Fish Tank (A-...had I seen this in time, it would have factored into my year end awards)
Biutiful (C+)
The Illusionist (A-)
A Prophet (B+)
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (B+)
Restrepo (B+)
Another Year (A-)
I'm Still Here (C-)
For Colored Girls (B-)
True Grit (B)
Exit Through the Gift Shop (B)
Easy A (B-)
Toy Story 3 (B+)
Going the Distance (B-)
Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work (B-)
The Fighter (A-)
Rabbit Hole (B+)
Black Swan (A-)
The King's Speech (B-)
Blue Valentine (A)
127 Hours (B)
Fair Game (B-)
Animal Kingdom (A-)
Enter the Void (B)
Catfish (B+)
The Social Network (A)
It's Kind of a Funny Story (D-)
Dogtooth (A-)
The Town (B)
Never Let Me Go (A-)
Machete (C+)
Prodigal Sons (A-)
Inception (B)
The Kids Are All Right (B+...upgrade upon further analysis)
I Am Love (B+)
Winter's Bone (A)
Iron Man 2 (C+)
Mother and Child (B)
The Greatest (D+)
Date Night (C+)
Showing posts with label Reviews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reviews. Show all posts
Friday, March 11, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
2010 in film (yet again...)
Black Swan (dir. Darren Aronofsky)
This is a film that I loved, in spite of its flaws, which are legion. The film teeters dangerously on the line between high art and trash (and dips into the latter more than once). But I stopped to consider something. Were the world of New York ballet in this narrative to be replaced by the world of say...beauty pageants, the film would feel no less captivating, engrossing and thrilling. That is due to Darren Aronofsky. After three viewings, I'm quite certain now that Black Swan is not his best work, but it is definitely his showiest and most sure-handed. Natalie Portman gives her best performance to date as prima ballerina Nina Sayers who's as fragile and delicate as porcelain, making it almost certain that by last frame she will have cracked. Though I do find Natalie Portman rather spotty as an actress, in terms of consistency, this is still high praise. An aside: I don't quite follow this narrative that going into the Oscar race, Natalie Portman's inevitable(?) best actress win will be the culmination of a great career filled with landmark performances. But her turn here is one for the ages and should she win the Oscar, it'll be looked upon fondly and will be preferable by a wide margin to the past five or six best actress winners. And the fact that she's not even my favorite of the probable nominees tells me that this category is going to be the best its been in years (I've been a little worried, full disclosure). I was surprised by how controlled Black Swan was, both in terms of Portman's performance (which is actually more quiet, subdued and internal than one might expect) and the film itself, especially compared to Requiem for a Dream. Matthew Libatique deserves the Oscar for his cinematography, which deliciously captures the movement of the dancers in long, extended takes, rather than quick frenetic ones. I've never seen ballet shot this way in film and it serves the narrative beautifully. The other players do quite well also, despite this being essentially a one-woman show. Even though she's essentially playing a cartoon character, Barbara Hershey is magnificently creepy as Erica, Nina's overbearing mother and former ballerina in her own right. Many will remember Hershey for her scenes of stern, unsettling mothering ("Take off your shirt!"), but for my money, Erica is never scarier than when she's being kind and playful. "Look how pink. Pretty," Nina childishly coos when Erica sets a grapefruit and a poached egg (Requiem for a Dream shout out?) in front of her. Then, in what is for my money just about the creepiest moment of the film, they both drone "Pre-tty" and laugh at their inside joke like school girls. It's a small detail that tells you something's not quite right here. Winona Ryder plays fading ballerina Beth Macintyre in a delicious cameo that works best in small doses, which is what we're given for maximum potency. Vincent Cassell's smarmy Thomas Leroy, the ballet instructor gives off the perfectly needed air of that rare gentleman that is as gross as he is alluring, women aren't sure if they want to blow him or sue him for sexual harassment. Lastly, there's Mila Kunis as Lily, the rival ballerina who smokes cigarettes, eats cheeseburgers and moves imprecisely but sensually. This is not a deep turn, but it's an interesting one and Kunis proves a great foil for Portman. In many ways, it's the film's most interesting performance and while I wouldn't call it Oscar-worthy, I'm forced to defend it because of the flack she's getting for kicking up buzz. It's certainly more interesting than Helena Bonham Carter in The King's Speech, for instance. When Black Swan finally reaches its conclusion, there is minor ambiguity as well as an unexpected feeling of exhilaration. Love it or hate it, there's no denying that Aronofsky is one of the most important directors working in film today and this is, in many ways, a culminating achievement.
Grade: A-
Rabbit Hole (dir. John Cameron Mitchell)
Hardly mines new territory, but lively acted by nearly every member of the cast. Based on the Pulitzer prize winning play, director John Cameron Mitchell, who is usually showy, recedes and adapts superbly to the story about a couple's lingering grief in the months following the death of their young son. Nicole Kidman, one of the most fearless and misunderstood actresses working today, turns in yet another great performance. She plays Becca as alternately frosty, emotional, angry, dubious and yes, funny. I was surprised by the light touches of humanity and humor that pepper the narrative, serving not to distract from the central emotional conflict, but making the film considerably less heavy than one would expect. Aaron Eckhart, in a sadly overlooked performance, is better than he's ever been. There are moments here and there where you see certain scenes running away from him, particularly in a moment involving a video Becca has erased from Howie's (Eckart) iPhone. But Eckhart's performance is incredibly moving and lived-in. Dianne Wiest plays Nat, Becca's mother with soft familiarity that, like a mother's love, is not always helpful. She seems aplomb at playing women who can't help but say the absolute wrong thing sometimes. But when Nat is right, she's deeply profound and moving. Lastly, I'll talk of newcomer Miles Teller. He plays Jason, the seventeen-year-old driver whose car struck and killed Becca and Howie's son, with amazing subtlety and warmth. He sells the moments without overselling them. A scene where he quietly confesses to Becca that he may have been going too fast (one or two miles over the speed limit) is heartbreaking, but never maudlin thanks to the great interplay between Teller and Kidman. Rabbit Hole is not rewriting the book on cinema, but it's worth a watch and I'm glad to recommend it, since it seems to be having a hard time finding an audience.
Grade: B+
The Fighter (dir. David O. Russell)
In spite of the presence of Black Swan and The Social Networks (splendid films in their own right, certainly), one can't help but wonder if The Fighter is the true directorial achievement of the year. David O. Russell takes one of the oldest and most hackneyed cinematic genres ("The Boxing Movie") and imbues it with so much life, specificity and directorial flourish that's true to his style. The tale of boxer Mickey Ward (Mark Wahlberg) feels incredibly personal as the Scott Silver, Paul Tamasy and Eric Johnson's script wisely takes the focus off the sport and puts it onto the widely fascinating array of family members and other characters in Ward's life. A lot of ink has been given to supporting actor frontrunner Christian Bale, whose performance as Mickey's brother Dicky Ecklund is a site to behold. The weight loss (Christian Bale seriously needs to stop doing this to himself. I'm worried), the mouth ravaged by crack cocaine use and the other externalities are just part of what makes Bale so mesmerizing. In a way, it's a performance that works in tandem with Melissa Leo, who plays Alice, Mickey's mother. Mark Wahlberg fades into the background and is unusually understated, but Bale and Leo are adept at convincingly selling familial bond, with the unspoken baggage, the secrets and the shared history. Amy Adams is different than you've ever seen her as Mickey's girlfriend, Charlene, stretching beyond the sweet naivete she's already sold us on. It's a great showcase of her talents and I'm glad she didn't go the stereotypical route of playing villain to show that she's not all nice. One of the year's best cinematic moments is watching Charlene take on Mickey's brood of over-bearing, over-coiffed and under-toothed sisters, each one more horrifying than the last. The actors here all play like their role is fully fleshed out and realized. Every inch of this film, from its performers, its director, its wonderful script ("She's an MTV girl"), Hoyte van Hoytema's unshowy cinematography--they all seem to be working in perfect synergy with one another. I'm not sure if The Fighter is the best film of 2010, but it's certainly one of the most enjoyable.
Grade: A-
This is a film that I loved, in spite of its flaws, which are legion. The film teeters dangerously on the line between high art and trash (and dips into the latter more than once). But I stopped to consider something. Were the world of New York ballet in this narrative to be replaced by the world of say...beauty pageants, the film would feel no less captivating, engrossing and thrilling. That is due to Darren Aronofsky. After three viewings, I'm quite certain now that Black Swan is not his best work, but it is definitely his showiest and most sure-handed. Natalie Portman gives her best performance to date as prima ballerina Nina Sayers who's as fragile and delicate as porcelain, making it almost certain that by last frame she will have cracked. Though I do find Natalie Portman rather spotty as an actress, in terms of consistency, this is still high praise. An aside: I don't quite follow this narrative that going into the Oscar race, Natalie Portman's inevitable(?) best actress win will be the culmination of a great career filled with landmark performances. But her turn here is one for the ages and should she win the Oscar, it'll be looked upon fondly and will be preferable by a wide margin to the past five or six best actress winners. And the fact that she's not even my favorite of the probable nominees tells me that this category is going to be the best its been in years (I've been a little worried, full disclosure). I was surprised by how controlled Black Swan was, both in terms of Portman's performance (which is actually more quiet, subdued and internal than one might expect) and the film itself, especially compared to Requiem for a Dream. Matthew Libatique deserves the Oscar for his cinematography, which deliciously captures the movement of the dancers in long, extended takes, rather than quick frenetic ones. I've never seen ballet shot this way in film and it serves the narrative beautifully. The other players do quite well also, despite this being essentially a one-woman show. Even though she's essentially playing a cartoon character, Barbara Hershey is magnificently creepy as Erica, Nina's overbearing mother and former ballerina in her own right. Many will remember Hershey for her scenes of stern, unsettling mothering ("Take off your shirt!"), but for my money, Erica is never scarier than when she's being kind and playful. "Look how pink. Pretty," Nina childishly coos when Erica sets a grapefruit and a poached egg (Requiem for a Dream shout out?) in front of her. Then, in what is for my money just about the creepiest moment of the film, they both drone "Pre-tty" and laugh at their inside joke like school girls. It's a small detail that tells you something's not quite right here. Winona Ryder plays fading ballerina Beth Macintyre in a delicious cameo that works best in small doses, which is what we're given for maximum potency. Vincent Cassell's smarmy Thomas Leroy, the ballet instructor gives off the perfectly needed air of that rare gentleman that is as gross as he is alluring, women aren't sure if they want to blow him or sue him for sexual harassment. Lastly, there's Mila Kunis as Lily, the rival ballerina who smokes cigarettes, eats cheeseburgers and moves imprecisely but sensually. This is not a deep turn, but it's an interesting one and Kunis proves a great foil for Portman. In many ways, it's the film's most interesting performance and while I wouldn't call it Oscar-worthy, I'm forced to defend it because of the flack she's getting for kicking up buzz. It's certainly more interesting than Helena Bonham Carter in The King's Speech, for instance. When Black Swan finally reaches its conclusion, there is minor ambiguity as well as an unexpected feeling of exhilaration. Love it or hate it, there's no denying that Aronofsky is one of the most important directors working in film today and this is, in many ways, a culminating achievement.
Grade: A-
Rabbit Hole (dir. John Cameron Mitchell)
Hardly mines new territory, but lively acted by nearly every member of the cast. Based on the Pulitzer prize winning play, director John Cameron Mitchell, who is usually showy, recedes and adapts superbly to the story about a couple's lingering grief in the months following the death of their young son. Nicole Kidman, one of the most fearless and misunderstood actresses working today, turns in yet another great performance. She plays Becca as alternately frosty, emotional, angry, dubious and yes, funny. I was surprised by the light touches of humanity and humor that pepper the narrative, serving not to distract from the central emotional conflict, but making the film considerably less heavy than one would expect. Aaron Eckhart, in a sadly overlooked performance, is better than he's ever been. There are moments here and there where you see certain scenes running away from him, particularly in a moment involving a video Becca has erased from Howie's (Eckart) iPhone. But Eckhart's performance is incredibly moving and lived-in. Dianne Wiest plays Nat, Becca's mother with soft familiarity that, like a mother's love, is not always helpful. She seems aplomb at playing women who can't help but say the absolute wrong thing sometimes. But when Nat is right, she's deeply profound and moving. Lastly, I'll talk of newcomer Miles Teller. He plays Jason, the seventeen-year-old driver whose car struck and killed Becca and Howie's son, with amazing subtlety and warmth. He sells the moments without overselling them. A scene where he quietly confesses to Becca that he may have been going too fast (one or two miles over the speed limit) is heartbreaking, but never maudlin thanks to the great interplay between Teller and Kidman. Rabbit Hole is not rewriting the book on cinema, but it's worth a watch and I'm glad to recommend it, since it seems to be having a hard time finding an audience.
Grade: B+
The Fighter (dir. David O. Russell)
In spite of the presence of Black Swan and The Social Networks (splendid films in their own right, certainly), one can't help but wonder if The Fighter is the true directorial achievement of the year. David O. Russell takes one of the oldest and most hackneyed cinematic genres ("The Boxing Movie") and imbues it with so much life, specificity and directorial flourish that's true to his style. The tale of boxer Mickey Ward (Mark Wahlberg) feels incredibly personal as the Scott Silver, Paul Tamasy and Eric Johnson's script wisely takes the focus off the sport and puts it onto the widely fascinating array of family members and other characters in Ward's life. A lot of ink has been given to supporting actor frontrunner Christian Bale, whose performance as Mickey's brother Dicky Ecklund is a site to behold. The weight loss (Christian Bale seriously needs to stop doing this to himself. I'm worried), the mouth ravaged by crack cocaine use and the other externalities are just part of what makes Bale so mesmerizing. In a way, it's a performance that works in tandem with Melissa Leo, who plays Alice, Mickey's mother. Mark Wahlberg fades into the background and is unusually understated, but Bale and Leo are adept at convincingly selling familial bond, with the unspoken baggage, the secrets and the shared history. Amy Adams is different than you've ever seen her as Mickey's girlfriend, Charlene, stretching beyond the sweet naivete she's already sold us on. It's a great showcase of her talents and I'm glad she didn't go the stereotypical route of playing villain to show that she's not all nice. One of the year's best cinematic moments is watching Charlene take on Mickey's brood of over-bearing, over-coiffed and under-toothed sisters, each one more horrifying than the last. The actors here all play like their role is fully fleshed out and realized. Every inch of this film, from its performers, its director, its wonderful script ("She's an MTV girl"), Hoyte van Hoytema's unshowy cinematography--they all seem to be working in perfect synergy with one another. I'm not sure if The Fighter is the best film of 2010, but it's certainly one of the most enjoyable.
