The FilmNerds Blog

Spoilers ahead for Superman Returns.

The lost opening sequence of Bryan Singer’s Superman Returns has hit the internet.

The scene is a silent, Kubrickian sequence that follows Superman as he looks for his past on the dead planet Krypton, with imagery that reminds one of another controversial 2006 release, Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain. The imagery also might remind one of something else entirely, as it only goes to prove the visual motif of “fertility” that seems to -ahem- penetrate the film.

Yes, this post might make you a bit uncomfortable.

In Singer’s lyrical Superman movie (written by Michael Dougherty and Dan Harris), Lex Luthor seeks the Kryptonian crystals that Christopher Reeve’s Kal-El used to build the Fortress of Solitude in Richard Donner’s 1978 film. After he successfully steals the crystals from a kind of growing “crystal shrub” (revealed in the new scene) that ascends from the fortress, he hollows out a peice of kryptonite, inserts the crystal, and using a cannon, shoots it in into a fissure along the bottom of the ocean, giving birth to an island, an undesirable New Krypton.

You have no idea how difficult it was to describe that sequence gracefully.

I really shouldn’t have to argue my point much more, as this sequence is cross-cut with the revelation that in a secret evening together, presumably during the events of Superman II, Superman impregnated Lois Lane. We find out in the climax of Superman Returns that she has fathered his accidental son, and Superman realizes his quest for others like himself is irrelevant. His legacy is not in the past glories of the House of El, but here on Earth, with his son.

Fertility. A new Krypton borne from remnants of a dead world, or a new Krypton borne from a union with Earth. I think it’s clear to non-Superman fanboys that this is obvious subtext, given the phallic imagery and character motivations. I’m sure my fellow Film Nerds will accuse me of bizarre fixation, but again, I think I could just nod to the material and ask them if the proof isn’t right there, pointed directly at their contorted faces.

I think the fact that Singer & Company worked so hard to have these kinds of subtextual connections run through a Superman movie is a brave and honorable goal. All that aside, however, the main question from comic book fans that dislike Superman Returns is probably this: “Okay, the the art is loaded and intentional, but it’s still not Superman.”

That’s a point that I will need to concede. It’s true. The Superman that I am a fan of does regularly not feel alienated or alone. The best iteration of Clark Kent was raised by simple and honest parents who aim for the human ideal, rather than expect an alien dog-and-pony show. That’s what Singer seems to believe humanity expects of Superman, and I do think that’s a bad reading. At its core, Superman Returns is not a Superman movie that is true to the characters roots outside of the 1978 film. On paper, it might work as an “Elseworlds” interpretation. It does not evoke the Fleischer shorts or the George Reeve show or the Kyrk Allen serials. It does not evoke the brawny Socialist bully of Siegel & Schuster, or the good-natured big brother of Swan & Schwartz. It does, however, take an American icon to weird and interesting places, and does not settle to be yet another brainless, flashy blockbuster. For the record, I think this deleted scene should have stayed in the film. It sets the tone for the thoughtful, languidly paced drama that follows, and would have really earned the explosive opening title sequence. Perhaps the film will be re-cut in the next few decades, giving us the ultimate version of the film on blu ray.

Whatever the case, give Superman Returns some credit… just don’t let it go to a frat party with your daughter.

Here’s a lesson: Most movies aren’t very fun to watch when you’re producing and directing an ultra low-budget independent movie. Neuroses abound. Seeing good decision invites inferiority. Seeing a bad decision ignites anxiety. One gravitates more towards cartoons, “Star Tre”k”, and sports- in my case, the faker, the better. It’s only been in the last few months that I’ve been able to throw myself fully into cinematic experiences, and this return to full-on film fandom has taught me something about myself and the way I watch movies.

I’m starting to understand the function of exploitation film.

This increased understanding is more of an increased awareness, insomuch as that I’ve become aware of the broad definition of “exploitation”. I’ve come to define an exploitative film as any movie that accepts certain points of low quality to amplify certain points of high quality, resulting in a movie experience that averages out to being of high quality.

The traditional example would be a movie that sacrifices believable performances and set design for a story that stimulates niche cultural interests, like violence or sex. In short, serving sub-cultures by overlooking points of quality. Now, if the internet hasdone anything, it has further fractured our global population into non-nationalist sub-cultures. There is content designed to entertain any niche interest, often at the cost of specific quality.

