by Dan Cohen
The Motion Picture Academy has spoken, and every critic, executive, and psychic in Hollywood is working overtime to woo voters or second guess them. To mark the occasion, a few comments on the films I have yet to discuss, that will probably be making return appearances to local screens.
Doubt
At the top of the heap, for a host of virtues, "Doubt" is solid and graceful. Yes, its source is a play, and yes the author wrote the screenplay (and directed too,) but the result is a thoroughly compelling movie that for reasons unknown to me, has been sideswiped by much of the high end media. It seems almost aside from the point to praise the marvelous performances, because they’re simply of a piece with the entire film.
The story is simple; a charismatic priest, (Phillip Seymour Hoffman,) is accused of an impropriety with a young boy from his convent’s religious school. An imperious nun, (Meryl Streep) initiates an investigation, based largely on her gut reaction. What follows is a simple narrative mined for maximum complexity.
Beyond the top rank cast and adroit flow of John Patrick Shanley's script, what I admired most about "Doubt" is the subtle period recreation, a function of Roger Deakins restrained camerawork and David Gropman's production design. There’s almost as much wit in the physical details as there is in the dialogue. You never for a moment question place and time, Brooklyn in 1964, which adds to the dramas urgency.
Slumdog Millionaire
This is the one to beat for the most coveted awards. In fact "Slumdog" is the underdog most likely to be named Best Picture.
It begins as a hyper real depiction of the depths of poverty, and concludes as a breathless fairy tale. Danny Boyle directs in the deliriously, overheated style that is his hallmark, this time on a canvas that allows him to take his usually dazzling storytelling skills to a whole new level. He’s proved his visual chops in "Millions", "Sunshine" and "28 Days Later." But this time he seems to have set his sights on half of India, from top to bottom.
The device by which the story unfolds, an Indian version of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," serves as a clever launching pad for a long series of flashbacks. But the device becomes less credible in the later stretches as Boyle increasingly relies on it to justify every dramatic turn. Still, the camera work is so alive that it bulldozes the itching suspicion that there’s more emphasis on contrivance than emotion. And how can you complain about a movie that starts with the most cringe inducing depiction of child abuse and concludes with these same kids , 20 years later, dancing their way through a spirited musical number in a train station? For sheer nerve "Slumdog" earns the waves of audience love it’s receiving across the country.
Three ensembles of inspired actors play impoverished, Muslim inhabitants of a huge Mumbai slum at various stages of their young lives. They're all strong, especially the group just entering adolescence.
For me, one episode stood out from the rest; after toppling into a huge vat of sewage, a little boy, literally covered in shit, insinuates himself on a huge crowd gathered to meet a pop star. Unwilling to be denied he parts the startled crowd and gets the star’s autograph, without a trace of self consciousness. Audaciously shot, the sequence is at once hilarious, shocking and moving.
The Reader
Certainly more involving than Kate Winslet's other showy role this year (in "Revolutionary Road,"The Reader" still disappoints. Stephen Daldry's studious direction is finally overcome by a murky, inarticulate second half. Once again, a complicated novel is diffused by a translation that hasn’t found a visual equivalent for the written word.
The narrative, older woman seduces teenager in post war Germany, starts in an intriguing fashion. The movie looks like it means business. But when the issues become more weighty it becomes unclear how the characters feel and why.
What are we to make of Ralph Fiennes doddering response upon discovering that the object of his adoration enthusiastically sent so many Jews to be exterminated? And why does he hold back when he knows there may be mitigating circumstances? Thescript hedges. On reflection, we wonder what compelled Kate Winslet’s character to bed an awkward teenager, who she contemptuously refers to as "kid," long after she knows his name. It's not like she’s a recluse; we see her in contact with other people right from the start.
Lena Olin appears near the end, speaking a few incisive lines about death camps, but it doesn’t shed much light on the issues that have gone before. In fact, the strength of her single scene underscores the weakness of the rest.
The Wrestler
"The Wrestler," plays mostly like a B movie, but done in the impromptu, cinema verite style, which well suits director Darren Aronofskys unflinching depiction of the grimy world of pro wrestling. But the acting, to quote the words of another great warrior, "floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee." (Do you remember who?)
This genre conventions are familiar; they lean toward either "Rocky," or "Requiem for a Heavyweight," (a Rod Serling classic I highly recommend.) At any given point in "The Wrestler" you can probably guess what happens next. But it doesn’t take away from the movies pleasures; the performances are so fresh, and the direction so unfussy, the movie wins you over.
Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei give it all they’ve got, which for the most part means taking the parts so well we can't see their craft at work. Evan Rachel Wood offers able support in a small role that's well focused. And the non pros, actual wrestlers, are seamlessly integrated. But at the end of the day aren’t all these guys actors?
This is a good a crop of Academy contenders as we’ve seen in years. Do bad times bring on better movies? We'll continue the discussion as the bad times continue.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Curious Affairs
"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" is a welcome departure for a director known for offbeat thrillers; David Fincher. It’s also a high point for Brad Pitt, and a nearly heroic gamble for the two studios behind it, Warner and Paramount.
This is a quixotic, meditative movie with a sensibility unlike any other in recent memory. Its stubbornly adult story telling took me completely by surprise. A rambling fable about the fleeting nature of love and life, it's most effective in its quietest moments, which are many.
The source material, a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, sketches the life of a child born old, who becomes progressively younger with the passing of years. It’s a stunt, for sure, but it soon takes a back seat to larger issues. And it's huge. Each of its many episodes is elaborately detailed, from a boisterous New Orleans in the 20s, to pre World War II Russia, to the theater scene in New York City during the 50s. Most are visually striking, but what makes them work is how they’re married to the characters.
For a film that runs over two and a half hours the story line is almost frighteningly slim. A horridly wrinkled newborn, abandoned by his birth father, is taken in by a kind African American, (played marvelously by Taraji P. Henson,) and raised in a home for the aged. While not expected to live, the baby evolves into a decrepit 85 year old, and then, keeps getting younger. Early on the “old” Benjamin becomes friends with Daisy, a precocious little girl who goes off to become a dancer. Although the two mature on their own, they eventually fall in love, only to grow apart as fate takes them to different destinies.