Grade: A-
Friday, January 21, 2011
2010 in Film (cont'd again)
127 Hours (dir. Danny Boyle)
I certainly enjoyed this film more than Boyle's previous effort, Slumdog Millionaire, which I liked with significant reservation. As awful as this is going to sound, Boyle's use of pop music, split-screen and exuberant visuals is completely apropos to Aron Ralston's story and serves to enrich it thematically, whereas the same devices in Slumdog Millionaire, while also visually exciting, hinted at a certain white male myopia and fundamental misunderstanding of "the other." Am I saying that Danny Boyle should only make films about white males? Hardly. Both films have their virtues and neither one is perfect. But the message here (and both are clear "message" movies) seems less diluted, more to the point and more earnest than Slumdog Millionaire. That is due, in large part to James Franco's lived-in and naturalistic performance, which is at the center of what is essentially a one-man show, give or take Amber Tamblyn. It is Franco's charisma and understanding of the character that sustains a narrative that takes place largely in a chasm where Ralston was forced to amputate his own arm. The film has receded slightly in my memory since its initial viewing, as I accurately expected it would, but it's a solid piece of work that I hope moviewatchers won't shy away from. Being called a pussy by James Franco and his grandmother may persuade some people.
Grade: B
Blue Valentine (dir. Derek Cianfrance)
I initially pegged my initial effusive reaction to this film on the two central performances, fully prepared to talk about how Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams are doing some industrial strength heavy lifting to elevate the film. But a second viewing gave me more insight into Derek Cianfrance's sure and steady hand, both as a writer and director. Even with splendid performances (and they are splendid), the same material and structural conceit of examining the birth and death of a marriage through interwoven flashbacks could have easily reeked of well-intentioned, unremarkable Mumblecore fare--the kind you see on tucked far away in the Netflix watch-instantly section. Flashback structure is tricky and requires a certain control over storytelling that few filmmakers can boast. In films that value plot and situation over character, it involves making sure the audience finds out things at exactly the right time, so the flashbacks don't become redundant and the present-day narrative doesn't feel like a rehashing. In character studies such as this one, it involves controlling emotional reaction, getting the most potency out of each moment. Hats off to writer-director Derek Cianfrance and editors Jim Helton and Ron Patane (this is one of the best edited films of the year) on all counts. Watching Cianfrance in interviews, it's clear to see why the film manages to be so distinguishable. With his speech pattern, mannerisms, his appearance right down to the receding hairline, one can't help but wonder if Cianfrance is Dean (Gosling). Is there a Cindy (Williams)? Almost certainly. The film is filled with so many moments of specific, honest and unexpected characterization. A scene from the earlier part of Dean and Cindy's courtship, where he offers his unique perspective on couple's having their own song feels cut and paste from real-life, it rings so true. Having Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams live together during the course of the film rewarded in spades. There is a sense of deep familiarity in the scenes that take place in the latter part of their relationship, proving that those who know us best can hurt us the most because they know where to cut. Ryan Gosling gives what might be his best performance to date. It's a difficult task as Dean doesn't change so much from when he first meets Cindy to when he's married to her for five years. What has changed is external (beyond his balding head and his growing paunch). He wants what he has always wanted--to be with Cindy. A present reality may not support that and Gosling is heartbreaking in his ability to portray a man whose world and his wife seem to be passing him by a little more each day. Williams's role is more prickly and she has the hard task of being the defacto villain in the death of their marriage. Her behavior throughout the film seems consistently selfish, due in large part to the way Cianfrance frames her in the story. But Williams's impresses largely, also eking out one her most impressive, deeply felt turns. Cindy says things which ought to be true, but which she doesn't believe, which is almost the flipside of Dean who says what he thinks and believes it, true or not. The implosion of the relationship is inevitable. Watch how Williams's Cindy tells Dean that he's not living up to his potential. It's another brutally honest moment that features some of William's best and quietest acting in the film. For she says it with a twinge of both guilt and realization. Guilt at expressing the sentiment and realization that if you are with someone who isn't living up to his potential, then you can't possibly be living up to yours. Blue Valentine succeeds so valiantly because nothing in the crafting, its lensing, its acting, even its use of music, feels arbitrary or generic. Seek it out, if you must. It's worth a long drive to a small theater, should it come to that.
Grade: A
The King's Speech (dir. Tom Hooper)
I go back and forth on this one. Is The King's Speech a bad film? Hardly. But it forces me to ask what's worse--a terrible film or a competently made one that's so bland, one can hardly recommend it? Director Tom Hooper recedes admirably into the background, allowing the actors to do the heavy lifting and never getting showy. That's a plus. There are few moments in this cinematic account of King George V(Colin Firth, your likely winner of the Best Actor Oscar come February) and his attempts to become an orator, despite his crippling stammer that makes one go "What? What were the filmmakers thinking?" And yet, in a story that's supposed to be all about personal triumph and overcoming adversity, I felt nothing. And I actually did go into this with expectations of something more than meets the eye, given the acclaim it was receiving. I'll explain further. In 2007, I was hesitant to watch Michael Clayton, not being wowed whatsoever by what I was seeing in the trailer. It looked like an easy miss and I was annoyed by the awards attention it was racking up even before I finally saw it (the combination of Clooney, Pollack, Wilkinson and the goddess herself, Tilda Swinton couldn't keep me away too long). I sat down on a quiet afternoon in a small Atlanta theater in December of '07 and was blown away by how the film seemingly recognized the limitations and expectations of its genre and compellingly subverted and sidestepped said expectations, almost at every turn. So, I figured maybe The King's Speech would surprise in a similar fashion, rising above and beyond the required seven "pieces of flair" necessary to make competent period awards bait. But alas, I was greeted with a film that I can only describe as well-made and certainly high-minded, but (it bears repeating) bland. The performances here are fine. Colin Firth's turn is technically accomplished enough to convincingly sell a stammer, though he hardly layers the personal history in ways that aren't painfully obvious. A fine performance, but not an excellent one. Geoffrey Rush is considerably more tolerable here than usual and his performance is what grounds the narrative, providing some desperately needed softness and humanity to sand the film's sharp, obvious edges. While I will concede that it's nice to see Helena Bonham Carter unencumbered by dark wigs, elaborate Gaga-esque frocks and pounds of cakey Gothic makeup, to call this performance great and awards worthy is more than a little generous. If this is a great Helena Bonham Carter performance, then what the hell was she doing in Fight Club, A Room with a View and Howards End? I made sure to include the last two films because I'm constantly hearing that Carter is being rewarded for finally doing something within the Academy's comfort zone (The Wings of the Dove, her sole nomination to date pending Tuesday's nomination announcement, notwithstanding). But A Room with a View and Howards End are utterly within the Academy's sweet spot and, despite loving both of those movies...nothing for Carter. Peculiar. And while we're on the topic of James Ivory, it's movies like The King's Speech that make me wish that Ivory was still working at the top of his form. When he did costume and period, it felt (mostly) purposeful, resonant and deeply engrossing, rather than (I'm sorry to say) besides the point. With all this being said, I fully buy into the narrative that The King's Speech could very well give The Social Network a run for its money in the best picture race. I saw the film at Arclight Hollywood on a Thursday morning while having my car serviced. The audience, besides myself, was composed of about two and a half dozen sexagenarians and one gay couple in their fifties (a pretty accurate Academy cross-section). They ate The King's Speech up with a spoon. So, there you have it. There's one of these every year, it would seem. A movie that's being called "great" that makes me wonder what it is I'm not seeing.
Grade: B- (I don't even feel passionately enough about it to grade it any lower)
I certainly enjoyed this film more than Boyle's previous effort, Slumdog Millionaire, which I liked with significant reservation. As awful as this is going to sound, Boyle's use of pop music, split-screen and exuberant visuals is completely apropos to Aron Ralston's story and serves to enrich it thematically, whereas the same devices in Slumdog Millionaire, while also visually exciting, hinted at a certain white male myopia and fundamental misunderstanding of "the other." Am I saying that Danny Boyle should only make films about white males? Hardly. Both films have their virtues and neither one is perfect. But the message here (and both are clear "message" movies) seems less diluted, more to the point and more earnest than Slumdog Millionaire. That is due, in large part to James Franco's lived-in and naturalistic performance, which is at the center of what is essentially a one-man show, give or take Amber Tamblyn. It is Franco's charisma and understanding of the character that sustains a narrative that takes place largely in a chasm where Ralston was forced to amputate his own arm. The film has receded slightly in my memory since its initial viewing, as I accurately expected it would, but it's a solid piece of work that I hope moviewatchers won't shy away from. Being called a pussy by James Franco and his grandmother may persuade some people.
Grade: B
Blue Valentine (dir. Derek Cianfrance)
I initially pegged my initial effusive reaction to this film on the two central performances, fully prepared to talk about how Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams are doing some industrial strength heavy lifting to elevate the film. But a second viewing gave me more insight into Derek Cianfrance's sure and steady hand, both as a writer and director. Even with splendid performances (and they are splendid), the same material and structural conceit of examining the birth and death of a marriage through interwoven flashbacks could have easily reeked of well-intentioned, unremarkable Mumblecore fare--the kind you see on tucked far away in the Netflix watch-instantly section. Flashback structure is tricky and requires a certain control over storytelling that few filmmakers can boast. In films that value plot and situation over character, it involves making sure the audience finds out things at exactly the right time, so the flashbacks don't become redundant and the present-day narrative doesn't feel like a rehashing. In character studies such as this one, it involves controlling emotional reaction, getting the most potency out of each moment. Hats off to writer-director Derek Cianfrance and editors Jim Helton and Ron Patane (this is one of the best edited films of the year) on all counts. Watching Cianfrance in interviews, it's clear to see why the film manages to be so distinguishable. With his speech pattern, mannerisms, his appearance right down to the receding hairline, one can't help but wonder if Cianfrance is Dean (Gosling). Is there a Cindy (Williams)? Almost certainly. The film is filled with so many moments of specific, honest and unexpected characterization. A scene from the earlier part of Dean and Cindy's courtship, where he offers his unique perspective on couple's having their own song feels cut and paste from real-life, it rings so true. Having Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams live together during the course of the film rewarded in spades. There is a sense of deep familiarity in the scenes that take place in the latter part of their relationship, proving that those who know us best can hurt us the most because they know where to cut. Ryan Gosling gives what might be his best performance to date. It's a difficult task as Dean doesn't change so much from when he first meets Cindy to when he's married to her for five years. What has changed is external (beyond his balding head and his growing paunch). He wants what he has always wanted--to be with Cindy. A present reality may not support that and Gosling is heartbreaking in his ability to portray a man whose world and his wife seem to be passing him by a little more each day. Williams's role is more prickly and she has the hard task of being the defacto villain in the death of their marriage. Her behavior throughout the film seems consistently selfish, due in large part to the way Cianfrance frames her in the story. But Williams's impresses largely, also eking out one her most impressive, deeply felt turns. Cindy says things which ought to be true, but which she doesn't believe, which is almost the flipside of Dean who says what he thinks and believes it, true or not. The implosion of the relationship is inevitable. Watch how Williams's Cindy tells Dean that he's not living up to his potential. It's another brutally honest moment that features some of William's best and quietest acting in the film. For she says it with a twinge of both guilt and realization. Guilt at expressing the sentiment and realization that if you are with someone who isn't living up to his potential, then you can't possibly be living up to yours. Blue Valentine succeeds so valiantly because nothing in the crafting, its lensing, its acting, even its use of music, feels arbitrary or generic. Seek it out, if you must. It's worth a long drive to a small theater, should it come to that.
Grade: A
The King's Speech (dir. Tom Hooper)
I go back and forth on this one. Is The King's Speech a bad film? Hardly. But it forces me to ask what's worse--a terrible film or a competently made one that's so bland, one can hardly recommend it? Director Tom Hooper recedes admirably into the background, allowing the actors to do the heavy lifting and never getting showy. That's a plus. There are few moments in this cinematic account of King George V(Colin Firth, your likely winner of the Best Actor Oscar come February) and his attempts to become an orator, despite his crippling stammer that makes one go "What? What were the filmmakers thinking?" And yet, in a story that's supposed to be all about personal triumph and overcoming adversity, I felt nothing. And I actually did go into this with expectations of something more than meets the eye, given the acclaim it was receiving. I'll explain further. In 2007, I was hesitant to watch Michael Clayton, not being wowed whatsoever by what I was seeing in the trailer. It looked like an easy miss and I was annoyed by the awards attention it was racking up even before I finally saw it (the combination of Clooney, Pollack, Wilkinson and the goddess herself, Tilda Swinton couldn't keep me away too long). I sat down on a quiet afternoon in a small Atlanta theater in December of '07 and was blown away by how the film seemingly recognized the limitations and expectations of its genre and compellingly subverted and sidestepped said expectations, almost at every turn. So, I figured maybe The King's Speech would surprise in a similar fashion, rising above and beyond the required seven "pieces of flair" necessary to make competent period awards bait. But alas, I was greeted with a film that I can only describe as well-made and certainly high-minded, but (it bears repeating) bland. The performances here are fine. Colin Firth's turn is technically accomplished enough to convincingly sell a stammer, though he hardly layers the personal history in ways that aren't painfully obvious. A fine performance, but not an excellent one. Geoffrey Rush is considerably more tolerable here than usual and his performance is what grounds the narrative, providing some desperately needed softness and humanity to sand the film's sharp, obvious edges. While I will concede that it's nice to see Helena Bonham Carter unencumbered by dark wigs, elaborate Gaga-esque frocks and pounds of cakey Gothic makeup, to call this performance great and awards worthy is more than a little generous. If this is a great Helena Bonham Carter performance, then what the hell was she doing in Fight Club, A Room with a View and Howards End? I made sure to include the last two films because I'm constantly hearing that Carter is being rewarded for finally doing something within the Academy's comfort zone (The Wings of the Dove, her sole nomination to date pending Tuesday's nomination announcement, notwithstanding). But A Room with a View and Howards End are utterly within the Academy's sweet spot and, despite loving both of those movies...nothing for Carter. Peculiar. And while we're on the topic of James Ivory, it's movies like The King's Speech that make me wish that Ivory was still working at the top of his form. When he did costume and period, it felt (mostly) purposeful, resonant and deeply engrossing, rather than (I'm sorry to say) besides the point. With all this being said, I fully buy into the narrative that The King's Speech could very well give The Social Network a run for its money in the best picture race. I saw the film at Arclight Hollywood on a Thursday morning while having my car serviced. The audience, besides myself, was composed of about two and a half dozen sexagenarians and one gay couple in their fifties (a pretty accurate Academy cross-section). They ate The King's Speech up with a spoon. So, there you have it. There's one of these every year, it would seem. A movie that's being called "great" that makes me wonder what it is I'm not seeing.