So, how does this apply to me and my tastes? Well, I’ve often derided movies popularly defined as “exploitation” cinema, and I suppose I still do. Hobo With a Shotgun does not appeal to me. However, Transformers: Dark of the Moon does, and I would argue that it is as much an exploitation movie.

The realization hit me while I was discovering the Jackie Chan classic Supercop. I realized that I was overlooking important elements of the film to instead focus on its excellent action scenes. Supercop contains several bad, hokey performances, with as many failed attempts at humor. Granted, much of these decisions are clearly intentional, and a big part of why the film is highly regarded. Mostly, though, Supercop is the amazing movie it is because of how its action scenes escalate, from a safe, toothless training fight to an amazing, stunt-laden fight that travels from a helicopter, through the air, to a moving train.

Supercop is a fantastic movie, a movie I might consider giving an A+. Now, I try to be honest with myself, and fair with the films I give a grade to. I don’t believe in the term “guilty pleasure”. Movies were created as a cheap parlor trick, closer in ancestry to pro wrestling than the novel. If you enjoy a movie, there’s probably a good reason, dictated by an astute filmmaker’s guiding hand.

All this said, every one of us is a victim of exploitation at one point or another. If you like baseball movies, there are elements that make a good baseball movie that go beyond generic standards of film quality.  The same goes for romantic comedies, or live-action Saturday morning cartoons, like Transformers 3 or Thor. Fans of Christopher Nolan movies give up a certain female perspective to align themselves with overwhelmingly masculine protagonists. Fans of the Coen Brothers and Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino give up a certain amount of moral empathy when they follow dark and dumb characters down sleazy rabbit trails. Fans of Hollywood classics give up a realist’s approach and embrace soundstages and utilitarian framing. Yes, many of the qualities that are given up are not qualitative at all, but you see my point- there is an exchange going on.

We’ve all heard of “blacksploitation” or “hicksploitation”. Let’s make funny words out of other types of exploitation, now that we’ve broadened our reach:

Tearsploitation – Emotionally charged-movies that appeal to our most raw feelings. The movies of Paul Thomas Anderson or Sam Mendes might count here, as well as the melodramas of classic Hollywood.

Christsploitation – The politically correct term here is “faith-based”. Movies that are marketed towards the Christian mainstream rarely go for quality first, making sure that their message is front and center. I might quote Marshall McLuhen here: “The medium is the message.”

Politisploitation – The movies of Ken Loach and Mike Nichols and John Sayles are, as subtly as possible, pointing towards a certain political ideal. Their crusade is as strong as the Faith-Basters, but admittedly, quality of performance and tone is often job one here.

Minutiaesploitation – The most fun to say. Movies in this category give up pace, plot, and in some cases, performance, to get at the deeper truths in the smallest human experiences. Examples might include neo-realist works like Vagabond, Man Push Cart, and Old Joy.

Dialogsploitation – I’ll admit, this is one of my weaknesses. I might overlook quite a number of plot problems just to hear Mamet or Coen dialogue.

Yousploitation – Finally, the catch-all. Everyone has interests, and we overlook overall quality if those interests are served. Again, are you a sports fan? A DC comics fan, or a Marvel? Like car chases, or indie rock? There are movies that contain these elements that you’re willing to grade on a curve.

Be honest with yourself. Call it niche marketing, call it exploitation, call it what you want. Whatever the case, our tastes are not balanced, as much as the AFI list or Sight & Sound might expect them to be. In fact, if your movie tastes line up perfectly with the AFI list, you’re clearly easily exploited by cinephelia. Gotcha!

In conclusion, you’re not immune to exploitation, but know thyself. Admit you have quirks and hang-ups. Embrace them. Enjoy the movies tailor-made for you, as well as the objective classics. Down with the shame of “guilty pleasure”!

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Cheap post-script plug: There’s no shame in looking forward to the non-exploitative Nocturnal Third, which will hopefully get a premiere date soon! Check the official site and our Twitter feed every fourteen seconds for updates!

Spoiler Notice: This post does not contain any spoilers beyond what you might see in any trailer for either film.

