conflate a movie’s “buzz” with what’s actually up on the screen, oh Christ am I nauseated by the tone-deaf interviews Jared Leto’s given, the praise his “brave” performance has received, and the awards he’s en route to collecting. Thanks for reinforcing the idea that trans women can only be onscreen as part of a daring thespian’s prestige movie stunt, folks.)

Yes, I’m impressed that Escape from Tomorrow exists. But goddammit, I’m impressed that any movie exists. Every production has to clear countless logistical hurdles before garnering even a chance of distribution. So writer-director Randy Moore shot this on location at Disney World. So what, especially when the finished product is so tawdry and bereft of imagination? Escape from Tomorrow depicts prostitutes, demons, and a flu epidemic at the Magic Kingdom, which is honestly about as subversive as a 12-year-old drawing a dick in Mickey’s mouth. The movie’s circuitous plot, about a schlubby patriarch’s desire to leave his family and bed some foreign exchange students, makes it obvious that this would be an off-putting slog no matter where it was shot.

I feel like Baz Luhrmann has some idea of what beauty is, and I know for a fact that he’s acquainted with passion. But once these things reach the screen in The Great Gatsby, they’re so embalmed by excess as to be unrecognizable. Every emotion has to be underlined a thousand times; every shot has to scream style. There’s so little modulation to the movie that its grandeur becomes meaningless. On occasion this compulsion toward hugeness is relaxed, but then the film leans back on its status as a literary adaptation, brandishing Fitzgerald’s prose as if to ward off stagnation. (The film’s visual accompaniment to the book’s last page will, I have no doubt, insult the intelligence of high school English classes for years to come.)

I loved Drive back in 2011. It was a sleek, precise crime movie that wasn’t shy about its influences but also brought something new and eerie to the screen. Now it’s 2013, and I hate Nicolas Winding Refn’s follow-up Only God Forgives. Like Drive, it stars Ryan Gosling as a taciturn killer; again, he’s mixed up in a tit-for-tat revenge narrative that alternates extreme violence with arty, Cliff Martinez-scored repose. But here the nihilism is amplified, the violence more pointedly pointless and aestheticized, and Gosling’s performance somehow even less inflected. It’s as if that noxious scene in Drive where Christina Hendricks’ head explodes had been expanded into its own feature film. Worse yet, Refn sets his saga in a brutal, hyper-exoticized Bangkok, one visualized through these symmetrical, red-lit, vacuously pretty frames. I’m comfortable with amorality in my movies; sometimes I get off on it. But when it’s this hate-filled, yet devoid of any ideas or purpose, I just get bored.

At least The Great Gatsby and Only God Forgives, much as I may revile them, had strong auteur intent visible in every shot. Since, as I said, I missed out on most of the year’s worst consensus losers, Warm Bodies may be the emptiest thing from 2013 I’ve seen. Not to say that it’s exceptional or an outlier in any way. Just that it’s an absolute nothing of a movie, mashing up one formula (Romeo and Juliet) with another (zombie apocalypse) and churning out cinematic sausage on the other end. It has dozens of flat “jokes,” John Malkovich as a patriarch who sways with the whims of the plot, the millionth “romantic” case of Stockholm syndrome I’ve seen onscreen, and a half-assed message of tolerance (“zombies aren’t so bad”) that’s undercut by the need for epic action (“…except for those bad zombies”). Warm Bodies is by no means unusual, but its utter mediocrity made for one arduous viewing experience.

Lines

Computer Chess

These are the lines of dialogue that stuck with me.

“This is the team wi—that’s got a lady on it,” says Gerald Peary in Computer Chess. “There she is.” Andrew Bujalski’s retro-weirdo comedy plays as a genealogy of the digital age, and here we see nerd sexism in primordial form. It’s a deadpan joke made especially potent by Peary’s halting, baffled delivery.

“I apologize for my appearance, but I have had a difficult time these past several years.” These words, rasped by Chiwetel Ejiofor at the end of 12 Years a Slave, are among the year’s most devastating. In them, you can hear how much Solomon Northup’s experiences have taken out of him, as well as how deft John Ridley’s screenplay is in its use of period language.

People sometimes claim that profanity impinges on a writer’s eloquence, but several 2013 movies countered that idea with their poetic deployments the word “fuck” and its many variations. Like Nick Frost’s “I fucking hate this town!” in The World’s End; Ethan Hawke’s “I fucked up my whole life because of the way you sing,” in Before Midnight; Matt Damon’s “There you are, you cocksucking tenor fuck,” in Behind the Candelabra; and most tersely of all, Robert Redford’s howled “Fuuuuck!” in All Is Lost.