Daisy, richly played by Cate Blanchett, is the only one who truly understands how Benjamin’s life has proceeded, and how it might end. Their affair, as it blossoms, is delicately understated, in the best way. Unexpectedly the movie pleads a passionate case for the value of long term relationships.
There are almost no large, showy moments. A single wartime episode is quick, effective, and then done. People come and go like wisps of smoke that dissipate just as you realize their importance. But the cumulative effect is quite powerful. Fincher wisely chose to underplay the freakish nature of Benjamin’s life. The few people with whom he has any continuity accept him for what he is; eventually so do we.
The movie has taken a rap in some quarters more for what it’s not than what it is. Eric Roth, acclaimed screenwriter of "Forrest Gump," has chosen a very different path here. Gump was a also a big movie filled with startling effects, a classic "tall tale" narrated by a character with a profound handicap. But there the similarity ends. Gump was a simpleton, whose nature was obvious to everyone he met. Button’s odd circumstances remain unknown to most. As he matures, however, his youth subtly robs him, which gives the story just enough of an edge to illustrate the human dilemma from a slightly different point of view, a view that finally underscores the difficulty of breaking the confines of our solitary nature.
There are four or five too many flashbacks to the aged Blanchett, as she tries to explain Benjamin to her daughter. These bookmarks, or bathroom breaks, if you will, make the events seem more protracted than they are. Other than that the film’s main liability is its admirable restraint, which is likely to make it a difficult sell to a mainstream audience. "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," employs gargantuan resources to tell a story on strictly adult terms.
I don't like to write about ambitious movies that utterly fail; I'd rather talk about better ones. But "Revolutionary Road" is such a stand out I feel obliged to send out a smoke signal. It's a dismal drone inspired by a renowned novel. There, you’ve been warned.
Kate Winslett and Leonardo Di Caprio meet in an intriguing first scene, in a New York night club, on the eve of the 50s. He is't sure what he wants. She aspires to a career in the theater. After numerous drinks she tells him he's the most interesting person she's ever met. But it’s all downhill from there as they scratch and bite each other through a nightmarish marriage, which ends very badly. Is it a hell of their own making, or a logical consequence of the commuter life style of post war suburbia? The movie doesn't tell us. All we see is their rapid devolution and the willful blindness of those around them.
This is well trod movie territory, from "The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit," to "No Down Payment" to "Strangers When We Meet." But those movies were better invested in their characters. They had ups and downs. This is a celluloid autopsy. The three notes in gifted composer Thomas Newman's theme tell you all you need to know, over and over.
I have to assume that director Sam Mendes and screenwriter Justin Haythe intended to transform writer RichardYates rough poetry into its visual equivalent. But the artistry that drove the book has remained on the printed page. While the photography and performances are strong, the movie is a one note, pretentious dirge. There"s more life in any single episode of "Mad Men."
This is a quixotic, meditative movie with a sensibility unlike any other in recent memory. Its stubbornly adult story telling took me completely by surprise. A rambling fable about the fleeting nature of love and life, it's most effective in its quietest moments, which are many.
The source material, a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, sketches the life of a child born old, who becomes progressively younger with the passing of years. It’s a stunt, for sure, but it soon takes a back seat to larger issues. And it's huge. Each of its many episodes is elaborately detailed, from a boisterous New Orleans in the 20s, to pre World War II Russia, to the theater scene in New York City during the 50s. Most are visually striking, but what makes them work is how they’re married to the characters.
For a film that runs over two and a half hours the story line is almost frighteningly slim. A horridly wrinkled newborn, abandoned by his birth father, is taken in by a kind African American, (played marvelously by Taraji P. Henson,) and raised in a home for the aged. While not expected to live, the baby evolves into a decrepit 85 year old, and then, keeps getting younger. Early on the “old” Benjamin becomes friends with Daisy, a precocious little girl who goes off to become a dancer. Although the two mature on their own, they eventually fall in love, only to grow apart as fate takes them to different destinies.
Daisy, richly played by Cate Blanchett, is the only one who truly understands how Benjamin’s life has proceeded, and how it might end. Their affair, as it blossoms, is delicately understated, in the best way. Unexpectedly the movie pleads a passionate case for the value of long term relationships.
There are almost no large, showy moments. A single wartime episode is quick, effective, and then done. People come and go like wisps of smoke that dissipate just as you realize their importance. But the cumulative effect is quite powerful. Fincher wisely chose to underplay the freakish nature of Benjamin’s life. The few people with whom he has any continuity accept him for what he is; eventually so do we.
The movie has taken a rap in some quarters more for what it’s not than what it is. Eric Roth, acclaimed screenwriter of "Forrest Gump," has chosen a very different path here. Gump was a also a big movie filled with startling effects, a classic "tall tale" narrated by a character with a profound handicap. But there the similarity ends. Gump was a simpleton, whose nature was obvious to everyone he met. Button’s odd circumstances remain unknown to most. As he matures, however, his youth subtly robs him, which gives the story just enough of an edge to illustrate the human dilemma from a slightly different point of view, a view that finally underscores the difficulty of breaking the confines of our solitary nature.
There are four or five too many flashbacks to the aged Blanchett, as she tries to explain Benjamin to her daughter. These bookmarks, or bathroom breaks, if you will, make the events seem more protracted than they are. Other than that the film’s main liability is its admirable restraint, which is likely to make it a difficult sell to a mainstream audience. "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," employs gargantuan resources to tell a story on strictly adult terms.
I don't like to write about ambitious movies that utterly fail; I'd rather talk about better ones. But "Revolutionary Road" is such a stand out I feel obliged to send out a smoke signal. It's a dismal drone inspired by a renowned novel. There, you’ve been warned.
Kate Winslett and Leonardo Di Caprio meet in an intriguing first scene, in a New York night club, on the eve of the 50s. He is't sure what he wants. She aspires to a career in the theater. After numerous drinks she tells him he's the most interesting person she's ever met. But it’s all downhill from there as they scratch and bite each other through a nightmarish marriage, which ends very badly. Is it a hell of their own making, or a logical consequence of the commuter life style of post war suburbia? The movie doesn't tell us. All we see is their rapid devolution and the willful blindness of those around them.
This is well trod movie territory, from "The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit," to "No Down Payment" to "Strangers When We Meet." But those movies were better invested in their characters. They had ups and downs. This is a celluloid autopsy. The three notes in gifted composer Thomas Newman's theme tell you all you need to know, over and over.
