Today’s topic: the scariest film I’ve ever seen. Nope, don’t count on hearing anything related to the Horror genre. Of course early Horror movies were revolutionary in the way they managed to effectively stun the audience with their complex visual effects, at the time they were impressive filmmaking achievements. Movies like Psycho, The Exorcist, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Halloween gave birth and later on inspired hundreds of flat sequels and hideous follow-ups, losing their magical scary touch. They feel outdated. And yes, as an avid cinephile I waited for a scary non-Horror to appear on screen. I waited. And I waited. Finally, last year, it hit the mark. I found it – Nightcrawler. 

Every man has to learn. Lou’s a fast learner.

Not only my favorite film of last year but also a film that has become one of my top personal favorites. What’s so scary about it? Nothing, besides the main story, that of a petty thief who discovers night-crime journalism as a way of making money. With the help of a camcorder and a police scanner he goes anywhere where blood is spilled. Ain’t that a kick in the head? His name is Louis Bloom, he prefers Lou, and he’s a sociopath. Now, now, he’s not a psycho. He doesn’t take baths in a tub filled with blood and doesn’t go around shooting presidents. He’s a sociopath with a camera, and he’s ready to sell whatever he catches, be it a bloody stabbing or a home invasion, it doesn’t matter. That’s what’s so scary.

You just need to be ready. Fasten your seat belt, please.

I know I’m not here to make a review out of this movie, but for those who haven’t seen it I have two words: Jake Gyllenhaal. Jake is a coyote, fit and skinny, his eyes haunting, his veins pulsating. He is Lou Bloom and he is a sociopath. Lou’s fascinated with his new job, first a bit untrained and unprofessional, with a banged up car and a cheap camcorder with no microphone. But it’s Los Angeles, right? Anything’s possible for people like Lou. What am I getting at? Lou learns police codes by heart, finds a naive assistant (a great Riz Ahmed) who’ll do anything for a few bucks, buys modern equipment, a new car and above all, he forms a business relationship with a worn out local news director (Rene Russo you got it) who is ready to pay any price just to keep her name alive in the news industry. For some the setting alone might seem scary: night-time Los Angeles, no Hollywood Boulevard, no sunny avenues and great looking palm trees; instead, a dark, claustrophobic polluted bloody machine that is the land of gold for hungry coyotes who wish to feast on rotten cadavers. Unlike the overcrowded streets in  Taxi Driver’s New York,  here the streets of Los Angeles are almost empty, the wind free to blow wherever it wants to. A perfect place for nocturnal animals.

Making business is always a pleasure.

The music. The music by James Newton Howard is for a fact, creepy. You may ask why. It depicts Lou’s state of mind. Whenever he’s angry, the music changes. Whenever he’s onto something, the music changes. Whenever he goes crazy, the music changes. The unnerving feeling that we’re inside a sick individual’s mind will give anybody some proper goose bumps. And why not? Lou smiles when he records a victim. Blood makes him excited up to the point where he starts treating the material he’s shooting as a form of art. A car accident is a set for him, a dead body the actor. Lou’s the director, and a hell of a one too. We witness as Lou, with great exhilaration, notices that the police cars haven’t yet arrived, and decides to ‘modify’ the accident scene for artistic purposes, moving a cadaver from one side to another, adjusting the lifeless’ hands, straightening the cold legs, and finally getting to the top of a curb and filming it, adrenaline pumping through his eyeballs. That’s what crime-journalism is about. That’s what this movie is about – people who become animals and yet go unnoticed, hiding in the dark, away from the light.

He’ll do anything in the name of professionalism.

Dan Gilroy’s first attempt at directing is spot on. It’s simplistic but effective, because again, it impersonates Lou’s persona: unpredictable. Floating across the neon lights of LA at night, switching to postcard views and cutting to fast paced car chases, Gilroy encapsulates the essence of a blood soaked world that we see every single day in the news, and almost every single time we ignore it. A world where anything and everything can be made up from a ‘carjacking crime wave’  to a ‘stabbing pollution’. A world where advertisements are taken too seriously. A world where only with the help of a camcorder and a police scanner can we succeed in making a name for ourselves.

When Lou smiles, you better smile along.

The scariest part? The irony. The script is filled with past faced dialogue, machine gun comebacks and tasty ideas, painting a grim picture with a cherry on top – irony. The whole movie pokes fun in a very cruel way at who we are and how we deal with things. It pokes fun at a society that believes too many theories and disregards the truth. Coyotes like Lou go unnoticed and end up with a full belly. It’s  the raw truth that scares me, personally. It’s the thought that people like Lou walk the streets like the rest of us. Lou Bloom is a monster but a monster you learn to root for. Yes, that’s right. Every time I watch it, by the end of the film I find myself cheering for Lou because he’s got everything planned out, he’s always compact, neat and precise. He never blinks, never sweats over anything. That’s what makes him so haunting – the fact that  we don’t see him break aside from a riveting few seconds, when after a flop of a night without any headline material, the man confronts his reflection in the mirror, yelling and shattering the glass to pieces. No worries. He’s got everything under control, that’s the thing. Can we call him a criminal? No. He doesn’t kill anyone. He doesn’t lift a finger nor hurt anyone. Lou is simply at the right time, at the right place, with the right ideas. He’s the man.


