Joel and Ethan Coen are two of the most talented and prolific filmmakers working today. In this decade alone, they have made seven feature-length films. The quality of their work varies in large part because they are willing to approach a wide range of challenging genres. They try their hand at film noir in “The Man Who Wasn’t There,” at romance in “Intolerable Cruelty” and the thriller in “No Country for Old Men.”

A new Coen brothers film is always worth seeing, if only because their films are always extremely well made on a technical level. The Coens oversee all aspects of their productions, but they seem cordial enough to allow each of their collaborators to achieve his or her full potential. Their collaboration with cinematographer Roger Deakins has been particularly fruitful, yielding beautiful landmarks in “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” and “The Man Who Wasn’t There.”

There is so much to talk about that instead of discussing general aspects of the Coen brothers’ work, I will focus on three of their films that I particularly enjoy and use those as jumping points for discussion.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) (Click here to read more…)

Peter Jackson made four epic fantasy films that defined the cinematic spectacle for the new decade. His films made the act of viewing a physical activity: His shortest film, “The Fellowship of the Ring” (2001), is three hours long; the extended cut of “The Return of the King” (2004) is over four hours long. Avant-garde films have long used duration to push the boundaries of film, but duration hadn’t really been a part of mainstream films up until this point.

Many viewers—especially those afflicted with smaller bladders—probably viewed the hefty running times as a narcissistic and excessive exercise in filmmaking. But I believe that the running times reflect Jackson’s respect for his audience: He felt that viewers had the patience and intelligence to follow a fantasy series with a large ensemble cast over a three-year period.

Legacy (Click here to read more…)

I had a memorable encounter with the brilliant screenwriter Charlie Kaufman last fall, at an early screening of his directorial debut, “Synecdoche, New York.” A Kaufman film is guaranteed to provide an exhausting amount of intellectual fodder, and as the film ended, I scribbled furiously in my notebook. Then I took a glance to my right. Across the aisle was the man himself, a hand placed pensively under his chin, as he stared directly into my eyes.

It was without a doubt the most incredible and terrifying moment of my life. In those few seconds, I could see the way Kaufman’s mind worked—he was trying to figure me out (why was I writing?) and piecing together what I thought of his film (what was I writing about?). It is this intensely analytic quality that also characterizes a Kaufman film, and defines it as something formidable, otherworldly and always fascinating. (Click here to read more…)

November 6th presents a dilemma for Bay Area cinephiles, who—due to the annoying fact that people can only be in one place at one time—must choose among three excellent programs at three different theaters. At the Paramount Theatre, a gorgeous Art Deco movie palace near the 19th Street BART station in Oakland, there is a screening of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Dial M for Murder” (1954). I recommend getting to the theater early so you can explore the huge, luxurious lobby.

In Berkeley, PFA is screening Alain Resnais’ “Last Year at Marienbad” (1961), one of the most beautiful, confounding movies I have ever seen. The film’s camerawork is stunning: Imagine a precursor to “The Shining,” with the camera slowly wandering through a mostly vacant château’s hallways. What is the purpose of the film? Is it a visual depiction of someone reckoning with her memories? Or is it a truly post-modern work that’s only concerned with surfaces—that is, is it a film without meaning? “Last Year at Marienbad” is rarely screened in 35mm projection, so be sure to check it out. (Click here to read more…)

Any film whose premise centers on the cultish appeal of kitschy mediums faces an enormous challenge: How can a film be good when it is quite literally about crap? This is the question that went through my head while watching Jared Hess’ new film “Gentlemen Broncos” at the Landmark Embarcadero Center Cinema last Monday, with Hess and his wife and screenwriter, Jerusha, in the audience.

Once again, Hess has an awkward, “Napoleon Dynamite”-style protagonist—a young, pulp science fiction writer named Benjamin (Michael Angarano). The film suffers from a lackluster screenplay, but Hess exacerbates its weaknesses by bringing to the foreground the sci-fi genre’s crudest elements. There is no cussing in the film (the Hesses are Mormons), but there are an awful lot of breast, penis and fart jokes, and gags involving shit and vomiting. This is the kind of film that would appeal to viewers who find a snake ejecting a stream of shit all over its nonchalant owner funny. (Click here to read more…)

This story will probably sound familiar. A crazed woman who is foaming at the mouth assaults a man. Soon, other infected people converge upon the poor guy, rip him apart and play ball with scraps of his body. This is a scene from “Zombieland,” right? Or perhaps it’s from some other zombie film? Nope. This account comes from a Greek play I recently read for class called “The Bacchae,” by Euripides. In the play, Dionysus, the god of wine, inflicts a curse upon the Greeks so they are always drinking and partying. These infected people become known as the Maenads, a “murderous herd” that stamps out the uninitiated.

Now, in Berkeley, it was Saturday night, and I went to see  “Zombieland” so I could relax and have a grand ol’ time watching Woody Harrelson mow down zombies with assault rifles. School was the last thing on my mind. But for better or for worse, I am thoroughly nerdy, and began to draw connections between the film and “The Bacchae.” Then I realized: the Greeks had created a precursor to the zombie film. (Click here to read more…)

The first thing you may wonder when you first hear about the Nervous Magic Lantern is, What in the world is it? At its most basic level, it is a special projector invented by New York avant-garde filmmaker Ken Jacobs. At the PFA last week, Jacobs gave a performance on his Lantern, which he set up in the back row of the theater, right behind audience members. Jacobs gradually moved superimposed slides of abstract textures and colors, and, thanks to an exaggerated flicker effect from a slow-moving shutter, created the sensation of fluid motion (it seemed to work like a zoetrope).

The stunning images had a very tactile, 3-dimensional quality to them. One moment, I thought I was in someone’s intestines. Or perhaps that was magma I saw? The next moment, it felt like I was viewing objects encased in sap. And so on. Jacobs’ Lantern hearkens back to a time when creating moving images by projecting light through stills—that is, inert objects, not film strips playing at 24 frames a second—was a magical experience. And there was something magical in the way Jacobs pored over his device, his face warmly lit by the projector’s bulb, as he manipulated his slides, like an alchemist working on his craft.

Here is a brief clip of Jacobs performing on his Nervous Magic Lantern: (Click here to read more…)

On Sunday afternoon, filmmaker Joe Berlinger hosted a screening of his excellent new documentary “Crude” at the Shattuck Cinemas. This is an impressive investigative piece: Berlinger shot over 600 hours’ worth of footage over several years, covering the most recent developments in a two-decade, $27 billion lawsuit against Chevron/Texaco for contaminating Ecuador’s rainforests. Berlinger doesn’t have an even-handed approach — he strongly supports the Ecuadorians — but he made his position on the matter readily apparent during his introduction: “I think it’s a disturbing film, and I hope it inspires you to take action.”

The best documentaries constantly attempt to unearth the truth, and “Crude,” in spite of its political bent, remains a surprisingly versatile documentary. The filmmakers travel to Ecuador, record many interviews with members of the Cofán Nation, the people who have been most affected by the contamination, and fluidly track back to their lawyers’ behind-the-scenes efforts in New York. (Click here to read more…)