I have to assume that director Sam Mendes and screenwriter Justin Haythe intended to transform writer RichardYates rough poetry into its visual equivalent. But the artistry that drove the book has remained on the printed page. While the photography and performances are strong, the movie is a one note, pretentious dirge. There"s more life in any single episode of "Mad Men."
Friday, December 5, 2008
A Satisfying "Frost/Nixon"
by Dan Cohen
Frost/Nixon is first of all, stirring entertainment, provided you come to it with some knowledge of the period. I expected the predictable, but quickly found myself delighted by its multifaceted approach. The story and its many characters are revealed with intelligence, wit, and that most important of dramatic virtues, suspense.
Director Ron Howard, screenwriter/playwright Peter Morgan, and an outstanding cast have delivered two solid hours of high end drama. By adults and for adults. And they do it with an emphasis on complexity.
The movie, based on a play I did not see, begins with a whirlwind review of the events leading to Richard Nixon’s resignation in the middle of his second term. The bullet points will suffice for those who lived through the period, or studied it. Others may find it an overload, given the enormity of what occurred in this twilight of the Vietnam era. Still, the movie does an admirable job of sketching Nixon's rapid demise, after he was linked to a bungled break in of Democratic headquarters located in a Washington hotel. The most important things to know; he never admitted guilt or granted interviews.
David Frost, who first came to our attention on a satirical TV show called "That Was the Week That Was," (to some extent the precursor of "Saturday Night Live.") was Nixon's unlikely interviewer/opponent. Frost made his name in England, anchoring a show of the same name. He went on to enormous success helming a talk show that largely focused on entertainers. After that ran its course, (several years,) he held forth on Australian TV. In the movie’s view, chasing Nixon was the plum of his comeback plan.
The movie, somewhat miraculously, deals with Frost's problem getting the interview, financing it, and then facing one of the most enigmatic characters in modern history. But just as miraculously, it draws a sturdy portrait of the vilified and psychologically wounded Nixon without debasing or simplifying him.
This movie is a breathless high wire act, both intellectual and emotional. It’s rooted in a strong screenplay, but director Ron Howard shows unusual tact in keeping the film moving and open minded. It avoids the smug or pretentious, revealing both men for their strengths and weaknesses. Invariably, more questions are asked than answered.
As their champions prepare for battle both Nixon's and Frost's people understand full well what's at stake. Nixon was getting a public forum, through an entertainer he considered a lightweight, and yet someone with similar roots. Frost hungered for respect, and at least by the movie’s accounting, risked most of his own money trying to get it.
Kevin Bacon, Oliver Platt, Rebecca Hall, Sam Rockwell, Toby Jones and others tackle meaty supporting parts that play like quiet thunder. How much of the behind the scenes wrangling was made up, I can’t say, although the end results of the multi hour interview are as unquestionable as they were in 1977.
At first Frank Langella’s Nixon appears a skillful mimicry, but as the story becomes richer he reaches unexpected depths. The Academy will take note. Michael Sheen, a distinguished theater actor, little known here, gives us Frost simultaneously fearful and determined.
I’ll equivocate on one point; while I found "Frost Nixon" a constant stimulation it’s entire 2 hour running time, it will probably fail those uninterested in our recent past or the current Presidential flaps. For them, there’s always "Transporter 3."
Frost/Nixon is first of all, stirring entertainment, provided you come to it with some knowledge of the period. I expected the predictable, but quickly found myself delighted by its multifaceted approach. The story and its many characters are revealed with intelligence, wit, and that most important of dramatic virtues, suspense.
Director Ron Howard, screenwriter/playwright Peter Morgan, and an outstanding cast have delivered two solid hours of high end drama. By adults and for adults. And they do it with an emphasis on complexity.
The movie, based on a play I did not see, begins with a whirlwind review of the events leading to Richard Nixon’s resignation in the middle of his second term. The bullet points will suffice for those who lived through the period, or studied it. Others may find it an overload, given the enormity of what occurred in this twilight of the Vietnam era. Still, the movie does an admirable job of sketching Nixon's rapid demise, after he was linked to a bungled break in of Democratic headquarters located in a Washington hotel. The most important things to know; he never admitted guilt or granted interviews.
David Frost, who first came to our attention on a satirical TV show called "That Was the Week That Was," (to some extent the precursor of "Saturday Night Live.") was Nixon's unlikely interviewer/opponent. Frost made his name in England, anchoring a show of the same name. He went on to enormous success helming a talk show that largely focused on entertainers. After that ran its course, (several years,) he held forth on Australian TV. In the movie’s view, chasing Nixon was the plum of his comeback plan.
The movie, somewhat miraculously, deals with Frost's problem getting the interview, financing it, and then facing one of the most enigmatic characters in modern history. But just as miraculously, it draws a sturdy portrait of the vilified and psychologically wounded Nixon without debasing or simplifying him.
This movie is a breathless high wire act, both intellectual and emotional. It’s rooted in a strong screenplay, but director Ron Howard shows unusual tact in keeping the film moving and open minded. It avoids the smug or pretentious, revealing both men for their strengths and weaknesses. Invariably, more questions are asked than answered.
As their champions prepare for battle both Nixon's and Frost's people understand full well what's at stake. Nixon was getting a public forum, through an entertainer he considered a lightweight, and yet someone with similar roots. Frost hungered for respect, and at least by the movie’s accounting, risked most of his own money trying to get it.
Kevin Bacon, Oliver Platt, Rebecca Hall, Sam Rockwell, Toby Jones and others tackle meaty supporting parts that play like quiet thunder. How much of the behind the scenes wrangling was made up, I can’t say, although the end results of the multi hour interview are as unquestionable as they were in 1977.
At first Frank Langella’s Nixon appears a skillful mimicry, but as the story becomes richer he reaches unexpected depths. The Academy will take note. Michael Sheen, a distinguished theater actor, little known here, gives us Frost simultaneously fearful and determined.
I’ll equivocate on one point; while I found "Frost Nixon" a constant stimulation it’s entire 2 hour running time, it will probably fail those uninterested in our recent past or the current Presidential flaps. For them, there’s always "Transporter 3."
