The Isolated Moviegoer

Shame

2012-02-12T08:21:00.000-08:00

In Hunger, director Steve McQueen starved leading man Michael Fassbender, transforming his body into a tortured, emaciated work of art. As Irish prisoner Bobby Sands, leading a food strike to improve inmate conditions, Fassbender’s accentuated ribs and bed sores were difficult to view, though too stark and magnetic to ignore. Throughout McQueen’s followup, Shame, Fassbender’s body is again on display, though in a slightly different manner. His Brandon Sullivan charms New York City’s business world by day, but at all hours he’s a sex addict, overcome by desires that dictate his every move. Despite being in prison, Bobby is in complete control of himself and his life, while Brandon is a prisoner to his desires, his body a temple fit to deliver his addiction. Filtered through McQueen’s installation artist lens, Fassbender approaches each with raw humanity, leaving nothing behind and willing to undertake extremes to get at core human conflicts. He’s magnificent in both films, and though I didn’t expect to think anything would top starvation, I’m not sure which experience was more challenging for Fassbender.

Shame is a powerful experience, its hundred minutes tripling themselves in terms of impact, and is consistently compelling. McQueen’s thoughtful shot compositions that made Hunger a visual treat are again present, often accentuated by an intentionally loud and abrasive score. All are on display from an early scene, in which Brandon makes eyes with an attractive woman across a crowded subway car, the silent flirting intercut with excerpts of his private life: an encounter with a hooker at his apartment; glimpses of his well-endowed body; self-fulfillment with the aid of online content. As the flirting goes on longer than it seemingly should, the innocent unspoken appreciation turns to leering with a sudden understanding of Brandon’s capabilities. The woman expresses discomfort and rises for her stop, her hand on the support bar revealing a wedding ring. Brandon likewise stands, placing his hand directly above hers, and with slasher-like tension instigates what is essentially a chase scene, depicting the terrible lengths he’s willing to go in order to satisfy his urges.

It’s a superb introduction to the trials that await, which only escalate when Brandon’s troubled sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) crashes his meticulously constructed life. The first glimpse at her is likewise frank and memorable. Entering his apartment to find it disheveled and music on full blast, Brandon grabs a baseball bat from the closet and tracks his intruder to the bathroom’s running shower. He pounces, shouting threats and startling Sissy, who accosts him from the tub. Unconcerned with her nakedness, she continues the conversation, even changing subjects and playfully hitting him without covering up. After near overwhelming access to Brandon’s sexual tendencies, it’s fascinating to witness him view a young, naked body with restrain. What must he be thinking? How can he draw appropriate lines with sex foremost in his mind, especially with this tart later waltzing around his apartment, nipples shining through her shirt? That he resists is a relief, though his pained expressions are evident.

The peek at their odd sibling dynamic, regardless of its flaws, adds a human element to Brandon unseen in his other encounters. Driven by his addiction, he shares minimal connection with society, including the numerous women with whom he fornicates. Fittingly, little of the copious sex and nudity is actually sexy. McQueen reduces it to primal, animalistic urges, shooting from angles and making cuts to transform what could be arousing into little more than the violent slamming together of flesh. As such, throughout his naked encounters, Brandon rarely looks happy. Only when he attempts to break the cycle and pursue what to him may be construed as a relationship is there any hint of pleasure. These scenes depict Brandon at his most social and vulnerable, and, since both parties are invested, is the only time that the intimacy is sexy. More intriguing is that the human attachment, however brief and infantile, actually works against him. Instead of his typical mindless sex, when some level of caring is involved, he’s unable to perform in his usual manner. This is one lonely, tormented man and it’s enthralling to witness his self-destruction.

As with Schindler’s List and Requiem for a Dream, Shame is one of those rare intensely moving films whose content discourages frequent viewings. The sex and nudity are unapologetically explicit, but the raw exploration of human desires is just as deserving of the film’s NC-17 rating. A mere two feature films under his belt, McQueen has emerged as a true talent willing to go where few directors dare, and in Fassbender he has found a collaborator with the dedication and skill to match his vision. Together, they form a remarkable team, the likes of which film has rarely seen, and after Shame, they belong alongside the all-time great duos.

The Artist

2012-02-11T13:28:00.000-08:00

In the age of IMAX and 3D, Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist is an odd but pleasant offering. Following silent film superstar George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) and the hardships endured when he rejects the rise of talkies, the film plays out as a black and white silent film itself. Backed by a lively jazz-age score and filled with dialogue limited to title cards, it’s true to the format, but it’s in that accuracy that The Artist’s inner workings are revealed. For the toast of Cannes, Golden Globe champion, and frontrunner for Best Picture, the results may be surprising.

Hazanavicius and Dujardin previously teamed on the two OSS 117 spy spoofs, big hits in Europe that received little play in the U.S. (They’re both currently available via Netflix Instant.) Though humorous and well-made, the films have more in common with the Austin Powers franchise than art house cinema. With The Artist, Hazanavicius extends his genre-hopping to the sanctity of silent film, and while the results are far more homage than parody, there aren’t enough original elements to make the film more than an extremely well made highbrow tribute. Just as Super 8 is too busy evoking a Spielbergian vibe, The Artist is so concerned with hitting all the silent film notes that it rarely makes its own mark. With one notable exception, the only times The Artist does its own thing is, appropriately, when sound invades its silence. These scenes are so surprisingly jarring that they momentarily rise above what is otherwise one big gimmick, albeit a very good gimmick.

The question remains, however, as to the film’s interpretation of the format and era that it so thoroughly evokes. Considering the longstanding reverence for silent cinema, in The Artist’s Hollywood, everything seems to be popcorn flicks, essentially limited to swashbuckling adventures and heartwarming tearjerkers. Serious, artistic films are entirely absent, as if there’s no room for D.W. Griffith and his kind in this universe. Is Hazanavicius’ film truly a love letter to a bygone era, as many have claimed, or is it mere experiment, an exercise in style unconcerned with the full legacy of the format it apes? While the film’s original intentions may have been respectful, the final product is somewhat less so.

The Artist likewise raises the question of whether the excess of homage discounts the immense joy the film elicits and potentially discredits the awards it’s earned and is likely to receive. A good movie is a good movie, regardless of how it came to be, and while I feel that The Artist benefits from our wonderstruck nostalgia for early cinema, where nearly every film is an automatic national treasure, I’d be a hypocrite if I failed to mention my fondness for Christopher Guest’s mockumentaries, themselves a response to and embracement of a preexisting style. Documentaries, however, don’t have quite the historical clout of silent cinema, and the best of its kind (or Guest’s kind), regardless of its quality, is currently incapable of the near-universal reverence of silent film. Hazanavicius is aware of such sentiment, and though his film limits itself to the format’s conventions and rarely rises above, The Artist’s undertaking (as with that of Austin Powers, OSS 117, and Best In Show) is creative in its own regard, a refreshing change of pace, and supremely entertaining. “Harmless” was the word in my mind when I left the theatre, a sign of both its faults and charms, and yet I also left with Dujardin's madman grin overpowering my face.

George’s story teaches that it’s best to keep an open mind about cinema, lest one suffer the consequences. In our digital, motion-capture age of ever-changing film, The Artist argues that a similar attitude is useful, which extends to its own brand of curveball. Regardless of its shortcomings, Hazanavicius’ film is a good one and should be first judged by the quality it displays, not the quality it references.

