Sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down, sometimes you break even

Film: Hard Eight
Rating: 4 1/2 out of 5

It's hard to make a gambling movie work. Many have tried, few have been successful. Often, they simply abandon creative hope, and instead of trying to present something fresh or thoughtful they give us testosterone-fueled inanities about as a clever as a NASCAR race. In his brilliant debut feature, writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson does what the wise creators of certain sports films have done: correlate themes of the game with themes in the lives of the players.

The movie opens with an unkempt young man sitting outside of a diner, looking a little like a bum. An older gentleman approaches and offers to buy him a coffee. After a rough start, they get to talking. The bum is John (John C. Reilly), in need of nothing more than $6,000 for his mother's funeral. The older man is Sydney (Philip Baker Hall), an aged and coolly assertive gambler with the moral fortitude of a saint. Out of the kindness of his heart, Sydney offers to take John to Las Vegas and show him how to make a living. He teaches the increasingly impressionable John some of his tricks.

Here, in one of his little-known earlier roles, the always-lovable Reilly is nothing short of wonderful. He pulls together his best boyish qualities to become a perfect guide into the universe of the movie, but is able to switch on the desperation when later scenes call for it.

The film then jumps ahead two years; John, living the pretty-good life, has become Sydney's loyal protege. He makes choices in life the way he makes choices in the casinos: not without Sydney's advice. But to his mentor's disapproval he has also begun associating with a shady crowd, namely the disreputable Jimmy (Samuel L. Jackson, in a minor performance but one overlooked among his best).

It should be noted, this part of the movie creates an effect I have rarely felt watching a film: intimidation. Anderson makes us feel like we've woken up in a strange place. That we aren't just leisurely observing these people, they are towering over us. Here we have set of characters that seem ten feet tall; and yet, there are hints that a whole world of them exists beyond our view.

But, like a gambler, the film isn't satisfied. It changes slowly, morphing into other tones, carried by the vibrant dialogue. In a few gritty, well-timed scenes, Sydney takes a despondent cocktail waitress named Clementine (Gwyneth Paltrow) under his wing. He ambiguously sets her up with John and the two hit it off in a scene or two of charismatic innocence. Soon, however, the three find themselves over their heads in a sticky situation, leading to seemingly low-key sequences with surprising intensity.

And of course, we must not forget the star. As the paternal and stoic Sydney, Philip Baker Hall (perhaps America's greatest TV show guest actor) finds the role that he has always approached with his character acting, but never been able to fully explore. I can think of no other actor that could play Sydney the same way. Others would feel the need to actually show their emotion, without understanding that the emotion is all in the dialogue. Sydney is an extraordinarily compassionate individual, but he always speaks in the same terse, professional voice. He never smiles and he never frowns. When he talks, he means business. When he thinks, he means business. And his business seems to be the business of helping people he considers worthy of his help. He makes us ask ourselves what we're supposed to: "Who is this guy?"

Before he hit the big time, the plot-visionary P. T. Anderson gave us this humbly sizzling drama, proving that in life, as in gambling, sometimes you're up and sometimes you're down. And sometimes you break even.

The filmmakers take the road less traveled

Film: Road to Perdition
Rating: 3 out of 5

After the incredible success of his high-octane tragicomedy American Beauty, director Sam Mendes dialed things down for this soggy Prohibition-era drama based on Max Allen Collins' graphic novel. Making good use of Conrad L. Hall's impeccable cinematography, Mendes recreates a gloomy 1931 Chicago to tell this melancholy and dialogue-minimal tale of mob violence and fatherhood.

Tom Hanks stars as Michael Sullivan, a stony but remorseful hitman and father of two living in a lesser Illinois town. Sullivan's boss/father figure is the aged John Rooney (Paul Newman), whose small empire is threatened by the heirship of his jealous and unstable biological son Connor (Daniel Craig). One night, Sullivan's solemn twelve-year-old son Michael, Jr. (Tyler Hoechlin) follows his father to find out exactly what he does for kind old Mr. Rooney. When the boy witnesses Connor's thoughtless murder of an employee, the elder Rooney has no choice but to put the next hit out on the Sullivan family. Sullivan's wife (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and younger son are killed, and he is forced to take Michael, Jr., on the run. When they have no luck in Chicago, they flee even further, trailed by a clever photographer/assassin (Jude Law).