Monday, November 17, 2008
A new Bond... And a great performance.
by Dan Cohen
The new James Bond is a let down. On the most basic level the movie lacks the suspense that made "Casino Royale," such an overheated romp. What we get in "Quantum of Solace," is a lot of furious action, but with little connecting tissue. And less heat.
As it begins we're told that Bond, the closed mouth Daniel Craig, is in a funk over the death of his latest love, the slinky, double dealing Vesper Lynd. And that he'll do anything to avenge her. This makes him unreliable in the eyes of his employer, the infallible Judi Dench, who barely escapes an assassination attempt herself. But the screenwriters keep Bond’s assignment and dialogue to a minimum as trips through the expected set pieces. The most vivid element becomes Dench's increasing irritation, such that we remain more interested in her reactions than his jeopardy.
Hitchcock, the master of suspense, even in comedy, always gave the audience as much information as possible, so it could get "Quantum of Solace," (a title I’m still not sure I understand,) is that the story line is so murky it's hard to figure out what’s really going on or why. As a result the tension is muted.
The action however, is fast and frenetic. A chase set in Siena, Italy, is a virtual symphony of elaborate camera moves. But when it ends, like the other set pieces, with a bad guy neutralized, the movie has to be jump started by another baddie. And finally, the central villain, played by Mathieu Amalric, who was so strong in "Diving Bell and the Butterfly," fails to summon either the menace or humor of others before him. Olga Kurylenko, this years Bond girl isn't much help: she’s a stunner, but much less an emotional threat than Eva Green’s "Vesper."
The writers, Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis, and Robert Wade, are largely to blame for the opaque story. They've substituted muscularity for the smug, knowing humor that punctuated the best Bonds. They took the same course, more successfully, with "Casino Royale." But that was drawn from a book with stronger elements. And director Marc Forster, the capable hand behind "Finding Neverland," and "Stranger than Fiction" cross cuts his action scenes with such rapidity, half the time there's no telling how Bond gets out of the trouble the writers have contrived for him.
Still, bland Bond is better than no Bond, especially in these troubled times. And the initial box office, was so huge, (both here and abroad,) that we needn't worry about Daniel Craig returning for the next installment. At a reported cost of 200 million "Quantum of Solace" has a certain "wow" factor, but after the roller coaster melodrama of "Casino Royale," our appetite was whetted for just a little more.
I’d bet anybody that Anne Hathaway will be an Academy Award nominee for her heart rending performance in "Rachel Getting Married." Released from a live in rehab program to attend her sister’s wedding, she becomes the focal point from which a complex, extended family is seen and felt. The movie is amusing, touching and not a little scary.
Jonathon Demme, who has directed nearly 40 films, everything from B movies, ("Crazy Mama,") to music docs, ("Stop Making Sense") to A movies, ("Philadelphia," "Silence of the Lambs") goes in a completely different direction this time, borrowing heavily from the master of American cinema verite, John Cassavettes. Working from a perceptive script by Jenny Lumet he’s found a near perfect means for getting under the characters’ skin, and ours.
Kim has a problem. She was responsible for a tragic event that scarred this likable, decent clan, and complicated their relationships no end. Since it's the sort of thing that never goes away, Kim remains the flash point for a recurring wild fire, that, when it flares, burns everybody.
What's initially seen as Kim’s raging narcissism is eventually revealed as part of a process she’s devised to cope. Hathaway, always likable in the sort of parts that made Julia Roberts a big star, here goes way deep. But she never strains for effect, and is most appealing at her most helpless, usually when the camera is most mercilessly at her throat.
There are a half dozen indelible performances here; from Bill Irwin as a concerned father, to Rosemarie DeWitt as the conflicted bride, to Debra Winger as their troubled mother. And others, all believable.
The movie winds down a little in its last act, as the wedding evolves into a multicultural, concert of sorts. But the nerves it's touched remain sensitive. These people, in spite of their best efforts, are never far from a dire crash, and we remain sensitive to that, and concerned for them, to the end credits.
The new James Bond is a let down. On the most basic level the movie lacks the suspense that made "Casino Royale," such an overheated romp. What we get in "Quantum of Solace," is a lot of furious action, but with little connecting tissue. And less heat.
As it begins we're told that Bond, the closed mouth Daniel Craig, is in a funk over the death of his latest love, the slinky, double dealing Vesper Lynd. And that he'll do anything to avenge her. This makes him unreliable in the eyes of his employer, the infallible Judi Dench, who barely escapes an assassination attempt herself. But the screenwriters keep Bond’s assignment and dialogue to a minimum as trips through the expected set pieces. The most vivid element becomes Dench's increasing irritation, such that we remain more interested in her reactions than his jeopardy.
Hitchcock, the master of suspense, even in comedy, always gave the audience as much information as possible, so it could get "Quantum of Solace," (a title I’m still not sure I understand,) is that the story line is so murky it's hard to figure out what’s really going on or why. As a result the tension is muted.
The action however, is fast and frenetic. A chase set in Siena, Italy, is a virtual symphony of elaborate camera moves. But when it ends, like the other set pieces, with a bad guy neutralized, the movie has to be jump started by another baddie. And finally, the central villain, played by Mathieu Amalric, who was so strong in "Diving Bell and the Butterfly," fails to summon either the menace or humor of others before him. Olga Kurylenko, this years Bond girl isn't much help: she’s a stunner, but much less an emotional threat than Eva Green’s "Vesper."
The writers, Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis, and Robert Wade, are largely to blame for the opaque story. They've substituted muscularity for the smug, knowing humor that punctuated the best Bonds. They took the same course, more successfully, with "Casino Royale." But that was drawn from a book with stronger elements. And director Marc Forster, the capable hand behind "Finding Neverland," and "Stranger than Fiction" cross cuts his action scenes with such rapidity, half the time there's no telling how Bond gets out of the trouble the writers have contrived for him.
Still, bland Bond is better than no Bond, especially in these troubled times. And the initial box office, was so huge, (both here and abroad,) that we needn't worry about Daniel Craig returning for the next installment. At a reported cost of 200 million "Quantum of Solace" has a certain "wow" factor, but after the roller coaster melodrama of "Casino Royale," our appetite was whetted for just a little more.
I’d bet anybody that Anne Hathaway will be an Academy Award nominee for her heart rending performance in "Rachel Getting Married." Released from a live in rehab program to attend her sister’s wedding, she becomes the focal point from which a complex, extended family is seen and felt. The movie is amusing, touching and not a little scary.
