I vastly prefer Kumonosu Ju to Schichi Nin No Samurai. The Seven Samurai is just like some old Japanese guys crying cause there village is being attacked, dude. 
Yes, Cervaise is a god. 
Feh, Veuve Cliquot is vastly overrated. There are many champagnes I’d consider better in its price range, especially Billecart-Salmon.
OK, I’ll stop there with the champagne snobbery. I must ask the OP–why, exactly, do you think your friends don’t want to go to the good movies? Do you think they fear intellectual challenge? After all, I don’t think Bowling for Columbine requires intellectual capacity to understand–Michael Moore ain’t subtle. Or is it because some people embrace mediocrity as a form of escapism?
Interesting range of repsonses so far.
I realized that I didn’t make myself clear on one point in the OP: the particular films I listed were refused by people I know even though they acknowledged that they were likely excellent films.
My father for example - he loves Italian films. He loves historical films. He agrees that Life is Beautiful is probably a good film. But he won’t watch it because it would be too depressing. I find that stupid and wuss-like.
Having said that:
The cases I’m referring too usually don’t involve intellecutal challenge, but rather wanting to avoid being “bummed out”. Which again, I think is wuss-like behavior if one acknowledges the films is worthwhile.
So I didn’t mean to say I have better film taste than others. I just don’t expect to never feel sad emotions in film. I sat through “Threads”, which is excruciating, because it was important. And it was a worthwhile experience that I’m glad I had. Art doesn’t have to be decorative, you know. And I feel one misses out by self-censoring anything that might be uncomfortable.
And since we are in the Pit, I added the goat felching, and I stand by that. 
Pretentious crap.
Violent crap. Preachy, to boot. (WAR BAAD! ARMY BAAD! US BAAD!)
Political crap that blatantly misrepresents its own subjects. Plus, Michael Moore is a loser.
Thanks to gobear and Ilsa_Lund for the kind words. This, in particular, cracked me up.
To CrazyCatLady: I personally enjoy being challenged, edified, whatever you want to call it. Some people say an entertaining movie “allows them to turn off their brain,” or some variation on same. I ask: Why? I like my brain. Turning it off for two hours is a waste of two hours.
This past weekend, for example, I saw Passion of Joan of Arc with lissener. I describe the experience in another thread, but for the purposes of this discussion, I’ll cover it again with a different focus. It’s a 1928 silent movie, originally French (made by a Dane). The DVD I saw reproduces the French intertitles and adds English subtitles, which if you think about it doesn’t seem entirely necessary; can’t you just replace the intertitles? So the foreign language, the fact that it’s silent (the DVD even lets you play the movie without any accompanying score if you want), the black-and-white photography, the deep theme (the suffering of a saint), and so forth would seem to make this the worst possible nightmare filmgoing experience for a lot of casual viewers.
And yet it was one of my most profound viewing experiences in recent years, and possibly my life. It altered the way I think about religious faith — not a major reversal, but a significant tweak. It redrew my imagined boundaries of how cinematic vocabulary can be applied to a common subject. (The editing, in particular, is stunning.) It redefined the character of the martyr in this kind of story, and repositions the acting threshold for a central performance of this type. It’s been five days since I’ve seen it, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
Given the choice between a film that challenges me, that expands my worldview and shows me something new and forces me to think about what I know and believe and in the process possibly become a better person, vs. a movie that simply fills my eyes and ears for two hours and then vanishes without having a perceptible impact on my life — why the hell wouldn’t I choose the former?
However.
In keeping with RickJay’s tirade, my preference for movies that offer me something more than the average bit of fluff provides does not, in my mind, confer upon me anything like cultural superiority, the whiff of which I certainly catch in the OP. I may wish that everybody could have the same transcendant emotional experience I got out of something like Sex and Lucia, but it’s dangerous to allow that feeling to fall over into pity or condescension.