Road to Perdition is a visual marvel, with praiseworthy sets and flawless cinematography, accompanied by a score from composer extraordinaire Thomas Newman. In an amplified version of the Mendes tradition, it alternates between scenes of heavy dialogue (not as colorful here as usual) and drawn out sequences of symbolism. Unlike his other films, however, this one cannot keep its themes straight. The predominant one is that of father-son relationships, supported not only by the two Michaels whose bond strengthens over the course of the movie, but by Rooney and Michael, Sr., and Connor. Sullivan's relationship with Rooney seems to walk the line between professional and filial. Rooney certainly fills the role of patriarch to the Sullivans, but he also represents the devil that Michael, Sr., sold his soul to so his family could live comfortably. It's no wonder Connor grew up to be the crazy one, when his father's favorite son isn't even his real son.

Voiceover narration and such, however, point our focus towards Sullivan himself. Not necessarily how he acts as a father and quasi-son, but his nature as a person. (The particular balance between stern and compassionate would be a daunting task for even the most skilled actor, and the great Tom Hanks just barely manages to hold it together without slipping up.) The prompt is essentially, "Is Sullivan good or bad?" We aren't given a specific answer, but the film has an unmistakable slant towards the former option. Yes, he's a mob enforcer, but we are hardly given a chance to consider that he might enjoy his work. By the end, the point becomes moot.

Yet all of these ideas get bogged down further by conversations and plot points that would suggest the primary theme is something more strictly mob-related. It's hard to say what, exactly; the movie flops between themes like it's controlled by a possessed spatula. There are still scenes that are entertaining, even excellent unto themselves (most of the Jude Law scenes, for example), but they don't add up to much. Dare I say it, style over substance wins again.

Bloody hell

Film: Gangs of New York

Rating: 4 out of 5

Just when everyone thought the era of Scorsese crime films had passed, he made an effort to revive some of their qualities in this lengthy and shockingly bloody historical drama. The movie transports us back to a quiet, snowy Manhattan morning in 1846 that explodes into violence. The warring groups: the "Dead Rabbits," Irish Catholic immigrants led by the revered Priest Vallon (Liam Neeson), and the "Natives," native-born New Yorkers led by the ferocious and mustachioed Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis). The gruesome battle ends with Bill killing Priest, bringing victory to the Natives. Priest's young son Amsterdam is sent to an orphange out of town.

Sixteen years later, Amsterdam (Leonardo DiCaprio) returns to New York, where the recent announcement of the Emancipation Proclamation has instilled a new rumble of anger. Bill the Butcher has become de facto king of the Five Points district, allying with the corrupt regime of politician "Boss" Tweed (Jim Broadbent) and exerting his influence over the entire region. He organizes illegal boxing matches, collects tax from citizens on a whim, and channels new immigrants directly into the army. Amsterdam, unrecognizable to them, encounters many of his father's former loyalists now under Bill's control, such as Constable Mulraney (John C. Reilly) and the surly Walter McGinn (Brendan Gleeson). He also meets a promiscuous pickpocket (Cameron Diaz), and they share a somewhat plot-deviating romance. His primary motive, however, remains unchanged. Amsterdam wriggles his way into Bill's inner circle, biding his time for the moment to exact his revenge.

Though the whole 170-minute film is consistently a technical triumph, the first hour is the most well-executed part. There is an engrossing and unique alacrity, and (deliberately, I would guess) a fairly medieval feel. The effect, unfortunately, wears off around the time Amsterdam saves Bill from an assassination attempt. The film's middle section submits to hackneyed costume drama features, yet is revitalized briefly with Amsterdam's own assassination attempt. Despite this scene's marvelous zeal, it gives way to a bit of a forced third act.