Are The Tree of Life and Transformers: Dark of the Moon the same movie?

No, they’re not.

That said, in addition to being two of the most talked-about and contentious movies of the summer, I honestly do believe that the newest movies from auteurs Terrence Malick and Michael Bay share a startling amount of ideas, themes, and trajectories. Note that, yes, I used the word “auteur” for the oft-maligned Bay, director of such cinematic monstrosities as Armageddon, Pearl Harbor, and Bad Boys 2 (like you need me to tell you). The fact that so many of us can agree that a filmmaker’s intentions are mangled and impure, but can agree that the same filmmaker has a singular signature style is a sure sign of the fallibility in the movie nerd’s worship of the Cahier du cinema “auteur theory”. Pure or impure, Michael Bay is saying something with his film grammar, his decisions, the scripts he chooses to shoot, and his editing; after all, he’s one of the few studio filmmakers that have “final cut” sovereignty over his movies.

So, I don’t think this is a ludicrous conversation to have- to compare and contrast arguably the most singular works from two singular auteurs. After reading a fantastic article from Daniel Kasman at MUBI, I was struck by the unifying theme between these two movies: Macrocosmic scale presented on par with microcosmic struggle, the universal in the specific. Malick’s The Tree of Life looks at the creation of the universe as a child’s buried memory, holding the same dramatic weight as a recollected pair of bored brothers making faces through a smudged window. Bay’s Transformers: Dark of the Moon aligns a frustrated post-college job hunt with the conquest of Earth by a malevolent alien race. Admittedly, Malick handles his chosen dichotomy with more fragility and specific grammar, using editing as his main juxtaposition tool. Bay, however, literally frames these moments in similar ways, utilizing loaded low-angle shots, wide lenses, and harshly contrasting colors.

Let’s zoom into each movie’s narrative “canvases”. Malick’s film sees three main perspectives: The Remembering, the ruminations of the adult Jack (Sean Penn); The Personal Memory, Jack’s childhood (the incredible Hunter McCracken), and the Deep Memory, the childhood of planet Earth. Bay’s perspectives are two-fold: The social and professional challenges of unlikely and often unpopular hero Sam Witwicky, and the interplanetary war between Optimus Prime’s Autobots and Megatron’s Decepticons. Some criticisms have been leveled against Malick for not connecting his three canvases directly enough. In fact, many of the connections within Tree of Life – as well as the connections between it and Dark of the Moon – are spiritual, and even ethereal. The contrast of macro- and microcosms in Dark of the Moon are much more directly presented, as they eventually overlap, with Sam attempting to overcome his personal shortcomings by asserting his place in the Autobots’ battle against their enemies. A difference in the two movies’ theorems is this: The Tree of Life does not seem to make a qualitative statement, whereas Dark of the Moon does. In Michael Bay’s movie, as noted in the Kasman article, the message is clear: Your problems with disrespect, lack of material possessions, and emasculation are of equal importance to our problem with the conquest of the planet. Malick’s film does not seem to attempt any statement of importance, rather choosing to present a seemingly disparate set of events, woven together by one character’s memory and a cinematographic dream tapestry.

This leads us to the stunning technical achievements in both films. I challenge you to point out a more gorgeous, and yet contrasting, set of images than what you might find in a random reel compiled from these movies. Malick and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki wallow in the beauty of naturalism: soft, white sunlight provides most of the source light in The Tree of Life. Bay’s lighting is much more overtly expressive, coming from a range of possibly non-diagetic sources, but communicating a sense of scale and grandeur typically reserved for Meat Loaf album covers. I’m not trying to be reductive there- Michael Bay, as hard as it is to admit, has a fantastic eye for pop imagery, when his editor’s  trigger finger allows him to linger. With this film, his editing style does breathe. The same goes for Terrence Malick, the king of the justified jump cut. Both directors heavily rely on sound, music and framing to evade traditional editing techniques steeped in rules like cutting on action or 30° shot-reverse shot cuts. In Malick’s film, atmosphere and narration combine to give these disparate images a dream-like quality, whereas Bay’s usage of pulsing, external  sound effects remind one of a movie trailer, which – to be honest – accurately reflects the perspectives of these characters. From the beginning of each of these films, we are firmly planted in their respective narrative universes. Malick opens his film with a spiritual question, and quickly takes us into an ethereal memory. Bay opens Dark of the Moon with bombast and revisionist history, setting the tone for the pure fiction we are in store for. I suppose that is another difference between the two films: Malick seems to be on a quest to present us with a commonly ignored truth he believes us all to inherently share. In Bay’s movie, there is no truth except for what you see. Reality ends before the Paramount logo comes up, and does not return until this story ends. Introspection is pitted against attention; in a way, very similar to how Jack’s struggle contrasts Sam’s struggle.