Because I recognize that everybody has different needs and objectives when it comes to leisure activities. Some people like movies that fill their eyes and ears for two hours and serve no purpose than to distract them from the tedium that represents their daily lives. I don’t really understand that impulse, and I certainly don’t share it, but I don’t mock it, either. I recognize it exists, and I give it room, and all I ask in return is that people give me room to enjoy what I enjoy without calling me a “pretentious arthole” (a label with which I was tagged on a different message board a while back).
And more than that, I’m not immune from the pleasures of pure spectacle. This past summer gave us Pirates of the Caribbean, a movie that was far more enjoyable than it had any right to be. What separates that from something like, say, the Tomb Raider movies, which in my opinion are flaccidly pointless wastes of celluloid? I could offer some hypotheses, but having seen as many movies as I’ve seen, and having written as many words on the subject as I have, comparing this movie to that movie and examining how they work in general and in specific, I’m not certain there’s a really solid answer. In some ways, it’s a mystery why Pirates of the Caribbean works and is fun but Cutthroat Island doesn’t and isn’t.
At its base, I think the success comes down to story. There’s something deeply satisfying about a well-told story, about A followed by B which leads to C and ultimately D which either reinforces or calls into question what we know (or hope) is true about the world. It’s no accident that every religion’s scripture takes narrative form, giving us characters whose activities are supposed to reflect our morals and beliefs back at us: a god who visits a maiden in the form of a shower of golden light, or a coyote whose burning tail leads to giving fire to mankind, or a guy who’s struck dead because he jerks off into the desert sand. A good story is fundamentally compelling; we cannot help but get drawn in to ask the most significant question of all: What happens next?
But what elevates something like Passion of Joan of Arc is the way the story is told, the visual vocabulary that encodes all sorts of additional thematic content and gives the viewer a heightened experience. Instead of showing a character starting at Point A and going to Point B and Doing X, Y, and Z, the way a conventional narrative like the typical Hollywood movie is handled, Passion of Joan of Arc tells its story with visual composition, with editing, with pacing and juxtaposition. On one hand, the story is simple: Girl sits in cell, submits to interrogation, confesses, changes her mind, and is burned. But if that’s all you get out of it, then you’ve missed the majority of the film, and, indeed, the story. Because by particularizing Joan’s accusers, by isolating them in space and noticing their individual behaviors, the story begins to open up; these men are not just representatives of some power, an assemblage, but are specific people with specific emotional motives, ranging from doubt over Joan’s visions to jealousy that she would be touched by God to fear that her legitimacy might expose them as frauds. In addition, the presentation of Joan made me think about how someone in that situation would feel and behave (in ways Luc Besson’s mediocre attempt The Messenger did not). She is absolutely certain of herself and her experience, but the movie never shows anything supernatural, so it’s possible she’s just crazy. The film definitely comes down on the side of her holiness and sainthood, but it never introduces any angels or heavenly powers, leaving all of that hidden within Joan’s heart and mind, and thus offers room for interpretation. At the same time, though, she’s feeling betrayed by the Church, which is supposed to be the representative of God on Earth but is giving her an impossible choice between renouncing the God she has felt and embracing the God they say they know but without apparent honesty. And of course this leads to questions about whether perhaps she’s crazy after all but due to the truth of her experience, because who’s to say how a mortal would respond to exposure to such power and greatness?
As I said, all of this complexity is conveyed with the way the film is constructed, over and above the simplistic A-then-B-then-C storytelling employed by most movies. Joan’s disorientation and the motives of her interrogators are communicated with the composition and the editing; there are long stretches where people are jabbering onscreen without intertitles to tell us what they’re saying, because it doesn’t matter. Joan’s faith is underlined with longer shots, lower angles looking up, and so on. Technically, it’s a very complex work. Now, it’s possible that the open-minded viewer would be affected by all of this subconsciously, and would have the same emotional and intellectual experience I did, without really realizing how or why the movie was doing what it was doing. On the other hand, I’m realistically cynical (how’s that for a phrase), and I am depressed to admit that most people would find the film boring and slow and pointless. But if you have a grounding in cinema, if you know how to watch a movie by observing not just the linear story but also the cutting and camerawork and contrasts and juxtapositions, if you are conscious to a film’s structure and vocabulary instead of just letting it wash over you, you can see the movie setting up its thesis, and you make yourself available to the enhanced experience.
