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Joni Mitchell, having personally gone through the hippie movement of the '60s, expressed her gratification in full with the album Blue. "Carey" is about a hippie community in a Greek island in Crete, and even Paris pales in comparison with "California." Yet Mitchell gives a clue about her loss of a child as well. Being "dirt poor," she had to give her child away for adoption.

Women's living condition was the dark side of the '60s counterculture. With the supposed liberation, women gained sexual freedom at their own expense. As long as they were not regarded as equal beings by men, women still had to pay the price for the mishaps in a relationship, abortion being an obvious case. Mrs. Robinson, the middle-aged woman holding cigarettes and stretching her legs in stockings, is an archetype of a femme fatale. She is, indeed, "the most desirable of all my [Benjamin's] parents' friends" -- and perhaps of ours too. She is smart, resolute, self-conscious, honest about her desires, and owns up to her mistakes too. Mrs. Robinson is a liberated woman of the '60s, mediating between her two roles as a respectable mother and an attractive sexual partner -- the latter, though, not in the capacity of wife.

In The Graduate, the protagonist Benjamin had the pleasure of exploring his life choices by the exact virtue of being a man. Having already had an affair with Mrs. Robinson, Benjamin now devote to Elaine, Mrs. Robinson's daughter, his passion. Now Elaine, a lady-like girl, goes to Berkeley for college. Adamant about her love for Benjamin, she endures his careless mistakes. Like her mother, Elaine rebels against traditional womanhood without completely breaking the constraints, but they nevertheless both fell victims to a reckless man's hunting for beauty, innocence, charms, submission, etc.

What was Mrs. Robinson like when she was young, and who would Elaine become when she grows older? What lays under the sweet disguise of swimming pools, folk music and decadent youth is the exploitation of brilliant women across generation by a witty wasted young man.

While presenting the audience with spectacular sceneries, La La Land instills American ideology in them. Enclosing a cliché chick flick with the form of musical, La La Land, just like its predecessor Whiplash, is essentially about the director Chazelle's perception of the making of an artist.

According to what Chazelle has implies in La La Land, if you want to become an artist in modern America, you have to 1. be talented; 2. chase your dreams; 3. wait to be discovered by discerning art people; 4. enjoy your success as a bourgeois, now that you got everything you wanted. During this process you will be lonely much of the time. Few people in your life would you get along with. They all talk about parties, world politics and business, the things you do not quite care. Art is the only thing you are passionate about. In La La Land, neon lights always surround the leads. Their art, their dream and their love are elevated and glorified through the whole film. Even the whole universe serves as the background for this love. As their lives are filled with philistines, we witness two artist wannabes against the world.

What Chazelle has understood as the making of an artist is fundamentally a clumsy fusion of the myth of great artists and the age-long American dream. In the former talent always triumphs, though the artists are never properly appreciated by their contemporaries. Consider the cases of van Gogh, who cut his whole ear off, and Gauguin, who, according to Maugham, left home for an island to draw inspiration. In the latter hard work is always rewarded well. Chazelle uncritically absorbs the two ways of making an artist, ignoring all logistical loopholes. After all, life and arts are among the few things that could not be made successful simply through hard work.

Convinced by the concept of American dream, Chazelle is an American patriot at heart. He sets his film in Los Angeles, and he alludes to the distinct American classics -- jazz, musicals, and Rebel Without a Cause. As well as elevating the two young artists, Chazelle is also elevating these American cultural icons he loves. The problem is the film implies a problematic understanding of high art, pop culture and sociopolitical context. By making fun of vulgar people, Chazelle categorically dismisses any value of pop hits. But jazz was a treasure for suffering African American people. Musicals appealed to a wide range of audience for its hedonistic qualities. Rebel Without a Cause is a hymn of discontented youths who struggle to find larger significance for their mundane lives. None of these seem to qualify as the kind of high art Chazelle emulates in this film, and Chazelle, a Harvard graduate, fails to understand the campy nature of James Dean's performance that makes Rebel Without a Cause a cult classic of all time. In the end, La La Land is just another film about self-absorbed art people set in Los Angeles. The more it strives for a status of classic, the more it reveals its propagandist nature.