Haywire

2012-02-04T13:25:00.000-08:00

While watching Steven Soderbergh’s Haywire, it’s difficult not to think of Kill Bill. Here again, a talented female killing machine is double crossed, survives an attempt on her life, and goes on a spree taking down everyone involved. Quentin Tarantino took four hours over two films to tell The Bride’s story, sprinkling in generous amounts of his standard pop-culture riffing dialogue and paying numerous homages to the martial arts films that informed his project. Soderbergh takes a brisk 90 minutes and is likewise true to himself, which means something else entirely. His depiction of Mallory Kane’s (Gina Carano) path to revenge is a Soderbergh all-star game, a remarkable blend of elements that have consistently made his diverse body of work artistic yet accessible and entertaining. It’s also straightforward as hell, the anti Kill Bill in its avoidance of monologue and grandiosity, and if I’m honest with myself, Haywire may be the better film.

A talented former Marine, Mallory now does freelance covert ops work for ex-boyfriend Kenneth (Ewan McGregor). After a hostage extraction job in Barcelona, she teams with fellow operative Paul (Michael Fassbender) in Dublin for a separate mission. There, she realizes she’s been set up and the race to confront her betrayers begins. These events are all told through flashbacks, calmly (almost too calmly) relayed by Mallory to a rattled young man (Michael Angarano) whose car she commandeers after he witnesses her beat up another fellow operative (Channing Tatum) in a sleepy diner. Such framing works surprisingly well, and though it’s confusing why she’d share all this dangerous information with a stranger, the device allows the story to weave in and out of time with ease and remain active throughout.

Likewise, the array of visual and sonic Soderberghian flair on display throughout Haywire further elevates its appeal. There’s not a single uninteresting shot, composed of angles, camera movements, cuts, and exaggerated lighting all constructed and executed by his respective cinematography and editing aliases, Peter Andrews and Mary Ann Bernard. Lending the scenes a cool retro vibe is David Holmes’ jazzy score fine music, effectively linking the gorgeous scenes in the same manner as his Ocean’s Eleven work. During fight sequences, however, the score drops out, replaced by an eerie silence which itself gives way to the brutal crackle of combat.

There’s a joy in the unknown concerning the placement of the betrayals and how Mallory processes the information into ass-kicking sessions, so I won’t ruin those surprises. Any fear of Soderbergh’s latest casting experiment going awry, however, should be quelled. He takes a mighty risk featuring a Mixed Martial Artist as his lead, but compared with Sasha Grey’s quasi-repulsive amateur acting on The Girlfriend Experience, I never found Carano’s inexperience distracting. That Carano rarely says more than one sentence at a time helps, as does her physical prowess, but even in quiet scenes she’s a consistently appealing screen presence, full of subtle gestures that cloak any dramatic shortcomings. The supporting cast is also strong, especially a smarmy McGregor, Fassbender at his charming best, and an interesting little turn by Antonio Bandaras.

Soderbergh’s latest is pure entertainment, but look closer and you’ll see a meticulously crafted film with clear homage to his finest work. A direct descendant of his underrated The Limey (and the good parts of Out of Sight), Haywire is a rare treat at a time when Oscar films have all been seen and the depression of Spring Fever is weeks away.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

2012-02-02T06:22:00.000-08:00

I can't confidently tell you what happens in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Oh sure, a mole is sought out and found, but in between is so much deception and mystery that it will take at least another viewing to sort it out. From one whirlwind encounter, I have a blurry notion of how it all transpires, and yet I'm not overly concerned with the specifics. I’m tempted to say that the complex subtleties of Thomas Alfredsen’s film encourage more of an atmospheric connection to the material, but that would do great disservice to the efforts of a talented bunch. The truth is there’s a brilliant, labyrinthine story at the heart of the machine. It’s just going to take a few rounds to get it right.

Control (John Hurt) is convinced that the Soviets have placed a mole within British Intelligence “at the top of the Circus.” He informs Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) of his suspicions and sends him to Istanbul to investigate. The mission goes awry, however, and in its aftermath, Control is fired as is his right hand man, Smiley (Gary Oldman). Not long after, Control is dead and Smiley is pulled out of his forced retirement by Oliver Lacon (Simon McBurney) to finish Control’s investigation and find the mole. The suspects include Percy Alleline (Toby Jones), Bill Haydon (Colin Firth), Toby Esterhase (David Dencik), and Roy Bland (Ciaran Hinds), all of whom worked closely with Control and Smiley in the Circus’ soundproof, elevated executive room, though Control also considered Smiley a potential threat. In the midst of the operation, rogue agent Ricki Tarr (Tom Hardy) shows up at Smiley’s house with further information concerning the mole. Playing hunches with insider help from junior officer Peter Guillam (Benedict Cuberbatch), Smiley mulls the conundrum, all the while flashing back to the sights and sounds of an office Christmas party, the last moment he can recall before things went bad.

Leading a Who's Who of British actors not cast in the Harry Potter series, Sirius Black himself is masterfully subdued. Oldman’s restrained performance ranks alongside Ryan Gosling’s similarly quiet yet strong turn in Drive as the year’s best. Both are men of action rather than words, though when they speak, you listen, and in the rare case when they erupt, it’s that much more powerful. The fine supporting cast are all partitioned near-equally meaty roles. Hinds draws the lone short straw, though his moody demeanor is arguably worth more than dialogue. These are characters who know what they're doing, and we know they know what they're doing, but we have little idea what they're doing. The action and decision-making constantly remains one step ahead of the audience and witnessing it play out is a joy.

Absolutely buzzing with intrigue, Tinker Tailor Solider Spy is far from James Bond’s world of globetrotting and romance. Its players may be mired in a more quiet brand of espionage, but it’s just as thrilling, if not more.

The Trip

2012-02-02T05:19:00.000-08:00

One of the year’s funniest films was also one of its most underseen, which appropriately confirms the film’s running theme of star Steve Coogan’s inability to effectively break in to Hollywood. A major player in British comedy for years (and no stranger to informed American audiences), Coogan reteams with director Michael Winterbottom and co-star Rob Brydon for another “playing themselves, but not really” film in the vein of their hilarious Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story.

When wild bachelor Coogan’s girlfriend can’t join him on a magazine-funded tour of fine British cuisine, he goes through his contacts until he finds a last-resort comrade in new father Brydon. Over plates of food whose lavishness is nearly as funny as the stars’ dueling Michael Caine impersonations, the two bond (with varying degrees of enthusiasm) and realize that each pines to be a bit more like the other. Not that they’d ever share such personal insight with one another, mind you. (Well, the less insecure Brydon might.)

Coogan is convinced that he’s the superior entertainer. He’s far more famous and is generally recognized more frequently in public, yet on the trip it’s Brydon who fans adore. Arriving at the Wordsworth house at closing, Coogan is unable to convince the attendant to make a celebrity exception and let them through. When she spots Brydon, however, she’s all atwitter and persuades him to perform his “small man trapped in a box” routine, which her grandson adores, and in turn grants them access.

Frustrated by his lack of international stardom and the ambiguity with his girlfriend, whose mutual lack of commitment finds him bed-hopping on the side, Coogan is generally bitter and full of insults. In Brydon, he sees an inferior comedian who’s misguided in his desire for a family and other conventions of adulthood. Coogan isn’t completely alone, but he’s not far from it. There’s a teenage son from a prior relationship, and the trip coincides with the boy in the midst of some behavioral issues that his mother thinks Coogan should help him through. Awkward phone calls accomplish little, but the boy is interested in his father’s doings and commends him on the length of his relationship with Brydon. He notes the rarity of such a bond and how it must be nice to share that kind of vacation at their age. Coogan brushes off the compliments and in the next scene is back to openly mocking Brydon, but his son’s words make a difference. Later, alone in his room, Coogan attempts to replicate the “small man trapped in a box” voice. Unable to do so, he frustratedly cedes to Brydon’s gift, and though unwilling to openly pay homage, the reality of their friendship begins to erode his guard.