I should mention, too, that just because I’m (as gobear calls it) an Art Snob, that doesn’t mean I like movies with difficult reputations solely on that basis. A number of years ago, I saw a three-hour opus called Ulysses’ Gaze, starring Harvey Keitel and directed by an egotistical Greek named Theo Angelopoulos. It arrived with all kinds of festival buzz, and a sparkling pedigree, and I couldn’t wait to see it, and neither could anybody else because the house was packed, and three hours later I had decided it was a detestable fraud. That is the kind of movie for which the word “pretentious” was invented. It’s got half a dozen really good ideas, and some stunningly brilliant scenes, but it’s also self-inflated with an exaggerated idea of its worth, and conveys with every delayed cut the philosophical arrogance of its director. This movie doesn’t ask questions: It bludgeons us with what it believes to be the answers. If I’m going to look at a long, slow movie, I’ll pick Tarkovsky’s Solaris or the obscure Chinese gem Devils on the Doorstep any day over turgid crap like Ulysses’ Gaze.
Ahem.
As I suggested above, I am aware that this kind of artistic view opens me to charges of elitism. That argument suggests that because I know how to watch a movie on multiple levels and most people don’t, I therefore get more out of a movie and believe myself capable of appreciating, enjoying, and even loving movies most people would find dull or pointless. If that’s elitism, then: Guilty as charged.
My stock response to this: Is James Joyce a bad writer because he’s inaccessible to the average reader of Scrooge McDuck?
But the accusers of elitism go a step farther. They assert that because I watch and champion “difficult” movies (and usually dismiss what I consider to be simplistic work), I think I am somehow better than the average moviegoer. This is false. Any such feeling is an imposition on their part, an improper extension of their personal motives, whatever they are, into an attempt to divine my state of mind. I might offer the uncharitable view that people like this are insecure, that they’re worried about their inferior powers of perception and thus attempt to label and tear down the “elitist” to maintain their self-esteem. But because I ask them not to pretend to read my mind and make false judgments about me, I won’t indulge in the same crime against them.
And that’s because, as I said above, I know that different people look for different things in their movies (and music, and sports, and whatever else). I’ve made this argument several times in various threads discussing horror movies, but I think it’s instructive enough to bring up here. There are two kinds of fright flicks. On one hand, you have movies like The Blair Witch Project and The Shining that work by implication and suggestion and don’t explicitly tell you everything that’s going on, and expect the viewer to be frightened more by unknown possibility than by specific imagery. On the other hand, you have movies like Freddy vs. Jason and the remake of The Haunting that put their frightening elements front and center, and expect the viewer to be frightened by this specific threat that has these specific dangerous traits. People who are frightened by the first kind of movie are not usually frightened by the second, and vice versa. And that’s — okay. The second type of viewer doesn’t like Blair Witch because the movie never actually comes out and says that the kids can’t find their way out of the woods because the witch is messing with them; it’s suggested, but never stated, so as a result the movie seems to be about loudmouthed brats who can’t use a frickin’ compass. And conversely, the first type of viewer doesn’t like The Haunting, because actually showing a particular creature or effect triggers speculation about what else might be possible.
This is a hugely long post, but it comes out of ongoing frustration with the apparently immortal circularity of the debate. “Artholes” can enjoy their complex works, and the mainstream can enjoy their cotton candy, and just because there’s no overlap doesn’t mean that one side is pretentious or the other side is stupid. But when someone like the OP comes along and suggests that these movies are worth watching and anyone who disagrees is a moron, well, it launches the whole pointless discussion all over again.