Singin' in the Rain achieved only moderate success after its initial release. Though it was the tenth highest-grossing film of the year in the U.S., it did not show up in any "10 Best Pictures of the Year" list, and did not win any Academy Award. It achieved its current legendary success not through its box office or reviews, but through later critics that occupied university classrooms who acclaimed it as the "best Hollywood musical of all time." But while classics were often memorized along with their derivatives and influences, Singin' in the Rain, despite paid tribute by numerous later directors, was followed by the demise of classical era of musicals in Hollywood. Singin' in the Rain became not only the apogee of American musicals, but also one of the last great American musicals.

This embarrassing status was, of course, due partially to the development of American film industry. The 60s' witnessed the rise of the New Hollywood, in which the types of the films produced and the production of films differed distinctly from its classical counterparts. But the early 50s' was also a time period shadowed by the Hays Code and the blacklist, which jointly limited the space for artistic expression. If we trace farther, in the 50s' and the 20s', following the upshot of World Wars, the sphere of influence of the old Europe whittled down, while the U.S. became increasingly vocal in shaping world order. Even the center of the arts shifted from Paris to New York, due partially to the CIA, the secret sponsor of Jackson Pollock, the great new American artist.

In this context, the enduring success of Singin' in the Rain should be examined critically. Like lots of musical pictures, Singin' in the Rain was acclaimed for its spectacular score and visual effect, but its plots are far from flawless. For example, the role of Lina Lamont can represent every star fallen into oblivion in talkies era, but her fall, despite her beauty and acting skills, was justified by emphasizing her hubris. Don is just another male actor that makes far more money than his female coworkers and is adored by literally everyone surrounding him. Kathy makes her way up to the top through, well, her great singing skills and a male actor's favor. This is just the same old Hollywood that has been predominated by gender inequality, where men always have a place and can even determine (under a benign disguise) the fate of women.

Kathy, at first sight untamable, was eventually incorporated into Hollywood. Singin' in the Rain markets the splendor of Hollywood by appearing as honest as it could be, which did leave a great impression on audience with its kaleidoscopic scenes and heartfelt revelation of the true feelings. As the Tiller Girls, lamented by Jewish intellectuals as the quintessential mass culture, proudly presented in Singin' in the Rain, it was inevitable American mass culture achieved its status in postwar world. In 1956, Jackson Pollock committed suicide; in the 60s', Andy Warhol became another great American artist. Hail American pop culture, for all its greatness and the rot within.

At first glance, Rebel Without a Cause would look like the pioneer of all coming-of-age films or even teen dramas. We have seen enough white teens moaning about their unfulfilled dreams, their unreturned love interests, etc. etc. So what exactly distinguishes Rebel Without a Cause from its later counterparts, except for it being the first in line? I would say the answer lies in its juxtaposition of mundanity of grotesque school life of self-important teens and immortality of bigger-than-life romanticist fantasies.

A lot of scenes in Rebel Without a Cause are too reminiscent of our school life that has been inevitably embellished by bullying, gossiping and preaching. This, and the very attempt to rebel, can all be summarized by an excellent mark from Jim's father: "You'll look back 10 years later and think of how stupid you are." The point is, Rebel Without a Cause is quite candid about our stupid past -- unlike its ill-advised descendants who tried to glorify school years via, well, another series of preaching. Rather, Rebel Without a Cause makes our dumb past appear dumber by adding campy quality to it. The performance by James Dean is, for sure, a perfect example (even designated by Susan Sontag as the quintessential camp!). Dean looks so ridiculous in his suits, especially when he affects a touch of adolescent angst. The score, more suitably placed in a thriller, reminds you of the film's non-realist approach as well.