It’s the isolation of these mature moments, sandwiched between Coogan tearing Brydon a new one, that the film becomes more than a mere lark. The brilliantly improvised dialogue is a riot, yet the carefully placed realizations are anything but forced and result in an unexpectedly moving finale. Despite its numerous charms, The Trip may not be the film that catapults Coogan into international superstardom, but as his “alter ego” character suggests, perhaps there are more appealing priorities.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2011)

2012-01-28T11:08:00.000-08:00

My fourth time experiencing Stieg Larsson’s material wasn't as wonderful as I'd hoped, but David Fincher's film still manages to hold my attention throughout and forgers a few unique, unforgettable scenes. Working from an overly-faithful script from Steven Zaillian that's full of clunky transitions and reveals, thrills abound but the final cut rarely feels like a Fincher film. With his masterful Se7en such a clear influence on Larsson’s story, the filmmaker seems like the ideal choice for the material, yet his vision is plagued with a confounding number of problems. When The Social Network and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, clear departures from the director’s typical serial killer fare, are far grittier films and more auteurish than this safe adaptation, I’m unexpectedly forced to sift through the rubble and figure out what went wrong.

I openly admit that Larsson’s novels could benefit from editing, but can’t deny that despite their sprawl, they remain consistent page-turners. The primary exception is Dragon Tattoo’s opening three hundred pages, which are layered with so much character development that it often takes encouragement from friends who’ve finished to persevere. The separate paths of crusading journalist Mikael Blomkvist and troubled but gifted computer hacker Lisbeth Salander are relatively compelling in their own right, but the series’ most passionate fans will admit that the story doesn’t truly take off until they join forces to solve a decades-old murder. The buildup comprises the film’s first hour, and though Zaillian trims a good deal of non-cinematic fat, it’s still a slog to the leads’ union.

Even with Lisbeth and Mikael's immense chemistry, the film’s thrills are largely tied to the wonders of uncovering information, which led me to label the novel a “journalistic thriller” and fondly make comparisons to All the President’s Men, State of Play, and Fincher’s own Zodiac. If digging through archives isn’t your idea of a good time, perhaps you’re better off seeing the latest Mission Impossible, a brainless film that, on paper, shouldn’t be in the same conversation as Dragon Tattoo, yet is surprisingly and unquestionably superior in nearly all regards.

Rooney Mara shines as Lisbeth (though is a bit too accessible) and Stellan Skarsgard’s Martin Vanger is frightening, but the rest of the Swedish-accented U.S./English cast operates on cruise control. Daniel Craig is fine but brings little to his portrayal of Blomkvist, and after shining in Beginners, Christopher Plummer is criminally underdeveloped as Mikael’s mysterious employer. Likewise, while I swooned at the potential of Robin Wright sexing up Mikael’s boss and lover Erika Berger, she’s barely onscreen.

Considering director Niels Arden Oplev and a Swedish cast aced the material less than two years ago, Fincher’s Dragon Tattoo is a wholly unnecessary film. None of the new performances are marked improvements (most are far inferior and a few are nearly identical), and without a tie to the language or really the location, it’s a mystery why the setting remains Scandanavian. I’d argue that the film’s disregard for Swedish culture is borderline disrespectful...and where are the novel's ubiquitous coffee and sandwiches? Lisbeth and Mikael may as well be sipping Folgers and chomping Subway cold cuts on the Upper Peninsula.

For numerous U.S. moviegoers, Fincher’s film will be the first time witnessing Lisbeth and Mikael’s tale. I didn’t have such a luxury and the bulk of my reservations with the film are seeped in an awareness of the text and Oplev’s superior film. Regardless, there are so many basic storytelling holes and an overall sloppiness that I have to believe uninitiated audiences are similarly disappointed. Still, The Girl Who Played With Fire, the series' second installment and my favorite book of the trilogy, likewise didn't fare well on screen. Fincher and, especially, Zaillian may have dropped their first opportunity, but there's remains enough promise for this team to regroup, refocus, and truly shine.

Martha Marcy May Marlene

2012-01-28T08:48:00.000-08:00

Somewhere inside Sean Durkin's disjointed Martha Marcy May Marlene is a fantastic short film. The premise is intriguing (20something woman flees a cult and attempts to readjust to society) as is the Next Big Thing hype surrounding star Elizabeth Olsen (and not just because she’s Mary-Kate’s and Ashley’s sister). The resulting feature, though, never quite comes together. Olsen is spectacular and her captivating face is surely one of the year’s lasting images. She brings appeal to even her less flattering scenes and the manner in which present moments with her sister Lucy (Sarah Paulson) and brother-in-law Ted (Hugh Dancy) trigger analogous memories with the cult is a solid framing device.

In fitting it all together, however, Durkin struggles. For a young girl disillusioned with the world, the allure of Patrick (John Hawkes) and his “become the person you were meant to be” commune is decently executed, as are a number of events that lead to Martha’s evolving rift with her new surroundings. But while these latter few isolated events are jarring in their intensity, too much about cult life remains ambiguous to feel invested in the group’s daily life or, by extension, Martha’s struggles and eventual flight. These scenes have “missed opportunity” written all over them and detract from an otherwise interesting concept.

Durkin’s use of hazy cinematography (at least I hope that's what it was) potentially questions the story's authenticity and, along with the title’s hint at multiple identities, raises the possibility of Martha being mentally ill. Neither notion is well developed. Sometimes the visual distortion feels indicative of her cloudy memory and other times I wondered if I needed a trip to the optometrist. With the film being overall unsatisfying, I can't say the lens choice is an asset.

Likewise, Hawkes and the supporting cast do the best they can with the so-so script, but are too often mired in faux-natural scenes and dialogue that feel like bad community theatre. A home invasion scene, in particular, is distracting in its falseness and the terror it hopes to inspire is replaced by a desire to see how much time is left in the film. I hate to look at my watch during a movie, but I did so multiple times during Martha Marcy May Marlene.

Unlike the numerous critics societies who have awarded Durkin their “most promising first-time filmmaker” awards, I’m largely uninterested in seeing his future projects. Olsen’s career, however, is worth following, and with raves already coming out of Sundance for her turn in Josh Radnor’s Liberal Arts, it appears that she’s delivering on her potential.

Win Win

2012-01-28T08:17:00.000-08:00

For nearly a decade, I’ve heard positive things about Tom McCarthy’s solid little films about regular people who make decisions that have major consequences on their lives. The Station Agent and The Visitor both earned critical raves and the latter brought character actor Richard Jenkins his first Oscar nomination, but I’ve yet to see either. Win Win, McCarthy’s most recent film, makes me wonder why I’ve been so lazy. The solid character piece is one of the year’s finest films, a simple but powerful story that encourages me to seek out the writer/director’s work more aggressively in the future.

Paul Giamatti is particularly good as struggling New Jersey attorney and high school wrestling coach Mike Flaherty, showcasing the nuances of interaction (facial control, delivery of a passionate line without overdoing it) that mark his best work. Being neither an action film nor an overt comedy with distracting gags, quiet interacting is what Win Win is all about and Giamatti is the right man for the job. McCarthy carefully sets up Mike's situation and the events that lead him to assume a risky undertaking, but peppers the script with copious dry humor, most notably from Kyle (Alex Shaffer), the troubled wrestling prodigy whose magnetism steals every scene in which he appears.

Kyle organically inserts himself into the Flahertys’ lives, and though he remains a bit aloof, he communicates openly and bluntly, a surprise to the Flahertys (and us) considering his somewhat bleak demeanor. First-time actor Shaffer is a revelation and only stumbles when he gets upset, the lack of control in his voice and evident overacting illustrating the difference in experience between that of his more accomplished guest stars (including Amy Ryan, Jeffrey Tambor, and a hilarious Bobby Cannavale). As Kyle becomes increasingly essential to the Flahertys’ lives, McCarthy subtly yet suspensefully drags out Mike's comeuppance, and when it hits, it's more painful than anticipated. The grace and humanity with which Mike responds, however, is equally impressive.