“Think of our newscast as a screaming woman running down the street with her throat cut”

I will never ask you to do anything that I wouldn’t do myself. Goodnight.




Today’s topic: the analysis of what is to me the greatest thriller ever made; David Fincher’s Se7en (1995). 

{As a WARNING, anyone who hasn’t seen the film or finds its subject matter (violence and gore) too difficult to bear with, please stop reading since spoilers and violent descriptions/pictures are to follow.}

David Fincher’s opinion on people is well known to film enthusiasts and his fellow collaborators, his view on who we are is a very crude, straightforward yet brave one: “People are perverts, that’s the foundation of my career.” If we have a look at Fincher’s work, his films always tackle the subject of evil, perversion and dishonesty. His movies very often revolve around who has the ultimate power, who is in a position to set the rules, who is in charge of a specific situation. And like the themes of his movies, Fincher’s direction is very unique. A rare, revolutionary voice in today’s cinema: “People will say, “There are a million ways to shoot a scene”, but I don’t think so. I think there’re two, maybe. And the other one is wrong.” He always aims for the perfect, most suitable vision for the right moment. That’s why his rigorous shooting technique (shooting a car parking in front of a hotel over twenty times) is well known as a symbol of the ultimate effort in a day when movies are shot in a few weeks thanks to CGI and sound stages. Yes, I’m referring to you, Avengers. My point is, Fincher may be brutal as a filmmaker but within that brutality there’s beauty, pure beauty that no one can steal from him.

The hopeless bloody countdown.
The hopeless bloody countdown.

Aside from his crowning Oscar winning work in The Social Network, and the legendary craftsmanship of the classic Fight Club, Fincher has been known to most viewers as the man behind the 1995 thriller, Se7en. It’s a jarring film, its brooding tone will never leave you, right? But why is that? After all, it was Fincher’s only second feature after the studio-forced disaster of 1992, Alien 3. He was a young newcomer with a few films under his belt as an assistant cameraman and photography assistant in the early 80s, and a lot to say. But the competition’s always tough. So what is so outstanding about his second film? Se7en is not only a mystery, detective story. It’s a study of the forgotten parts of our society. The seven deadly sins represent the worst of the worst, yet all the victims can be considered innocent. Innocent because of the world they live in. Detective Mills and Somerset, played respectively by a young Brad Pitt, and Morgan Freeman, aren’t exactly the heroes we expect them to be. Why should they; they live in a city where it always rains, in a country where murders are a daily routine, bread and butter for the public. In fact, Somerset is growing old and the city is kicking him down, he doesn’t even have the courage to look outside the window anymore. He cringes in disgust. Sighs in desperation. It’s filthy, rainy and blood flows in the sewers. The city remains nameless, and slowly becomes a closed trap, a place with no escape route. You live and you die there. It rains. There is no hope. Embrace it.

There is always a start to an end.
There is always a start to an end.

Mills and Somerset’s relationship represents every attempt of every human being to bond with another within this particular world. I may sound as if I’m repeating myself, but take a close look and pay attention to the details. When the movie starts out, the two don’t like each other, in fact, Fincher underlines it to this point that in some scenes he sets Mills on the far end of a room from Somerset. As the investigation progresses the two get closer, literally. The camera doesn’t cut away between the two anymore. It frames them both at the same time. They grow fond of each other, they feel responsible for one and other, and they know what drives both of them to do what they do.  And by the time they are regular partners, buddy cops really, the ending hits them. The cruel, gruesome ending strikes both of them and sets the two apart, depicting this way a very realistic relationship that most of us can relate to. Because the world we live in is not only beautiful, joyous and inspiring, it is also raw and devastating. It’s the things that we don’t pay attention to that drive this world to the legendary apocalypse. It’s what we pass by every single day and don’t mind looking at. Maybe we don’t want to look. We don’t want to know. After all, truth is often merciless.

A friendship that is about to be shattered to pieces.
A friendship that is about to be shattered to pieces.