Jonathon Demme, who has directed nearly 40 films, everything from B movies, ("Crazy Mama,") to music docs, ("Stop Making Sense") to A movies, ("Philadelphia," "Silence of the Lambs") goes in a completely different direction this time, borrowing heavily from the master of American cinema verite, John Cassavettes. Working from a perceptive script by Jenny Lumet he’s found a near perfect means for getting under the characters’ skin, and ours.
Kim has a problem. She was responsible for a tragic event that scarred this likable, decent clan, and complicated their relationships no end. Since it's the sort of thing that never goes away, Kim remains the flash point for a recurring wild fire, that, when it flares, burns everybody.
What's initially seen as Kim’s raging narcissism is eventually revealed as part of a process she’s devised to cope. Hathaway, always likable in the sort of parts that made Julia Roberts a big star, here goes way deep. But she never strains for effect, and is most appealing at her most helpless, usually when the camera is most mercilessly at her throat.
There are a half dozen indelible performances here; from Bill Irwin as a concerned father, to Rosemarie DeWitt as the conflicted bride, to Debra Winger as their troubled mother. And others, all believable.
The movie winds down a little in its last act, as the wedding evolves into a multicultural, concert of sorts. But the nerves it's touched remain sensitive. These people, in spite of their best efforts, are never far from a dire crash, and we remain sensitive to that, and concerned for them, to the end credits.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
What’s going on with the movies this fall?
The autumn harvest has brought us a crop of worm ridden apples : "Lakeview Terrace," "Eagle Eye," "Bangkok Dangerous." The art cinemas have shown a lot of low hanging fruit: "Flash of Genius," "The Duchess," "What Just Happened," mostly main stream also rans that weren’t going to cut it in the suburban multiplexes. There isn’t a single title that’s really captured the public’s imagination, except for maybe "Beverly Hills Chihuahua."
But at the same time our plates have been filled with high drama. There’s the knock down drag 'em out battle of the titans, Obama and McCain, the edge of your seat disaster movie about our economy, the nearly surreal farce starring Sarah Palin. These are the media events of the moment, against which the movies are poor competition. Why? On a case by case comparison they’re more compelling stories.
And while the movies may be little more than distractions from the main events of the moment, people are going. The audience has been showing up in modest numbers for derivative thrillers, "Eagle Eye," predictable romance, "Nights in Rodanthe," and comfort food comedies, the aforementioned "Beverly Hills Chihuahua," which will probably turn out to be the biggest hit of the fall, given that Disney didn’t have to pay very much for the animated title character. Still these are studio productions, and hardly bargains to make.
The real winners of early fall are a few low budget features aimed at specific demographics, like the horror movie "Quarantine," Bill Maher’s religion bashing documentary, "Religulous," and its polar opposite, the Christian themed drama "Fireproof." These films have drawn audiences much larger than their costs, where "Righteous Kill," with De Niro and Pacino, will barely return a third of their budgets, at least in theaters.
"The Women" is another example of a modestly budgeted production that found it’s audience. The powers that be at first balked at releasing this remake of a classic from 1939. Word was, critics were going to hate it, which was right. But women went to see it, and it’ll probably be profitable before it goes to DVD. Ironically, had it not been for the box office smash that was "Sex and the City," "The Women," might have been sent straight to cable.
My point is that currently, the movies are performing like a slew of scruffy cable channels. The Networks appear to be out of favor; narrowcasting is in.
Still another example; "Nick and Norah’s Infinite Play list." Never heard of it? Well, your 15 year old daughter has. Budgeted at 10 million, the movie has grossed twice that in two weeks of release, and will probably gross 30 before a hugely successful video release, after which it will probably haunt TV forever.
"Nick and Norah" isn’t a great movie. Save for the requisite gross out jokes, (yes, vomiting is once again used for comic relief) and predictable car wrecks, it moves very slowly. For most of its running time the characters chase around late night Manhattan looking for a legendary band that plays hide and seek with its fans. The dialogue is sometimes insightful but more often labored. And yet the characters are lightning rounds for teenage aspirations and anxieties, remarkably divined from the ether of the moment. And for this, its creative team, and the novel they’ve mined, deserve credit.
Nick, (Michael Cera) is a middle class senior from Hoboken; a melancholic nerd/musician who pines after Tris, (Alexis Dzienza) a spoiled, prep school sexpot who thrives on refusing his affections. Norah, (Kat Denning,) a senior in the same prep school, and the daughter of a successful music entrepreneur, is similarly unlucky in love, but way better connected to the pop life they both thrive on. She comes from money, he drives the world’s oldest Yugo. They seem an unlikely match, but their taste in music makes them soul mates of sorts. As their Manhattan odyssey progresses, a clumsy and abrasive first meeting slowly turns into a mellow romance.
The casting doesn’t hurt. Michael Cera, who you may recall from "Juno," and "Superbad," is the reigning underdog of the moment. The camera loves his less is more style. Also he’s gifted with the sort of voice that adds just the right element of confidence to his retiring presence. Kat Denning, who played Robert Downey’s daughter in "Charlie Bartlett," has huge eyes and lips, and a fleshy quality that could turn her into a major movie diva. In any case they’re both square pegs in round holes, which serves the movie well.
"Nick and Norah" has none of the bruising realism of "One," or the sadly overlooked, "In Search of a Midnight Kiss," both of which are anchored by the unsentimental, almost casual heartbreak of every day life. "Kiss," and "One" are graced with well honed irony. Also their misaligned lovers are older, but not necessarily wiser. "Nick and Norah" as middle class teenagers, are so far, happily shielded from the hard knocks of the world beyond their i-pods. Most of their experience of heart ache has been channeled from the music they’re constantly referencing. They’re knowing, but sunny. And that’s probably why they’re so attractive to the teenagers packing multiplexes to hang with them.
But at the same time our plates have been filled with high drama. There’s the knock down drag 'em out battle of the titans, Obama and McCain, the edge of your seat disaster movie about our economy, the nearly surreal farce starring Sarah Palin. These are the media events of the moment, against which the movies are poor competition. Why? On a case by case comparison they’re more compelling stories.
