My Favorite Movie Scenes: #8

#8

As promised, it’s time to talk about the dreaded dream sequence. It’s almost as cliched as the “split personality” trope or the infamous “hero was actually the killer.” That said, all of these tropes can be done right. Major spoilers as always.

Clearly I’m not opposed to dream sequences, as I did review ten different versions of A Christmas Carol last year. I think the Christmas Past scenes in A Christmas Carol 1951 work particularly well, even though they are technically flashbacks as well. The distant finale in Raising Arizona closes a goofy and hilarious film on a surprisingly poignant note, while the short nightmare scenes of Angel Heart amp up the creepy atmosphere even more. I’ll give credit where credit is due that a lot of the best dream sequences actually come from The Sopranos, because they actually feel like dreams, but seeing as how that’s TV, it’s a tale for a different time. For my #8 slot, I’ve chosen the lengthy dream sequence at the end of Spike Lee’s 25th Hour.

After a day of mentally and physically preparing himself for his seven-year prison sentence, Monty Brogan (Edward Norton) gets picked up by his father James (Brian Cox). Monty has been beaten up at his request by Frank (Barry Pepper) so he’ll look tough in prison, and the beating may have gone a little overboard. On the way to prison, James offers his son freedom. He says that at Monty’s word, he’ll drive west and let his son start a new life.

James imagines having his first drink in two years with Monty before he says goodbye for good. Monty starts a new life with a new identity, and eventually he even reunites with his girlfriend Naturelle (Rosario Dawson) and starts a family. We know it’s a fantasy sequence, but as it goes on and on, we start to forget, perhaps willingly. We want Monty to run away and start this new life, living the American dream in a small town somewhere. Monty is a criminal, yes (drug dealer), but we still want the best for him.

Color is used wonderfully in 25th Hour, but unlike the multicolored night life of New York, the colors here are incredibly muted. The images subtly get brighter and more blurred as they go on, feeling more and more distant and out of Monty’s reach.

It’s a standard happy ending, but as Monty’s future family grows old together, we cut back to the car. They’re still on the way to prison. We knew it was a dream, but it still hurts to be pulled out of it. When we are, we realize Monty isn’t awake. I suppose it’s up for interpretation, but I’ve always felt the dream sequence is his father’s and not his. James narrates the whole thing, and it’s sort of a cliched Hollywood version of what he would want for his son. James hasn’t had the perfect life he dreams up for his son, and he would clearly give everything for his son to be happy, even if it means breaking the law.

Then the film ends on a close-up of Monty’s horribly bruised face, the car shaking him around a bit.

Is this meant to call to mind a child being driven somewhere by this father? Is Monty finally at peace? Or did Frank attack him too hard and he’s dead? Spike Lee dares not tell us everything, just ending the movie here. It’s a brilliant way to finish an incredibly rule-breaking movie.

Tomorrow, I’m going to take a look at the funniest movie scene of all time.

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My Favorite Movie Scenes: #9

#9

As we continue the list of my all-time favorite movie scenes, let’s look at heroes and villains. I’m not talking about climactic shootouts or sword duels to the death, because while those can be good, they’re expected. I’m talking about our hero and our villain meeting and subtly duking it out in a game of wits. The characters may act polite, but we know underneath it all, they’re both sizing each other up. Often, it hides under the facade of a civilized or even friendly conversation like in Heat‘s famous diner scene, Insomnia‘s boat scene, and even Eyes Wide Shut‘s incredibly awkward billiards room scene. The scene in Chinatown where Jake meets Noah Cross for the first time is a masterclass in subtlety, with Noah maintaining dominance by serving fish with the eyes still on and intentionally mispronouncing Jake’s last name. Of course, there’s the famous meeting of minds between The Man in Black and Vizzini in The Princess Bride, but my personal favorite is the poker game from The Sting.

The poker scene is just one small piece in an enormous con, but if you simply watched this one scene, you wouldn’t know that. It’s like a short film until itself, and the dialogue is almost unnecessary. We get everything we need to know just by seeing the the cards and the faces of Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman), Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw), and Lonnegan’s henchman Floyd (Charles Dierkop).

Lonnegan has clearly thought through his cheating plans, as he not only deals himself a great hand (four nines), but also deals his opponent a great hand to mislead him (four threes). He knows Gondorff will likely try to cheat him, so he has Floyd communicate with him through subtle glances and smiles. It’s interesting to note that Floyd looks like the most stereotypical, Looney Tunes-style image of a gangster ever created, which knowing the brilliance of this movie, is likely intentional.