John Doe, the mysterious serial killer, played by Kevin Spacey in his prime (delivering a monumental performance yet again), calls himself the messiah of this generation. It may sound as the words of a madman, which he is. But really, what was Doe’s objective, his ultimate goal? He wanted the world to wake up, shake it to its core and shake people’s minds while at it. Force feeding an obese man until his stomach burst, torturing a well respected lawyer, keeping a drug dealer alive for a whole year strapped to his bed with few drops of water and the minimal amount of food, forcing a pill popping girl to commit suicide, cutting up a prostitute with the help of a sharp bondage toy, and finally going into Mills’ house and cutting his pregnant wife’s head, is the proof that for someone to notice something in today’s world there needs to be a gruesome crime. For Doe, it wasn’t a crime. It was sweeping the floor, clearing the useless dust and dirt off the streets. And to just quote the character: “We see a deadly sin on every street corner, in every home, and we tolerate it. We tolerate it because it’s common, it’s trivial. We tolerate it morning, noon, and night. Well, not anymore. I’m setting the example. What I’ve done is going to be puzzled over and studied and followed… forever.” In a very twisted, sick, dark way it’s the truth. We tolerate all the wars, all the drug trade, the bombings, the fanatics, the pedophiles, the rapists. We see all the world’s filth on the news and our sole reaction is to shake our head, shrug and stand up and go make some tea. We brush our teeth and we’re off to bed. John Doe took the matter into his own hands, setting the example by even sacrificing himself: “Wanting people to listen, you can’t just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you’ll notice you’ve got their strict attention.”

The walking conclusion.
The walking conclusion.

Mills, after hearing about the gory murder of his pregnant wife, loses his wits. He’s a human being after all, but Fincher manages to add something more to it. Whenever the camera focuses on the detectives, it’s shaky. But when it comes to a close-up of John Doe down on his knees, waiting for the big finale, the camera is set on a tripod demonstrating that Doe’s in charge. Steady as a rock. Believe what you want to believe, but the madman has power over the men of the law. Madman? At the very end is John Doe the real psychopath? Mills, knowing that by killing Doe the case will be dropped and he’ll lose everything he’s fought for, ignores it and guns down the prisoner. Food for thought.

Somerset ends the movie with the famous quote, which in my opinion, tells the whole hidden story not only behind the movie itself, but our reality as well: “Ernest Hemingway once wrote, “The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.” I agree with the second part.” And that’s it. Fight for the better.

Losing every bit of humanity.
Losing every bit of humanity.

Coin Toss

Today’s topic: Cormac McCarthy’s mind through the eyes of the Coen Brothers. Two different worlds: McCarthy, a veteran writer, known for his violent, slow-paced narrative in novels like Child of God, The Road and Blood Meridian and the Coen Brothers – creators of the concept of  “thought provoking, dark comedy” and quirky screenwriters, famous for their off-beat characters and dialogue in films such as Fargo, O Brother Where Art Thou?, Burn After Reading and True Grit. When these two, opposite worlds meet what do we get? One of the best thrillers and film experiences of all time: No Country For Old Men. A bloody, savage tale of an ending era and the birth of a new one. The tale of blood spilled in the desert. The tale of an unstoppable chase. The tale of humanity.

No Country For Old Men tells the story of a man who finds a suitcase full of drug money, a killer who chases him, and an old sheriff who tries to stop the killer. Plain and simple. But what marks this film and separates it from all the other chase-scenario thrillers is the unique voice that it carries. It’s a philosophy class, to be honest. That’s what I think. That’s what the old folks used to say. The Coen Brothers let the words of McCarthy flow through their screenplay. What they do is they direct them in a way that underlines every syllable and noun and impacts the viewer by gluing him to the screen.

The air is dry. The sun is up. The Texas border is crawling with sick individuals looking for a stash of coke or whatever it is they can find. Gangs organize stand-offs in the desert. Motorways are busy. Motels too. People live in trailers and buy their groceries at the local gas station. It’s time for a change. Some things need to go, others need to appear. It’s not the land of the opportunity anymore. Lawman Sheriff Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) has seen enough bad doings in his life. He’s tired. He loves his wife dearly and his horses even more. He carries a gun, which is surprising because some of his predecessors, even his father and his grandpa, never did. Never felt the need to. The world’s changed. Bell’s eyes have changed. His hair is now grey, and as he recounts the bloody happenings of a summer in the 1980’s Texas, he tells the story of a whole world being crushed by evil. Evil that cannot be caught. Evil that slips through our fingers every time we get hold of it. Evil that looks straight at us every time we wake up. That’s Sheriff’s new reality: an obscure cloud taking over the bright Texas plains.

The old man and the desert.
The old man and the desert.

Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is a simple man. Born and raised in a small town in Texas, never been to Paris or London. He’s a hunter. He has a wife and a small cozy trailer. That’s all he needs to be happy. Or at least up until the moment when he finds a suitcase loaded with money: blood stained drug money. And someone is looking for it. Someone is ready to do anything to get that money back. That’s when Moss, the hunter, becomes the prey. Fate chases him with nothing but deadly intentions. Death. That’s what’s coming. But Moss, who represents the naivety of kids chasing dreams, is too dumb to see the big picture. The money is tempting: a big house, a better job, a nice car. You can do anything if you got the dead presidents. Unless, you got a snake in your pocket. That’s when you should run.