And while the movies may be little more than distractions from the main events of the moment, people are going. The audience has been showing up in modest numbers for derivative thrillers, "Eagle Eye," predictable romance, "Nights in Rodanthe," and comfort food comedies, the aforementioned "Beverly Hills Chihuahua," which will probably turn out to be the biggest hit of the fall, given that Disney didn’t have to pay very much for the animated title character. Still these are studio productions, and hardly bargains to make.
The real winners of early fall are a few low budget features aimed at specific demographics, like the horror movie "Quarantine," Bill Maher’s religion bashing documentary, "Religulous," and its polar opposite, the Christian themed drama "Fireproof." These films have drawn audiences much larger than their costs, where "Righteous Kill," with De Niro and Pacino, will barely return a third of their budgets, at least in theaters.
"The Women" is another example of a modestly budgeted production that found it’s audience. The powers that be at first balked at releasing this remake of a classic from 1939. Word was, critics were going to hate it, which was right. But women went to see it, and it’ll probably be profitable before it goes to DVD. Ironically, had it not been for the box office smash that was "Sex and the City," "The Women," might have been sent straight to cable.
My point is that currently, the movies are performing like a slew of scruffy cable channels. The Networks appear to be out of favor; narrowcasting is in.
Still another example; "Nick and Norah’s Infinite Play list." Never heard of it? Well, your 15 year old daughter has. Budgeted at 10 million, the movie has grossed twice that in two weeks of release, and will probably gross 30 before a hugely successful video release, after which it will probably haunt TV forever.
"Nick and Norah" isn’t a great movie. Save for the requisite gross out jokes, (yes, vomiting is once again used for comic relief) and predictable car wrecks, it moves very slowly. For most of its running time the characters chase around late night Manhattan looking for a legendary band that plays hide and seek with its fans. The dialogue is sometimes insightful but more often labored. And yet the characters are lightning rounds for teenage aspirations and anxieties, remarkably divined from the ether of the moment. And for this, its creative team, and the novel they’ve mined, deserve credit.
Nick, (Michael Cera) is a middle class senior from Hoboken; a melancholic nerd/musician who pines after Tris, (Alexis Dzienza) a spoiled, prep school sexpot who thrives on refusing his affections. Norah, (Kat Denning,) a senior in the same prep school, and the daughter of a successful music entrepreneur, is similarly unlucky in love, but way better connected to the pop life they both thrive on. She comes from money, he drives the world’s oldest Yugo. They seem an unlikely match, but their taste in music makes them soul mates of sorts. As their Manhattan odyssey progresses, a clumsy and abrasive first meeting slowly turns into a mellow romance.
The casting doesn’t hurt. Michael Cera, who you may recall from "Juno," and "Superbad," is the reigning underdog of the moment. The camera loves his less is more style. Also he’s gifted with the sort of voice that adds just the right element of confidence to his retiring presence. Kat Denning, who played Robert Downey’s daughter in "Charlie Bartlett," has huge eyes and lips, and a fleshy quality that could turn her into a major movie diva. In any case they’re both square pegs in round holes, which serves the movie well.
"Nick and Norah" has none of the bruising realism of "One," or the sadly overlooked, "In Search of a Midnight Kiss," both of which are anchored by the unsentimental, almost casual heartbreak of every day life. "Kiss," and "One" are graced with well honed irony. Also their misaligned lovers are older, but not necessarily wiser. "Nick and Norah" as middle class teenagers, are so far, happily shielded from the hard knocks of the world beyond their i-pods. Most of their experience of heart ache has been channeled from the music they’re constantly referencing. They’re knowing, but sunny. And that’s probably why they’re so attractive to the teenagers packing multiplexes to hang with them.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Late Summer Indies
By Dan Cohen
As summer comes to a close it’s time to recognize a few small films that may not play the local theaters, but will make for a pleasant viewing on your DVD/flat screen set up. These aren't hits; they’re more like ground rule doubles. But none will insult your intelligence.
"Tell No One," is probably the surprise art house hit of the summer. Even after it won a number of French "Cesars," the larger American distributors passed on it, probably because some of it is unusually talky. At the same time there's much to recommend here. Finally a little company out of Chicago called Music Box picked it up and it’s playing to packed houses of the middle aged all across the country. Proving once again, adults like intelligent suspense films, and they don’t mind reading subtitles.
Written and directed by Guillame Canet, (from an American novel, "Tell No One" is an eclectic mix of styles and moods. Everybody in the insanely attractive cast has his or her quirks and the story takes us into every strata of current French society. It's a voyeur's treat.
A doctor's wife is murdered at her country home. Her husband is beat up and left for dead. Eight years later the still grieving spouse gets a message that she’s alive, but to "tell no one." Things get messy when the cops make him the number one suspect. Complications follow; a daring chase, striking reversals, and finally, a credibility gap. But along the way there's enough intrigue and color for three films.
"Frozen River" won the big award at Sundance. At the time critics fretted that it might not get a release. But here it is.
The movie's depiction of life just above the poverty line in a godforsaken, frozen hell just south of the Canadian border is truthful to a fault. But it wears its deliberate, almost witless tone like a badge of honor, and suffers as a consequence. Still, for its candor and compelling performances, the picture is an achievement.
Melissa Leo is a middle aged woman saddled with two kids, a dead end job and a gambler husband who takes off with all their money. As a last ditch effort to keep the family together she ties up with a similarly disadvantaged, native American, who uses the Indian lands and their immunity from the law to smuggle illegals across a perilously “frozen” river. The metaphors is worked for all its worth.
The movie is so lacking in sentimentality I hate to fault it, but Leo has trouble busting out of the constrictions of the material. You cringe as she moves closer and closer to disaster, but at the same time wonder how she got where she is, and more important, what’s keeping her there. She appears smart and resourceful but the best she can get is a part time job in a dismal dollar store. Is she in any way responsible for her circumstances? The movie doesn't tell us.
A lot of the explanation is fobbed off on a husband who never appears, but it isn’t enough. And yet the situation is entirely fresh, and some of the imagery striking.
Ben Kingsley stretches just south of credibility, in "The Wackness," a look back at a group of privileged but disoriented New Yorkers in the mid 90s. He plays a pot addled psychologist who’s just as confused as his patients, including a smart kid, played by Josh Peck, who, in spite of good looks and attitude, can’t seem to lose his virginity.