On preview, since Mach Tuck’s latest wasn’t there when I started the novel above: Why do you get to judge what your father watches or doesn’t watch? It’s his loss, or gain in his mind if he doesn’t want to be brought down. Leave it alone.
Personally, I think that The Blair Witch Project is a brilliant study in minimalism and independent film.
Awesome words, as always, Cervaise. But you didn’t even say “fuck!”
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Why do you get to judge what your father watches or doesn’t watch? It’s his loss, or gain in his mind if he doesn’t want to be brought down. Leave it alone.
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I am judging him, and others, on the basis that they deprive themselves of experiences that they admit would probably be worthwhile because they might get bummed out. And I feel that many people do this in regard to films and that it is a peripheral, if not direct cause of so much crap being foisted on us by Hollywood.
And on the nature of judgement:
Life is all about judgement.
You can’t read every book in the Library of Congress, but rather must choose which ones to read. You pick future books based on judgements of books you have read. One chooses friends largely based on judgements of their character. We like or dislike people based on our personal judgements. We are constantly judging people, ourselves, and every situation in our lives.
However, we generally keep our judging to ourselves out of courtesy. The Pit is for when we wish to dispense with courtesy and voice our judgements. We’re in the Pit now, and I feel like pointing out that my father is a yogurt-head sometimes in regard to films.
Are we really afraid to judge the difference between Dude, Where’s My Car? and [iSchindler’s List*, even if the latter wasn’t as good as other films on the topic? Are we afraid to make a judgement about a person who makes the choice to see the former, but not the latter, and often makes similar choices?
Sorry about the coding.
I have a feeling I’m probably going to be judged on that…
My apologies, oh God of Choices. I will repent.
Meanwhile, fuck you AND your goat.
Oh, your coding sucks.
You definitely could have come up with a better “documentary” for your list than Bowling for Columbine, as others have already suggested. A couple of sites you might be interested in that discuss the inaccuracies in that movie:
http://www.hardylaw.net/Truth_About_Bowling.html
http://www.bowlingfortruth.com/
Hey, you know what bugs me? When my friends and loved ones won’t watch any subtitled movies with me. ‘No, I don’t like that stuff. It’s overpretentious and arty.’ As if all movies not in English are alike. Yep, let’s see what I’m offering here. Ringu and The Iron Monkey. Very pretentious and arty. Riiiiiight.
Yet another post from Cervaise that makes me think, “Gee, I’d like to buy that guy a beer sometime.” (Did you do something subliminable there?)
There’s just one point I take exception to:
It’s going a bit far to say that there’s no overlap. Sometimes there a stealthy “Mainstream That Through the Ghetto Flows” sort of situation going on, whereby an adept filmmaker can manage to exploit conventional forms to let Art in through the back door, and miraculously please both the gum-chewers and the aesthetes, who, for all practical purposes, may as well be watching two totally different films, sitting there inches apart from each other.
Take Pulp Fiction– half (okay, substantially more than half) of the crowd is satisfied with enjoying it on a totally visceral level. “Samuel Jackson is such a bad ass, man!” They don’t give a shit about (and probably aren’t even remotely aware of) all of the paratextual references to classic American Film Noire and French Nouvelle Vague films, and they probably don’t care much about the meditation on the possibility of redemption that is central to each of the stories, either. It’s just a lot of funny dialogue punctuated by scenes of extreme violence, right?
Or even The Abyss. Yeah, it’s got plenty of eye-candy, and relies on enough cliches for both the characters and plotting that the “cheeseburger and a side of fries” crowd is going to be plenty satisfied. If the Art Holes in the audience are getting off on the references to the Eclogues, well, that’s just a little secret between us and Mr. Cameron, ain’t it?