Don't hunt if you don't know your prey.
Don’t hunt if you don’t know your prey.

But what from? Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem, in top form), the snake. The snake without a rattle. You don’t hear him coming. You don’t see him coming. He’s the new plague that gets into your country, your city, your house, your room. That’s who he is. He is a madman with no brakes. He is a man with no limits. He is a man who plays with life and death by making bets: a coin toss, in this case. And when he asks you to call it, you better do. Because he will not ask again. He will not give you a chance. He laughs at chance. You can’t bribe him, you can’t promise him anything because he just doesn’t care. He doesn’t obey anyone and anything. He moves only when he wants to. Why does he chase Moss? For the money? No. The money couldn’t mean less to Anton. He chases him because he must. It’s why he exists. His duty is to make your life miserable. His duty is to burn everything that Sheriff’s built throughout his career. He kills because there is no other reason for him to live if not to kill other people. And you know what’s the worst thing about him? He keeps coming. And he never goes down.

That is why No Country For Old Men is so exceptional. It’s a dark, twisted tale about the changes that our world, our lives undergo every day. The tale of a world that keeps crumbling at our feet. We wake up, we breathe for what? What is the purpose of all that surrounds us? All this destruction…

Where is the joy of living if you can’t stop what’s coming?

Evil is at your door, and it doesn't knock.
Evil is at your door, and it doesn’t knock.

The Charming Cop

Today’s topic: LA Confidential, and more precisely the character of Jack Vincennes. The superb noir drama, Oscar winning picture that came out in 1997, gives me the chills every time I give it a watch. For those of you who are not familiar with the title I just mentioned, I’ll say this: find it and enjoy. What a ride it is to dive into the 1950’s Los Angeles and its world of corruption and greed; always a pleasure.

However, every time I give this film a shot and every time I try to grasp every second of this cinematic landmark, I focus nearly all of my attention on Jack Vincennes, the “showman” cop played superbly by the one and only, Kevin Spacey. Spacey was having the best years of his career, having already won an Oscar for “The Usual Suspects” in spring 1996, he was on a roll when the screenplay for LA Confidential got to him. Under the direction of Curtis Hanson (8 Mile), Spacey created a character so layered and so profoundly human (also based on Dean Martin, the iconic singer) that audiences and critics were stunned when the Academy passed on this role. His charm and wit take over the screen, I can tell you that.

Jack Vincennes is a good man. He is. However, he is also the wrong man at the right place. Why? Well, he dresses very elegantly, is handsome and knows how to handle hot situations. The world of show business attracts him not because of the pay or the glamour of the red carpet, but because he wants to feel right, he wants to put his foot down and let the world take notice of his input. What can a cop bring into a world where gangsters rule Hollywood, drugs keep getting into the poor neighbourhoods of LA and prostitutes try to look like movie stars? There is nothing out there that a simple policeman can do. He pulls out a badge and that’s it, file a report, then report back to your superior, go home and have a drink before heading off to bed. Does the Medal of Merit save you from this ugly world? No. You just need to know the right people and you need to know how to slip some money under the counter. That’s it. That’s when you profited in those days and still do now.

Vincennes is a man who’s always tried to pass above that. Sure, he’d snatch a little weed for himself, pay off the watchman and make a couple of headlines but he always did it while aiming higher. Higher than the grey skies of Los Angeles, ironically The City of Angels, “Where dreams come true, hush-hush”.  And since everyone needs a key to success, Jack has the “Badge of Honor” hit TV show; an opportunity to teach someone about how a cop really feels and acts when hurt, when happy, when drunk. Vincennes’ a mentor, a guru for aspiring actors and is also the ladies’ man at the parties.

At the end of the movie, when things go really bad, that’s when Jack forces himself to show the LA underworld his true colours, to prove to himself that he isn’t just about the money and fame. He goes and tries to make things right, and more specifically he tries to save a young man who he put into deep trouble for his own dirty $50 and a chance to get back at a pretentious superior. That’s when Jack realizes that he’s been battling these kind of situations his whole life. He’s been trying to get out his real self his whole damn, corrupt life and now he has the chance to make it right. And he does. He pays the bill.

That’s who Jack Vincennes is or at least who I think he is or represents. I think Jack Vincennes sleeps inside all of us and is waiting for us to wake him up, and that’ll happen when duty will call. Rest assured.


Trying to make things right always requires sacrifices.
Trying to make things right always requires sacrifices. Jack knows best.