Far less happy-feely than its description may suggest, Win Win has multiple opportunities to take the expected route, but resists, sticking with the more authentic and less conventional path. It’s a film of choices, each with real and relatable accountabilities. The same should be said for all films, and though that’s sadly not the case, it often takes a work as pleasant and straightforward as McCarthy’s to remind other filmmakers how to tell a successful story.

X-Men: First Class

2012-01-28T07:55:00.000-08:00

Furthering his stinker-free record, Matthew Vaughn (Layer Cake, Kick-Ass) resurrects the X-Men franchise from Brett Ratner purgatory and gives it a needed youthful kick in the pants. In the inspired casting of Michael Fassbender (Erik Lehnsher/Magneto) and James McAvoy (Charles Xavier/Professor X), Vaughn gives the film instant credibility with a pair of rising stars who continue/preclude (depending on how you look at it) the excellence of their respective predecessors, Ian McKellan and Patrick Stewart. Nicholas Hoult (Hank McCoy/Beast) and Jennifer Lawrence (Raven/Mystique) are likewise solid, as is Kevin Bacon, having his most fun since The River Wild, as powerful villain Sebastian Shaw.

Beyond the powerhouse performances, though, things get a little messy. The central save-the-world story is interesting enough but has its share of awkward moments, rendering its ‘60s setting more of an Austin Powers vibe than intended. A lazy “show me yours and I’ll show you mine” session among a roomful of younger mutants is likewise off. Then there’s poor January Jones, who muddies each of her scenes and furthers the notion that she can’t function outside of Mad Men. Her beautiful but lifeless Emma Frost is caught somewhere between a castoff Bond villainess and a Stepford wife. Mike Myers could have loaned Vaughn a femme-bot and it would have been more interesting casting.

What steadies the film, however, are its exceptional lead performances and the intricacies of Erik and Charles’ relationship. Academy voters may have shut Fassbender out this year, but he seems a lock for an Oscar nomination sometime soon. He's too strong an on-screen presence to be ignored and his turn marks the first time in the series where I’ve taken notice of a performance. The...err...magnetism of his Magneto may have made the character my favorite X-Man, similar to how Ewan McGregor’s work in Revenge of the Sith made me realize that Obi Wan is truly Star Wars’ most appealing figure. McAvoy nearly matches Fassbender, his swinging but intellectual Professor X a refreshing take after a decade of Stewart’s humorless portrayal. As the leads’ union buckles under contrasting values, their interactions crackle with elevated tension, building to a heartbreaking but inevitable conclusion made all the more powerful by the two actors’ undeniable chemistry. It’s an excellent set-up for subsequent X-Men stories and I wouldn’t mind seeing this cast return for a few more films.

The Adventures of Tintin

2012-01-28T07:45:00.000-08:00

Beautiful, awe-inspiring use of animation and 3D. Wonderful adventure. One thrilling set piece after another. Stakes established early on and effectively carried throughout the film.

So this is how I was supposed to feel after seeing Hugo.

Instead, it's Steven Spielberg's The Adventures of Tintin that's a series of thrills and visual pleasure, using motion-capture animation to take characters and cameras places their physical counterparts are incapable of going. From the moment the intrepid titular reporter (Jamie Bell) is threatened by two very different parties to relinquish his newly-purchased model ship, intrigue sets in and is soon followed by an unrelenting sense of danger. Similar to Raiders of the Lost Ark in terms of balancing action and humor amidst an ever-building yarn, it’s a rare PG-rated film with plentiful shootouts and the ongoing sense that our protagonist may actually get hurt. That the film can also feature the antics of an alcoholic lead (the wonderful Andy Serkis as Captain Haddock) and two bumbling detectives (Simon Pegg and Nick Frost) without detracting from the story or its family-appropriate appeal is likewise commendable.

If I must nitpick, character development is a bit weak and with the general emotional disconnect inherent to motion-capture, 2D characters don’t help. But as Matt Singer noted on "Filmspotting," the movie is called the Adventures of Tintin, not The Inner Workings of Tintin. While we’re not going to learn how Tintin came to be a reporter or whether he's close with his mother, we are going to be taken on an exciting chase to the finish.

I was also a little bothered initially at Tintin working out his thoughts aloud, as if his dog Snowy is his silent Watson. However, I quickly shed any irritation at Tintin's journalistic approach. Even though Snowy can't talk, he is his Watson (surprisingly helpful in his own right) and Tintin is so genuine and motivated in his investigations that his audible deduction quickly becomes part of his appeal.

Perhaps Scorsese's film would have fared better had it taken a hint from its source material and gone the animated route. The format is an asset to Spielberg’s filmmaking, allowing him sequences and a captivating visual world that otherwise could not have been constructed. His effort is our reward and Tintin is an incredible achievement. I’d see it again in a second and look forward to Peter Jackson’s hopeful followup.

Hanna

2012-01-28T07:16:00.000-08:00

For as long as she can remember, 16-year-old Hanna Heller (Saoirse Ronan) has been hiding out with her father Erik (Eric Bana) in the Finnish wilderness, learning everything he knows about killing. Between grueling physical and mental exercises in the arctic climate, he demands that she practice her fluency in multiple languages, learn about the outside world through a dated encyclopedia, and recite a litany of fabricated personal facts intended to provide a cover story for her looming encounter with society. When she’s ready, all that’s left is to trigger an old transmitter and one Marissa Wiegler will be alerted to her location, initiating Erik’s master plan.

It’s a fine hook, enough to warrant at least some concern for Hanna, but when the plan doesn’t quite go right, suddenly she’s on the run with CIA agent Wiegler (a Texas accented Cate Blanchett) obsessed with killing her and little to justify any of it. Wiegler gives a reason to her supervisors (the ever vague “government betrayal”) yet her vendetta has a far more personal and, unfortunately, unstated explanation. I’m all for a good mystery, but there’s only so much thrill to a blind pursuit and once director Joe Wright finally provides the answers, it's too late to fully save Hanna.

The ADD action film is a bit of a departure for the director of Pride & Prejudice and Atonement, yet even with a lack of investment in various character motivations, Hanna is still on the cusp of being magical. Wright’s period-piece visuals inform numerous shootouts and chase sequences, granting them an artistic vibe that’s uncommon in adventure films. He also squeezes in another wowsers tracking shot to accompany Atonement’s Dunkirk beach scene, this time following Erik from a bus, through the outlying station, and down an escalator to an underground depot where he disposes of five would-be attackers in a slow 360-degree smackdown.

The sequence is a rousing achievement, but there’s a strong sense that Hanna needs more moments of such magnitude. Complicating my struggle to care about the sloppily constructed story and its underdeveloped players, Wright far too often resorts to meaningless, video game camera flips mid-chase, emptily depicting Hanna running on a tunnel's ceiling like Sonic the Hedgehog. A borderline distracting Chemical Brothers score only adds to the disconnect.

There’s also Hanna’s awkward encounter with an RVing English family, parented by a bizarrely weak Olivia Williams and Jason Flemyng. They're intended to be a societal microcosm to conveniently bring her up to date on the world she's been missing. As well as her limited interpersonal skills will allow, Hanna makes friends with the family's annoyingly chatty daughter (Jessica Barden), who attempts to assimilate her into society. The subsequent coming-of-age culture clashes are intended to be funny, but fall flat in their cutesy execution and further stifle the film’s central intrigue. With all these sideshows, it’s no wonder Hanna’s climactic showdown takes place at an empty amusement park. The film itself is more than a little like the stalled, empty rides: full of potential, but lacking a few key ingredients.