Nevertheless, no matter how many individual moments take a dip in charm, Day-Lewis is unfaltering in his portrayal of the brutal antagonist. Bill the Butcher is frightening on two levels; most of his subjects are only aware of the first, his vast amount of power. But the foundation for our understanding of him is his vicious battlefield demeanor. He proves to be not a complete savage, though, having much respect for his deceased opponent Priest Vallon, but he is motivated by his patriotism and disgust. Bill isn't the ultimate villian necessarily, but he's experienced, and skilled enough with a knife to be memorably fearsome. And, an added bonus, the UK-born Day-Lewis shows off his ability to turn an American accent into something ostentatiously wonderful.

Leo DiCaprio, on the other hand, is not as successful as his co-star. In most ways it is a fine performance from a greatly talented actor, but the ultimate effect is a cluster of emotion hidden behind an unfriendly beard and a somewhat intermittent Irish accent. He evokes some of the same feelings for his role in Scorsese's The Departed to much more avail.

As the final shot goes to great lengths to explain, the film's central theme is an ambitious exposition of the true origins of political New York. It wasn't all cozy chatting and document drafting, it happened in the streets with unspeakable violence. Thinking of the movie this way gives it a strong purpose, and makes it worth watching simply for its historical value. Beyond this, although it is largely a well-made film, it is relatively forgettable.

You will never be left with more satisfying confusion and motivating comprehension

Film: Adaptation.
Rating: 5 out of 5

As if their 1999 masterpiece Being John Malkovich wasn't enough, director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman reunited for this equally brilliant (perhaps even superior in craftsmanship) 2002 follow-up. It's not a sequel, but it could be said that Being John Malkovich is a sort of a chapter, or an overture to Adaptation. Some of the best films leave me speechless, and some set my cognitive firewood so ablaze that I could talk about them for hours. This movie is both. There is this extraordinary duality to all of its aspects. Fact and fiction become one. It transcends qualities in "normal" films, and it lovingly embraces them. It is about nature, and about civilization. It side-splitting comedy, and an immensely touching drama. It is surely one of the most creative films of our time, and miraculously it maintains a straightforward narrative.

The daring ingenuity of this movie is established before the plot even begins. Nicolas Cage plays screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, whose original script Being John Malkovich is currently in production. Charlie is tragically pathetic. (Reportedly, this is a fairly fictionalized version of the real Kaufman.) Shy hardly begins to cover it; he is downright terrified of what other people think. Through his narration, he wallows in his loneliness and self-pity, lamenting his tubby physique, receding hairline, and inability to adapt Susan Orlean's book The Orchid Thief into a script. Meanwhile, he has to put up with his sweetly optimistic twin brother Donald (also Cage), who is the polar opposite of Charlie: artistically irresponsible, socially confident, and prone to using the floor as furniture. Donald is clearly enamored with his brother, but only manages to intensify Charlie's frustrations with the inexplicable success of his formulaic thriller script.

In recent yeras, Nicolas Cage has been trying aggressively to build a reputation as a badass in simply terrible action/dramas. He seems to thrive on the notoreity. But do not discredit Cage based on these unfortunate productions. He is a very gifted actor, and plays a loser better than anyone else. This is one of the boldest and best performances in film. He easily brings the oblivious perk to Donald, and as Charlie delivers the perfect amount of self-loathing and despair. Very few actors could play both halves of the profoundly moving scene that Charlie and Donald share towards the end of the film. Not many actors could even play one.

As Charlie struggles to adapt The Orchid Thief we see flashbacks to three years before, to the passion-starved Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep, captivating as always) and her blossoming relationship with the titular orchid hunter John Laroche (Oscar-winner Chris Cooper). By far (and knowingly) and film's most colorfully intriguing character, Laroche is arrogantly intelligent, and lacking in the two front teeth department. He may look like a hick, but this is a disguise he wears to punish himself for his past. In actuality, he is sensitive and introverted. The depth Cooper brings to this already deeply-written character is marvelous.