Rebel Without a Cause incorporates romanticist imaginations into ordinary school life. Out of astronomy classes grows a magnificent panorama of the whole universe. Getting rid of formal dress code a nude James Dean puts on a white shirt and a red jacket. Not even to mention the car race -- what can be more romantic than a ride to win over a girl's heart, in which you almost lose your life? It is also cute than Jim has to remedy the ugly situation.

The teens are such an ignored group that not only their lives have not been given enough attention, but written stories about them also often fall to the category of trying-too-hard/over-sentimental storytelling. Rebel Without a Cause is astonishingly honest about school life, yet the film counterbalances its banality with an immortal romanticist elevation.

A mentor-like figure once told me: "A good comedy is no less difficult to write than a good tragedy." I was bewildered back then, but now I face a commensurable dilemma as to figure out why It Happened One Night hit me so hard. After all, we 21st-century audience have long been used to the rich-girl-falls-in-love-with-poor -guy cliché, and I doubt whether they could really live happily thereafter.

It Happened One Night is about an odyssey of Ellen. She embarks on a quite unusual journey: from the big old house of her dad's to the equivalent of her lover. En route, she has to combat poverty, starvation and prying eyes. Stripped of wealth that she lived upon, the rich heiress has a taste of the common people lives. She has has to share a cabin with a man, to wait in line to use an outdoor bathroom and to go across a river only to enjoy a sweet night on the grass. She is as if misplaced into a realist cartoon by discontented artists delineating desperate women and children. She disguises as a siren to stop a passer-by. In the end, Ellen learns not only to eat row carrots out of hunger but also what a good man looks like. She presumes she wants to spend her life with her fellow traveler, instead of her father or her ex-lover who now join forces to welcome her home. Like Odysseus, there is a fight awaits Ellen after she arrives home.

In Ford's fairy tale, capitalists are actually benevolent human beings, and a cynical journalist and a spoiled heiress can bridge the gap between social status. In this sense, It Happened One Night is love letter to liberal democracy. Mystically, the common audience enjoy it as well. With Peter's telegram not revealed to the general public, we the audience become the few people that have the privilege to peek at their adventure and love story. What is an odyssey for Ellen is a getaway for Peter and for us, in which we make funny jokes about social inequality and bourgeoisie value. It is, after all, a very healing journey.

It still amazes me how a film could show a superficial understanding of foreign culture and immigration experience even when it was largely filmed in another country. The overuse of melodramatic score and mediocre cinematography at once appear cringey; it may also indicate that the director/writer lacks a good story to tell. Awkwafina, with her charisma, almost singlehandedly saved the film. The rest of it is filled with superficiality and insincerity, which even add up to kitsch. The story is not a complicated one, yet the script avoids almost every possible deep discussion by blaming the conflicts to "the differences between the East and the West." Linguistic inequality plays a role, but there are hardly ever any substantial dialogues between the family members, which renders the "Eastern family" idea advocated in the movie ridiculous. There are, in reality, so many things to talk, or at least to hint, about: Cultural Revolution the grandmother certainly went through, the Tiananmen Square protests that the parents possibly experienced, first-gen immigrant experience, identity confusion of Billi, just to name a few. Wasting lots of scenes on suburban China's "rituals," the film did a terrible job depicting both Asia and Asian-Americans. It then leads to the portrayal of the family members, which also fails. I can quickly name that the grandmother are the mother are authoritarian, the cousin introverted, etc. The Japanese woman is like an ornament to the Chinese family. What strikes me is the absence of male figures in Billi's family, which made me wonder how Billi still managed to become a wonderful person she is of today given her mother hardly listened. Even Billi, the only humane figure in the whole film (and she was raised in the US, which implies something), seems to be lacking internal struggle and social connection. As a whole, this family is atomized even when people gather together.