Grade: B- (I don't even feel passionately enough about it to grade it any lower)
Sunday, January 16, 2011
2010 in Film (cont'd)
Enter the Void (dir. Gaspar Noé)
Certainly an unforgettable cinematic excursion, right from its incredible opening credits sequence (one of the best I've ever seen). Noé follows up his masterpiece, Irréversible with yet another truly unique exercise, but the details of the film are less memorable than the experience of seeing the film. The narrative (if you can call it that) mostly charts the journey of Oscar (Nathaniel Brown), a man who is shot dead by police during a drug raid at a Tokyo bar called the Void. After his spirit rises from his body, the viewer is taken in first-person shooter mode, seeing what he sees, which include varied and at times very emotionally felt (if aurally and visually distorted) reactions to his tragic demise, particularly from his sister Linda (Paz de la Huerta). We are also given multiple flashbacks of the car crash that killed Oscar and Linda's parents and left them orphans. The film is visually stunning, to say the least and features some of the showiest editing and cinematography I've seen all year. At 154 minutes, it never feels boring, but it does begin to feel repetitive, particularly during its close, which feels like one extended orgy where the audience is a voyeur. Cinematic nudity has never felt so tangentially related to the film itself. The performances range from naturalistic and deeply felt (particularly the child actors who portray young Nathaniel and Linda) to histrionic and over the top. Paz de la Huerta alternates between the two and though there's much to admire about her work here, she never seems to strike the right notes. The film's purposefully muggy, drug haze-like sound mix often can't even serve to drown out the sounds of her chewing the scenery. Nevertheless, Enter the Void is one of the films of 2010 that's a can't miss, regardless of one's reaction. Given its love it or hate it nature, it may seem strange to give it a "B," but at any rate...
Grade: B
Animal Kindgom (dir. David Michôd)
This tautly structured, well-paced Australian crime drama is more than meets the eye and rewards repeat viewings. Writer-director Michôd has constructed a film that is rife with character specificity that sucks you into this family of clumsy yet conniving and often loving Melbourne criminals told through the eyes of Joshua "J" Cody (newcomer James Frecheville). The green and fresh-faced teenager enters the fold after his mother dies of a drug overdose and he is taken in by his grandmother, Janeane "Smurf" Cody played by Jacki Weaver in a much ballyhooed (justifiably so) performance. The details underneath Weaver's turn are small and subtle, but richly consistent in a slow-burn kind of ways. One often looks for the "big scene" when watching a film with a critically lauded performance that people seem unable to shut up about, but the turning point for Weaver is beautifully understated. It's not a film of big moments, in terms of character reaction, but in how disgustingly, how easily the characters (particularly Smurf) turn on their ear and commit despicable acts. The rest of the ensemble is very good as well, even James Frecheville, who has received some criticism for what may appear to be a blank, vacant turn. His face seems aplomb at betraying any emotion and I'll admit that upon first viewing, I found him unremarkable. Watching the film a second time, I'm almost certain it was Michôd's intention that Joshua intentionally try to be faceless in the midst of very lively, volatile family members who he doesn't instantly trust and who certainly give him no reason to qualm his fears. The film is far from perfect. Michôd's script makes the small mistake of saddling the narrative with Joshua's voice over, which could serve to enrich and add perspective (I'm by no means coming down against voice over across the board as a narrative device), but it doesn't exactly take us deeper into the story or the characters. This is a small quibble, however. Animal Kingdom's ability to build tension to a fevered pitch, particularly in the much talked about scene that involves a car backing out of a garage, is something to marvel at and I'm amazed this is Michôd's first feature.
Grade: A-
Fair Game (dir. Doug Lyman)
Doug Lyman, who (let's face it) is a rather hit-or-miss director doesn't exactly miss here. But, his cinematic account of CIA Agent Valerie Plame Wilson (Naomi Watts) and how she was maliciously outed by the White House is a mixed bag that leans slightly more on the positive. I found myself wondering several things while watching Fair Game. Firstly, how is this story going to play to the section of the audience who are unfamiliar with the basics of the Valerie Plame scandal? I knew the very basic details of what happened in 2003, but I still felt as though the film took much too long to get into the nuts and bolts of the story I think it was trying to tell. When you only have 108 minutes to work with, this leaves the film feeling top-heavy, and the conclusion feeling rush. Lyman also serves as cinematographer on Fair Game. This is possibly a mistake--the film is peppered with some very baffling, arbitrary camerawork, particularly during a CIA briefing with Plame, other operatives and White House officials. I imagine this was an attempt to take a straight-down-the-middle narrative and make it more visually interesting, but it serves as more of a distraction than anything else. The film alternates between scenes such as these and scenes of Plame's domestic life with husband Joseph Wilson (Sean Penn). Here, there are real nuggets of great acting. Joe Wilson is a staunch liberal who of course took umbrage to what was done to his wife. I'm almost certain that Penn, given his own passionate political leanings, has lionized Joe Wilson in his mind. Yet, his performance here is surprisingly realistic and restrained, lacking the over-the-top, soapbox theatrics some may have expected. Naomi Watts is fine as well, playing Plame as alternately self-empowered and backed into a corner. She manages not to overact (21 Grams anyone?) but the performance still doesn't touch her best work. The problem is that Valerie and Joe's familial strife, though brought upon by the bigger storyline of the leak scandal is never married seamlessly with said storyline. As a result, it feels like the two plotlines exist in a vacuum and not enough time is spent on either. There's enough to recommend here, but Fair Game, while high-minded and well-intentioned, is ultimately unremarkable.
Grade: B-
Certainly an unforgettable cinematic excursion, right from its incredible opening credits sequence (one of the best I've ever seen). Noé follows up his masterpiece, Irréversible with yet another truly unique exercise, but the details of the film are less memorable than the experience of seeing the film. The narrative (if you can call it that) mostly charts the journey of Oscar (Nathaniel Brown), a man who is shot dead by police during a drug raid at a Tokyo bar called the Void. After his spirit rises from his body, the viewer is taken in first-person shooter mode, seeing what he sees, which include varied and at times very emotionally felt (if aurally and visually distorted) reactions to his tragic demise, particularly from his sister Linda (Paz de la Huerta). We are also given multiple flashbacks of the car crash that killed Oscar and Linda's parents and left them orphans. The film is visually stunning, to say the least and features some of the showiest editing and cinematography I've seen all year. At 154 minutes, it never feels boring, but it does begin to feel repetitive, particularly during its close, which feels like one extended orgy where the audience is a voyeur. Cinematic nudity has never felt so tangentially related to the film itself. The performances range from naturalistic and deeply felt (particularly the child actors who portray young Nathaniel and Linda) to histrionic and over the top. Paz de la Huerta alternates between the two and though there's much to admire about her work here, she never seems to strike the right notes. The film's purposefully muggy, drug haze-like sound mix often can't even serve to drown out the sounds of her chewing the scenery. Nevertheless, Enter the Void is one of the films of 2010 that's a can't miss, regardless of one's reaction. Given its love it or hate it nature, it may seem strange to give it a "B," but at any rate...
Grade: B
Animal Kindgom (dir. David Michôd)
This tautly structured, well-paced Australian crime drama is more than meets the eye and rewards repeat viewings. Writer-director Michôd has constructed a film that is rife with character specificity that sucks you into this family of clumsy yet conniving and often loving Melbourne criminals told through the eyes of Joshua "J" Cody (newcomer James Frecheville). The green and fresh-faced teenager enters the fold after his mother dies of a drug overdose and he is taken in by his grandmother, Janeane "Smurf" Cody played by Jacki Weaver in a much ballyhooed (justifiably so) performance. The details underneath Weaver's turn are small and subtle, but richly consistent in a slow-burn kind of ways. One often looks for the "big scene" when watching a film with a critically lauded performance that people seem unable to shut up about, but the turning point for Weaver is beautifully understated. It's not a film of big moments, in terms of character reaction, but in how disgustingly, how easily the characters (particularly Smurf) turn on their ear and commit despicable acts. The rest of the ensemble is very good as well, even James Frecheville, who has received some criticism for what may appear to be a blank, vacant turn. His face seems aplomb at betraying any emotion and I'll admit that upon first viewing, I found him unremarkable. Watching the film a second time, I'm almost certain it was Michôd's intention that Joshua intentionally try to be faceless in the midst of very lively, volatile family members who he doesn't instantly trust and who certainly give him no reason to qualm his fears. The film is far from perfect. Michôd's script makes the small mistake of saddling the narrative with Joshua's voice over, which could serve to enrich and add perspective (I'm by no means coming down against voice over across the board as a narrative device), but it doesn't exactly take us deeper into the story or the characters. This is a small quibble, however. Animal Kingdom's ability to build tension to a fevered pitch, particularly in the much talked about scene that involves a car backing out of a garage, is something to marvel at and I'm amazed this is Michôd's first feature.
Grade: A-
Fair Game (dir. Doug Lyman)
Doug Lyman, who (let's face it) is a rather hit-or-miss director doesn't exactly miss here. But, his cinematic account of CIA Agent Valerie Plame Wilson (Naomi Watts) and how she was maliciously outed by the White House is a mixed bag that leans slightly more on the positive. I found myself wondering several things while watching Fair Game. Firstly, how is this story going to play to the section of the audience who are unfamiliar with the basics of the Valerie Plame scandal? I knew the very basic details of what happened in 2003, but I still felt as though the film took much too long to get into the nuts and bolts of the story I think it was trying to tell. When you only have 108 minutes to work with, this leaves the film feeling top-heavy, and the conclusion feeling rush. Lyman also serves as cinematographer on Fair Game. This is possibly a mistake--the film is peppered with some very baffling, arbitrary camerawork, particularly during a CIA briefing with Plame, other operatives and White House officials. I imagine this was an attempt to take a straight-down-the-middle narrative and make it more visually interesting, but it serves as more of a distraction than anything else. The film alternates between scenes such as these and scenes of Plame's domestic life with husband Joseph Wilson (Sean Penn). Here, there are real nuggets of great acting. Joe Wilson is a staunch liberal who of course took umbrage to what was done to his wife. I'm almost certain that Penn, given his own passionate political leanings, has lionized Joe Wilson in his mind. Yet, his performance here is surprisingly realistic and restrained, lacking the over-the-top, soapbox theatrics some may have expected. Naomi Watts is fine as well, playing Plame as alternately self-empowered and backed into a corner. She manages not to overact (21 Grams anyone?) but the performance still doesn't touch her best work. The problem is that Valerie and Joe's familial strife, though brought upon by the bigger storyline of the leak scandal is never married seamlessly with said storyline. As a result, it feels like the two plotlines exist in a vacuum and not enough time is spent on either. There's enough to recommend here, but Fair Game, while high-minded and well-intentioned, is ultimately unremarkable.
Grade: B-
Friday, December 17, 2010
2010 in Film (part 4)
It's Kind of a Funny Story (dirs. Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck)
Ryan Fleck is credited as the sole director of 2006's Half Nelson, but apparently Anna Boden co-directed. What a wonderful, naturalistic, film it was. The actors hit the right notes. Every line of dialogue spoken seemed birth from meticulous human observation. It sits on my list of one of the 100 best films of the 2000s (I promise that list is coming soon). And their sophomore effort, Sugar? Sure, it falls short of the brilliance of their debut film, but Boden and Fleck crafted another realistic portrayal of (wait for it) human beings. I bring this up before I discuss their third feature, It's Kind of a Funny Story because I wanted to explain my bias towards these filmmakers up front, and it's always good to find something nice to say. From here on out, I will sound like Oscar the Grouch. It's Kind of a Funny Story, based on the novel of the same name, depicts a slice of life (less than two weeks, if I'm not mistaken) inside of a psychiatric hospital as told through the eyes of a teenage boy named Craig (played by Keir Gilchrist). The result is an incredibly and offensively facile look at mental illness, a very complicated issue. Craig is feeling suicidal, though (as stated plainly by the film) he has no real reason to, nor has he ever attempted suicide. While at the hospital, he meets a host of characters who all show him that his cushy, magnet school, New York life isn't all that bad. It all feels syrupy, patently false and packed to the rafters with paint-by-numbers quirk. I'm kind of floored that the people behind Half Nelson had anything to do with it. In my write-up of The Greatest, I spoke of the incredible liability that is Zoe Kravitz. I get the urge, at least on paper, to cast her in films. She's the daughter of Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz, arguably two of the most beautiful people on the planet (and arguably artistic in their own right). But Zoe has a complete non-presence as a performer. Her eyes are dead, her line readings are cringe-worthy and she seems to be working against any given scene. Granted, she has the burden of playing characters that are the complete creation of male fantasy in both films, but is there any excuse for this when there was at least one female writer/director at the helm in both cases? The rest of the story is predictable. Craig falls for a fellow teenage psych patient (Emma Roberts) who's pretty, but damaged. Their courtship is played against a soundtrack of what I like to call "hey, it's that band!" That is, a particular brand of scruffy-boy rock by a bunch of Thom Yorke fetishists. These bands are also notable for their small, devoted pockets of fans who will inevitably abandon said band once the lure of obscurity is lost by having one of their songs played in a film like this or on an episode of "Grey's Anatomy." It's all incredibly trite and (I'm sorry to go here) incredibly white. Between this film and Up in the Air, I've completely lost patience for films that set their ordinary, retread narratives (in both cases, boy meets girl) against the backdrop of a larger issue (ie, unemployment or mental illness) in a transparent attempt at emotional gravitas (incidentally, I rated Up in the Air a "B" when I first saw it, but the longer I sit with it and one subsequent viewing has shown me that I can no longer stand by that).