Filmspots 2011 Nominations Ballot

2012-01-23T12:37:00.000-08:00

Perhaps showing my hand a bit for the forthcoming Best of 2011 rundown, but here's my nominations ballot for Filmspotting's annual awards, The Filmspots. (My votes will help determine the final ballot, which will also be voted on.) Certain titles released in early 2011 that qualified for last year's Oscars may appear on this list, so if you see an old one, please don't freak out. Also, I went primarily by films and performances nominated by other Filmspotting listeners, so there's a good chance I've omitted some obvious choices. If so, please let me know.

BEST PICTURE

1. The Tree of Life
2. Rabbit Hole
3. Drive
4. And Everything Is Going Fine
5. Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles

BEST DIRECTOR

1. The Tree of Life
2. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
3. Drive
4. War Horse
5. Melancholia

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

1. Beginners
2. The Tree of Life
3. Midnight in Paris
4. Win Win
5. Meek's Cutoff

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

1. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
2. Moneyball
3. Rabbit Hole
4. Submarine
5. The Ides of March

BEST ACTOR

1. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - Gary Oldman
2. Drive - Ryan Gosling
3. Rabbit Hole - Aaron Eckhart
4. The Artist - Jean Dujardin
5. X-Men: First Class - Michael Fassbender

BEST ACTRESS

1. Rabbit Hole - Nicole Kidman
2. Martha Marcy May Marlene - Elizabeth Olsen
3. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - Rooney Mara
4. The Help - Viola Davis
5. Meek's Cutoff - Michelle Williams

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

1. Moneyball - Jonah Hill
2. Beginners - Christopher Plummer
3. Midnight in Paris - Adrien Brody
4. Drive - Albert Brooks
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 - Alan Rickman

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

1. Super 8 - Elle Fanning
2. Another Year - Lesley Manville
3. The Tree of Life - Jessica Chastain
4. Somewhere - Elle Fanning
5. The Help - Bryce Dallas Howard

BEST ENSEMBLE CAST

1. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
2. The Ides of March
3. Midnight in Paris
4. Another Year
5. Melancholia

BEST NON-ENGLISH LANGUAGE FILM

1. The Skin I Live In
2. Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives
3. Of Gods and Men
4. I Saw the Devil
5. Certified Copy

BEST ANIMATED FILM

1. The Adventures of Tintin
2. Cars 2
3.
4.
5.

BEST DOCUMENTARY

1. And Everything Is Going Fine
2. Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles
3. The Interrupters
4. Waste Land
5. Senna

BEST EDITING

1. The Tree of Life
2. Drive
3. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
4. The Adventures of Tintin
5. The Interrupters

BEST SOUND

1. The Tree of Life
2. Drive
3. 13 Assassins
4. Meek's Cutoff
5. The Artist

BEST SCORE

1. The Tree of Life
2. Drive
3. The Skin I Live In
4. Beginners
5. War Horse

BEST SOUNDTRACK

1. The Tree of Life
2. Drive
3. The Muppets
4. Somewhere
5. Strange Powers: Stephin Merritt and the Magnetic Fields

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY

1. The Tree of Life
2. Drive
3. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
4. Moneyball
5. Melancholia

BEST ART DIRECTION

1. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
2. Meek's Cutoff
3. Submarine
4. Midnight in Paris
5. Harry Potter and the Death Hallows Part 2

BEST VISUAL EFFECTS

1. Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol
2. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
3. The Tree of Life
4. Melancholia
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2

BEST SURPRISE

1. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
2. The Help
3. Cedar Rapids
4. Melancholia
5. 13 Assassins

BEST DEBUT FEATURE

1. Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles
2. Submarine
3. The Muppets
4. Attack the Block
5. Martha Marcy May Marlene

BEST SCENE (DRAMATIC)

1. Drive - Opening Getaway
2. The Tree of Life - At the Organ
3. War Horse - Entanglement
4. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - Sail Away
5. Melancholia - Prologue

Note: I'm lying my ass off... The true #1 scene is The Adventures of Tintin - Moroccan chase sequence. Also deserving Top 5 honors is Hanna - transit station melee

BEST SCENE (COMEDIC)

1. The Muppets - "Man or Muppet"
2. The Trip - Competing Michael Caine Impressions
3. Cedar Rapids - Pool Party
4. The Interrupters - Meeting Flamo
5. Win Win - Stemler's Match

BEST SHOT

1. The Tree of Life - Shadows Inverted
2. Melancholia - Final Shot
3. Of Gods and Men - Final Shot
4. Somewhere - Johnny's Plaster Mask
5. War Horse - A firing squad and a well-timed windmill

BEST LINE

1. Submarine - "My mum gave a hand job to a mystic."
2. Drive - "How bout this, shut your mouth or I'll kick your teeth down your throat and shut it for you."
3. Cedar Rapids - "I do a pretty convincing Omar from the HBO series The Wire."
4. Midnight in Paris - "I paint you rhinoceros. I paint you... see... sad eyes...big lips melting on a hot sand with one tear... yes and in your tear another face! The Christ face! Yes... and the rhinoceros."
5. Super 8 - "Mint!"

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

2012-01-22T16:25:00.000-08:00

It looked terrible. The trailers all looked dumb and that it starred James Franco didn't help much. (After the Oscars and Your Highness, it was entirely possible that the guy had lost his mind.) I had little interest in a re-reboot of a franchise that had spawned enough sequels to earn its own a bad joke genre. I'm not a huge fan of the original and the Tim Burton redo was merely passable (and that's an opinion from my Burton Apologist era. I wouldn't dare watch it now). I'm just not the biggest sci-fi primate fan and in a summer of garbage, CGI-heavy superhero flicks and sequels, I did not seek out Rise of the Planet of the Apes.

But then reviews came in and the consensus was that it far exceeded expectations. After catching up with Rupert Wyatt's film on DVD, please add my name to the list of its champions. Fellow doubters will do best to tuck away all inhibitions and go along for the ride. For suspend-your-disbelief sci-fi (which, I guess, is all sci-fi), it's pretty incredible and nearly all works.

The film opens with a pack of apes moving through an unnamed forest when they're attacked by humans, who capture several of the pack and ship them to San Francisco where Dr. Will Rodman (Franco) and his team at Gen-Sys use them to test a new anti-alzheimers drug. After encouraging signs of cognitive repair, Will presents his findings to a group of investors, but the meeting is disrupted by an escaped female chimp, on a building-wide rampage after defending her baby. Will's boss Steven Jacobs (David Oyelolo) immediately shuts down the program and orders the extermination of all the apes. Chief handler Robert Franklin (Tyler Labine) grudgingly complies, with the exception of the newborn. Unable to take the chimp home for a few days, Robert convinces Will to handle him for a few days, and during that time the little guy forms an instant bond with Will's father (John Lithgow), whose dementia has driven Will's pursuit for a cure. They name the chimp Caesar (bought to life through motion-capture by the talented Andy Serkis) and welcome him into the Rodman family where he displays high levels of intelligence, seemingly passed on to him by his mother. After some tragic misadventures out in the world, however, Caesar is forced into a primate shelter and faced with life among his own kind for the first time.

From there, the film unexpectedly becomes one of the more successful prison (and prison escape) films in recent memory. As Caesar struggles with his new surroundings and the sense of Will's betrayal, he endures all the drama of its human counterparts, including the initial beatdowns and the inevitable "make you my bitch" scene. Caesar works his smarts to his advantage in myriad ways, enacting his own brand of Shawshank redemption and flipping the script on his human captors (the delicious pairing of Brian Cox, dripping with his X-Men:2 villainy, and Draco Malfoy himself, Tom Felton).

