Critique&Analysis: "The Treasure of Sierra Madre" - Root of Evil

by Arturo Virzi

Fred Dobbs, masterfully played by Humphrey Bogart, is the epitome of the anti-hero film archetype. The protagonist of The Treasure of Sierra Madre is dirty, brutish, savaged, greedy, jealous, and somehow (mostly due to Bogart’s screen presence) he remains likable. 

The fact the character is so despicable must have alienated audiences in 1948 who had already placed Bogart into their collective consciousness as the suave hero he played most of the time in films like The Maltese Falcon and Casablanca. But now days, I think we can all agree on the fact that Fred Dobbs constitutes one of Humphrey Bogart’s best performances.

I’ve always been a firm believer in the idea that flawed character tend to make up the best character, and The Treasure of Sierra Madre adds leverage to my argument. Fred Dobbs is a victim of his own ambition; the treasure that will free him from all responsibilities is the treasure that destroys him. 

The film places two morally mature characters as audience stand-in. Curtis, played by Tim Holt, and Howard, played by John Huston’s father Walter. These characters contrast with Dobbs’s personality. Curtis wants to buy a farm, and Howard doesn’t ever seem too optimistic about keeping the money for too long (and rightly so). Two very sympathetic characters who serve at witnesses to Fred Dobbs mental, moral and physical deterioration. 

The film still works best as a psychological portrayal of the effects that money has on the human psyche. Again attaching itself to the philosophical morality that money is the root of all evil.

The film, though, makes a clear distinction between ambition and greed. There needs to be a source of motivation for any of our human actions, and these amoral aspects are portrayed in both Curtis and Howard. While Fred, on the other hand, lusts for instant gratification, and never dwells on the idea of working after finding enough gold. What he doesn’t realize is that his ideology eventually corrupts his thought process, and enough never seems to be enough.  

Fred Dobbs’s demise is a subtle fall from grace. The character goes from being a believably sympathetic man in search of enough gold to get by (As Howard would say) to a deranged lunatic who’s willing to endanger his own life and those of others to get a bigger share. Fred Dobbs psychological profile expands as he becomes suspicious of his partners, and eventually does to them exactly what he feared they do to him. He projects his own evil onto others, and when Curtis tries warn him of his thoughtlessness, Dobbs immediately dismisses it as a strategic maneuver. 

Like any immoral personality, he justifies his actions with the motto “it was either them or me”, which is not only untrue but irresponsibly dangerous. It is impossible to base that notion of facts, because once the victimizer has acted against the victim, the victim can’t act back. And if the victim gets a chance to strike back and takes it, the actions could be justified as revenge. To right a wrong, and not as a preemptive strike.

Howard is not surprised, he says. He’s seen it all before, and these subtle insinuations of his lead the audience to believe and realize the fact that the events of the film have happened many times before. Howard remains sane, though, after being back stabbed most of his life while searching for a treasure he never manages to keep for too long. This is incredibly admirable. John Huston clearly wrote the part for his father, and it fits him like a glove. Howard might be the oldest and wisest of the crew but his spirit remains young, and his presence shines during the films best moments.   

The Film’s morality is stripped down of all the postmodern ideas. Fred Dobbs is a greedy and immoral character, and John Huston wants us to know that. The moral landscape the film presents is not gray, but completely black and white. The film leaves almost no space for ambiguities, and delivers a very objective opinion on the role of money in society. 

The matter-a-fact nature of the film is juxtaposed with the humorously ironic finale which brings some lightness to an otherwise serious film, and prevents itself from being preachy. 

It’s not just what the film does that makes it great, it’s also what it doesn’t. The moral of the story is not derived from a speech, and the film never tells, it only shows. The moral of the film is derived from the actions of the characters, from the real world, and it’s objective nature. It is clear to the audiences what the film is about because it mirrors our world and subjects as serious as these don’t need to beat around to bush in order to find a solution. The film avoids catering itself to the postmodern culture and tries to say something clear, precise, and concrete. For these and many more reasons, The Treasure of Sierra Madre is a treasure indeed. 