Yeah, I love the full-throttle arthouse products. (Finally got around to screening Russian Ark last night. Yay!! My favourite Russian film since The Mirror.) But I really appreciate the work those artists who follow Joyce’s lead and “bury the dog deeper.” When you can create something that has the convincing appearance of the mundane, but contains signficant form, you give the audience such a treat. It’s like tucking into an oyster and finding a pearl, put there just for you. These are my favourite films. The ones that drop sly hints and say “He who has ears, let him hear.” Some folks in the audience catch it, and are rewarded with just a hint of transcendence, while the rest of folks, who are just watching “a bunch of stuff that happened,” are spared the irritation of feeling that someone is talking over their head.
To be honest, I’m one of those people you’re pitting. I like seeing cheesy, funny little movies with happy endings. I like coming out of the theatre and feeling happy, not depressed. I watch movies to escape from my current reality, and to be entertained, not to learn something or be wowed at film technique. To each his own.
Okay, then, I judge you to be an ass.
I’m glad you vodka enjoyed it. I’d be vodka happy to accept your vodka offer sometime, for beer or vodka something else, next time I’m up in the Great vodka North.
You’re right, of course; I realized when reading back over it (after hitting submit, of course) that I should have said limited overlap. Your examples are excellent. But… Virgil’s Eclogues? Now you’re just showin’ off. 
vodka
God, all of a sudden, I want some vodka. I might have to send some to Cervaise, too. 
I don’t even drink.
Larry Mudd, the epitome of that form is Hitchcock. He was a master at doing just that.
Okay, got here late, but here’s my $0.02…
I don’t have a problem in the world with people watching what makes them happy. That’s why we have 31 flavors of ice cream.
However, I think the OPer’s original lament, however poorly worded and executed, is that people tend to support the stupidest pablum on celluloid. This leads to more and more stupid movies, and less and less thoughtful ones get funding.
I’d like to break that chain, too, but I’m too busy trying to figure out how Hilary Duff and Clay Aiken end up selling millions of albums, and my favorite artists scrape to get by.
Whoever said earlier that 95% of everything is crap is spot-on. Guess we’ll just have to do our bests by supporting the things that AREN’T crap and spreading good word-of-mouth.
Schindler’s List…mediocre?
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Ah, but sir! Stallone was the lead and shared writing credit for Cobra, while George P Cosmatos put his directorial talents on display.
I read your comments on Stallone’s career with interest, but I feel you’ve overlooked his role of Machine-Gun Joe Viterbo in Death Race 2000. Though he was a relatively minor character in that, he can easily be viewed as representing American abolitionist thought circa 1840. Compare him to David Carradine’s Frankenstein, and I’ll think you see what I mean.
Cervaise: I like my brain, too. But by the time I come home from work, covered in blood and shit, with pulled muscles from doing CPR on one of my favorite patients, with the tears of a distraught owner still drying on the shoulder of my scrub shirt, my brain is tired. No, scratch that, it’s fucking exhausted, just like my body and my emotions. I’d like a break from the physical, mental, and emotional exertion of my daily life, please. I don’t want to think deeply about complex issues. I want to sit on my ass, eat a sandwich, and put my brain and my heart in neutral for good long while.
A lot of the time, I don’t want to watch depressing stuff, because I see plenty of depressing stuff all day, every day. The never-ending parade of death, disease, neglect, and suffering at work fills my need for pathos, and then some. By the time I come home, I’m ready to see some smiling fucking faces, dammit. I don’t have to laugh, although it would be really nice, but I’m in no fucking mood for more anything that’s going to make me any sadder than my job does a lot of nights. Does that make me intellectually lazy, or an emotional wuss? No, it makes me human.
Judgement is indeed important in life, and I judge the OP to be a self-important jackass who’s declared himself to be the arbiter of good taste.
I said relatively. Compared to other holocaust movies, it is pretty Hollywood. Not to mention that the ending sucked.