I already gave a couple accolades to Blue Jasmine and Inside Llewyn Davis above, but I still want to recognize my favorite lines from each movie: Cate Blanchett’s “Who do I have to sleep with around here to get a Stoli martini with a twist of lemon?” and F. Murray Abraham’s “I don’t see a lot of money here,” respectively.

Finally, the joys of Frances Ha are manifold, but that screenplay is just overflowing with quotable bits and pieces, “Ahoy sexy!” not least among them. I love movie quotes like these in part because they’re a way for cinema to slither inside my head. I can remember images, even build up a mental archive of them, but dialogue I can pull out in conversation, share with friends, add to our common vocabulary. I suppose the use of pop songs in movies is similar: these disparate works and attitudes get yoked together in my brain, expanding one another’s meanings. I can hum “Modern Love” as I run down the street and suddenly Frances Ha’s entire spirit is with me. These songs and quotes are such fundamentally “cinematic” pleasures, fragments of wit and art I can take away from movies. They’re not all movies have to give. But they’re basic and fun and I love them.

1 Comment

Filed under Cinema

Beyond the Usual Suspects

As everyone knows, Casablanca is an eminently quotable movie. Some of its lines—“Play it [again], Sam,” “Here’s looking at you, kid,” “We’ll always have Paris”—have permeated our cultural consciousness. I say “Round up,” you say “the usual suspects.” I say “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world,” and you know exactly which one she walks into. It is, if you’ll excuse the understatement, a well-written movie. So I figured, why not delve further into that rich screenplay and single out a few of its less oft-quoted lines? Below are five of my favorite moments from Casablanca.

I’m a drunkard.

This, in response to Major Strasser’s question “What is your nationality?” I’m a fan of this whole conversation, really. I love how Rick and Strasser lob quips back and forth over champagne and caviar, suggesting an atmosphere of bourgeois politeness belied by the contempt in both men’s voices. (Captain Renault steps between them, as always, with a dose of healthy good humor: “And that makes Rick a citizen of the world!”) This first answer, characteristic of the film’s dialogue, is double-edged: playful, a little expository, and a little melancholy too. Beneath this joke lies the painful truth that Rick’s a man without a country, a man who’s tried to blot out his every allegiance with alcohol. (By the way, I also love that spidery shadow on the wall behind Rick, courtesy of the huge lamps hanging throughout his café.)

I remember every detail. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue.

The parallel structure gives this line a captivating rhythm. This is wistful storytelling with a dash of poetry—and humor too, given the incongruity of Ilsa’s dress next to the feldgrau Nazi uniforms. It’s so concise, distilling the agonies of wartime romance into a pair of opposed colors while priming us for Rick’s forthcoming flashback. Bogart delivers it all with a slouch, a restrained scowl, and as much bitterness as he can fit into his voice without being obvious about it. Whereas Ingrid Bergman is always lit for maximum glamour, the light on Bogart ensures that we see every scar and crease in his wounded face. He’s vulnerable in spite of himself. Rick keeps striking this pose of mild antagonism toward the rest of the world but you can tell here that his stoicism is breaking.

Mostly I remember the last one. The wow finish: a guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look on his face because his insides have been kicked out.

We’re getting toward the bottom of the bottle with this third flavor of boozy self-pity. Although Casablanca is most remembered for its snappiest lines, the film has its share of monologues, too. Here Bogart rattles off his side of the story, bouncing through the words while near-invisibly tilting his head from side to side, then punctuating the speech with a swig of bourbon. This delivery as well as the dialogue’s wealth of prepositions (on, in, with, on) lend it an almost musical quality, which contrasts with the low, sour rumble of his voice. Not to mention the phrase “wow finish,” the kind of thing a screenwriter would say during a pitch meeting. All of these tonal wrinkles work together with the shot’s visual flair—its moody chiaroscuro, the smoke drifting up from the cigarette between Bogart’s fingers—to make what could’ve been a rote “guy bitching about past heartbreak” scene into something sly and artful.

I’m shocked, shocked to find out that gambling is going on in here!

Although I’ve primarily been highlighting Rick’s best lines in Casablanca, I’d be remiss if I didn’t cite something from Claude Rains’ Captain Renault, who seems to communicate entirely in hilarious bon mots. (Like “I’m only a poor corrupt official,” for example, or “That [my heart] is my least vulnerable spot.”) Here he’s at his most sublimely hypocritical, and Rains really sells it with his too-imperious delivery. A riotous punchline follows (“Your winnings, sir!” / “Oh, thank you, very much”) but the line’s still unforgettable on its own, and especially quotable thanks to the doth-protest-too-much quality of that second “shocked.” It’s Renault’s slimy yet endearing personal philosophy summed up in a single ridiculous sentence.