Grade: D
The Social Network (dir. David Fincher)
Any praises I offer up are going to seem redundant at this point. The Social Network is sweeping the year end critics awards and is poised to be one of the most honored films of 2010. Everything seems to be working in perfect synergy in this wildly exaggerated (to its benefit) account of Mark Zuckerberg's (a wonderful Jesse Eisenberg) creation of Facebook at Harvard and the legal and social drama that ensued. Aaron Sorkin's justifiably lauded, razor-sharp script has an amazing rhythm to it, sustaining a subject that could have easily ran out of steam in the wrong hands. And what is there to say at this point about Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's outstanding and unique score. After 2008's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, (whose pedestrian leanings and meandering pace gall and bewilder upon subsequent viewings almost as much as the acclaim it received), David Fincher seems once again justified in his title of visionary director. His direction here elevates what could have been an average film into something singular, specific and richly engrossing. Almost every actor here seems to hit the right notes. There's Jesse Eisenberg, who I've admittedly not been a huge fan of in the past (though I did finally watch Zombieland, which I found immensely enjoyable). Here, he plays an embellished cinematic version of Mark Zuckerberg, forging his own creation (apart from similar curly mops, Eisenberg's Zuckerberg and the real Zuckerberg don't seem to be all that behaviorally similar). He plays him with a consistent, even tone of equal parts coldness, obliviousness and befuddlement at how off-putting people find him to be. It's a great turn that may read as effortless in some circles, but luckily seems to be getting a lot of year end accolades. I loved the performance when I saw the film, but awards season could have reacted either way (completely ignoring or fully embracing) and I would not have been surprised. More surprised am I by the myriad of nominations for Andrew Garfield, who plays co-founder Eduardo Saverin (though that SAG snub is telling). I much preferred him in Never Let Me Go, which is admittedly a much baitier performance in a film that I'll finally concede has totally bottomed out, both commercially and critically. This is in no way to imply that Garfield's work in The Social Network doesn't impress. The script gives him few actorly moments to sink his teeth into, but I do like a lot of the choices Garfield makes as an actor. His awards clip will probably be the now famous laptop smashing scene, but for my money, Garfield hits it out of the park in the quieter moments--the luau mixer, his initial reactions to Sean Parker at the restaurant. Reacting is such an important aspect of convincing acting and Garfield seems adept at being very communicative in this way. But it's rather low key and in no way the type of supporting turn that would ever be swept into awards season if it wasn't on the coattails of an inevitable best picture nominee. I would have much sooner expected Justin Timberlake, who plays Sean Parker of Napster fame, to be in the mix, though his is the weakest performance of the film. It is, however, a showy and in a lot of ways fun supporting turn. But it would seem that all the actors tried to dig deeper except Timberlake, who doesn't turn in a bad performance persay, but one that reeks of taking script and direction at face value without looking for subtext--the hallmark of an untrained actor. It's so heartening that such an amazing film seems to be the frontrunner going into awards season (and it's not even my favorite of the year).
Grade: A (after 2 viewings)
Catfish (dirs. Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman)
How appropriate that I saw this film mere minutes after walking out of The Social Network. They serve as very interesting companion pieces. In many ways Catfish actually says more about the virtual social networking culture than David Fincher's film, though both are certainly arresting and resonant pieces of filmmaking. The documentary (though many inquests have been made into the film's legitimacy as a piece of bonafide nonfiction) follows Nev Schulman (director Ariel Schulman's younger brother), a New York photographer who strikes up an online friendship with who he thinks is an attractive girl. When he goes to meet her, things are not as they seem, to say the least. I went into the film virtually (no pun intended) with nothing except people's urging not to let it be "spoiled." Walking out, I was surprised by those admonishments for this was not a "spoiler" movie, at least not from where I was sitting. Despite its documentary format, it unfolds very much like a character study in a traditional narrative. When Nev, his brother and their friend (Henry Joost, the other director) go to see this family, the interactions, the situations all feel incredibly heartwrenching and fascinating in a way that was very akin to 2005's Junebug (one of the best films of the past ten years). No, the woman was not who she said she was. And yes, she lied to them every step of the way, even after being found out. But I was surprised by the conflicting emotions drummed up inside of me. Nev Schulman has the benefit of point of view and arguable physical attraction (at least in some circles) that cloud how he may not be so morally superior to this woman who conned him. He did worm his way into this family under false pretenses and he certainly dropped little white lies here and there. Perhaps if the documentary had been told from the point of view of the other family, we might have seen the Schulmans as interlopers, out on a campaign of gotcha journalism against an already down and out clan. My point is, this movie was incredibly provocative and deeply emotional, regardless of whether it's true documentary filmmaking or not. I took it at face value because most documentaries are scripted and choreographed to a certain extent and I feel this standard is being put on Catfish in a way that it's not being put on movies like Man on Wire, which was filled with unreliable reenactments (just my two cents).
Grade: B+
Ryan Fleck is credited as the sole director of 2006's Half Nelson, but apparently Anna Boden co-directed. What a wonderful, naturalistic, film it was. The actors hit the right notes. Every line of dialogue spoken seemed birth from meticulous human observation. It sits on my list of one of the 100 best films of the 2000s (I promise that list is coming soon). And their sophomore effort, Sugar? Sure, it falls short of the brilliance of their debut film, but Boden and Fleck crafted another realistic portrayal of (wait for it) human beings. I bring this up before I discuss their third feature, It's Kind of a Funny Story because I wanted to explain my bias towards these filmmakers up front, and it's always good to find something nice to say. From here on out, I will sound like Oscar the Grouch. It's Kind of a Funny Story, based on the novel of the same name, depicts a slice of life (less than two weeks, if I'm not mistaken) inside of a psychiatric hospital as told through the eyes of a teenage boy named Craig (played by Keir Gilchrist). The result is an incredibly and offensively facile look at mental illness, a very complicated issue. Craig is feeling suicidal, though (as stated plainly by the film) he has no real reason to, nor has he ever attempted suicide. While at the hospital, he meets a host of characters who all show him that his cushy, magnet school, New York life isn't all that bad. It all feels syrupy, patently false and packed to the rafters with paint-by-numbers quirk. I'm kind of floored that the people behind Half Nelson had anything to do with it. In my write-up of The Greatest, I spoke of the incredible liability that is Zoe Kravitz. I get the urge, at least on paper, to cast her in films. She's the daughter of Lisa Bonet and Lenny Kravitz, arguably two of the most beautiful people on the planet (and arguably artistic in their own right). But Zoe has a complete non-presence as a performer. Her eyes are dead, her line readings are cringe-worthy and she seems to be working against any given scene. Granted, she has the burden of playing characters that are the complete creation of male fantasy in both films, but is there any excuse for this when there was at least one female writer/director at the helm in both cases? The rest of the story is predictable. Craig falls for a fellow teenage psych patient (Emma Roberts) who's pretty, but damaged. Their courtship is played against a soundtrack of what I like to call "hey, it's that band!" That is, a particular brand of scruffy-boy rock by a bunch of Thom Yorke fetishists. These bands are also notable for their small, devoted pockets of fans who will inevitably abandon said band once the lure of obscurity is lost by having one of their songs played in a film like this or on an episode of "Grey's Anatomy." It's all incredibly trite and (I'm sorry to go here) incredibly white. Between this film and Up in the Air, I've completely lost patience for films that set their ordinary, retread narratives (in both cases, boy meets girl) against the backdrop of a larger issue (ie, unemployment or mental illness) in a transparent attempt at emotional gravitas (incidentally, I rated Up in the Air a "B" when I first saw it, but the longer I sit with it and one subsequent viewing has shown me that I can no longer stand by that).
Grade: D
The Social Network (dir. David Fincher)
Any praises I offer up are going to seem redundant at this point. The Social Network is sweeping the year end critics awards and is poised to be one of the most honored films of 2010. Everything seems to be working in perfect synergy in this wildly exaggerated (to its benefit) account of Mark Zuckerberg's (a wonderful Jesse Eisenberg) creation of Facebook at Harvard and the legal and social drama that ensued. Aaron Sorkin's justifiably lauded, razor-sharp script has an amazing rhythm to it, sustaining a subject that could have easily ran out of steam in the wrong hands. And what is there to say at this point about Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's outstanding and unique score. After 2008's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, (whose pedestrian leanings and meandering pace gall and bewilder upon subsequent viewings almost as much as the acclaim it received), David Fincher seems once again justified in his title of visionary director. His direction here elevates what could have been an average film into something singular, specific and richly engrossing. Almost every actor here seems to hit the right notes. There's Jesse Eisenberg, who I've admittedly not been a huge fan of in the past (though I did finally watch Zombieland, which I found immensely enjoyable). Here, he plays an embellished cinematic version of Mark Zuckerberg, forging his own creation (apart from similar curly mops, Eisenberg's Zuckerberg and the real Zuckerberg don't seem to be all that behaviorally similar). He plays him with a consistent, even tone of equal parts coldness, obliviousness and befuddlement at how off-putting people find him to be. It's a great turn that may read as effortless in some circles, but luckily seems to be getting a lot of year end accolades. I loved the performance when I saw the film, but awards season could have reacted either way (completely ignoring or fully embracing) and I would not have been surprised. More surprised am I by the myriad of nominations for Andrew Garfield, who plays co-founder Eduardo Saverin (though that SAG snub is telling). I much preferred him in Never Let Me Go, which is admittedly a much baitier performance in a film that I'll finally concede has totally bottomed out, both commercially and critically. This is in no way to imply that Garfield's work in The Social Network doesn't impress. The script gives him few actorly moments to sink his teeth into, but I do like a lot of the choices Garfield makes as an actor. His awards clip will probably be the now famous laptop smashing scene, but for my money, Garfield hits it out of the park in the quieter moments--the luau mixer, his initial reactions to Sean Parker at the restaurant. Reacting is such an important aspect of convincing acting and Garfield seems adept at being very communicative in this way. But it's rather low key and in no way the type of supporting turn that would ever be swept into awards season if it wasn't on the coattails of an inevitable best picture nominee. I would have much sooner expected Justin Timberlake, who plays Sean Parker of Napster fame, to be in the mix, though his is the weakest performance of the film. It is, however, a showy and in a lot of ways fun supporting turn. But it would seem that all the actors tried to dig deeper except Timberlake, who doesn't turn in a bad performance persay, but one that reeks of taking script and direction at face value without looking for subtext--the hallmark of an untrained actor. It's so heartening that such an amazing film seems to be the frontrunner going into awards season (and it's not even my favorite of the year).
Grade: A (after 2 viewings)
Catfish (dirs. Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman)
How appropriate that I saw this film mere minutes after walking out of The Social Network. They serve as very interesting companion pieces. In many ways Catfish actually says more about the virtual social networking culture than David Fincher's film, though both are certainly arresting and resonant pieces of filmmaking. The documentary (though many inquests have been made into the film's legitimacy as a piece of bonafide nonfiction) follows Nev Schulman (director Ariel Schulman's younger brother), a New York photographer who strikes up an online friendship with who he thinks is an attractive girl. When he goes to meet her, things are not as they seem, to say the least. I went into the film virtually (no pun intended) with nothing except people's urging not to let it be "spoiled." Walking out, I was surprised by those admonishments for this was not a "spoiler" movie, at least not from where I was sitting. Despite its documentary format, it unfolds very much like a character study in a traditional narrative. When Nev, his brother and their friend (Henry Joost, the other director) go to see this family, the interactions, the situations all feel incredibly heartwrenching and fascinating in a way that was very akin to 2005's Junebug (one of the best films of the past ten years). No, the woman was not who she said she was. And yes, she lied to them every step of the way, even after being found out. But I was surprised by the conflicting emotions drummed up inside of me. Nev Schulman has the benefit of point of view and arguable physical attraction (at least in some circles) that cloud how he may not be so morally superior to this woman who conned him. He did worm his way into this family under false pretenses and he certainly dropped little white lies here and there. Perhaps if the documentary had been told from the point of view of the other family, we might have seen the Schulmans as interlopers, out on a campaign of gotcha journalism against an already down and out clan. My point is, this movie was incredibly provocative and deeply emotional, regardless of whether it's true documentary filmmaking or not. I took it at face value because most documentaries are scripted and choreographed to a certain extent and I feel this standard is being put on Catfish in a way that it's not being put on movies like Man on Wire, which was filled with unreliable reenactments (just my two cents).
Grade: B+
Saturday, October 16, 2010
2010 in Film (part 3)
Never Let Me Go (dir. Mark Romanek)
None of the criticisms of this film feel off-base, except for maybe the widespread belief that the film is overscored (I'm happy to firmly plant my flag on the other side of the fence and say that Rachel Portman's score, while a little overzealous at times, is beautiful and quite complementary to the narrative). The adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro's novel of the same name was, for my money, an incredibly effective and emotionally devastating film (take note of the word "devastating," a much harder and more lingering emotion to evoke than "depressing"). I was impressed up and down with this film, while recognizing its inherent flaws. The talks of over narration have been exhausted to death, but it's a fair criticism and one I agree with, particularly in the film's final moments. The film is bookended with a shot of Kathy (Carey Mulligan in a fantastic and understated turn that's more than what it seems) staring crestfallen at Tommy (Andrew Garfield). To open with the shot is unnecessary and sucks some of the emotional weight out of the final scene, though this is by no means a "spoiler" movie. Yes, there is a conceit at the core of this story that hangs over the narrative, but the film is more concerned about matters of the heart than the soft sci-fi elements. Every actor hits the right tone, particularly Keira Knightley as Ruth, who would have a shot at a supporting actress nomination had the film been better received. Andrew Garfield handles his role so deftly. The performance may seem easy--he has the actorly advantage that is his eyes, which seem determined to absolutely break your heart in this film. I can't think of anything more wrenching this year than watching Garfield's Tommy as his eyes register earth-shattering news and realities. Of his two trumpeted turns this year, I much preferred Garfield here (and for the record, I thought he was very good in The Social Network). I'm going to talk lastly about the film's awards prospects, which many people seem to believe are nonexistent at this point. They could be (read: probably are) correct. However, I'm not sure it's over. If I'm recalling correctly, Babel came out of its earliest festivals with similarly split response. The Reader was not without its very loud, vocal detractors who cried foul at its inclusion in the best picture roster, most likely at the expense of The Dark Knight. Never Let Me Go is not this year's The Lovely Bones--a rather easy and frankly lazy comparison I've heard more than once. Firstly, it's not based on source material whose literary merit was constantly in question, even before the release of the film. Never Let Me Go is prestige and (if you ask me) prestige done very well. There are people who are sticking by it. Roger Ebert's beautifully written rave review underline a possible generational divide. Could the older members of the Academy respond to this film in a way that could surprise? I'm not trying to break a story and I could be wrong, but again, I'm not sure that it's over for Never Let Me Go and for that I'm thrilled.