One final thought on the link between these two movies. There is a marked sense of America being a fulcrum point in both works and, more disturbingly, there also seem to be shared apocalyptic echoes. It’s hard to ascertain the direct narrative consequences of Tree of Life‘s ending, but I think it could be said that the movie takes us from Earth’s beginning to its end, with 1950′s America – at its powerful apex – at the core of the story. Transformers: Dark of the Moon starts with the genesis of modern America, after the Fall: the 60′s. Both films rely on the Space Race as a sort of reference point, and again, their apocalyptic nature is hard to ignore. Dark of the Moon seems to make a direct and sad nod to the end of the NASA shuttle program. The Tree of Life seems to amplify a selfless, idyllic way of life that that gets forgotten amidst the professional willpower that has been so closely linked to our nation’s spirit, whereas Dark of the Moon asksus to grasp and employ that same spirit. 

In Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life, we must choose between grace and nature. Either we appreciate what we’ve been given or we take what we lack. Above all, we’re destined to ask God questions about both. In Michael Bay’s Transformers: Dark of the Moon, we live in spite of the invasive gods’ wars. We are entitled to a life of saturation and indulgence. Here, the hierarchy of power is reversed, as we’re destined to have our dreams sanctified and served to us by the gods.

Note: Back to the Movies is a special feature on the FilmNerds blog in which Matt Scalici will be watching the Top 50 highest-grossing movies of 1983 in order from 50 to 1.

As our epic journey through the far, far away galaxy of the 1983 cineplex, we come to the year’s most successful box office hit (by far) and easily the most enduring cultural landmark of 1983 cinema. Return of the Jedi marked the conclusion of George Lucas’ groundbreaking sci-fi/adventure franchise known as the Star Wars trilogy…or so we thought back in 1983.

Lucas’ multiple reincarnations of the franchise, whether through the reviled “Special Edition” re-releases of the original films or the equally reviled prequel trilogy, have had perhaps more HTML dedicated to them than any other subject in the internet era. Fans have endlessly debated whether Lucas has destroyed his once great creation with his later work but in this post, I want to keep the discussion of what Lucas did later to a minimum. Today, I want to focus on a time in which the Star Wars films were still a pure, unadulterated work of unfathomable imagination and unparalleled creative depth. A time in which the release of a new Star Wars film brought with it the promise of new adventures with Luke, Leia and Han, new bizarre and alien creatures that were unlike anything we’d ever seen before, and to a lesser extent a long-awaited resolution to a rather compelling and surprising storyline. That time was 1983.

OK, perhaps I’m overly romanticizing how great everything was on Skywalker Ranch back in 1983. Yes, Lucas had suffered a run-in with the Directors Guild of America (it involved philosophical differences over Lucas’ decision not to include opening credits in The Empire Strikes Back) that prevented him from hiring his producing partner and good friend Steven Spielberg to direct the third installment of his mega-hit franchise. In fact, because the production would now be non-union, it wasn’t just Spielberg who wouldn’t be available to direct but most other proven directing talent in Hollywood as well. Lucas approached a couple of up-and-coming filmmakers with solid pedigrees, David Lynch and David Cronenberg, but both ultimately turned down the job to pursue passion projects (and yes, it ultimately worked out in both men’s favors). Eventually, Lucas hired little-known Welsh director Richard Marquand, a relatively inexperienced filmmaker who had absolutely zero experience working on a project of the scale and budget he would have for Return of the Jedi. There are varying reports of exactly how much of the directing Marquand did but for the sake of this post, let’s assume it’s somewhere in the middle with Marquand handling the day-to-day duties of directing but Lucas holding overall creative control.