But what really sets Adaptation. apart from other movies is its development. It isn't just the characters that experience it, the whole film subtly changes as they do. The tone and style modify themselves, or adapt, to Charlie's different writing processes and views on life. His attempts to write the Orchid Thief script are woven into the story until we realize just how cleverly imaginative the structure is. The intrinsic natures of the characters collide and are reborn out of each others' ashes. They exert an influence over each other that they can't quite discern from so near, like how an insect pollinates a flower and unknowingly keeps the world alive. This film isn't just made by a writer and a director and a crew. It is crafted and shaped by its characters.

A movie like this can be described many ways. It is about fear. It is about self-pity. It is about redemption. It is about inspiration. It is about passion. It is about disappointment. It is about survival. It is about flowers. By the end, we realize that these are all the same thing. Adaptation. is hands down the best film of the 2000s.

A '70s "Evil Dead" from Japan

Film: Hausu (House)
Rating: 3 1/2 out of 5

To put it simply, House is a baffling film. In style more so than content. Essentially, it is the 1970s entertainment industry represented in one movie. Is it good? Yes and no. It depends on how you watch it. Some sequences are hard to follow, and many of its elements are blatantly unrealistic, but it is far from unentertaining.

Predominantly featuring non-actors, the film stars Kimiko Ikegami as a teenage Japanese girl named Gorgeous. At the end of the school year, she has plans to spend the summer with her widowed father, a film composer returning from Italy. When he shows up with a new bride, however, Gorgeous decides to spend the summer at her aunt's secluded house with her six aptly named classmates: Prof, Melody, Kung Fu, Mac, Sweet, and Fantasy. The film quickly sheds the purposely phony tone of the first act and becomes a bizarre, somewhat preposterous horror story as the girls begin disappearing one by one.

There is undeniable vision here; there must be to create something so odd. House is one of those rare, bold films that fully assumes a genre to parody it. It cuts corners with themes, but not with plot. The problem is, it experiences so many genres that it becomes hard to follow. It borrows ideals from horror, fantasy, satire, exploitation films, even TV action series, until it becomes utterly unclassifiable. Perhaps some of the confusion is due to the fact that it is reportedly rife with allusions to Japanese pop culture that might fly over the heads of American viewers. Director Nobuhiko Obayashi was, after all, previously known for his work in TV advertisements.

Still, there's a lot that House does right. It is consistent enough in the necessary ways to keep us into it. The camp is amusing in a muddled sort of way. The deliberately cheap visual effects are perplexingly fascinating. And of course, any film deserves points if it can make me grin stupidly in terror.

A most righteously popular thriller

Film: The Silence of the Lambs
Rating: 5 out of 5

WOW. Here's a film with values that are mainstream by all means, but add up to something far from expected or ineffective. A masterful concoction of horror, suspense, and crime drama, it is surely one of the most renowned and laudable movies of the 1990s, if not of all time. Director Jonathan Demme implements a visual trick of having actors look straight into the camera, as if it were the person they are speaking to, and it creates an inclusive atmosphere that heightens the already distrubing force of the iniquitous killers it portrays.

The setup is legendary: Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster), a modestly ambitious FBI trainee, engages in a chilling game of wits with the incarcerated Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins), a celebrated pscyhiatrist turned cannlibalistic serial killer. Cunning is an understatement. Lecter is shrewd and intuitive almost to the point of omniscient. He knows the answer to every question before he even asks. And to the same degree, he is terrfyingly creepy, both in his sophistication and his coldblooded homicidal nature. But Clarice persists, visting Lecter in his maximum security cell inbetween investigations to get insight on a case. The Bureau is in hot pursuit of a serial killer (Ted Levine), nicknamed Buffalo Bill for skinning his victims.

The films delivers two loosely fused but equally intense qualities: mystery and fear. There is mystery in Lecter's petrifying conversational ascendancy, and there is fear in how we never know what could be happening just out of frame. The result is stunningly suspenseful and expertly controlled. Such a feat is especially impressive with a movie dependent on every element to be meticulously orchestrated. Despite his deceptively short on-screen time, Anthony Hopkins' marvelously indomitable performance boosts the film to levels of originality and power that would have been otherwise unattainable. He attends to each detail of Lecter, making it a rich and full character. Even his physique is scary.