The action of Rise of the Planet of the Apes is certainly stellar (and man, the Bay Area had a rough cinematic 2011!), but it's the inner struggles of its characters that make the film far more than an adrenaline-fueled romp. Will encounters a plethora of problems and the decisions he makes, despite their terrible consequences, are understandable. More enthralling is Caesar's ongoing battle between his animal/violent instincts and his human/loving teachings. As he matures, the conflict increasingly flares up and the processing of his conundrum is fascinating. Serkis' facial acting channels captivating emotions that are wholly animal, yet clearly relay Caesar's human-influenced thoughts and feelings. It's a grand surprise to find acting of such depth in what could otherwise be a throwaway popcorn flick and Serkis' performance is surely one for the ages.

The richness of Caesar's story allows for other thematic material to shine through, including commentary on overstepping our bounds as humans and the consequences of such actions. Wyatt and screenwriters Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver employ a pitch-perfect framing of the apes' origins and where they end up with superb bookend scenes. They also subtly set up the ill-fated Mars mission that begins the original film, and through one of the more haunting end title sequences I can remember, establish further means for the film's titular promise, effectively setting up the Charlton Heston classic (though I wouldn't mind another go with Serkis' Caesar).

In all its successes, the film still has its stumbles. I could easily criticize the lack of supporting characters development, but it isn't their story. They consistently take their stances, play their parts, and do enough to make an impression. The only excruciatingly false moment is when a particular famous line from the original film is uttered. Spoken ver batim, it's too referential to carry more than pop-culture chuckles, and I genuinely feared that it would derail the film's wonderful progress. However, it happens to inspire the film's most unexpected and powerful moment, so while the filmmakers clearly knew what they were doing in its use, I'm uncertain if the ends justify its inclusion.

Defied expectations result in some of cinema's most memorable moments. I thought The Help was the year's biggest surprise, but that film didn't carry nearly as many stigmas that Rise of the Planet of the Apes inspired. James Franco knew what he was doing, as did everyone involved on the film. I've rarely been more glad to be proven wrong.

Submarine

2012-01-19T15:51:00.000-08:00

Richard Ayoade's Submarine has garnered comparisons to Wes Anderson's films for its balance of quirk and charm, but a more apt ancestor is Harold and Maude. On the surface, Submarine may sound like the tale of Max Fischer's Welsh cousin, but Anderson has yet to feature a young protagonist as gloomy-looking as Oliver Tate (Craig Roberts). With his dark eye circles, verbal diarrhea, and emo self-confidence, he seems a direct descendant of Bud Cort's Harold. Seeing as Hal Ashby's film is the true godfather of quirk, it's only fitting that Oliver has a skeleton hanging in his room and that the cinematography has a slightly hazy, '70s look as opposed to Anderson's hyper-clean imagery. Yet despite his physical gloom, what sets Oliver apart from his predecessors (though aligns him more with Max than Harold) is his pervasive and realistic optimism.

Oliver is acutely aware that his parents (Sally Hawkins and Noah Taylor, plumbing the depths of boredom) haven't had sex in seven months. He monitors their intimacy by the dimmer switch in their bedroom, which has remained on full-tilt bright ("bad") throughout. By various well-intentioned means, he attempts to reignite their passion, which is further complicated when a self-help guru (a mulletted Paddy Considine), who happens to be his mother's first love, moves next door.

On his own romantic front, Oliver has his eyes on Jordana Bevan (Yasmin Paige), whose slight unpopularity and being not too good-looking, he rationalizes, increases his chances with her. Once they indeed get together, it's pure bliss, one of those rare instances when a loner's meticulous girlfriend calculations pay off. They're spectacular together, despite Jordana's aversion to all things romantic, and though the new love further inspires Oliver's quest for parental reconciliation, unforeseen obstacles naturally arise on both fronts. Oliver whispering, "My mum gave a handjob to a mystic," sums it up nicely.

Ayoade is fortunate to have three of Britain's finest supporting actors for his debut feature, but relative newcomers Roberts and Paige are likewise rich in talent. Aiding them is the director's delightful script, from the novel by Joe Dunthorne, and a wealth of clever directorial flourishes that provide depth to what could have been a merely "cute" film. Its chief quirk (and there are many) is Oliver's ongoing perception of his life as a film. After a fortnight full of fireworks with Jordana, he "turn[s] these moments into the Super-8 footage of memory" and elsewhere comments how a certain scene deserves an epic crane shot, but, as the camera depicts, his life only has the budget for a simple zoom-out. In uncharted personal territory, he's nonetheless informed by an awareness of big cliche cinematic moments, both good ("This is the moment where you leave him and come with me") and bad ("...the part where you run up to the girl and she turns around and it isn't her"), but the film tastefully eschews expected moments, remaining self-aware and unpredictable.

Yet with all its charm and artistry, Submarine's quirk never quite adds up to anything substantial as it does in the likes of Anderson's films and Rian Johnson's The Brothers Bloom. All of the proper tools appear to be present, but there's just enough disconnect and what may or may not be first-time jitters to prevent a truly successful picture. However, I had a similar response to Anderson's debut, so while there's hope that Submarine will grow on me the way Bottle Rocket did, despite its flaws, I'm excited to see what Ayoade does next.

War Horse

2012-01-17T05:00:00.000-08:00

Steven Spielberg's successes can be divided into seven categories: monster escapism (Jaws, Jurassic Park), alien sci-fi (E.T., Close Encounters of the Third Kind), non-alien sci-fi (A.I., Minority Report), kids gone wild (Catch Me If You Can, Hook), serial adventure (The Adventures of Tintin, all four Indiana Joneses...you heard me!), and first-tier epic (Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, and Munich). His latest film, War Horse, is solid second-tier epic and belongs alongside the underrated Empire of the Sun. There's nothing wrong with being a second-tier epic. First-tier epics simply distance themselves with consistently weightier subject matter, more sinister adult threats, and, well, don't feature boys as protagonists.

Not that War Horse lacks substance. Its WWI battlefield drama is plenty heavy (as is a Japanese POW camp), but when the story is framed through a boy and his horse, it's not going to pack quite the mature punch of a Nazi saving Holocaust Jews or soldiers storming Omaha Beach. There's too much innocence (and a PG-13 rating) at stake to strike quite the brutal tone of his most transcendent work, and though the film occasionally plays it safe, it also has its share of stunners.

War Horse is a showcase of everything Spielberg does well. Thrilling adventure, father-son relationships, soaring moments of unexpected humanity, and big movie moments are all present and complement one another the way his finest films do. Beginning with small town English drama, Ted Narracott (Peter Mullan) goes to auction for a plough horse, but in a fit of drunken pride outbids his despicable landlord Lyons (David Thewlis) for a thoroughbred, incapable of such work. Ted's son Albert (Jeremy Irvine) has been infatuated with the horse since its birth and promises his mother (Emily Watson) that he can teach the creature, who he names Joey, to work the fields. Through perseverance and an ever-growing bond, Albert and Joey plough the soil, but when rains ruin their turnip crop and Lyons threatens eviction, Ted is forced to sell Joey to an army infantry officer at the dawn of WWI.

So begins Joey's Red Violin-like adventures of provenance as he passes through a string of characters with various connections to the war. The story (a truly stellar script from Lee Hall and Richard Curtis) organically shifts to each new temporary master and effectively weaves in Albert's ongoing quest to join the war effort and reunite with Joey. Obstacles abound, of course, and while their eventual reunion is all but assured, the road there is immensely compelling. At its core, War Horse is a classic boy-loves-animal adventure in the vein of The Red Pony, The Yearling, and Old Yeller, its enjoyment largely dependent on whether or not you love animals and have an interest in their well-being. It's far more than an exercise in hippophilia, however, and as those films deal with the larger theme of the goodness that animals inspire, so too does War Horse achieve deeper relevance.