Then there were the disputes over the story and how it should ultimately end. Lucas had a very difficult time deciding exactly how to handle the closing chapter of the trilogy and began pre-production on the film without a finished screenplay. There were reportedly some fairly heated disputes with both screenwriter Lawrence Kasdan, who along with Harrison Ford felt that having Han Solo die a heroic and sacrificial death would add great gravitas to the film, as well as his producing partner Gary Kurtz, who ultimately walked away from the project when he felt Lucas’ storytelling had become tainted by his consideration for things like merchandising and toy sales.

In the end, a script was settled on and while some have remained critical of the film’s tidy happy ending, there are more than a few sequences in Return of the Jedi that hold up today as absolute classic moments of 20th Century Hollywood.

Return of the Jedi will always be remembered first and foremost for the incredible, funny, dark and thrilling opening scenes of the film that center around the rescue of Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt’s palace. The character of Jabba had already been mentioned throughout the first two films and Lucas had been warning the audience that he was a bad dude who was not to be trifled with but it wasn’t until we saw him in all his disgusting and hedonistic glory that we could truly understand what Lucas had in mind when he was speaking of this intergalactic crime lord. Jabba is a combination of a Roman aristocrat and a Mongol warrior king. He eats small rat-like creatures alive whenever he gets a craving. He keeps a herd of dancing slave girls around that he either licks or feeds to his monster, whichever he feels will be more amusing at the moment. He’s a truly revolting character, almost to a comedic extent, and the visual presentation of him has a lot to do with his effectiveness.

Jabba was, and remains to this day, one of the most complex and expensive puppets ever built. Designed by the brilliant Phil Tippett, the Jabba puppet cost over a half a million dollars to construct and weighed over a ton once completed. It was operated by as many as six puppeteers at a time, some inside the puppet, some behind the puppet and some off set using radio control devices. What Frank Oz did with his magnificent performance as Yoda in The Empire Strikes Back is equalled here by his Jim Henson Company cohorts with their work on Jabba. What’s most astonishing to me so many years later is how wonderful and real these puppet characters feel, not just Yoda and Jabba but all the peripheral make-up and latex creations that fill the edges of the room in Jabba’s palace.

I know I said I wasn’t going to talk much about Lucas’ later work but when it comes to puppets, I think Return of the Jedi has a lot to teach all of us today, not just Lucas, about the power of using real things over computer generated images today. As many of you know (especially if you are a nerd like me) George Lucas’ rationale for adding CGI effects to the “Special Edition” re-releases of the original films was that had he possessed the technology at the time, he would have used CGI instead of practical effects. In fact, Lucas states in his audio commentary on the 2004 DVD release of Return of the Jedi that whether a character is created via puppet or CGI, it will always be “fake” since they are both artificial and that if anything, the CGI character is more real since it can do things that a puppet cannot do, such as walk. This is where Lucas and I disagree vehemently. I think a piece of meticulously painted latex is VERY real and real in a way that a computer generated image could never be. Computers can do a lot of impressive things, sometimes things that no practical effect could ever do, but when it comes to creating a character, computers will never be able to duplicate the distinct movement of a living being, the “essence of life” if you will, in the way that a skilled puppeteer can. I won’t second-guess everything Lucas did with computers, but I’ll never understand why anyone could prefer a computerized Yoda and Jabba to the original puppet creations.

Among the other things Lucas got so very right in Return of the Jedi was the interplay between Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader and the evil Emperor Palpatine. While the Emperor was referenced in earlier films and even made brief appearances, he was never truly brought to life as a character until Ian McDiarmid took over the role and played him in person for the first time in the series. We saw McDiarmid earlier in Back to the Movies in a small but interesting performance in Gorky Park, in which he portrayed a creepy forensic scientist. Here McDiarmid takes that creepiness and adds a healthy dose of pure evil to it, overshadowing Darth Vader as the ultimate villain of the piece and giving Vader and his son Luke some common ground for the first time in the series.

Other than the typically cranky Vincent Canby and the notoriously nasty New York Post reviewer Rex Reed, most critics loved the film and while many felt it wasn’t as strong as the first two installments of the franchise, they were still blown away by its originality and pure entertainment value. In his 1983 review, Roger Ebert talked about the “density of the canvas” shown to us in Return of the Jedi, referring to the abundance of originality and imagination pouring out of Lucas and his team. Ebert was fascinated with the sheer volume of new and fresh ideas present on screen, even if they were mentioned only for a moment of referenced in a single shot.

