Summa This, Summa That
What a fascinating guy he was. What a fascinating guy he is, actually. And that's the film's greatest strength (and greatest gift): the opportunity to spend an hour or two with a man who was not only an astonishing athlete, but one who remains an impressive and inspiring human being even to this day.
Today, thanks to a Bored Panda post, I've been exploring the visually-stunning feed of Russian photographer Daniel Kordan. BP was particularly fired up by his recent work on the Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia (the world’s largest salt flat) in which he "managed to capture the Milky Way being reflected on the flooded salt flat at night."
Somehow, in defiance of Hollywood's tendency to cram aging action stars down our cinematic throats even as they grow increasingly incapable of sustaining the suspension of disbelief required for an action film, these Cruise-focused/financed/carried blockbusters keeps getting better and better (even as their punctuated monikers grow ever-more bizarre).
In an effort to convey some sense of himself to his unborn son, Steve begins a video diary project, recording short clips where he talks to the camera (and to his son) about an endless array of topics, trying to cram a lifetime of conversation into a few months; trying to leave behind as much as he can before his ability to communicate is too greatly impaired.
The first was Chopin's Nocturne in E Minor, Op. 72, which is just gorgeous. (And HARD!) And the second was this Mozart Fantasy, which I love in no small part because it sounds so much more dramatic (and romantic) than the music I typically associated with him, though such a "rigidly classical" categorization was probably a bit unfair.
Last year, while recommending the documentary Lost in La Mancha, I claimed that it was my second-favorite documentary about film-making. Today, I'm recommending my all-time favorite: Burden of Dreams, Les Blank's spectacular documentary on the insanity surrounding Werner Herzog's efforts to make Fitzcarraldo.
Sometimes, I'm so familiar with a thing -- so tied to a particular theme or melodic turn (in music) or to a particular fact or or opinion (in my life more broadly) -- that anything which deviates from my expectation sounds or feels "wrong." But deviation doesn't make it "wrong," right? At least not necessarily?
I really enjoy this music. So clearly influenced by sacred music from the past, yet just as clearly influenced by the melodic melting pot in which we find ourselves today. There are moments when I hear sacred chant -- both Gregorian and Byzantine -- and moments when I hear movie soundtracks and a far more modern style. There's a way in which that is both unexpected and very much in keeping with the musical environment of my own youth.
"He is not a biologist and has rarely lived away from the coast of California—as a matter of fact, most of his posts are from Los Angeles and its immediately surrounding areas. Yet his work is startlingly compelling: not whitewashed or staff-approved, sometimes goofy, always surprising and beautiful and strange."
The whole score's pretty melodic/creepy/impressive, though you need to be able to tolerate a fair bit of dissonance early on (which makes more sense in context). All in all, far more worthy of your time than the film it bolsters and elevates beyond all reasonable expectations (if not quite high enough to make it worthwhile). Maybe just listen, though. It's not better in context.
Ever since I saw it for the first time, I've felt that The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou is his most complete, most powerful, most thoughtful, most polished, and "best" film. ...But my favorite? That's actually a two-hander: Bottle Rocket and Moonrise Kingdom. And I love those two for the same reason, actually. Neither are quite as hard on their subjects as their cinematic siblings