Lonnegan and Gondorff are enormously confident in their hands and raise the pot considerably. Lonnegan smugly lays down his four nines, sure of his victory. Then comes the kicker, as Gondorff lays four Jacks on the table. We the audience didn’t see him switch his hand. Floyd behind him didn’t see him switch his hand. In fact, it’s never made clear how exactly he did switch his hand, but he’s duped Lonnegan in the exact same way Lonnegan was hoping to dupe him. Lonnegan’s smug grin quickly changes to a combination of shock and anger at Floyd, who is clearly just as shocked.

Gondorff has engineered a perfect scenario against his opponent, which is pointed out by Lonnegan (prviately) in what is probably the film’s greatest line, “What was I supposed to do, call him for cheating better than me, in front of the others?” Sure, Doyle Lonnegan went in knowing what the other man might do, but Gondorff knew exactly what the other man would do. If he didn’t know from the get-go, he definitely did the second he was dealt the four threes.

Even though the stakes are monetary and not life-or-death, the tension is incredibly thick. There’s no music, but only the sound of the train on which they are riding. We think that as an audience we’re seeing everything of the game, but just like Lonnegan and Floyd, we too have been duped. Gondorff is just that good.

Tomorrow, we’ll be taking a look at the dreaded dream sequence. It can be done wrong, and it’s usually done wrong, but in this instance it creates one of the most poignant scenes in all of film.

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My Favorite Movie Scenes: #10

Over the course of the next two weeks, I’m going to be counting down my ten favorite movie scenes. These are not what I consider to be the biggest or most important scenes, because there are far too many of them to count, and you’ve probably read all of those lists anyway. These are simply the scenes that resonate the most with me, and since a lot of these have a major bearing on the plot, there will be spoilers. Let’s get started with…

#10

For the #10 slot, I want to look at a scene that displays powerful and relentless acting in its purest form. For lack of a better term, this is the “Oscar scene.” It can be a conversation between two people like Marlon Brando’s “I could have been a contender” speech from On the Waterfront or Brando’s conversation in the garden with Al Pacino in The Godfather. There’s the dual emotion of sadness and joy Robert Duvall displays in the final scene of The Apostle, and of course Susan Sarandon comforting Sean Penn before his execution in Dead Man Walking,  but few scenes in film history have the raw power of Ray Liotta’s breakdown in Goodfellas.

A lot of Goodfellas concerns Henry Hill’s obsession with his image of the mafia, and at the beginning, it’s everything he wanted. This is highlighted by the glistening 50’s and early 60’s pop songs that play in the early stages of the film, like Tony Bennett’s “Rags to Riches” and The Crystals “The He Kissed Me.” There is plenty of gradual disillusionment with the mob, but this scene represents a huge jump. We are now in 1980, and Henry’s classy and exciting view of the mafia has been shattered. Early in his gangster days, Henry stayed out all night partying with friends. Now, he’s getting up a 6:00 A.M and running errands, just like everybody else. Sure, his errands include criminal activities, but these have become banal and meaningless. He’s also gotten heavily into taking and selling drugs, so he’s about ready to fall apart. This is highlighted by many songs that come in and out of the scene, but Harry Nillson’s “Jump Into The Fire” is the most prominent, with its jolting guitar and crazed drums.

Watch Ray Liotta throughout the whole scene. There is not a single second where he is not looking up, fidgeting, or rubbing his face. He doesn’t take one second to breathe. This of course is amplified by Scorsese’s abrupt jump cuts and zoom-ins. We feel like we are in Henry’s position throughout the whole scene—shaken, crazed, and about to crash. Like Henry, our view of the mob as film goers has been shattered, and we have nothing left to glorify. When Henry does finally get arrested at the end of the day, there is almost a sense of relief.

Look at Liotta’s face there. Henry Hill is mad at himself, broken, but also a bit relieved. For the first time all day, he is not moving and can actually breathe. Heck, he was moving so fast that he didn’t realize the cops were surrounding his house until he started to back the car up. I have never seen an actor play paranoia so well and so convincingly. Fans and critics will often point to Joe Pesci’s performance and the “Funny how?” scene in particular, but in my book, Liotta’s acting in this scene can go toe-to-toe with anybody.

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