But no matter how strong Hopkins may be, the film as a whole is held together by Jodie Foster's lead. It is an unfaltering and compelling performance, and a deep and intrepid character. There are themes of sexism permeating every scene. Clarice is patronized by all of the film's males, particularly her colleagues, except Dr. Lecter. It isolates the two and makes their scenes all the more colorful. There seems to be an odd tone of respect between them, although it could be more of Lecter's mind games. His motives are often unexplained, and by the end of the film we learn to question the explanations that are given. Though not the more enigmatic or skillfully played, the character most focused upon is the resilient and heroic Clarice, never accompanied by a reliable partner but ever determined.

Ted Levine, too, deserves a great deal of praise for playing the depraved "Buffalo Bill." Not only for the sheer viscidity he brings but for just daring to take the part. He must have understood that he would be forever remembered as "the weirdo from Silence of the Lambs."

I regret only being able to see this film twenty years after its release, and only after having seen its influence in largely inferior productions. Nearly all of its aspects have been repeated and reused, to decidedly less effect. It is only together that they create something so remarkable.

He's not an animal

Film: The Elephant Man
Rating: 3 out of 5

Titled after the nickname of its subject, The Elephant Man tells the shockingly true story of Joseph Merrick (here called John), a severely deformed man who grew up as a carnival attraction in 19th century London. It's hard to describe exactly what this film is. I suppose mostly it is a biography, but it is presented in a dark, theatrical style that would suggest otherwise. And even as bizarre and melodramatic as it is, there are moments that seem to hint at the twisted comedy route it could take. One would expect a director like David Lynch to be more indulgent in the visual mystery, but he instead recreates a 1940s feel to illustrate this petrifying and touching, but in many ways petty story.

At the age of 21, Merrick (Oscar nominee John Hurt) is rescued from his abusive guardian by the brilliant and compassionate surgeon Frederick Treves (Anthony Hopkins). The scientific community is stunned by Merrick's warped figure, in particular his abnormally gigantic skull, and many onlookers are nothing short of terrified. At first believing him to be effectively brainless, the hospital's board of directors wishes to expel him due to his incurability, but the determined Dr. Treves is able to uncover Merrick's gentle and refined mental state. As he befriends high-class members of London society like the actress Madge Kendal (Anne Bancroft), he is continually pestered and exploited by brutes like his former owner.

On a technical level, The Elephant Man justifies its great critical and commercial success. The makeup and performances are impeccable, the score is properly nightmarish, and the whole thing is shot in gorgeous black-and-white cinematography (booyah). But beyond that, nothing else resonates. There are moments later in the film that require us to still consider Merrick a monster, but the film as a whole does everything in its power to show us his humanity. All of the emotions come to an equilibrium, and we aren't left with much to take away.

So what conclusions can we draw? I fear the only one might be that this film amounts to just another lucrative exploitation of Mr. Merrick's agony, however unintentionally. No matter how affected we may be by his misfortune, the movie has no lessons to teach us from it.

All he ever wanted was his rug back

Film: The Big Lebowski
Rating: 5 out of 5

Joel and Ethan Coen are, beyond a doubt, national treasures. Their films have a decidedly bizarre and artistic bent, but are far from entirely cryptic and without commercial appeal. Their 1998 "bowling" film The Big Lebowski niftily blends elements of comedy and noir, making it perhaps their most idiosyncratic. Is it all about bowling? No. Is it a bowling film? Sure. The actual bowling is just a home base for the characters, but it represents their nature. If bowling was edible, the saying "you are what you eat" would be true for them. Plus, it gives the Coens a chance to come up with visually luscious sets and droll ceremonial sequences.