It’s easy to take for granted today how rich and fresh these films must have felt when they were new. I don’t know if it’s really possible to go back and view these films with that same sense of newness, since so many things that have come since then have been so deeply influenced by them, from the Lord of the Rings films to Saturday morning cartoons. As you’ll hear in the podcast included below, even a first-time viewer of these films in 2011 can’t view them with the same fresh perspective as a 1983 audience would have since they have become so deeply ingrained into our popular culture today. Even if you don’t see these films, you can’t help but be exposed to references to nearly every individual scene within them just by being out there and consuming the entertainment.

There are things that are less amazing and fascinating in Return of the Jedi, whether it’s the slightly-too-cute Ewoks or the cluttered space battles or repetitive Death Star destruction sequence, but this film has more originality and creativity in its little finger than most sci-fi/fantasy films from the last 30 years could ever dream of having. It’s a clear reminder of a time when George Lucas wasn’t a figure that inspired cynicism. He was one of the great creative minds working in Hollywood.

DOWNLOAD: Back to the Movies Podcast – Return of the Jedi (with special guests Chris Rosko and Jason Roche)

Next Up: We take a look back at some of my favorite films, performances and moments from this epic journey through the films of 1983.

FYI- I also recently posted a Film Nerd-ish entry updating folks on The Nocturnal Third over at our production blog.

This summer movie season seems to recall a conversation that is one of the cornerstones of Film Nerds.

Before this weekend’s Transformathon, the most talked-about film of the season has been JJ Abrams’ Super 8. The most well-regarded films have been Tree of Life and Midnight in Paris. The latter of these addresses an idea that I feel is the season’s unifying theme. Woody Allen’s latest follows a struggling writer as he escapes to his own idea of bohemia’s Golden Age, the Paris of the 1920’s.

Super 8 also points to a kind of Golden Age for my generation. The movie is a throw-back to the suburbia of The Goonies and E.T., where pre-adolescence is a heightened life of irresponsibility, mystery, and early brushes with a chosen sub-culture. However, much of the chatter around the film has centered less on the film’s setting and more its marketing, which points heavily to the directorial Golden Age of producer Steven Spielberg.

Also, it would seem to me that the last of the summer’s superhero movies, Captain America: The First Avenger, takes a romantic look at World War II adventure- its hero literally born in the “Golden Age” of comic books. In addition – and again, having not seen it – Tree of Life seems to point to an idyllic memory of America’s past.

You see my point. So far, the idea of a “Golden Age” seems to be this year’s thematic through-line when it comes to mainstream film, as last year’s films seemed to be focused on an acceptance of realities (Inception, Social Network, Black Swan, True Grit).

Let’s go back to the specific idea that’s exemplified in Midnight in Paris, though. Allen’s hero gets to witness the peak creative years of a movement or group of people. When weighing that against this summer’s mainstream movie creators, I think less of Spielberg’s Golden Age and more of the authors of Cars 2.

I won’t bury the lead- I think that Pixar has closed the books on its first era of greatness. It would seem that the company has two overall eras of feature film-making up to this point. Their “Independent” era stretches from Toy Story to The Incredibles, before they were purchased by Disney. The “Disney/Pixar” era would start with 2006’s Cars, and appears to close with this year’s sequel to that movie and a changing of direction.

Looking forward, much of Pixar’s original guard is dabbling in other arenas. Finding Nemo and Wall-E auteur Andrew Stanton is directing the long-gestating adaptation of A Princess of Mars. Incredibles and Ratatouille director Brad Bird just saw a trailer released for his live-action debut, Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol. Pete Doctor doesn’t seem to be visibly working on anything for Pixar. John Lasseter tagged in to helm Cars 2, but at this point, his duties as an executive at Disney probably keep him fairly busy.