Grade: B+ (A-? I really feel like it's going to end up being the latter...I literally have thought about this film in some capacity every day since I've seen it)
The Town (dir. Ben Affleck)
In a completely schizophrenic moviegoing experience, I viewed The Town mere minutes within viewing Never Let Me Go. I should probably revisit it at some point, but right now it's being judged rather unfairly. It's a very well-crafted piece of work that marries commercial and artistic sensibilities very well. It's not a great leap forward stylistically from Affleck's freshman effort Gone Baby Gone, which has something new to behold upon each subsequent viewing and ranks among my favorite films of the 2000s. However, while I can think of about a dozen moments from Never Let Me Go that are burned into my memory, I'm finding it hard to latch on to any singular moments in The Town. It's impressive, but definitely a fast fade. Ben Affleck turns in a fine performance, though I've never subscribed to the belief that he's a terrible actor, despite the terrible projects that often seem to find him. He's fine, but ultimately a bit miscast and I wonder if sideman Jeremy Renner wouldn't have been a more interesting choice for the lead. Blake Lively...what can I say? Full disclosure: she was one of the driving influences behind my desire to see this film. It was probably one part morbid curiosity (who doesn't enjoy a hot ghetto mess of a performance?) and one part optimistic curiosity (can she carve out another Amy Ryan, scene-stealing characterization of a female Bostonian ne'er do well?) The result was kind of neither. Lively is not in the film nearly enough to make a real impression, and when she's on screen she kind of seems in over her head and really out of place with everything that's going on. Ditto, I'm sorry to say, for Jon Hamm, who's not nearly as hair-raisingly atonal as Lively, yet manages to radiate a certain air of standard-issue--not a good fit for such a prominent role in a major motion picture. Like I said, I appreciated it very much when I was watching it and Ben Affleck is mostly in very deft control as a director. I'm curious to see what he does next, especially if he moves away from the gritty white Boston crime milieu. But "forgettable" definitely is a word that comes to mind after some distance.
Grade: B
Dogtooth (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos)
One of two films I've seen this year that's truly unlike anything I've ever experienced, cinematically (Enter the Void also shares that distinction, though I've yet to wholly decide if it's to that film's credit or detriment). Greek director Lanthimos paints a horrifying, bare bones and often sickly humorous portrayal of a patriarch who keeps his three adult children (two daughters and a son, all non-actors), under strict lock and key. They never leave the large grounds of their house, which includes a pool and a tennis court, but is still confining and stifling. The children are completely arrested. They speak with a very basic intelligence that would, at first glance, betray how truly warped they are. But the first glimpses are startling. They have been taught the wrong words for things (they are told the word "pussy" means a "big light," which...not so much). An employee of the father is brought to the house blindfolded, presumably for money, so that she can fulfill the simple biological function of servicing the son's burgeoning sexual needs. That is all the plot that one needs (this is not a "plot" piece of cinema, at least not in the traditional sense). I likened it very much to Passolini's Salò or the 120 Days of Sodom, with the notable exception being that it widely strips away any artifice. Dogtooth presents more of a blank, unintellectualized portrayal of sadism, rather than a heavy-handed comment on sadism, to its credit. The most arresting scene in the film is not a violent one. It involves a dance performed by the daughters for their parents anniversary party. It's so interesting to watch the audience reaction to this moment--it's met with shocked silence, followed by uproarious laughter, and then more shocked silence. That is the film's lure. And love it or hate it, it's definitely one that stays with you long after the last frame.
Grade: A-
None of the criticisms of this film feel off-base, except for maybe the widespread belief that the film is overscored (I'm happy to firmly plant my flag on the other side of the fence and say that Rachel Portman's score, while a little overzealous at times, is beautiful and quite complementary to the narrative). The adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro's novel of the same name was, for my money, an incredibly effective and emotionally devastating film (take note of the word "devastating," a much harder and more lingering emotion to evoke than "depressing"). I was impressed up and down with this film, while recognizing its inherent flaws. The talks of over narration have been exhausted to death, but it's a fair criticism and one I agree with, particularly in the film's final moments. The film is bookended with a shot of Kathy (Carey Mulligan in a fantastic and understated turn that's more than what it seems) staring crestfallen at Tommy (Andrew Garfield). To open with the shot is unnecessary and sucks some of the emotional weight out of the final scene, though this is by no means a "spoiler" movie. Yes, there is a conceit at the core of this story that hangs over the narrative, but the film is more concerned about matters of the heart than the soft sci-fi elements. Every actor hits the right tone, particularly Keira Knightley as Ruth, who would have a shot at a supporting actress nomination had the film been better received. Andrew Garfield handles his role so deftly. The performance may seem easy--he has the actorly advantage that is his eyes, which seem determined to absolutely break your heart in this film. I can't think of anything more wrenching this year than watching Garfield's Tommy as his eyes register earth-shattering news and realities. Of his two trumpeted turns this year, I much preferred Garfield here (and for the record, I thought he was very good in The Social Network). I'm going to talk lastly about the film's awards prospects, which many people seem to believe are nonexistent at this point. They could be (read: probably are) correct. However, I'm not sure it's over. If I'm recalling correctly, Babel came out of its earliest festivals with similarly split response. The Reader was not without its very loud, vocal detractors who cried foul at its inclusion in the best picture roster, most likely at the expense of The Dark Knight. Never Let Me Go is not this year's The Lovely Bones--a rather easy and frankly lazy comparison I've heard more than once. Firstly, it's not based on source material whose literary merit was constantly in question, even before the release of the film. Never Let Me Go is prestige and (if you ask me) prestige done very well. There are people who are sticking by it. Roger Ebert's beautifully written rave review underline a possible generational divide. Could the older members of the Academy respond to this film in a way that could surprise? I'm not trying to break a story and I could be wrong, but again, I'm not sure that it's over for Never Let Me Go and for that I'm thrilled.
Grade: B+ (A-? I really feel like it's going to end up being the latter...I literally have thought about this film in some capacity every day since I've seen it)
The Town (dir. Ben Affleck)
In a completely schizophrenic moviegoing experience, I viewed The Town mere minutes within viewing Never Let Me Go. I should probably revisit it at some point, but right now it's being judged rather unfairly. It's a very well-crafted piece of work that marries commercial and artistic sensibilities very well. It's not a great leap forward stylistically from Affleck's freshman effort Gone Baby Gone, which has something new to behold upon each subsequent viewing and ranks among my favorite films of the 2000s. However, while I can think of about a dozen moments from Never Let Me Go that are burned into my memory, I'm finding it hard to latch on to any singular moments in The Town. It's impressive, but definitely a fast fade. Ben Affleck turns in a fine performance, though I've never subscribed to the belief that he's a terrible actor, despite the terrible projects that often seem to find him. He's fine, but ultimately a bit miscast and I wonder if sideman Jeremy Renner wouldn't have been a more interesting choice for the lead. Blake Lively...what can I say? Full disclosure: she was one of the driving influences behind my desire to see this film. It was probably one part morbid curiosity (who doesn't enjoy a hot ghetto mess of a performance?) and one part optimistic curiosity (can she carve out another Amy Ryan, scene-stealing characterization of a female Bostonian ne'er do well?) The result was kind of neither. Lively is not in the film nearly enough to make a real impression, and when she's on screen she kind of seems in over her head and really out of place with everything that's going on. Ditto, I'm sorry to say, for Jon Hamm, who's not nearly as hair-raisingly atonal as Lively, yet manages to radiate a certain air of standard-issue--not a good fit for such a prominent role in a major motion picture. Like I said, I appreciated it very much when I was watching it and Ben Affleck is mostly in very deft control as a director. I'm curious to see what he does next, especially if he moves away from the gritty white Boston crime milieu. But "forgettable" definitely is a word that comes to mind after some distance.
Grade: B
Dogtooth (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos)
One of two films I've seen this year that's truly unlike anything I've ever experienced, cinematically (Enter the Void also shares that distinction, though I've yet to wholly decide if it's to that film's credit or detriment). Greek director Lanthimos paints a horrifying, bare bones and often sickly humorous portrayal of a patriarch who keeps his three adult children (two daughters and a son, all non-actors), under strict lock and key. They never leave the large grounds of their house, which includes a pool and a tennis court, but is still confining and stifling. The children are completely arrested. They speak with a very basic intelligence that would, at first glance, betray how truly warped they are. But the first glimpses are startling. They have been taught the wrong words for things (they are told the word "pussy" means a "big light," which...not so much). An employee of the father is brought to the house blindfolded, presumably for money, so that she can fulfill the simple biological function of servicing the son's burgeoning sexual needs. That is all the plot that one needs (this is not a "plot" piece of cinema, at least not in the traditional sense). I likened it very much to Passolini's Salò or the 120 Days of Sodom, with the notable exception being that it widely strips away any artifice. Dogtooth presents more of a blank, unintellectualized portrayal of sadism, rather than a heavy-handed comment on sadism, to its credit. The most arresting scene in the film is not a violent one. It involves a dance performed by the daughters for their parents anniversary party. It's so interesting to watch the audience reaction to this moment--it's met with shocked silence, followed by uproarious laughter, and then more shocked silence. That is the film's lure. And love it or hate it, it's definitely one that stays with you long after the last frame.
Grade: A-
Monday, September 27, 2010
2010 in Film (part 2)
Winter's Bone (dir. Debra Granik)
The critical narrative tethered to this title in its initial release had me entering fully prepared for a Frozen River or even an An Education experience. That is, a story containing an exceptional, star-making female lead performance practically crying out for a film deserving of such actorly talent. What I got was an engrossing, arresting movie-going experience that completely blindsided me. I can't really put my finger on all of the elements that I look for in a film I'm going to recommend. It's a personal and often nebulous thing, trying to saliently communicate one's cinematic sensibilities. I can say (don't worry, I'm going somewhere with this) that I have never enjoyed a film that felt dishonest. Winter's Bone is so lived-in and observant in terms of the world it occupies, and I'm not just talking about the Ozark mountain setting, about which I admittedly know little. I'm talking about the lives of these characters, which is established very clearly in the beginning, with every word uttered and every action taken speaking to that in a compelling way. Not to call Frozen River dishonest, but there was this lingering air of "let's evoke audience guilt" that hung heavy. Winter's Bone is stark and frank in a completely organic way. Much praise and ballyhoo has been heaped upon Jennifer Lawrence and (to a lesser extent) Dale Dickey, both turning in fabulous turns worthy of high accolade. The entire cast is in top form, as are the sound department (so atmospheric, yet not showily so), and Debra Granik's sure directorial hand. People seem to be cooling considerably, not on their reaction to the film, but about its award prospects (not to imply that a great film isn't its own reward, regardless of awards citation). I could be wrong, but I think the critics will take care of Winter's Bone come year's end. Look for Jennifer Lawrence to get a best actress nomination. Her name will be on the lips, (who is she even competing with for breakthrough citations at this point?). I wouldn't be surprised, especially in a field of ten, if Winter's Bone lands on the best picture list, though obviously it's not a slam dunk.
Grade: A
I Am Love (dir. Luca Guadagnino)
Here is a film about which my initial effusiveness is cooling. I enjoyed it slightly less on a second viewing, though Tilda Swinton's work is still searing, convincing, peculiar and specific (as always). It's almost epic in its scale and splendor. However, a scene can be largely without dialogue and still overstate many of its greater ideas. It's very easy to get swept up in I Am Love that one almost overlooks how many of the visual cues verge on the obtuse--for instance, the first time Emma (Swinton) tastes food made by Antonio (Edoardo Gabbriellini). This is not to say that it's not a lovely and in many ways accomplished film. It's very evocative, mostly when it's not trying so hard to be. The overwrought conclusion and the even more overwrought score (seriously, people are praising this score, but calling Never Let Me Go overscored? Both composers are a little wand-happy, but the latter, considerably less so...) keep this film from an A.
Grade: B+
The Kids Are All Right (dir. Lisa Cholodenko)
The ingredients for a great film (rather than the quite good, if far too tentative and easy result) are present. Great cast? Check. Annette Bening and Julianne Moore seem perfectly in their element here, as does Mark Ruffalo. The kids are great too. Mia Wasikowska and Josh Hutcherson are the unsung assets to The Kids Are All Right, gifting the film with aching, believable uncertainty and mortification at the behavior of the "adults" in their lives. Humor? Check. I laughed. I laughed quite a lot, actually. So, why does it seem like I like The Kids Are All Right slightly less than everyone seems to love it? Firstly, it's clear that screenwriters Cholodenko and Stuart Bloomberg love each of the characters they've created. That's evidenced by their need to protect them and their inability to put them into situations where they are required to make hard choices. Annette Bening navigates around the film's pussy-footing nature with aplomb. She will eke out a full-realized characterization and performance, even if it's not necessarily given to her on the page. Julianne Moore is given quieter notes to play, as is Ruffalo. Great performances often seem effortless and no one is phoning it in here. I'm always glad to see Moore breaking away from her impressive, yet morose "woman on the verge..." thesp-ing that often pigeonholes her and prevents her true versatility from shining through. However, the film's wispy keeps it from rising to true greatness or even memorability. Here is a story crying out for just a bit more shading, complexity and hardness than what is given.
Grade: B
Prodigal Sons (dir. Kimberly Reed)
Proof that I need to make more of a concerted effort to watch documentaries, and not just those that manage to creep into the larger consciousness, some based on merit and others based on accessible and timely (read: facile) subject matter. An aside: I've yet to watch Waiting for Superman, so I can't comment. However, the trailer, combined with reactions from those I trust, as well as Guggenheim's previous documentary (An Inconvenient Truth), which smugly masqueraded common knowledge as incendiary samizdat which "the man" doesn't want you to know about all have my expectations cold as ice (rant over). Prodigal Sons, a documentary about director Kimberly Reed's return to Montana for a high school reunion marries the piercing emotionality of Tarnation with the polished, formal elements of Steve James or even Errol Morris. It's a wonderful combination. We watch as she attempts to reconcile her relationship with her very troubled adopted brother Marc. I almost want to hold my feelings about this film close to my chest, as its such an arresting experience to watch the story unfold before you and become something completely different than what is promised, yet no less satisfying. It's strange...I tend to be repelled, at least on principle, by the prospect of personal documentaries. And yet, when done well, they are the most affecting.