Fortunately for Joey, he nearly always falls to people who know a good deal about horses. They look out for him as best they can, considering their dire circumstances, and in the midst of war's madness, he returns the favor. His natural beauty a reminder of better days and his acts of valor a perpetual inspiration, he encourages those with whom he interacts to become grounded and, at least temporarily, summon the best in themselves. Among these people, spanning English, German, and French lines, are a smattering of quality character actors whose recognition is bound to spark a bout of what's-his-face-itis: there's F. Scott Fitzgerald from Midnight in Paris (Tom Hiddleston); the new BBC Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch); the kid from The Reader (David Kross); the big cheeze from A Prophet (Niels Arestrup); Johnny Quid from Rocknrolla (Toby Kebbell); and the inspector from Sherlock Holmes (Eddie Marsan). Each displays some form of humanity in Joey's presence, and though moving in their own regard, the exchanges carry additional weight, clouded with the melancholy of his separation from Albert.

In weaving it all into an effective cinematic experience, Spielberg borrows extensively from the greats. The early Devon countryside scenes feel rooted in the likes of John Ford's The Quiet Man, the trench charges a combination of Paths of Glory and his own iconic Private Ryan, and, as Ken Hanke notes, the final shot's supersaturated red sky evokes Gone With the Wind to the nth degree. Being one of the greats himself, Spielberg remains innovative and chief among his personal flourishes is a consistent and clever shielding of death. Instead of witnessing a soldier's demise, his riderless horse streaks through the woods. Another time, a windmill's arm passes by during a firing squad sentence, obscuring the carnage. Death's grip remains terrible and omnipresent, but few characters (horses included) die onscreen. When they do, in keeping with the film's core innocence, it's sad but relatively painless.

What's more difficult to overcome is the film's blatant yet wonderful emotional manipulation. I gave into it from the start (hell, until I saw the title, I was quaking during the preview for Big Miracle) and have been unable to shake the film since. Every time I heard Joey's theme, which accompanies his major feats and more significant moments with Albert, I got choked up. John Williams, channeling Aaron Copland like never before, lends these encounters maximum emotional value. Resenting such intentional heartstring-pulling is a natural impulse for some, and that's a shame. If you lower your guard and let a well-made, old-fashioned film play out, you'll enjoy War Horse a great deal.

The Arbor

2012-01-15T20:14:00.000-08:00

The Arbor is a documentary unlike any I've seen. In telling the story of British playwright Andrea Dunbar, director Clio Barnard takes interviews of Dunbar's friends and family, places actors in domestic scenes corresponding to the subject matter, and has the actors lip-synch to the recorded text. These reenactments provide a barrier between the actual person and their wrenching memories, chronicling Dunbar's life in Yorkshire's hardscrabble Brafferton Arbor and the string of hardships and heartaches that didn't end with her sudden death of an embolism at age 29. It's a bleak, haunting little film that, considering the subject matter and the interviewees' likely disinterest in being filmed, almost couldn't exist in another format.

Barnard sets the tone from the opening scene where a young Andrea and her sister are locked in their room with a burning mattress, ignited by their mother under the pretense of keeping them warm. The girls pound on their window for help to escape the smoke and life in general with their mother and alcoholic father, but no aid is given. Andrea eventually found her exit through writing and her strikingly autobiographical play "The Arbor" caught the attention of a London producer and landed her a theatrical run while still a teenager. She followed "The Arbor" with "Rita, Sue and Bob Too," which she also adapted into a film, and though her success on stage showed promise of breaking from her troubled past, her surroundings proved too difficult to escape. Before she turned 30, she had three children by three different men, was an alcoholic, and died in the pub where she essentially lived. Following her death, the film focuses on the recollections of her children, notably her eldest daughter Lorraine. Born of a Pakistani father and treated with racist indifference by her mother, Lorraine extends her family's tragic streak, turning to drugs and prostitution, and unintentionally tormenting those who try to help.

Facilitating the film's inherent harshness is the decision to funnel the story through the lip-synching actors. The casting is so apt and the audio synching cut so well that I often wondered if the actual person had snuck onscreen. Adding to this wondrous mix of authenticity and creative liberties are interspersed sound effects from the reenactments, such as clinking dishes or the creak of a chair, that grant the stagings additional depth. Through these methods, Barnard's approach puts the likes of Alex Gibney's (Gonzo) and James Marsh's (Man on Wire) conventional reenactments to shame. Instead of being blatantly literal, she maintains faith in the power of the interviews, placing her actors in settings where their counterparts' testimonies were likely given and letting their reactions and our imagination fill in the blanks. It's exceptionally effective filmmaking.

Further informing us are scenes from "The Arbor," staged by Barnard in the very neighborhood that inspired the play. As more is revealed of Andrea's life, Barnard cuts to these eerily related performances while neighbors watch from the streets and sidewalks, essentially witnessing the family drama as it occurred instead of in a theatre. These sequences emphasize the gritty realism of Andrea's writing, and combined with the recreated interviews and archival television footage of the Dunbar family, it makes for a fascinating portrait of people and place.

When first hearing of the lip-syching approach, I was fascinated but wondered why Barnard would take such a route instead of featuring the subjects themselves. A few minutes into The Arbor, I had my answer: showing the actual subjects give their confessions would have been too difficult to watch. Though their bravery in recounting the past is commendable, there's no pleasure in hearing about drug addictions, beatings, infant fatalities, child abuse, alcoholism, and daily suffering. The reenactments provide a necessary barrier between us and those who knew Andrea, making their stories bearable, though just barely. Just as Andrea needed actors to tell her early stories on stage, so too do we require them to relay the larger tragedy of her and her children. Considering its inescapable gloom, The Arbor is not a film you'll want to revisit any time soon, but it's one that you absolutely must see.

Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol

2012-01-13T06:40:00.000-08:00

Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol doesn't just pose the question of where to place colons and dashes within its title, but also why more new movies aren't nearly as exciting. Brad Bird's film is one entertaining set piece after another and never lets up on the thrills. It's pure high-octane, no-brainer fun and shouldn't be missed on the big screen.
The series' fourth installment finds an Impossible Missions Force team breaking Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) out of a Russian prison. The springing a success and the MacGuffin revealed (this time it's Russian nuclear launch codes), Ethan & Co. sneak into the Kremlin, but are foiled by mad professor Kurt Hendricks (Michael Nyqvist), who promptly blows up the place and frames IMF, causing the U.S. President to disavow all agents. Operating under punishment of treason, Ethan and agents Benji Dunn (Simon Pegg) and Jane Carter (Paula Patton) team with mysterious intel expert William Brandt (Jeremy Renner, a pleasant addition) to stop Hendricks before he enacts a worldwide nuclear holocaust.

Bird, hand-picked for the stunning action sequences he oversaw on Pixar’s The Incredibles, makes a seamless transition to live-action. As J.J. Abrams did in M:I-3, he keeps Cruise too busy to make an ass of himself, forcing him to focus on the mission at hand instead of sitting around and smiling like an idiot.