Olivia Thrilby, as Kingsley’s step daughter, stands out as a willful brat with more experience than Peck and probably most other boys her own age. Thrilby overwhelms everybody else in the cast, almost effortlessly. She also has the best lines.
"Wackness" is sexy and funny in fits and starts, but succeeds more at creating atmosphere than compelling drama. And when it ends we feel like we've spent the time pleasurably, but to little effect.
There are so many coming of age "dramadeys" every year that the bar has been set pretty high. Time and place are just not enough to compel us, especially when the characters are as privileged s they are here. And there are better examples of the genre. I think back to "Igby Goes Down," from 2002 (available on disc) for its skill in mixing incongruous elements while remaining thoroughly grounded. "Igby" found genuine loss in its protagonist, played by Kieran Culkin, without resorting to melodrama. It also required a little more than a passive viewing, and as a result, got lost in the shuffle in the same way that "Wackness" has. The two films would make for an interesting double feature on your home screen.
As summer comes to a close it’s time to recognize a few small films that may not play the local theaters, but will make for a pleasant viewing on your DVD/flat screen set up. These aren't hits; they’re more like ground rule doubles. But none will insult your intelligence.
"Tell No One," is probably the surprise art house hit of the summer. Even after it won a number of French "Cesars," the larger American distributors passed on it, probably because some of it is unusually talky. At the same time there's much to recommend here. Finally a little company out of Chicago called Music Box picked it up and it’s playing to packed houses of the middle aged all across the country. Proving once again, adults like intelligent suspense films, and they don’t mind reading subtitles.
Written and directed by Guillame Canet, (from an American novel, "Tell No One" is an eclectic mix of styles and moods. Everybody in the insanely attractive cast has his or her quirks and the story takes us into every strata of current French society. It's a voyeur's treat.
A doctor's wife is murdered at her country home. Her husband is beat up and left for dead. Eight years later the still grieving spouse gets a message that she’s alive, but to "tell no one." Things get messy when the cops make him the number one suspect. Complications follow; a daring chase, striking reversals, and finally, a credibility gap. But along the way there's enough intrigue and color for three films.
"Frozen River" won the big award at Sundance. At the time critics fretted that it might not get a release. But here it is.
The movie's depiction of life just above the poverty line in a godforsaken, frozen hell just south of the Canadian border is truthful to a fault. But it wears its deliberate, almost witless tone like a badge of honor, and suffers as a consequence. Still, for its candor and compelling performances, the picture is an achievement.
Melissa Leo is a middle aged woman saddled with two kids, a dead end job and a gambler husband who takes off with all their money. As a last ditch effort to keep the family together she ties up with a similarly disadvantaged, native American, who uses the Indian lands and their immunity from the law to smuggle illegals across a perilously “frozen” river. The metaphors is worked for all its worth.
The movie is so lacking in sentimentality I hate to fault it, but Leo has trouble busting out of the constrictions of the material. You cringe as she moves closer and closer to disaster, but at the same time wonder how she got where she is, and more important, what’s keeping her there. She appears smart and resourceful but the best she can get is a part time job in a dismal dollar store. Is she in any way responsible for her circumstances? The movie doesn't tell us.
A lot of the explanation is fobbed off on a husband who never appears, but it isn’t enough. And yet the situation is entirely fresh, and some of the imagery striking.
Ben Kingsley stretches just south of credibility, in "The Wackness," a look back at a group of privileged but disoriented New Yorkers in the mid 90s. He plays a pot addled psychologist who’s just as confused as his patients, including a smart kid, played by Josh Peck, who, in spite of good looks and attitude, can’t seem to lose his virginity.
Olivia Thrilby, as Kingsley’s step daughter, stands out as a willful brat with more experience than Peck and probably most other boys her own age. Thrilby overwhelms everybody else in the cast, almost effortlessly. She also has the best lines.
"Wackness" is sexy and funny in fits and starts, but succeeds more at creating atmosphere than compelling drama. And when it ends we feel like we've spent the time pleasurably, but to little effect.
There are so many coming of age "dramadeys" every year that the bar has been set pretty high. Time and place are just not enough to compel us, especially when the characters are as privileged s they are here. And there are better examples of the genre. I think back to "Igby Goes Down," from 2002 (available on disc) for its skill in mixing incongruous elements while remaining thoroughly grounded. "Igby" found genuine loss in its protagonist, played by Kieran Culkin, without resorting to melodrama. It also required a little more than a passive viewing, and as a result, got lost in the shuffle in the same way that "Wackness" has. The two films would make for an interesting double feature on your home screen.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Summer Refreshers
by Dan Cohen
We all know what comes with Summer; heat, humidity and studio blockbusters. School's out, so in theory at least, every night is Saturday night. Adults are expected to take the kids, and more importantly pay for, an endless array of bloated comic book fare fired at us in fusillades of media. So far we've seen the good, "Indiana Jones," "Ironman," the bad, "Zohan," "Love Guru," "What Happens in Vegas," and the ugly, "The Hulk." And there’s more to come.
But another species is blooming in the art house garden, propping up our expectations for adult entertainment this summer. I've seen two flat out winners, and several also rans. I recommend them to you with the hope that one of more will somehow find its way into the local multiplex. This week, the winners.
"Kabluey," (that’s right Kabluey) is more than a breath of fresh air, it's a blast; the sort of quirky comedy that puts the studio output to shame. It's superior in every department; writing, acting, even cinematography. And it’s a pipsqueak of a production.
Salman, the black sheep of a middle class family, is dispatched from virtual homelessness, to help his sister in law take care of two kids, while her husband, a national guardsman, is off on an extended stay in Iraq. The kids are monsters, the house a chaotic wreck and the mom, at her wits end. There's no way a simple recap of the story can do justice to the comic invention and hilarity that follows. Somehow Salman ends up spending half his stay in an oversized blue creature suit, the "mascot" of a failed internet company, trying to rent office space in the cash starved companies headquarters.
"Kabluey" depicts our uniquely American disarray, social and economic, without a moment of pretension. The story simply plops us down in the middle of our current mess, with no comment. In that regard alone it's a triumph. But there's a lot more; a pitch perfect performance from the divinely inspired Lisa Kudrow, and a host of dead on supporting players; Conchatta Ferrell, Terri Garr, Christine Taylor and more. Writer/director Scott Prendergrast even succeeds in casting himself as the unfortunate "Salman." Then there are a couple of truly mean little boys, another casting coup.