Jeff Bridges stars as Jeffrey Lebowski, a slacker if there ever was one. His wardrobe consists of shorts, white t-shirts, a couple robes, and some flip flops. He spends his nights at the lanes, and his days, well, probably at the lanes. He is unemployed, and prefers to be called The Dude. He takes turns waxing paranoid with his best friend Walter Sobchak (John Goodman), a Vietnam veteran who applies war strategies to every situation. Always tagging along is the timid, absent-minded Donny (Steve Buscemi).

Returning home one night, The Dude is assaulted by two goons who, ahem, soil his rug, before realizing that they have the wrong Jeff Lebowski. Prompted by Walter, The Dude visits the other Lebowski (David Huddleston), a crippled millionaire, hoping to receive compensation for the rug. The "Big" Lebowski proclaims The Dude a deadbeat and sends him home. The next day, however, The Dude is called back to be a courier when Lebowski's trophy wife Bunny (Tara Reid) is kidnapped. A simple ransom exchange is ruined by Walter's scheming, and turns into a classic mystery of nihilists, avant-garde artists, and political allusions.

Besides bowling, the film's foundation is the friendship between The Dude and Walter. They are relics of the '60s and '70s. They're still the hippie and the veteran, left-wing and right-wing to some degree, but they get along. They even learn a few things from each other. The Dude is generally laid back like no other, but finds himself in a wildly stressful situation, and knowing how to be worried is what pulls him through. Walter, on the other hand, is rigid and temperamental, but has learned how to control his aggression to small bursts (even if it means pulling a gun on other bowlers for cheating). There seems to be only so much calmness between the two of them at any moment. Walter is, however, loyal to a fault. It is his attempts to recompense for past commotion that cause more commotion.

There is a narration by a nameless character played by Sam Elliot that gives the film a storytelling feel. The Coens, with what is in some ways one of their very best screenplays, create a story as plausibly unbelievable as possible. It's the kind of story that, had it happened to someone you know, you would discuss excitedly with mutual friends. At times it seems to get too ridiculous, but there is a passivity punctuating each scene that keeps it grounded in reality.

As a film, however, the purpose for The Big Lebowski is simply the sheer fun of cinema, for maker and viewer alike. In a Tarantino sort of way, it is both an homage to and an exceedingly original break from ordinary movies. It is colorful in both dialogue and set design, and features seamless ensemble performances, from Bridges and Goodman as the leads to Philip Seymour Hoffman as the sycophantic Brandt. Look at the scene with John Turturro as bowler Jesus Quintana. It doesn't move the plot forward, but it is one of the movie's most memorable moments. The Big Lebowski doesn't try to size up to any other films, but it is nonetheless as memorable.

"I'm gonna buy you a diamond so big, it's gonna make you puke."

Film: The Jerk
Rating: 4 1/2 out of 5

For me, the way The Jerk (1979) fits into the "stupid comedy" universe is like the pre-production and filming of Casablanca. No one thought it would be anything special, just another profit-minded Hollywood movie, but somehow everything came together perfectly and made a truly historic film. The Jerk may not be the masterpiece that Casablanca is, but within its own genre it is something significant.

"I was born a poor black child," reminisces Steve Martin, starring as the hapless Navin Johnson. The movie milks this premise for a few laughs, but not too many. Navin was left on the doorstep of a black Mississippi family, who raised him as their own. His age is unspecified (although his hair seems to turn gray before our eyes), but he is eventually told of his adoption. Upon finding his sense of rhythm shortly after, he is inspired to leave home and head out into the world. In spite of his own folly, he has many successful and amusing endeavors. He becomes a gas station attendant, a carnie (he'll guess "your age, your weight, or your sex"), and eventually a millionaire inventor. Along the way, he builds an unexpectedly charming romance with a sweet damsel named Marie (singer/actress Bernadette Peters).

It can't be denied, the film is mostly a Steve Martin audition tape. Its greatest achievement is cementing him as one of our most talented comics, as both an actor and a writer. And, as usual, he is great. His comedic timing is impeccable, and he creates a character that we can laugh at, but simultaneously be laughing with. Compared to the average comedy movie, it is a very consistent and believable performance. That is not to say, however, that Ms. Peters isn't wonderful herself. It is a character that would be slighted in another movie, but here is allowed to expand to fill her own potential.