Lee Unkrich seems to be the leader of the new guard, taking over directorial duties for Lasseter on Toy Story 3 and doing quite a bang-up job. Next year sees further proof of the next phase of Pixar, as the company is releasing the uncharacteristic Brave, which looks to introduce a beautiful new direction. I trust Pixar completely, but Cars 2 does sit as a kind of demarcation point for me, as I’ve resolved to skip the movie in its theatrical run. That’s the first time I’ve done so since Monsters, Inc., which is a mistake I still regret. I can only hope that the next few years are full of exciting and unique stories from a brand new slate of Emeryville storytellers. While I do expect a certain brand of “special” from Pixar, I certainly don’t expect them to bottle the feeling of Wall-E, Toy Story, and Up and try to sell it to me again and again.

That returns us to Spielberg. The release of the trailers for The Adventures of Tintin and War Horse, as well as Super 8’s continued theatrical run, has kept the Great Film Nerd War raging about Spielberg’s own Golden Age. Let me remind you- I count myself as our troupe’s biggest fan of the director of my favorite movie of all time. The guy needs no defending, but I need to be honest when I say I believe Spielberg to be the greatest director of all time. I say that not to qualify myself, but to warn of extreme prejudice in this dialog.

In finding the proper Spielberg eras, you can break it all down in a few different ways.

You could use decades: 70’s Spielberg (from Duel to 1941), 80’s Spielberg (from Raiders of the Lost Ark to Indiana Jones & The Last Crusade), 90’s Spielberg (Hook to Saving Private Ryan), and 00’s Spielberg (A.I. to Indiana Jones & The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull). That would allow us a clean break that begins with The Adventures of Tintin.

For me, I would break Spielberg’s filmography into two overall eras, after his establishment in Hollywood with The Sugarland Express: The Amblin Era, from Jaws to Jurassic Park, and the Dreamworks Era, from Amistad to Munich. There’s a marked difference in Spielberg’s approach once he won an Oscar, locked onto Janusz Kaminski, and became the revered, old King of Hollywood.

Despite these arbitrary boundaries, it is certainly a unanimous opinion, however, that Spielberg’s Golden Age lies within that Amblin Era, stretching across two decades from 1975 to 1982: Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, 1941, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and E.T. These five films are most likely what people refer to when they say “classic Spielberg”. Sure, one of these films is not like the other, but you cannot argue the visual bombast going on in that particular World War II sex comedy you’re squinting at.

Keep in mind those are only really four films. So, out of a four decade career and over twenty movies, a Golden Age can be created, the same as Pixar’s Golden Age is represented by a strong four years. That is, if we agree Pixar has only had one so far… or isn’t just now exiting one giant streak of magnificence. Really, this kind of perspective that can only come with time and distance. The end of a Golden Age, however, must come. Eras of prosperity and vibrancy must end for growth to happen.

Look at Pixar’s rich uncle, Walt Disney Animation. How many eras of brilliance has Disney had? I can count at least three: The dawn of feature animation, from Snow White to Bambi, the post-war hot streak, from Cinderella to The Jungle Book, and the renaissance, from The Little Mermaid to The Lion King. How about Woody Allen, the prolific workaholic that started this conversation?

That should give one hope. Perhaps your favorite writer, director, or musician is just one new creation away from beginning a new personal Golden Age. After this year, Spielberg will have a three-film streak of films aimed at children, before returning with the assumedly Oscar-chasing Lincoln, followed by perhaps the serious sci-fi of Interstellar or Robopocalypse (yes, “serious”). The man has proven himself adept at a variety of fare, and I hope that he achieves a late-career Golden Age like his friend Martin Scorsese.

Regardless, don’t get too caught up in worrying if your favorite has lost the golden touch. That rarely happens. Yes, Pixar is changing, but don’t lament that fact. As great as that 2007 to 2010 streak was for Pixar, we do not want them to attempt to manufacture what made Wall-E, Up, or Ratatouille so incredible. The proclivity to green-light sequels to Toy Story, Cars, and Monsters Inc. seems frightening, and is proof that we don’t want these men and women to look back, but rather forward. Haters of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull should beware what happens when a filmmaker forcibly attempts to recapture magic.

We should not ask for Golden Ages to be artificially extended. It doesn’t work in overall culture, it doesn’t work in family, and it won’t work in film-making. Enjoy the valleys as well as the peaks, because in the midst of a perceived dry period, you might just find yourself a Minority Report or a Munich or a Tarzan or a No Country for Old Men. And, with that, I may have talked myself into seeing Cars 2.