Grade: A-
Machete (dir. Robert Rodriguez)
Whether being viewed simply as an exercise in B-movie cinematic excess, or as a mindless action film (or both), Machete fails to turn either trope on its head in a way that is memorable or interesting.
Grade: C+
The critical narrative tethered to this title in its initial release had me entering fully prepared for a Frozen River or even an An Education experience. That is, a story containing an exceptional, star-making female lead performance practically crying out for a film deserving of such actorly talent. What I got was an engrossing, arresting movie-going experience that completely blindsided me. I can't really put my finger on all of the elements that I look for in a film I'm going to recommend. It's a personal and often nebulous thing, trying to saliently communicate one's cinematic sensibilities. I can say (don't worry, I'm going somewhere with this) that I have never enjoyed a film that felt dishonest. Winter's Bone is so lived-in and observant in terms of the world it occupies, and I'm not just talking about the Ozark mountain setting, about which I admittedly know little. I'm talking about the lives of these characters, which is established very clearly in the beginning, with every word uttered and every action taken speaking to that in a compelling way. Not to call Frozen River dishonest, but there was this lingering air of "let's evoke audience guilt" that hung heavy. Winter's Bone is stark and frank in a completely organic way. Much praise and ballyhoo has been heaped upon Jennifer Lawrence and (to a lesser extent) Dale Dickey, both turning in fabulous turns worthy of high accolade. The entire cast is in top form, as are the sound department (so atmospheric, yet not showily so), and Debra Granik's sure directorial hand. People seem to be cooling considerably, not on their reaction to the film, but about its award prospects (not to imply that a great film isn't its own reward, regardless of awards citation). I could be wrong, but I think the critics will take care of Winter's Bone come year's end. Look for Jennifer Lawrence to get a best actress nomination. Her name will be on the lips, (who is she even competing with for breakthrough citations at this point?). I wouldn't be surprised, especially in a field of ten, if Winter's Bone lands on the best picture list, though obviously it's not a slam dunk.
Grade: A
I Am Love (dir. Luca Guadagnino)
Here is a film about which my initial effusiveness is cooling. I enjoyed it slightly less on a second viewing, though Tilda Swinton's work is still searing, convincing, peculiar and specific (as always). It's almost epic in its scale and splendor. However, a scene can be largely without dialogue and still overstate many of its greater ideas. It's very easy to get swept up in I Am Love that one almost overlooks how many of the visual cues verge on the obtuse--for instance, the first time Emma (Swinton) tastes food made by Antonio (Edoardo Gabbriellini). This is not to say that it's not a lovely and in many ways accomplished film. It's very evocative, mostly when it's not trying so hard to be. The overwrought conclusion and the even more overwrought score (seriously, people are praising this score, but calling Never Let Me Go overscored? Both composers are a little wand-happy, but the latter, considerably less so...) keep this film from an A.
Grade: B+
The Kids Are All Right (dir. Lisa Cholodenko)
The ingredients for a great film (rather than the quite good, if far too tentative and easy result) are present. Great cast? Check. Annette Bening and Julianne Moore seem perfectly in their element here, as does Mark Ruffalo. The kids are great too. Mia Wasikowska and Josh Hutcherson are the unsung assets to The Kids Are All Right, gifting the film with aching, believable uncertainty and mortification at the behavior of the "adults" in their lives. Humor? Check. I laughed. I laughed quite a lot, actually. So, why does it seem like I like The Kids Are All Right slightly less than everyone seems to love it? Firstly, it's clear that screenwriters Cholodenko and Stuart Bloomberg love each of the characters they've created. That's evidenced by their need to protect them and their inability to put them into situations where they are required to make hard choices. Annette Bening navigates around the film's pussy-footing nature with aplomb. She will eke out a full-realized characterization and performance, even if it's not necessarily given to her on the page. Julianne Moore is given quieter notes to play, as is Ruffalo. Great performances often seem effortless and no one is phoning it in here. I'm always glad to see Moore breaking away from her impressive, yet morose "woman on the verge..." thesp-ing that often pigeonholes her and prevents her true versatility from shining through. However, the film's wispy keeps it from rising to true greatness or even memorability. Here is a story crying out for just a bit more shading, complexity and hardness than what is given.
Grade: B
Prodigal Sons (dir. Kimberly Reed)
Proof that I need to make more of a concerted effort to watch documentaries, and not just those that manage to creep into the larger consciousness, some based on merit and others based on accessible and timely (read: facile) subject matter. An aside: I've yet to watch Waiting for Superman, so I can't comment. However, the trailer, combined with reactions from those I trust, as well as Guggenheim's previous documentary (An Inconvenient Truth), which smugly masqueraded common knowledge as incendiary samizdat which "the man" doesn't want you to know about all have my expectations cold as ice (rant over). Prodigal Sons, a documentary about director Kimberly Reed's return to Montana for a high school reunion marries the piercing emotionality of Tarnation with the polished, formal elements of Steve James or even Errol Morris. It's a wonderful combination. We watch as she attempts to reconcile her relationship with her very troubled adopted brother Marc. I almost want to hold my feelings about this film close to my chest, as its such an arresting experience to watch the story unfold before you and become something completely different than what is promised, yet no less satisfying. It's strange...I tend to be repelled, at least on principle, by the prospect of personal documentaries. And yet, when done well, they are the most affecting.
Grade: A-
Machete (dir. Robert Rodriguez)
Whether being viewed simply as an exercise in B-movie cinematic excess, or as a mindless action film (or both), Machete fails to turn either trope on its head in a way that is memorable or interesting.
Grade: C+
Friday, September 24, 2010
2010 in film...so far (Part 1)
I will be seeing Animal Kingdom sometime this weekend, along with Catfish. Looking at the sidebar of 2010 releases which I have viewed and graded, it might seem that I'm a little behind the 8-ball. And yet...I don't see it that way. Yes, I'm aware that there are still many films I need to see from the former part of they year. But looking at the films that popular sentiment seems to be telling me that I "missed," I feel no great need to rush out and see them. Nick Davis over at Nick's Flick Picks described it perfectly in a recent article where he described his grading system. He gives a letter grade, then a VOR (Values, Originality, and Risk) rating from 1-5. Brilliant. This is exactly why I'm not particularly compelled to rush out and see Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Based on secondhand reports and my reaction to the trailers, I'm sure that it's a film I'm going to at the very least enjoy on the most basic level, no matter how underwhelmed I am. Why the hesitation? Well, what is a movie like Scott Pilgrim, How to Train Your Dragon or even Toy Story 3 really going to tell me about the current cinematic landscape that I don't already know? Michael Cera seems frozen in time with his shtick? Non-Pixar animated releases can still rake 'em in? Pixar's the cornerstone of animated cinema? These respective nuggets are not enough to make me rush out to see these films in theater, rather than waiting to catch them on DVD, even if I am sure to like the films. It may sound pompous or pretentious, but with my limited time, I need a little something more.
Date Night (dir. Shawn Levy)
Often funny, but memorably so. I'm flirting with the idea of being done with Steve Carrell and this film certainly didn't help matters much. Tina Fey is delightful, as always, and I was immediately led to think about how much I'd really love to see her in a better movie. Now that Sandra Bullock is no longer attached to The Abstinence Teacher...maybe Fey? It's been so long since I've seen this film and there are singular elements that stick out in my memory. I do specifically remember thinking Date Night was overlong, which is not exactly to the credit of a film with an 87 minute running time. I also remember being baffled both by Taraji P. Henson's suggestion of a character/performance/purpose and her Veronica Cartwright circa Alien haircut. Completely missable.
Grade at the time of viewing: B-
Now downgraded to a C+
The Greatest (dir. Shana Feste)
One of the most odious movie-watching experiences in recent memory, which is kind of shocking, given the film's tentative nature and modest goals. It features Pierce Brosnan and Susan Sarandon as bereaved parents and Carey Mulligan as the young woman their son knocked up the night he died. These three actors turn in uneven, yet not completely disastrous turns that clearly suffered from a nebulous direction and an even murkier script. The rest of the cast, particularly Johnny Simmons who plays the left-behind younger brother, is less capable. Zoe Kravitz is also featured and is limited, certainly, but the least of this film's problems. (I'll talk more about her when I'm talking about It's Kind of a Funny Story). Narrative storytelling has to allow for suspension of disbelief and most audiences accept that. But there are plot contrivances in this film so glaring, so nonsensical, so completely asinine that even the most casual, twice-a-year movie watcher (the kind who thought that Saw was clever and Crash was poignant) would scoff that neither a parse of the script nor a snip in post-production prohibited these flubs from worming their way into the final cut. It's simply grief-porn--cinematic suffering for its own sake without a shred of emotional motivation or honesty.
Grade: C-/D+
Mother and Child (dir. Rodrigo Garcia)
Flawed, but poignant piece of moviemaking. It is a broken ensemble piece that examines adoption and its effect on three different women. It's experiencing somewhat of a fade in my memory, but I remember being moved by its very believable character specificity that's not merely paint-by-numbers quirk. The three stars are all very much within their element here and doing excellent work, particularly Annette Bening and Kerry Washington (Naomi Watts suffers from an unknowable and inconsistent character whose real emotions Garcia seems reluctant to mine).
Grade:B
Iron Man 2 (dir. Jon Favreau)
I think I was in a bad mood the day I saw this movie. Favreau brought it to my school and even did a lecture afterwards. Perhaps it was my disposition, but after watching Iron Man 2, I slipped out of the auditorium quietly before Favreau arrived on stage. I have still yet to see Iron Man (should I?), so maybe I'm not the target audience for this film. I just felt myself underwhelmed, deflated, verging on annoyance at the film's smug, smarmy tone (and I do actually enjoy Robert Downey Jr. quite a bit). No, my impatience was not with Downey, but more with Favreau--his presence in his own film, which particularly self-indulgent in this case. I'm sure Favreau is a perfectly nice guy, but when I look at his directorial filmography (Elf, Zathura and the Iron Man films, to name a few) I can't abide nor can I justify sitting down for a couple of hours and listening to him speak.
Grade: C+
More reviews to come...
Date Night (dir. Shawn Levy)
Often funny, but memorably so. I'm flirting with the idea of being done with Steve Carrell and this film certainly didn't help matters much. Tina Fey is delightful, as always, and I was immediately led to think about how much I'd really love to see her in a better movie. Now that Sandra Bullock is no longer attached to The Abstinence Teacher...maybe Fey? It's been so long since I've seen this film and there are singular elements that stick out in my memory. I do specifically remember thinking Date Night was overlong, which is not exactly to the credit of a film with an 87 minute running time. I also remember being baffled both by Taraji P. Henson's suggestion of a character/performance/purpose and her Veronica Cartwright circa Alien haircut. Completely missable.
Grade at the time of viewing: B-
Now downgraded to a C+
The Greatest (dir. Shana Feste)
One of the most odious movie-watching experiences in recent memory, which is kind of shocking, given the film's tentative nature and modest goals. It features Pierce Brosnan and Susan Sarandon as bereaved parents and Carey Mulligan as the young woman their son knocked up the night he died. These three actors turn in uneven, yet not completely disastrous turns that clearly suffered from a nebulous direction and an even murkier script. The rest of the cast, particularly Johnny Simmons who plays the left-behind younger brother, is less capable. Zoe Kravitz is also featured and is limited, certainly, but the least of this film's problems. (I'll talk more about her when I'm talking about It's Kind of a Funny Story). Narrative storytelling has to allow for suspension of disbelief and most audiences accept that. But there are plot contrivances in this film so glaring, so nonsensical, so completely asinine that even the most casual, twice-a-year movie watcher (the kind who thought that Saw was clever and Crash was poignant) would scoff that neither a parse of the script nor a snip in post-production prohibited these flubs from worming their way into the final cut. It's simply grief-porn--cinematic suffering for its own sake without a shred of emotional motivation or honesty.
Grade: C-/D+
Mother and Child (dir. Rodrigo Garcia)
Flawed, but poignant piece of moviemaking. It is a broken ensemble piece that examines adoption and its effect on three different women. It's experiencing somewhat of a fade in my memory, but I remember being moved by its very believable character specificity that's not merely paint-by-numbers quirk. The three stars are all very much within their element here and doing excellent work, particularly Annette Bening and Kerry Washington (Naomi Watts suffers from an unknowable and inconsistent character whose real emotions Garcia seems reluctant to mine).
Grade:B
Iron Man 2 (dir. Jon Favreau)
I think I was in a bad mood the day I saw this movie. Favreau brought it to my school and even did a lecture afterwards. Perhaps it was my disposition, but after watching Iron Man 2, I slipped out of the auditorium quietly before Favreau arrived on stage. I have still yet to see Iron Man (should I?), so maybe I'm not the target audience for this film. I just felt myself underwhelmed, deflated, verging on annoyance at the film's smug, smarmy tone (and I do actually enjoy Robert Downey Jr. quite a bit). No, my impatience was not with Downey, but more with Favreau--his presence in his own film, which particularly self-indulgent in this case. I'm sure Favreau is a perfectly nice guy, but when I look at his directorial filmography (Elf, Zathura and the Iron Man films, to name a few) I can't abide nor can I justify sitting down for a couple of hours and listening to him speak.
Grade: C+
More reviews to come...
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Few Thoughts on Inception
I interrupt the regular scheduled programming to give you a few brief thoughts about Inception, because it seems like this week, the world isn't allowed to talk about anything else.
First of all, I liked it, as I have most of Christopher Nolan's films. But I liked it with huge reservation. For better or for worse, I enter a film through the acting and the writing (in that order). The fact that more than half of the cast can boast the title "Academy Award nominee" and more than half of those people are actually deserving of the honor, there's no reason to expect phoned-in thesp-ing. And for the most part, the acting here is quite serviceable, with a few notable exceptions.
Any accusations of thin performances are not solely the fault of the actors here, who do what they can to compensate for the fact that they are not playing characters, but rather ideas "projections of Christopher Nolan's subconscious," if you will. For a film that is all about the subconscious and levels thereof, it certainly states its ideas rather obtusely, and repeatedly.