My disappointment with Metropolis stems from its failure to understand European history. Aside from a few campy performance, Metropolis qualifies as one of the all-time best sci-fi movies. However, a movie produced in interwar Germany, Metropolis lacks proper understanding of Belle Epoque and the Great War. The first ten minutes of Metropolis is sheer brilliance: it reminds us of everything of industrialization, modernity, class conflict, etc. A tour de force, the few clips are reminiscent of Futurist Manifesto (1909). The problem is, just as the Futurist Marinetti ignores the incompatibility between old regime and new empires, it seems to me that Lang disregards the tensions between empires, races and ethnicities. In Lang's vision, class conflict is the only true problem in a highly industrialized society. Later in the film, he promptly turns away from socialism/communism by showing his contempt for working-class men, depicting them as irrational rioters. It also discomforts me that even after the tormenting WWI, Lang still approaches common people as a group of faceless men without individual needs and shared humanity. I am not necessarily implying that Lang approves of fascism, but his lack of historical perspective mildly reduces my pleasure in watching this film.

The essence of Brokeback Mountain is wholly grasped within the teasing meme "gay cowboy movie." Brokeback Mountain is about the clashes between two worlds. At the first sight, Brokeback Mountain seems so western with its sceneries, costumes designs, music scores, vernaculars, etc. Tensions instantly surface when Ennis and Jack, two masculine high school dropouts from Wyoming, reveal their feelings towards each other. Brokeback Mountain stands out as a continuation of the western tradition and a bold deconstruction of every element western movies once possessed. Ennis, whose life path has been completed deviated for the sake of Jack, could have lived a happy life with his wife, daughters and hourly jobs. In fact, he attaches to his philosophy of life all the time, silently supporting his own family with his hard work. While Ennis never doubts the idea of nuclear family, Jack has envisioned a bold solution: to move to a ranch and live together henceforth. Hence it can be derived that neither of them actually has imagined another way of living, i.e., to move to Los Angeles, New York City, Chicago, etc., and to start a brand new life. After all, the mountains and country life are what they grow up getting used to and what define their core identities as distinct individuals.

The tragedy of Brokeback Mountain lies in the inherent incompatibility between the old world and the new world. In this sense, Ennis and Jack face the dilemma a Norwegian woman Nora used to face. In the closing of A Doll House, Nora is such a woken woman who seeks a new livelihood in a male-dominated world. But Ennis and Jack lack both revolutionary qualities and fearless spirit of Nora. They even do not possess a proper term to define their sexuality. Without higher education and contact with the outer world, Ennis and Jack become two wandering ghosts unsure about their fates.

Strangely, no one knows better about the feeling of dis-belonging than the director Ang Lee himself, an East Asian migrant squeezing himself into Hollywood. Eventually, Brokeback Mountain is a love letter to all the "outsiders" struggling to fit into either world. The question posed in this movie is about human condition that lingers and will never fade away.

While this is a biographical sports film, I cannot help but interpret its messages in the broader historical and political context of Russia. Some of the plots and cinematography are a little bit cliché, but the film remains charismatic for introducing audiences domestic and abroad to an exciting sport. Still, my greatest joy watching it derives from treating the film as either an explicit propaganda or an implicit political allegory. On the surface, the film accuses perpetrating bureaucracy under Brezhnev's reign. The film is at least partially honest in revealing the complexity of politics of the ice hockey leagues in the Soviet Union. That said, more merits of the film lie in its depiction of Tarasov, the ice hockey coach. The parallel between Tarasov and Stalin is clear even before a character in this film calls the behaviors of Tarasov "Stalinist." It immediately becomes evident that Tarasov is the true protagonist of the film, while the ice hockey league, subjected to Tarasov, embodies the Soviet Union under the leadership of Stalin. In this film, Tarasov is both respected and feared, but no one dares to overthrow him; instead, the ice hockey league eventually treats Tarasov as a fatherly figure, to whom they attribute their victory. This film also tells a lot about the foreign policy and mentality of Soviet Union. Team Canada seems invincible but is later made known as "not different than others." The childhood bullfight scene, seemingly disconnected and redundant at first, is recycled later to reflect the classic Soviet mind, that Russia was once weak but had huge potential, and that it had to find its own way to navigate through the persecution of hegemonic western countries.