Our Favorite Films: "Lost in Translation"

by Arturo Virzi

The idea that the setting is or should be used as a character is relative. Most people do not remember where some of their favorite films take place, unless the setting is their home town or the place they currently live in. There are, though, a few exceptions. Films that transcend by placing the viewer in a world, and not a situation. 

Almost no film uses the personification of a setting better than Sofia Coppola’s sophomore film, Lost In Translation. Japan comes to life in the film, not just as a culture but as a vibrant personality, perceived entirely from a foreign point of view. It’s one of the few films that I can think of that truly captures the essence of being culture shocked. 

When travelling, we find ourselves stuck in a moment, where the past somehow slowly slips away from us while we make space in our cultural paradigm for the new wonders we encounter. 

Lost in Translation could have easily been an offensive slapstick against Japanese culture, but Coppola treats it with respect and admiration. 

Subtlety, and indirectness are the best qualities of the films. The characters never vocalize their struggle or their feelings for Japan or each other, but the audience manages to “get” it. If what they say about film, about how exposition is everything, then Lost In Translation is an incredible accomplishment by managing to say so much with so little. 

Japan is a strange world to both of our protagonists, and they are both “lost” in every way imaginable. So when they find comfort in each others company, their connection becomes a haven. Lost in Translation is a true love story about two lost souls serving as leverage for each other in their incredibly cumbersome lives, mirrored by Japans loud, jam-packed, pseudo-nonsensical environment. 

Francoise Truffaut (I’m paraphrasing) once said that a films plot shouldn’t derive from a synopsis. The plot is created by the characters themselves. It should be a natural conflict based around the characters interests. Coppola manages to do just that with Lost In Translation, where there is no obvious driving force behind the narrative. The film is 100% character driven, but not by their desires, unlike most films, but by emotion. The film avoids the cheap tricks, like will-they-won’t-they sexual tension, or the classic fictional archetypes. It possesses one of the most rare qualities found in films today: honesty. 

During some of the films best moments, the characters let go of themselves and just have fun. They invite us to get lost with them in the wondrous world of Japan. 

Most script doctors will tell you this is “no-no” in a any given situation, unless it built up to a situational climax. But the climax is far from situational. During the final moments, Bob races after Charlotte before she leaves the country. But instead of ending with a long a passionate kiss, the way most simulative Romantic Comedies end, the characters linger on a hug, something they both desperately needed. Bob follows the hug with a small kiss, and then whispers an inaudible secret in Charlotte’s ear. It don’t think it really matters what he said or what he didn’t. Speculations about this range from “Charlotte is pregnant” to “I will always love you”. This is the scene where audiences throw their hats into the ring and attempt to decipher the riddle. What he said to her doesn’t matter, what matters is how much it meant, and by this point in the film, the audience is very well aware of the fact that it meant a lot. 

Japan is a beauty, and anyone who has seen the film can tell you that the images we receive are so emotionally resonant, that an artificial driving force, like a conventional plot, would have turned this little gem of a film into a synthetic product. So if you’ve seen Lost in Translation, go see it again. If you haven’t been exposed to it yet, then follow this advice and loose yourself together with Bob and Charlotte. If you’re as lucky as I am, you might find yourself by the end and I promise; you won’t regret it.

Critique&Analysis: "A Serious Man" - Absurdist Philosophy

by Arturo Virzi 

Absurdism Philosophy was created by Kierkegard and extended by Camus. This is an example of how it can be applied to the film, A Serious Man, written and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen.