This is especially true of the two women, one of whom (Marion Cotillard's "Mal") actually is a projection of the subconscious. Christopher Nolan has demonstrated that he cannot write female characters, from Natalie, Rachel Dawes, Olivia Wenscombe, to now Mal and Ariadne (Ellen Page). I know that Nolan's fanbase skews male, so I'll tread lightly here because they seem to think he's a great writer, director, producer, singer, dancer, impressionist painter, et. al. Actually, I won't tread lightly. A great writer is a keen observer of the world in which they live. Women are kind of everywhere. Why then the
thin, flimsy characterizations? I love the choices that some of his actresses make, certainly. Carrie-Ann Moss, especially. The fact that Maggie Gyllenhaal improved tenfold upon Katie Holmes's Rachel Dawes while still sleepwalking (sorry, Maggie. I love you, but let's not rewrite history) through The Dark Knight is a testament to his ability to at least cast capable actresses. I'm sure you have it in you, Nolan. Ellen Page's Ariadne could have been replaced by some kind of talking computer and it wouldn't have made a difference. Her character is given no backstory, no motivation, no frame of reference, which would be fine if she weren't risking her mental dexterity through dream espionage (call me old fashioned, but I'd kind of like to know why).
Visually, I've heard a lot of arguments that the dreams in this film are not "dreamlike" enough. Joe Reid over at Low Resolution beat me to the punch by pointing out that the dreams in Inception are specifically designed by architects. Of the problems in this film (and there are several), wanting for a believable dreamscape was not one of them. A lot of the dream sequences were pretty damn breathtaking, actually. For the record, I found the falling van to be an incredible plot device. The film is not perfect, but let's give credit where its due, shall we? I (for the record) hate The Matrix with ever fiber of my being, but you can never say that movie lacks for...um...luridness.
Here's the bottom line (and feel free to disagree), but the people who are calling Inception a masterpiece AND the people calling it an utter disaster are two sides of the same coin. They're both wrong. They both need to get a grip. And they both (for the most part) are guilty of steeling themselves prior to viewing the film for how incredible or shitty they thought it was going to be. We can't pretend that we're immune to hype and advertising when it comes to new releases. Inception was already in the IMDb top 250 of all time before it even officially came out (sidebar: at any given time, the IMDb top 250 list looks like it was mostly devised by an afternoon tribunal featuring a five-year-old boy, a thirteen-year-old boy, an Octogenarian of any gender, Mel Gibson and one graduate film student with crowd anxiety). We can't pretend that hearing those kind of effusive reviews weren't tipping people in one direction or the other, whether they're susceptible to group think or contrarianism for its own sake (another form of group think). The Dark Knight was too fresh in people's memory as either an overblown fanboy annoyance, or the second coming for the reaction to Nolan's latest flick to be pure (if there is ever a pure reaction to any film). That's why I found so heartening about the reaction to a movie like Avatar. Love it or hate it (I liked it a whole lot), but you had people from all levels of tiers of film criticism (from the lowbrow to middle to high) having varied reactions to the film. You never got a sense from the Avatar fans that it wasn't okay to disagree, whereas the Inception fans are ready to make virginal sacrifices to Christopher Nolan.
Despite all of my misgivings, I did enjoy Inception. Hey, if you were in LA or New York that week, I would have recommended seeing The Kids Are All Right instead (another imperfect film, but a more satisfying one), but there are worse ways to wile away the summer hours. And before all the talk of "overrated, doesn't deserve it, blah blah blah" begins, I'm going to say now that I'm for Inception's best picture nomination, which everyone seems to think is inevitable (I have my doubts). I'm for it for several reasons. Firstly, it's a solid B-, which means it will almost assuredly not appear on my personal year-end top ten list. But that same grade also means that it will likely be preferable to at least 20% of the viable contenders gunning for a spot on the ten-wide list. Also, it can't hurt the Academy to expand its mind a little. The more years we have in a row where the best picture list embraces films like Avatar, District 9 and Inception (n
one of which are films I passionately love), the more likely it is that they'll continue to be adventurous when the rules revert the best picture list back to five nominees. Lastly, I want Inception to get nominated for best picture because I can remember the grousing and griping that went on when The Dark Knight got overlooked and...I just don't want to have to listen to it again.
Grade: B-
First of all, I liked it, as I have most of Christopher Nolan's films. But I liked it with huge reservation. For better or for worse, I enter a film through the acting and the writing (in that order). The fact that more than half of the cast can boast the title "Academy Award nominee" and more than half of those people are actually deserving of the honor, there's no reason to expect phoned-in thesp-ing. And for the most part, the acting here is quite serviceable, with a few notable exceptions.
Any accusations of thin performances are not solely the fault of the actors here, who do what they can to compensate for the fact that they are not playing characters, but rather ideas "projections of Christopher Nolan's subconscious," if you will. For a film that is all about the subconscious and levels thereof, it certainly states its ideas rather obtusely, and repeatedly.
This is especially true of the two women, one of whom (Marion Cotillard's "Mal") actually is a projection of the subconscious. Christopher Nolan has demonstrated that he cannot write female characters, from Natalie, Rachel Dawes, Olivia Wenscombe, to now Mal and Ariadne (Ellen Page). I know that Nolan's fanbase skews male, so I'll tread lightly here because they seem to think he's a great writer, director, producer, singer, dancer, impressionist painter, et. al. Actually, I won't tread lightly. A great writer is a keen observer of the world in which they live. Women are kind of everywhere. Why then the
thin, flimsy characterizations? I love the choices that some of his actresses make, certainly. Carrie-Ann Moss, especially. The fact that Maggie Gyllenhaal improved tenfold upon Katie Holmes's Rachel Dawes while still sleepwalking (sorry, Maggie. I love you, but let's not rewrite history) through The Dark Knight is a testament to his ability to at least cast capable actresses. I'm sure you have it in you, Nolan. Ellen Page's Ariadne could have been replaced by some kind of talking computer and it wouldn't have made a difference. Her character is given no backstory, no motivation, no frame of reference, which would be fine if she weren't risking her mental dexterity through dream espionage (call me old fashioned, but I'd kind of like to know why).Visually, I've heard a lot of arguments that the dreams in this film are not "dreamlike" enough. Joe Reid over at Low Resolution beat me to the punch by pointing out that the dreams in Inception are specifically designed by architects. Of the problems in this film (and there are several), wanting for a believable dreamscape was not one of them. A lot of the dream sequences were pretty damn breathtaking, actually. For the record, I found the falling van to be an incredible plot device. The film is not perfect, but let's give credit where its due, shall we? I (for the record) hate The Matrix with ever fiber of my being, but you can never say that movie lacks for...um...luridness.
Here's the bottom line (and feel free to disagree), but the people who are calling Inception a masterpiece AND the people calling it an utter disaster are two sides of the same coin. They're both wrong. They both need to get a grip. And they both (for the most part) are guilty of steeling themselves prior to viewing the film for how incredible or shitty they thought it was going to be. We can't pretend that we're immune to hype and advertising when it comes to new releases. Inception was already in the IMDb top 250 of all time before it even officially came out (sidebar: at any given time, the IMDb top 250 list looks like it was mostly devised by an afternoon tribunal featuring a five-year-old boy, a thirteen-year-old boy, an Octogenarian of any gender, Mel Gibson and one graduate film student with crowd anxiety). We can't pretend that hearing those kind of effusive reviews weren't tipping people in one direction or the other, whether they're susceptible to group think or contrarianism for its own sake (another form of group think). The Dark Knight was too fresh in people's memory as either an overblown fanboy annoyance, or the second coming for the reaction to Nolan's latest flick to be pure (if there is ever a pure reaction to any film). That's why I found so heartening about the reaction to a movie like Avatar. Love it or hate it (I liked it a whole lot), but you had people from all levels of tiers of film criticism (from the lowbrow to middle to high) having varied reactions to the film. You never got a sense from the Avatar fans that it wasn't okay to disagree, whereas the Inception fans are ready to make virginal sacrifices to Christopher Nolan.
Despite all of my misgivings, I did enjoy Inception. Hey, if you were in LA or New York that week, I would have recommended seeing The Kids Are All Right instead (another imperfect film, but a more satisfying one), but there are worse ways to wile away the summer hours. And before all the talk of "overrated, doesn't deserve it, blah blah blah" begins, I'm going to say now that I'm for Inception's best picture nomination, which everyone seems to think is inevitable (I have my doubts). I'm for it for several reasons. Firstly, it's a solid B-, which means it will almost assuredly not appear on my personal year-end top ten list. But that same grade also means that it will likely be preferable to at least 20% of the viable contenders gunning for a spot on the ten-wide list. Also, it can't hurt the Academy to expand its mind a little. The more years we have in a row where the best picture list embraces films like Avatar, District 9 and Inception (n
one of which are films I passionately love), the more likely it is that they'll continue to be adventurous when the rules revert the best picture list back to five nominees. Lastly, I want Inception to get nominated for best picture because I can remember the grousing and griping that went on when The Dark Knight got overlooked and...I just don't want to have to listen to it again.Grade: B-
The Big Pretentious Movie Summer (31-35)
The Aviator dir. Martin Scorsese (2004)
A fine film, entertaining, epic in scope and enthralling. Its technical splendor and immersion into period make it hard to attack any of the formal mechanics. It's spectacularly well-made, though it is difficult to get really passionate about it six years after my initial viewing. I'm really glad that Martin Scorsese didn't win his long awaited Oscar for this film, and not only because Million Dollar Baby is a superb and superior film that has aged surprisingly well (know that getting me to admit this about a Clint Eastwood movie is no easy feat). It doesn't feel like a Scorsese film, and I'm not just saying that simply because of the generic departure (The Age of Innocence is certainly an anomaly for Scorsese on paper, but I could still see him in it very much). The Aviator lacks a certain intimacy and character familiarity that have come to be the hallmark of even Scorsese's grandest expeditions. Screenwriter John Logan (the man who brought us more wanting fare such as Gladiator and The Last Samurai) surely shares the blame for that. Although the performances here are good (and Scorsese's direction certainly elevates Logan's paint-by-numbers approach to Howard Hughes's life), I never felt like I learned much more about these characters other than what's pertinent to events in any given scene. Leonardo DiCaprio's performance is technically accomplished, if a little obvious in certain places. While he doesn't layer back story very interestingly, he sells the accent and the externalities very convincingly. He was physically much too green and baby-faced at the time to play Howard Hughes (I'd be curious to see how today's more hardened and grizzled DiCaprio would handle the role). Cate Blanchett is superb, knowing that she's much to distinctive looking to physically sell Katharine Hepburn and instead playing her own version of the screen icon. It's a polished, unfussy turn worthy of the many accolades thrown its way. Kate Beckinsale's Ava Gardner is serviceable (it seems like that's the best she can ever claim), though I can't help but wonder what a more seasoned performer could have brought to the admittedly thin role. I don't even categorically dislike Beckinsale, but she's an actress whose consistent employability over the last decade or so
continues to confuse me, both commercially (has she ever headlined a true "hit"?) and artistically (she's in a competitive enough age bracket for Hollywood actresses that with each role she lands, I wonder why it didn't go to one of the other dozen or so working actresses who physically fit the bill and are more skilled). I've heard several people carry on about the length, which was not a problem for me during either of my two viewings. The structure of the story seems impeccable and Scorsese's stylistic choices (the big one being the use of color and how it changes as the film progresses) seem to complement it well. I just wish there had been more feeling and less grandeur, though I suppose Hughes would have approved of the rather cold and antiseptic treatment his life is given here.
Grade: B
Rosemary's Baby dir. Roman Polanski (1968)
This write-up is sure to border on effusive, but yes! Yes! Yes! This is my second viewing of this film and it is hasn't lost an ounce of its creepiness and evocative nature. It's always refreshing to see a genre film made into high art simply by how well-made it is--a seemingly simple notion, but maybe not when you consider how many genre films seem to forget. I wonder if Mia Farrow, in her prime, was regarded much in the same way present-day movie-going consciousness regards Tilda Swinton: talented, distantly and unconventionally lovely, shrewdly selective when it comes to projects, hard to place and radiating other-worldly class and intelligence. It seems like an apt comparison. Farrow is amazing here, never too shrill or mannered. The now iconic look of shock and horror on her face in the film's chilling final scene is a communicative screen acting at its best. Ruth Gordon is fun and memorable (though admittedly that Oscar was a bit of a stretch) in her turn as the creepy neighbor, playing on the universal often unspoken fear that our neighbors aren't what they seem and commit strange and unspeakable acts behind closed doors. An intelligent and often frightening film that wisely never once shows us what it is we're dreading, an oft repeated technique in horror films since with varying degrees of effectiveness ranging from smart appropriation (The Blair Witch Project) to massive miscalculation (Paranormal Activity).
Grade: A-
Naked dir. Mike Leigh (1993)
Very appropriately titled, as Mike Leigh has never made more outwardly shocking a film. It very daringly digs into the ethos of a man named Johnny (an excellent David Thewlis), whose journey we follow. That the film opens with Johnny committing a rape in Manchester and then follows his journey to London as he encounters ex-girlfriend Louise (Lesley Sharpe) and espouses his nihilistic world views for anyone who will listen. Even by Mike Leigh's standards, Naked isn't large with the external plot. The film is very character-based, but it's also rather heavy (necessarily so). Like all Mike Leigh films, improvisational dialogue is clearly employed. The verisimilitude achieved through this method, married with the frank, violent and often lengthy scenes of sexual assault make for an arresting experience. I love that the film only suggests that Johnny's proclivities may be the result of some unknown ailment(s) or disorder(s), be it mental or physical, without absolving him of guilt for his actions. The way Johnny is juxtaposed with Louise and Sophie's sexual sadist of a landlord could have also served to engender misplaced feelings of admiration for Johnny by comparison, but Mike Leigh never works in simple extremes. I appreciate that Dick Pope's cinematography doesn't keep a stark distance between the viewer and Johnny's crime at the beginning of the film, forcing us to confront what he has done. However, the film refuses to fall into gradient-free notions of "Johnny is bad because of this," "These characters are good because of this." Mike Leigh characters are always fascinating creatures. They're so rarely ever just one thing at any given time, and they are so complexly principled. Louise is weary of Johnny, but she still cares for him. Her muted reaction to Johnny seducing her flatmate Sophie (Katrin Cartlidge) is preferable to what could have been a bigger moment (outwardly). This behavior doesn't shock Louise. Mike Leigh and his actors seem to know that being dismayed is different and much worse than being shocked and dismayed, for it means that you never expected anything better in the first place. And what of t
heir principles? They have them, certainly. But I don't think there's more telling a moment in this film than the conversation Louise and Sophie have about abortion. There are no false notes, no missteps. You believe everything these people say and do. I was supposed to watch Life is Sweet and Topsy-Turvy, both unavailable on Netflix and at the AFI library (isn't that sad?). I instead grabbed the Criterion Collection version of Naked and I'm intensely glad I did. What a fortuitous turn of events.