The Jerk isn't a film that can be enjoyed if you feel the need to analyze the comedy behind each joke. You'll miss the laugh. Most of the jokes have no rhyme or reason, they serve no purpose other than to be a testament to Navin's naivety. It's all physical comedy and verbal gags. But that's perfectly okay when done right, as it is here. Sure, there are smarter comedies, but they won't make you laugh as much. Sometimes something is funny just because it's funny.

The bear whisperer

Film: Grizzly Man
Rating: 4 out of 5

The films of Werner Herzog are less like scripted works and more like inherent studies of people. Peculiar people, often social oddities of sorts, but given a very round representation in his films. Even his works of fiction feel unplanned, as if the events had really transpired and there just happened to be a camera turned on and pointed in the right direction. A majority of his 2005 documentary Grizzly Man he did not even film himself. He sifted through and pasted together clips from over 100 hours of footage taken by Timothy Treadwell, a self-proclaimed bear expert and activist who fit into Herzog's catalog of eccentrics as well as any ficitonal character.

I use "fit" in the past tense, because Treadwell was mauled and eaten by one of his furred friends in October of 2003, along with his bear-weary girlfriend Amie Huguenard. It is widely accepted that his death was his own fault for being unprepared (he refused to carry even non-lethal bear protection), but Treadwell's story is not one to be forgotten. Every year since 1990, he would spend several months at a time isolated in Southwest Alaska's Katmai National Park, living among the bears and averting conflict time after time. In the winter, he lived out of Malibu and would give presentaitons on bears to elementary classes free of charge. With his close friend Jewel Palovak, he founded the organization Grizzly People, dedicated to preserving grizzly bears. Though he was sociable enough, Treadwell believed Katmai was where he belonged, and he felt an emotional connection to the bears that he never felt towards another human being.

Grizzly Man in an exercise in careful and purposeful editing. Herzog and his team craft a captivating and humanly ambivalent portrayal of Treadwell by using his own tapes of himself. They are, of course, the most reliable source for understanding how he was out in the wilderness. To briefly describe his personality: self-confident, protective, sensitive, enduring, and (most surprisingly, to those who have read Nick Jans' sub-par biography The Grizzly Maze) very flamboyant. There are scenes of Treadwell weeping over what he considers maltreatment of the animals, and scenes of him lapsing into coarse rants about poachers and the park service. If Herzog ever puts a slant on a scene, he makes sure to slant the other way in another scene to even it out. Many of Treadwell's discourses about bear behavior can be viewed two ways: inspirational, or absurd. Either way, they are fascinating to watch.

Where the film gets awkward is in the intermingled scenes of Herzog interviewing people who knew Treadwell, from Willy Fulton, the bush pilot who discovered Tim and Amie's remains, to Jewel Palovak, Treadwell's charismatic but anguished Grizzly People co-founder. Maybe it was just the shock of actually seeing and hearing Herzog (as far as anonymity goes, he's always sort of been the Unabomber of filmmaking), but it seems that these interviews start off interesting and wind down to mere interruptions to Treadwell's videos. There is one, however, that is unexpectedly and effectively odd: the coroner's report, which proves more powerful than just a reenactment.

The film is scored with archetypal nature video acoustic guitars, but here they serve a more important purpose than usual. They help explain Treadwell the way Herzog seems to view him: as a child. A kid in a 40-year-old's body, in a perpetual state of wild imagination, seeing the world as a huge and beautiful place for him to explore. The innocence is venerable, but his ignorance of the harsh laws of nature is what led to the death of both himself and Amie Huguenard.

Speaking of Amie, she is never seen in any of Treadwell's footage. Over his thirteen years in Alaska, he actually brought many female companions with him, but they were rarely seen on camera. More often, he is seen accompanied by a family of mischievous red foxes. That's how Treadwell was; happiest to just play with the animals.