The story about the dentist that Gopnik receives from the second rabbi has no moral, purpose, or conclusion. The story is inherently absurd and neither the rabbi or the dentist have any problem with that. Both of their lives just move on and only Gopnik reaches desperation in search for an answer. Gopnik is not an idiot, quite the contrary actually, he is a brilliant mathematician, and can figure out all of the “hows” and “whats” but cannot comprehend the “whys”. This mirrors itself in the story of the cat, where according to Gopnik, “the cat doesn’t matter, it is just a model to display the physics”. Big mistake, the cat is all that matters, the physics are already there and can be discovered but the meaning of the cat is what Gopnik cannot understand, unlike his morally corrupt student who encourages him to “embrace the mystery”, similar to the way both the dentist and the rabbi embraced the mystery behind the marking on the teeth of a stranger. Larry Gopnik is unable to give meaning, he wants to find meaning the same way we find physics in the real world.

Albert Camus states that life in inherently meaningless, and that we ourselves must give it meaning. There are three ways of doing so: 1) to find god in our life and pretend our meaning is somehow connected to a divine entity. We accept the fact that our world is meaningless because everything will make sense in the afterlife. 2) to reject the absurdity of the real world and try to give meaning ourselves “look at the parking lot”. 3) to accept absurdity, and to embrace it. To see things as they are and not look for much else.

Larry Gopnik’s community seems to be at ease with the world. It’s Larry who can’t seem to do either one of these. He cannot embrace the mystery, he cannot see the beauty in the parking lot, and he somehow expects to hear all the answers from an old rabbi. It’s not just lack of humor he lacks, it’s lack of creativity as well. He doesn’t want to create, only discovery, process, and resolve. Larry can’t stray away from his logic, both his greatest asset and his own demise, and he cannot see the beauty in the chaos.

“What does it all mean” and “God is trying to tell me something” are questions that will not lead him anywhere, especially if he keeps asking other people for the answer instead of making an answer himself. Larry Gopnik embraces the mystery at the end of the film, and tragedy immediately strikes. We can only get the sense that Larry is going to try to connect these unrelated events again with no conclusion.

The Coen Brothers have not just aesthetically modernized the Book of Job, they’ve modernized the substance as well. Larry Gopnik never gets his answer, and he never sees god. It’s the silence of god that drives him mad because everyone else around him seems so sure of it. But when he asks for a message all he gets is silence, almost as if a divine truth has been denied to him. “I’m not a bad man”, he cried because he doesn’t understand “why” god would shun him away. The believes of his community are in conflict with his own, because he cannot embrace the absurd, everything needs meaning. And because Larry Gopnik cannot give meaning he will never find it.

In a way, his brother is just the same. The Mentaculous is a book about probability, mathematical equations and nothing else. And yet, just like Larry, he cannot find sense in things like human interactions. When Larry’s brother cries to him “You’ve got a wife, and kids, i’ve got nothing” Larry can sympathize because he doesn’t know why he got those things, and he didn’t bother to ask until he started loosing them. When we get the things we want, things make sense to us, but when we don’t we wonder “why”. Larry’s brother tried to find the “why” in logic, and Larry is heading down a very similar path.

We wonder “why” the Coen Brothers would have their character endure such a travesty when they’re just doing it ‘cause’.

A Serious Man is a film about the search for meaning, and in that search we find no meaning at all. The Coen brothers were playing god, rolling the dice with Larry Gopnik’s fate.

Food For Thought: Absolute Truth vs. Individual Interpretation

by Arturo Virzi 

There are two theories of communication regarding meaning. Is the true meaning of an authors work inside the authors head? or is the meaning endless because the knowledge regarding any work of art is endless.

In other words: do you believe art has absolute truth or do you believe the meaning of art reveals itself through individual interpretations?

A perfect example for this debate is Inception. Do you think that Nolan knows if the top fell or kept spinning? Or do you think he wanted us to debate the film endlessly. And if Nolan knows the answer to these question, does it even matter. Shouldn’t art speak for itself even when it doesn’t hand us the answer in a silver platter.

Similar to Blade Runner as well since there are two different versions of the film. Ridley Scott has stated numerous times that Deckard is a Replicant, while the screenwriter says he isn’t. Is he? Isn’t he? And does it matter?