Grade: A-
L'Avventura dir. Michelangelo Antonioni (1960)
I found myself intrigued, rather than truly engaged, feeling deep admiration, rather than true swept-up passion. Monica Vitti, who plays Claudia (here's a deep comment for you) has one of those otherworldly faces that seems adept at expressing the director's ideas without being obtuse or overly fussy. She immediately brings to mind what I love so much about actresses like Tilda Swinton, Helena Bonham Carter, Samantha Morton and Cate Blanchett. Though of my two Antonioni forays, I much more enjoyed L'Eclisse (in which Vitti also stars), I prefer Vitti's performance here. She's conflicted about the scenario--how subsequently takes up with her friend Anna's (Lea Massari) lover Sandro (Gabriel Ferzetti) mere days after Anna disappears without a trace (that's the loose plot, though to say that this is what the film is "about" would be reductive). Vitti's eyes suggest that she's a very cerebral actress, and yet we never see the wheels turning. I never caught her telegraphing Claudia's next move. As stated earlier, I was conceptually intrigued by the film. Not only does Antonioni not solve the issue of Anna's disappearance, but he makes a point of making it a non-issue in the latter half of the film. Outside of the singular elements of Vitti's performance, I can't say that L'Avventura is truly lingering in my mind as more than a collection of incredibly lovely, often arrest
ing images. Aldo Scavarda's cinematography captures the grandeur of the vacation spot where Anna disappears and contrasts it well with Claudia's more mundane home life. I just wish there had been more here. Like Claudia, I found myself tentatively experiencing the events in this film. It was often pleasurable, often exciting, but ultimately not totally satisfying.
Grade: B
Leaving Las Vegas dir. Mike Figgis (1995)
And so we end this post much as we did the last one--with a film containing a 1995 best actress nominee (the other being Casino). Both take place largely in Las Vegas. Both contain male antiheroes who are met with feminized versions of what they need (or think they need). And...the comparisons between Leaving Las Vegas and Casino pretty much end there, even if you're being overly harsh and overly generous, respectively. Something about coming right off of Casino and watching this after listening to a classmate discuss the virtues of Crazy Heart had me steeling myself for how unremarkable I thought this film was going to be (an aside: seriously?! She called it the best film of 2009. If you think Crazy Heart is the best film of 2009, tell me what are the other six films you watched last year). I couldn't have been more wrong about Leaving Las Vegas. What a beautiful, strange film this is, with its own visual language. It tells the story of an alcoholic Hollywood agent named Ben (Nicolas Cage) who hit rock bottom about five exits back. His drunken tailspin lands him in Las Vegas where he meets a prostitute named Sera (a radiant Elisabeth Shue). A connection is formed. Very little is said. This isn't about how Sera teaches Ben to overcome the perils of alcohol, nor does he help her to discover the beauty of her commodified, male-projected womanly self-worth (was that cynical? It felt cynical). They happen to meet, while he's on his way down and while she's remaining relatively lateral. A brief exchange between Ben and Sera contains the two most important lines of dialogue. The first is Ben's: "You can never, never ask me to stop drinking. Do you understand?" The second is Sera's: "I do. I really do." Stories like this often lend themselves to the most trite, ordinary of filmmaking, both narratively and stylistically. In both cases, director Mike Figgis avoids the path of least resistance. There are a lot of playful cinematic experiments here: the cutaways to interviews where the characters divulge large pieces
of information), the use of 16mm film to shoot the film (incidentally, how fucking awesome was Declan Quinn's cinematography here? Between this and Rachel Getting Married I kind of want to rent everything he's ever shot). And the two leading performances are absolutely searing. Elisabeth Shue gifts the film with a stripped-down, bare bones and natural performance. She avoids the cliches, both of the archetype (hooker with a heart of gold) and of the "big moments" in her scenes. The infamous shower scene, for instance, immediately comes to mind as an example of Shue exercising restraint where another actress (I'm not naming any names) would have chewed the scenery. I fought tears throughout this movie and it has just refused to let go.
Grade: A-
35 films down, 120 to go
A fine film, entertaining, epic in scope and enthralling. Its technical splendor and immersion into period make it hard to attack any of the formal mechanics. It's spectacularly well-made, though it is difficult to get really passionate about it six years after my initial viewing. I'm really glad that Martin Scorsese didn't win his long awaited Oscar for this film, and not only because Million Dollar Baby is a superb and superior film that has aged surprisingly well (know that getting me to admit this about a Clint Eastwood movie is no easy feat). It doesn't feel like a Scorsese film, and I'm not just saying that simply because of the generic departure (The Age of Innocence is certainly an anomaly for Scorsese on paper, but I could still see him in it very much). The Aviator lacks a certain intimacy and character familiarity that have come to be the hallmark of even Scorsese's grandest expeditions. Screenwriter John Logan (the man who brought us more wanting fare such as Gladiator and The Last Samurai) surely shares the blame for that. Although the performances here are good (and Scorsese's direction certainly elevates Logan's paint-by-numbers approach to Howard Hughes's life), I never felt like I learned much more about these characters other than what's pertinent to events in any given scene. Leonardo DiCaprio's performance is technically accomplished, if a little obvious in certain places. While he doesn't layer back story very interestingly, he sells the accent and the externalities very convincingly. He was physically much too green and baby-faced at the time to play Howard Hughes (I'd be curious to see how today's more hardened and grizzled DiCaprio would handle the role). Cate Blanchett is superb, knowing that she's much to distinctive looking to physically sell Katharine Hepburn and instead playing her own version of the screen icon. It's a polished, unfussy turn worthy of the many accolades thrown its way. Kate Beckinsale's Ava Gardner is serviceable (it seems like that's the best she can ever claim), though I can't help but wonder what a more seasoned performer could have brought to the admittedly thin role. I don't even categorically dislike Beckinsale, but she's an actress whose consistent employability over the last decade or so
continues to confuse me, both commercially (has she ever headlined a true "hit"?) and artistically (she's in a competitive enough age bracket for Hollywood actresses that with each role she lands, I wonder why it didn't go to one of the other dozen or so working actresses who physically fit the bill and are more skilled). I've heard several people carry on about the length, which was not a problem for me during either of my two viewings. The structure of the story seems impeccable and Scorsese's stylistic choices (the big one being the use of color and how it changes as the film progresses) seem to complement it well. I just wish there had been more feeling and less grandeur, though I suppose Hughes would have approved of the rather cold and antiseptic treatment his life is given here.Grade: B
Rosemary's Baby dir. Roman Polanski (1968)
This write-up is sure to border on effusive, but yes! Yes! Yes! This is my second viewing of this film and it is hasn't lost an ounce of its creepiness and evocative nature. It's always refreshing to see a genre film made into high art simply by how well-made it is--a seemingly simple notion, but maybe not when you consider how many genre films seem to forget. I wonder if Mia Farrow, in her prime, was regarded much in the same way present-day movie-going consciousness regards Tilda Swinton: talented, distantly and unconventionally lovely, shrewdly selective when it comes to projects, hard to place and radiating other-worldly class and intelligence. It seems like an apt comparison. Farrow is amazing here, never too shrill or mannered. The now iconic look of shock and horror on her face in the film's chilling final scene is a communicative screen acting at its best. Ruth Gordon is fun and memorable (though admittedly that Oscar was a bit of a stretch) in her turn as the creepy neighbor, playing on the universal often unspoken fear that our neighbors aren't what they seem and commit strange and unspeakable acts behind closed doors. An intelligent and often frightening film that wisely never once shows us what it is we're dreading, an oft repeated technique in horror films since with varying degrees of effectiveness ranging from smart appropriation (The Blair Witch Project) to massive miscalculation (Paranormal Activity).
Grade: A-
Naked dir. Mike Leigh (1993)
Very appropriately titled, as Mike Leigh has never made more outwardly shocking a film. It very daringly digs into the ethos of a man named Johnny (an excellent David Thewlis), whose journey we follow. That the film opens with Johnny committing a rape in Manchester and then follows his journey to London as he encounters ex-girlfriend Louise (Lesley Sharpe) and espouses his nihilistic world views for anyone who will listen. Even by Mike Leigh's standards, Naked isn't large with the external plot. The film is very character-based, but it's also rather heavy (necessarily so). Like all Mike Leigh films, improvisational dialogue is clearly employed. The verisimilitude achieved through this method, married with the frank, violent and often lengthy scenes of sexual assault make for an arresting experience. I love that the film only suggests that Johnny's proclivities may be the result of some unknown ailment(s) or disorder(s), be it mental or physical, without absolving him of guilt for his actions. The way Johnny is juxtaposed with Louise and Sophie's sexual sadist of a landlord could have also served to engender misplaced feelings of admiration for Johnny by comparison, but Mike Leigh never works in simple extremes. I appreciate that Dick Pope's cinematography doesn't keep a stark distance between the viewer and Johnny's crime at the beginning of the film, forcing us to confront what he has done. However, the film refuses to fall into gradient-free notions of "Johnny is bad because of this," "These characters are good because of this." Mike Leigh characters are always fascinating creatures. They're so rarely ever just one thing at any given time, and they are so complexly principled. Louise is weary of Johnny, but she still cares for him. Her muted reaction to Johnny seducing her flatmate Sophie (Katrin Cartlidge) is preferable to what could have been a bigger moment (outwardly). This behavior doesn't shock Louise. Mike Leigh and his actors seem to know that being dismayed is different and much worse than being shocked and dismayed, for it means that you never expected anything better in the first place. And what of t
heir principles? They have them, certainly. But I don't think there's more telling a moment in this film than the conversation Louise and Sophie have about abortion. There are no false notes, no missteps. You believe everything these people say and do. I was supposed to watch Life is Sweet and Topsy-Turvy, both unavailable on Netflix and at the AFI library (isn't that sad?). I instead grabbed the Criterion Collection version of Naked and I'm intensely glad I did. What a fortuitous turn of events.Grade: A-
L'Avventura dir. Michelangelo Antonioni (1960)
I found myself intrigued, rather than truly engaged, feeling deep admiration, rather than true swept-up passion. Monica Vitti, who plays Claudia (here's a deep comment for you) has one of those otherworldly faces that seems adept at expressing the director's ideas without being obtuse or overly fussy. She immediately brings to mind what I love so much about actresses like Tilda Swinton, Helena Bonham Carter, Samantha Morton and Cate Blanchett. Though of my two Antonioni forays, I much more enjoyed L'Eclisse (in which Vitti also stars), I prefer Vitti's performance here. She's conflicted about the scenario--how subsequently takes up with her friend Anna's (Lea Massari) lover Sandro (Gabriel Ferzetti) mere days after Anna disappears without a trace (that's the loose plot, though to say that this is what the film is "about" would be reductive). Vitti's eyes suggest that she's a very cerebral actress, and yet we never see the wheels turning. I never caught her telegraphing Claudia's next move. As stated earlier, I was conceptually intrigued by the film. Not only does Antonioni not solve the issue of Anna's disappearance, but he makes a point of making it a non-issue in the latter half of the film. Outside of the singular elements of Vitti's performance, I can't say that L'Avventura is truly lingering in my mind as more than a collection of incredibly lovely, often arrest
ing images. Aldo Scavarda's cinematography captures the grandeur of the vacation spot where Anna disappears and contrasts it well with Claudia's more mundane home life. I just wish there had been more here. Like Claudia, I found myself tentatively experiencing the events in this film. It was often pleasurable, often exciting, but ultimately not totally satisfying.Grade: B
Leaving Las Vegas dir. Mike Figgis (1995)
And so we end this post much as we did the last one--with a film containing a 1995 best actress nominee (the other being Casino). Both take place largely in Las Vegas. Both contain male antiheroes who are met with feminized versions of what they need (or think they need). And...the comparisons between Leaving Las Vegas and Casino pretty much end there, even if you're being overly harsh and overly generous, respectively. Something about coming right off of Casino and watching this after listening to a classmate discuss the virtues of Crazy Heart had me steeling myself for how unremarkable I thought this film was going to be (an aside: seriously?! She called it the best film of 2009. If you think Crazy Heart is the best film of 2009, tell me what are the other six films you watched last year). I couldn't have been more wrong about Leaving Las Vegas. What a beautiful, strange film this is, with its own visual language. It tells the story of an alcoholic Hollywood agent named Ben (Nicolas Cage) who hit rock bottom about five exits back. His drunken tailspin lands him in Las Vegas where he meets a prostitute named Sera (a radiant Elisabeth Shue). A connection is formed. Very little is said. This isn't about how Sera teaches Ben to overcome the perils of alcohol, nor does he help her to discover the beauty of her commodified, male-projected womanly self-worth (was that cynical? It felt cynical). They happen to meet, while he's on his way down and while she's remaining relatively lateral. A brief exchange between Ben and Sera contains the two most important lines of dialogue. The first is Ben's: "You can never, never ask me to stop drinking. Do you understand?" The second is Sera's: "I do. I really do." Stories like this often lend themselves to the most trite, ordinary of filmmaking, both narratively and stylistically. In both cases, director Mike Figgis avoids the path of least resistance. There are a lot of playful cinematic experiments here: the cutaways to interviews where the characters divulge large pieces
of information), the use of 16mm film to shoot the film (incidentally, how fucking awesome was Declan Quinn's cinematography here? Between this and Rachel Getting Married I kind of want to rent everything he's ever shot). And the two leading performances are absolutely searing. Elisabeth Shue gifts the film with a stripped-down, bare bones and natural performance. She avoids the cliches, both of the archetype (hooker with a heart of gold) and of the "big moments" in her scenes. The infamous shower scene, for instance, immediately comes to mind as an example of Shue exercising restraint where another actress (I'm not naming any names) would have chewed the scenery. I fought tears throughout this movie and it has just refused to let go.Grade: A-
35 films down, 120 to go
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