The movie borders on the absurd at times, but that's a minor caveat. And the emotions it calls upon are well grounded in the realities of our current dilemmas. The comic high points, both high and low, reduce you to helpless laughter. For much of its running time, Kabluey takes you over completely; you're helpless in its comic grasp, and all the better for it.
"Kabluey" is being released by Regent, a small LA based company. It will surely find theaters in the major cities, but whether it cracks the multiplex barrier is yet to be seen. And that's a shame, because it’s so much smarter and funnier than it's richer relations. That it wasn't snapped up by one of the mini majors points to the dysfunctional state of current distribution.
"Boy A," which is being released by the Weinstein Company, is almost the polar opposite of "Kabluey," a sober, tough minded drama about a young man facing an almost insurmountable challenge. This is a British film, in the tradition of the kitchen sink dramas born in the aftermath of the second world war, when Britain was crawling back to normalcy and birthing a new generation. "Boy A" is a worthy successor to films like "This Sporting Life," "A Taste of Honey," and "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner," (all available on disk.)
"Boy A" spent most of his youth in jail. The crime, of which he was an unwilling accomplice, is the worst kind. (In order to maintain the story's integrity, I won't reveal it here.) But the young man who's released is an altogether different individual than the child who was put away. His tentative foray into the outside world is vivid, suspenseful and finally, unforgettable.
On paper this might seem like drudgery, or something we've seen too many times. Not in this case. Director John Crowley and screenwriter Mark O'Rowe, adapting a novel by Jonathon Trigell, deliver a harrowing movie experience.
Andrew Garfield, up to now a supporting player in television and movies, makes an indelible mark in the lead. Garfield was born in the USA, but educated in Britain. Watching this performance was like seeing Daniel Day Lewis reborn. He never seems to be reaching for effect; at all times he inhabits the character from the inside. The performance alone creates an unusual level of tension, but there’s able support from veterans Peter Mullan and Siobhan Finneran. Finneran, who I've never seen before, is especially effective as an adult woman with a thinking and feeling side.
"Boy A" won several BAFTAs (British academy awards) and a prize at the Berlin festival. It won't make a dent here commercially, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't see it, in the theater or on disk.
Next time: Several also rans worth noting.
We all know what comes with Summer; heat, humidity and studio blockbusters. School's out, so in theory at least, every night is Saturday night. Adults are expected to take the kids, and more importantly pay for, an endless array of bloated comic book fare fired at us in fusillades of media. So far we've seen the good, "Indiana Jones," "Ironman," the bad, "Zohan," "Love Guru," "What Happens in Vegas," and the ugly, "The Hulk." And there’s more to come.
But another species is blooming in the art house garden, propping up our expectations for adult entertainment this summer. I've seen two flat out winners, and several also rans. I recommend them to you with the hope that one of more will somehow find its way into the local multiplex. This week, the winners.
"Kabluey," (that’s right Kabluey) is more than a breath of fresh air, it's a blast; the sort of quirky comedy that puts the studio output to shame. It's superior in every department; writing, acting, even cinematography. And it’s a pipsqueak of a production.
Salman, the black sheep of a middle class family, is dispatched from virtual homelessness, to help his sister in law take care of two kids, while her husband, a national guardsman, is off on an extended stay in Iraq. The kids are monsters, the house a chaotic wreck and the mom, at her wits end. There's no way a simple recap of the story can do justice to the comic invention and hilarity that follows. Somehow Salman ends up spending half his stay in an oversized blue creature suit, the "mascot" of a failed internet company, trying to rent office space in the cash starved companies headquarters.
"Kabluey" depicts our uniquely American disarray, social and economic, without a moment of pretension. The story simply plops us down in the middle of our current mess, with no comment. In that regard alone it's a triumph. But there's a lot more; a pitch perfect performance from the divinely inspired Lisa Kudrow, and a host of dead on supporting players; Conchatta Ferrell, Terri Garr, Christine Taylor and more. Writer/director Scott Prendergrast even succeeds in casting himself as the unfortunate "Salman." Then there are a couple of truly mean little boys, another casting coup.
The movie borders on the absurd at times, but that's a minor caveat. And the emotions it calls upon are well grounded in the realities of our current dilemmas. The comic high points, both high and low, reduce you to helpless laughter. For much of its running time, Kabluey takes you over completely; you're helpless in its comic grasp, and all the better for it.
"Kabluey" is being released by Regent, a small LA based company. It will surely find theaters in the major cities, but whether it cracks the multiplex barrier is yet to be seen. And that's a shame, because it’s so much smarter and funnier than it's richer relations. That it wasn't snapped up by one of the mini majors points to the dysfunctional state of current distribution.
"Boy A," which is being released by the Weinstein Company, is almost the polar opposite of "Kabluey," a sober, tough minded drama about a young man facing an almost insurmountable challenge. This is a British film, in the tradition of the kitchen sink dramas born in the aftermath of the second world war, when Britain was crawling back to normalcy and birthing a new generation. "Boy A" is a worthy successor to films like "This Sporting Life," "A Taste of Honey," and "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner," (all available on disk.)
"Boy A" spent most of his youth in jail. The crime, of which he was an unwilling accomplice, is the worst kind. (In order to maintain the story's integrity, I won't reveal it here.) But the young man who's released is an altogether different individual than the child who was put away. His tentative foray into the outside world is vivid, suspenseful and finally, unforgettable.
On paper this might seem like drudgery, or something we've seen too many times. Not in this case. Director John Crowley and screenwriter Mark O'Rowe, adapting a novel by Jonathon Trigell, deliver a harrowing movie experience.
Andrew Garfield, up to now a supporting player in television and movies, makes an indelible mark in the lead. Garfield was born in the USA, but educated in Britain. Watching this performance was like seeing Daniel Day Lewis reborn. He never seems to be reaching for effect; at all times he inhabits the character from the inside. The performance alone creates an unusual level of tension, but there’s able support from veterans Peter Mullan and Siobhan Finneran. Finneran, who I've never seen before, is especially effective as an adult woman with a thinking and feeling side.
"Boy A" won several BAFTAs (British academy awards) and a prize at the Berlin festival. It won't make a dent here commercially, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't see it, in the theater or on disk.
Next time: Several also rans worth noting.
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