The FilmNerds RoundTable returns with an all-new podcast discussion on Woody Allen’s sleeper summer hit Midnight in Paris. Listen as Matt Scalici, Graham Flanagan, Ben Flanagan, Ben Stark and Corey Craft discuss why this film might be the biggest hit of Woody Allen’s career and talk about the film’s Oscar chances. Click the link below to download or find us on iTunes by searching for ‘filmnerds’.

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD – Midnight in Paris

As Page One: Inside the New York Times, continues to slowly roll out across the country, journalism-geeks will undoubtedly flock to their local art-houses for a chance to peek behind the curtain of the nation’s “paper-of-record.” While a significant portion of the breezy, accessible documentary offers a unique, fly-on-the-wall perspective on the day-to-day operations of the New York Times, it turns out that – to the movie’s detriment – this isn’t the filmmakers’ central objective.

While about 40% of Page One provides an “inside” look at the paper’s production, the remaining 60% seems to be preoccupied with assessing the future of traditional journalism, and whether it has a future at all. The filmmakers show clips from relatively-recent TV-news broadcasts announcing the internet-induced shuttering of many of the country’s largest and oldest newspapers. This serves as a sort of death-knell for the business model upon which the New York Times has thrived for so long, and creates a debate that dominates the majority of the movie’s 2^nd half.

While this encourages a very compelling and relevant debate, the decision denies the audience more of (what I believe) made them pay to see Page One: more scenes showing the detailed-minutiae behind daily decisions such as why some stories are given front-page priority and how the paper’s daily front-page photo is picked, etc. We get a taste of these types of scenarios, but it feels like the filmmakers were only allowed to shoot what the paper’s braintrust deemed appropriate… and it appears the cameras and microphones were shut off and removed the before the real decisions were made.

The movie’s strongest moments emerge from the time it spends with a cadre of reporters who work for the paper’s media desk. Although the details are a little thin as to how each of these men arrived at the paper, the doc quickly immerses us into a deadline-oriented atmosphere that creates a sense of how these reporters’ ideas evolve into newsprint.

As many have previously written, the “show-stealer” of the group is veteran reporter David Carr, who — while he definitely provides most of the movie’s laughs — at times comes off as somewhat of a blowhard who appears to enjoy cornering and embarrassing people with ‘gotcha’ moments. The main instance of this behavior occurs when Carr antagonizes a member of the VICE editorial staff who suggests that the Times doesn’t report on enough “hard news” stories, such as the desperate conditions in Liberia.

While both men make fair points, I doubt Carr would so-quickly and blindly jump to the Times’ defense, had he been one of the paper’s employees unlucky enough to be deemed “non-essential” in a sequence where a number of longtime Times-workers are forced out due to budget cuts.

Carr does come off in a positive light, however, when it’s revealed that he is a former drug-addict who embraced the straight lifestyle in order to raise two daughters and continues to dedicate himself to a job he obviously loves.

As far as the “characters” are concerned, the colorful Carr understandably eats up the most screen-time; Unfortunately, this prevents the filmmakers from embracing what might have been a slightly-more compelling story: that of the media desk’s cub reporter Brian Stelter.

Although his tenure-to-date at the Times might be considerably short, Stelter is already a well-known commodity in the journalism world due to his former blog TVnewser, which has – in the last 5 years – become a daily must-read for TV news professionals. The blog is briefly mentioned in Page One, which might have resulted in a stronger overall movie had it decided to streamline itself and tell its story solely from Stelter’s unique perspective.

The filmmakers’ decision to divide the running time among 4 or 5 different characters results in a slightly disjointed feel that would have been easily remedied with a little bit more focus.

While there’s a lot to be absorbed and enjoyed from paying to see Page One, I left feeling a little bit gypped by the movie’s subtitle: “Inside the New York Times.” After all is said and done, a more appropriate title might have been Page One: The New York Times & The Death of Modern Journalism. The actual subtitle suggests a definitive portrait of the inner workings of America’s most sacred journalistic institution. I feel like I only got a quick glimpse.

In fairness to the filmmakers, one can’t assume that this was ever their overall objective. In fact, such a feat would be impossible to accomplish in Page One’s 90 minute running-time.

Paging Ken Burns…