For a documentary, this film is too anthropological; for an anthropological research, this film is too unprofessional. While the title "Born Into Brothels" might imply some sort of realistic and multifaceted approach to the subject matter, the audience is actually presented with recorded evidence of a fieldwork conducted concurrently with a social experiment. The idea that teaching children photography could benefit their future endeavors actually disturbs me. I can find cameras distributed to the children as serving hardly any more purpose than satisfying the own voyeuristic curiosity and material return of self-fashioned artists from western societies. The documentary photographers probably do not possess any profound understanding of photography as a medium or of living condition and social mobility of the women and children in their camera eye. That is how I find this film not merely problematic, but also superficial and hypocritical. In terms of cinematography, this film can even fit better into the orientalist canon. The score of the film consists entirely of Indian folk music, which sets an uplifting and exotic tone for the whole film. The depiction of brothels is anything but insightful. I am not quite sure whether the audience really wants to examine Indian brothels through visions of children. The editing is also disappointing. Half of the time it appears to be fragmented, and another half of the time the film directors enjoy taking the children to go sightseeing around the city. Some metaphors, i.e., caged animals as children themselves, are so crude that lack any deeper meditation. In short, this film could make a great survey, but unfortunately the film directors seem to lack true empathy with the Third World.

While Cameron, the director, felt "a love story interspersed with the human loss would be essential to convey the emotional impact of the disaster," both the romance and the disaster failed. I loved the first part of the film, but my interest quickly lost after the second part began. The power of the first part of the film lies in its exploration of social class -- my heart melted upon seeing how Jack attempts to behave like an upperclassman and how Rose enjoys Jack's company and his surrounding. I agree this kind of story sounds cliché and the encounter between Rose and Jack is unlikely, but this love story realizes the fairy tale that everyone of us deeply relates and dreams to become true. However, the second part of the film immediately feels fake, kitsch, superficial and classist. It is lengthy and even melodramatic. For one thing, the most dangerous moment happens probably where Cal goes after Rose and Jack. The film abstains from any realistic and profound depiction of deplorable living condition in light of a disaster. Focusing on Rose, her family and her love interests, the film stages other common people as mere backdrop of the love story of an aristocrat. In the end, it becomes evident that Rose would survive and live a happy life anyway, which promptly overshadows the very existence and sacrifice of Jack.

The cinematography of this film is, of course, masterful. I was instantly impressed by the cranes above and the couple sauntering -- what a parallel. The director is quite good at repetition. Mark took Veronica to the same spot; only that Veronica is dismissive of his behavior. Cranes also appeared later in the film, but Boris is not with Veronica anymore. I was most impressed by the parting scene. I almost sobbed when I saw Veronica pushed across the crowd. Veronica found the figure of Boris among the troops, but Boris was never able to see Veronica for the last time. I liked how the emphasis of the camera laid on Veronica -- the men are sent to the front, while the women, the old, and the children were left in despair. The scene where Veronica climbed the stairs insanely is reminiscent of Hitchcock's filming skills. However, I do not think the storytelling is perfect. I was left bewildered concerning Veronica's unhappy marriage and Boris' death. I got the point that Veronica is the heroine here, but the director has not done a great job narrating Boris' death. Also, I got the impression that Veronica was forced by Mark to marry him, but my sympathy with her shattered once I heard her shaming her female coworkers. Still, a great one!

I really liked this film -- I laughed all the way! I liked the first short story the best, which is about a nerdy student Shurik and a tough criminal Fedya who work together in a building site. They are like Tom and Jerry: Tom is he stronger one, but he is constantly made fun of by his seemingly weaker enemy. In this film, I remembered the two chasing each other in the shabby residential building, and Fedya's whole body burned dark or poured with flour. Once I think about it, it almost feels like an irritating racial allusion. But of course most of political significance of this film derives from its unusual subject. It reminds us of how the Soviet society is spoiled by "alcoholics and hooligans" and how these people actually participated in the socialist construction of new metropolises.