If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.

Kind of says it all, doesn’t it? That Rick’s making a sacrifice, that Ilsa’s facing a moral decision, and that the consequences of her decision will echo throughout the years to come. It’s just the two of them now, cloaked by fog, forced to finally resolve this love triangle. (A brilliantly crafted triangle, incidentally, that’s informed but never constrained by its wartime context.) Yet again, Bogart invests his dialogue with poetic meter, that bounce in his leathery voice. His every gift is bent toward persuading her to leave. Because while the act of letting go may be painful, it’s also cathartic, and by making the harder choice Rick’s gained a wisdom that lights up this line. This isn’t mere moralizing. It’s a rough-hewn love song in the form of a compromise.

4 Comments

Filed under Cinema

“I’m back.”

The other day, I realized that I’d never announced the results of the “Quotable Arnold” poll. So, in the interest of closure, here they are—a week late, but no less valid:

Winner: With 6 votes out of 19 total, Conan the Barbarian‘s “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women” is the winner. I guess voting for that quote is what is best in life!

Runner-up: With 4 votes, Batman & Robin‘s super-repetitive ice-themed puns: “Let’s kick some ice,” “Ice to see you,” “Allow me to break the ice,” etc. (Alex, you have been vindicated.) Score 1 for Oscar-winner Akiva Goldsman and his lazy, lazy writing.

Third place: Tied with 3 votes each, Predator‘s “Get to the chopper!” (or “choppa,” if you prefer) and Kindergarten Cop‘s “It’s not a tumor!” (Again, “tumah” is an acceptable spelling.) Nothing’s funnier than a thick Austrian accent.

Write-ins: Each of these only received 1 vote, but they’re still worth mentioning. They were Total Recall‘s “See you at the party, Richter!”; Raw Deal‘s “You should not drink… and bake”; and Running Man‘s “I hope you leave enough room for my fist because I’m going to ram it into your stomach and break your goddamn spine!” Ohhh, Arnold. So eloquent.

So what did we learn from this?

  • People just love crushing enemies! The release of the Conan remake and accompanying flood of nostalgia might have helped, too.
  • Puns, accents, and gory deaths are the right ingredients for the perfect movie quote cocktail.
  • Nobody loves (and nobody voted for) Jingle All the Way‘s “Put that cookie down, now!” That disappoints me, if only because it’s the sole Schwarzenegger quote that’s connected to both Minnesota and Phil Hartman. Sentimental value, you know.

What lessons do you take away from this incredibly scientific survey? Would you like to see similar polls at Pussy Goes Grrr in the future?

2 Comments

Filed under Cinema, Meta

Quotable Arnold

By Andreas

Finally seeing The Terminator and Terminator 2: Judgment Day back to back got me thinking. Not about the danger of killer robots (though that is a pretty big deal), but about the sheer quantity of unforgettable movie lines that have passed through Arnold Schwarzenegger’s thickly accented lips. Obvious examples from the Terminator movies include “I’ll be back!”, “Come with me if you want to live!”, “Hasta la vista, baby!”, and the one in the image above.

But even when he’s not an unstoppable killing machine, Arnold still has a way with words. For all his failings as an actor (and a human being), he can certainly make otherwise insignificant turns of phrase stick in your head. Coming out of any normal actor’s mouth, “Fuck you, asshole!” would smack of gratuitous vulgarity. Arnold’s unique enunciation makes it funny and convincing—here’s a man who’s visibly straining to use the English language. Whether he’s in an action movie or a bad Ivan Reitman comedy, he gives such excessive passion to his line readings.

In honor of the Governator’s superhuman quotability, I welcome you to vote for your favorite line. Or, if you have other favorites, leave them in the comments below! (Here’s a video compilation if you need ideas.)

Thanks for participating! I’ll announce the results a week from today.

7 Comments

Filed under Cinema

Link Dump: #37

It’s been a slow, hot, lazy summer, but the Link Dump is finally back! We’ve got a kitty, plucked from the clothing of Margo Prey, Troll 2 star and Best Worst Movie interview subject. We’ve also got a host of links from the past few weeks:

Either the weird search terms have been dropping off lately, or my sense of “weirdness” has become warped since starting this blog. A few choice, recent items: “vagina convulsing good?”, “witch transforms man into goat,” and possibly my favorite (least favorite?), “hunter mccracken masturbation.” Keep in mind that Hunter McCracken is the preadolescent star of Terence Malick’s The Tree of Life, and have a good weekend.

3 Comments

Filed under art, Cinema, Feminism