Since everything is a sing of a sing, and the qualities of meaning are all metaphysical, the closes things we’ve got to it (meaning) is language. We watch incredibly ambiguous and vague films at the art house cinema down our street and immediately associate them with “hidden meanings”. We might be convinced of our interpretation, and might not even see it as such. But what if we meet someone close to the author of said work and he said we were wrong. Would we? Does the person closer to the source have a higher authority than we do when it comes to judging his work? Does a creator ever emancipate himself from his work, or do they remain linked.

The closer you are to the author, the close you are to the real meaning. Or does the work speaks for itself, and the true meaning lies in the interpretation of the audience.

Absolute Truth vs. Individual Interpretation.

Our Favorite Films: "400 Blows"

by Arturo Virzi

The 400 Blows is a magnificent masterpiece by the critic-turned-director Françoise Truffaut, not just because of its historical importance and artistic value, but because of its emotional resonance with the audience. The film follows a young boy by the name of Antoine Doinel, who is heading for a life of crime in the streets of Paris. This unwanted child is nothing but a mere product of his own parents disinterest in him, and by the time we first see him, the harm has already been done. It was one of the first times in cinema that the center of gravity lays on a young boy, while the adults seem to act unsympathetic and relentless. Doinel is not only sympathetic, but can also be described as an epitome of the coming-of-age genre anti-hero, al’a Holden Caulfield. From forging letters, to skipping school, lying to his parents and stealing a typewriter, we witness his downfall not as a sequence of tragic events, but as mere childish angst and anger. Francoise Truffaut pays tribute to his hero, Alfred Hitchcock, not by name, but by style. He is obviously influenced by American films as much as French, and he chooses to shoot the film with a realistic documentary style, but employed with elaborate track shots, and conventional wide angle shots, that show Paris in a beautiful nostalgic light. But one of the films defining characteristics is that it does not offer trite nostalgia, or clichéd plotting. Instead we get an extremely honest, sympathetic, and wholly heartbreaking observation of youth gone astray. Together with Breathless, The 400 Blows was one of the first films of the film phenomenon known as French New Wave, and still proves itself to be a timeless seminal work.

                The misunderstood Doinel has a whole mystery of his own. The film has certain levity to it; nothing is brought up with too much attention other than the famous, and synonymous final shot. The shot has Doinel running away from the observation center and reaching the ocean, only to turn back again and face the audience. This is the first time he sees the ocean. The ambiguous scene has been interpreted by many. Some say Doinel is Truffaut’s alter-ego, and he simply comes clean at the end, by washing his feet at the end of the film, as a symbol to the film he just made about himself, and about his melancholic childhood. The scene is powerful and extremely emotional. The fact that the film has such an emotional resonance even today is a testament to its greatness. It has no cheap melodramatic formulas, and its hard to describe the plot because one could say it doesn’t really have one. The premise is clear, but the plot isn’t derived out of someone’s imagination, the plot results in the conflict between the characters, similar to the way it works in real life. The tension between Doinel and his parents, the troubles of Doinel at school, these aren’t simple paradigms the film uses to move on a story, but more like a playground it decides to use for its players to expand. The film has one particular shot, where Doinel stands inside a police vehicle with three hookers and a criminal, and he is being driven away from home. As he looks through the bars outside into the streets of Paris, we get the sense Doinel has been nothing but a victim of his own fate as a product of his environment. That sad nostalgic shot of Paris left me speechless, thanks not only to Jean-Pierre Leaud singular performance, but to Jean Constantin, the composer.

                Not all is sad and gloom in Doinels life though. We take a peek at the positive things such as his good friendship, and his love for the writer Balzac. We also see self-referential glimpses of Truffaunt love of film, and he sneaks into the movie theater with his friend when he’s supposed to be at school. In fact, one of the rare “happy moments” in the film is about Doinel going together with his family to the cinema and watching a film. If the film is as autobiographical as its author says it is, film might have saved Truffaut from a life of crime. I wish I could say more about the film, but the truth is that it has to been seen by everyone. I cannot sum up in this short article the great impact a film like this has on the soul.