Hendricks gives Ethan plenty of reasons to scowl. Nyqvist (the original Girl with the Dragon Tattoo's Mikael Blomkvist) plays him as a sinister, driven enemy, but is a bit like a Bond villain in his one-track drive. Hendricks' lack of development keeps him from being as menacing as the series' greatest villain, M:I:3's Owen Davian, played so vicious and memorably by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Through brief scenes of unrelenting anger, Davian's threat was made incredibly real. Hendricks is more of a shadow threat, legitimate but distant, though for a nutty professor, he proves surprisingly effective at outrunning and outmaneuvering Ethan, who, let’s face it, may have lost a step.
What hasn’t slowed a bit is the action, and while no individual sequence outdoes the third film’s Chesapeake Bay Bridge extravaganza, collectively Ghost Protocol is the more exciting film. Bird’s camera goes where no camera should go (outside of motion-capture), blurring the line between real and computer-generated. As always, Cruise’s self-performed stunts adds an additional layer of danger and intrigue to these scenes, though at times he seems a bit too relaxed. The Ethan Hunt of prior films would have shown a tad more hesitancy in wirelessly scaling Dubai’s Burj Khalifa, but even when things go wrong at 130 stories, he only looks mildly inconvenienced.

Several bigger scenes from Ghost Protocol were shot specifically for IMAX screens, and though I don't doubt that the larger venue would have magnified the experience, the visuals still works well on a "regular" movie screen. Unless you have a proper home theater, however, its effect will certainly be lessened in the wait for its DVD release, so get out to the cinema while you still can.

The Help

2012-01-12T06:31:00.000-08:00

I didn’t expect to like The Help as much as I did. Its popularity as a novel naturally made me suspicious, as did the mad rush to turn it into a film. Though not having read Kathryn Stockett's book, I detected an air of manipulation in its story and felt sure that its visual form would milk audience emotions to the point of purchasing Kleenex stock. Blatant tear-jerkers tend to repel me and when protests started rolling in from the African American filmmaking community, criticizing white filmmakers for telling an inherently black story, I was further dissuaded from seeing the film in theaters.

Yet as an emotionally charged story with fleshed out characters, situations, and concepts, The Help is a major success. It’s no feat of technical filmmaking and the script lacks any sense of ambiguity, but when neither is what Tate Taylor's film sets out to accomplish, why criticize them as shortcomings? For what it is, it's pretty extraordinary.

In early 1960s Jackson, Mississippi, Skeeter Phelan (Emma Stone) returns home from Ole Miss to a rude societal awakening. Nearly all of her childhood friends are married with children, and while she has ambitions of living in New York and being a writer, everyone expects her to settle down, too. While attending a bridge luncheon at Elizabeth Leefolt’s (Ahna O’Reilly) house, Skeeter is the only one appalled at the way Hilly Holbrook (Bryce Dallas Howard, deliciously nasty) treats Elizabeth’s maid, Aibileen (Viola Davis). Though she noticeably needs to use the restroom, Hilly abstains because Elizabeth allows Aibileen to use their guest bathroom instead of having a separate toilet and openly states that she doesn’t want to catch Aibileen’s colored diseases. She and the other women of Jackson, however, are more than glad for maids to raise their children, a practice that’s been in use at least since slavery was abolished. As the maids have noticed, it’s a continual cycle that involves the children growing up adoring their maids, only to turn into their cruel, racist mothers once they’re adults, leaving the goodwill of that relationship behind in the name of tradition.

The major influence on Skeeter's enlightened view is the loving bond with her own childhood maid, Constantine (Cicely Tyson), who has moved to Chicago to be with family. The loss, coupled with her journalistic instincts and the pain of Hilly’s statements, prompts Skeeter to document the maids’ stories from their perspective. The fresh, daring angle grabs the attention of her New York publishing connection (Mary Steenburgen) and is the film’s central allure. Skeeter first seeks Aibileen’s participation, and though hesitant (what they’re doing is dangerous and illegal), Aibileen eventually agrees, convinced it's the right thing to do, regardless of its risks. Skeeter alters the specifics to protect Aibileen’s anonymity, but needs at least a dozen more participants to make a book. Initially, no one else volunteers, but after various injustices transpire, others find the strength to step forward, including Aibileen’s fiery best friend and Hilly’s ex-maid Minnie (Octavia Spencer), who has a particularly juicy story about her former employer.

In the tradition of Atticus Finch, Skeeter is a white person who’s been raised essentially the same as her peers but has developed a moral compass that allows her to act on her instincts of justice and equality. Her connection to Constantine is exceptionally loving, yet their relationship was not unique among Jackson's little girls and their maids, hinting at something special deep inside that drives her quest for righteousness. Likewise down for the cause, though in a delightfully different way, is Celia Foote (Jessica Chastain), a bubbly Barbiegirl whose never having a maid adds to her utter lack of racism. She's simply giddy for help in the kitchen and is colorblind to friendship, an ideal match for Minnie after her Hilly experience.

Instead of being the “white savior,” Skeeter is merely the facilitator, the maids’ connection to the world and an outlet to tell their stories. She remains humble and considerate throughout, never out for glory and consistently encouraging the maids while being acutely aware of the risks they’re all taking. She may be a writer, sensing a good story (with the tangential potential to further her career), but her decision to interview the maids is born of a recognition of and displeasure for the injustice they endure at the hands of her peers. She gives them a voice, and though she does the work of writing them up, she’s reluctant to take credit. The Help is the maids’ story, and though Skeeter’s role is an important one, it’s not the most important.

Its fitting, then, that the film's greatest assets are Davis and Spencer, whose expressions carry the weight of generations of mistreatment and bring a strong sense of humanity to each scene. Their confessions of long-repressed pain provide the film's most moving moments without a sense of manipulation or triteness. As with the story's novel take on Civil Rights era racism, the maids' proclamations feel vibrant and new. In the hands of less gifted actresses, the heavy scenes could have been insulting, but Davis and Spencer make the material extraordinary.

Still, in our supposedly enlightened age, there’s an instinct to bash the film for using insensitive dialogue, like the ubiquitous “you is,” despite it being accurate of the setting and characters. Driving Miss Daisy takes all sorts of abuse for having Morgan Freeman essentially speak like a slave, but it too is representative of its time. I understand the backlash and it’s painful to hear The Help’s black characters speak poorly, but for the film to be an accurate portrait of 1960s Mississippi, it must employ such dialogue, regardless of when the film is made. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of our nation’s past, yet instead of the dialogue and subject matter being knocks against the film, it should be used as further motivation to continue the progress made in the story. It may be too safe and straightforward of a film to do such a thing, but the potential is nonetheless there.

Throughout The Help, I kept thinking that some major character motivation or a key piece of the story would go undeveloped, but as the film progressed, I was continually proven wrong. I just didn't expect it to be so moving, and it's a joy to be so pleasantly surprised.

The Descendants

2012-01-08T07:53:00.000-08:00

Alexander Payne's The Descendants is a successful character study within a flawed story. It's well made, well acted, and, as its opening narration implores, depicts Hawaiians as having problems just like their mainland brethren, despite their paradisal surroundings. But beyond documenting a few transformative weeks in the life of Matt King (George Clooney) and his two daughters, the film is all over the place in what it wants to do, preventing it from being something truly great.

Matt is a native Hawaiian and the trustee for a large parcel of land that's been passed on to him by his missionary ancestors. Since his father's death, he's been given the leadership role, which is only fitting: the rest of his relatives have essentially blown their inheritance and need to sell the land in order to continue sipping Mai Tais all day. But they're not considering just any old offer. To show that they're true stewards of the land, the Kings' preferred bid is from a fellow native who, like the Chicago firms offering far more money, nevertheless plans to turn the pristine beach and forest into a gaudy hotel and resort. That the gaudiness in any way ruffles their (Matt included) titular sensibilities, however, goes unexpressed; it's a cash grab, reminiscent of everything wrong with Native American casinos.

In the midst of fielding bids, Matt's wife Elizabeth (Patricia Hastie) has a boating accident that lands her in the hospital with a coma. For three weeks, Matt spends as much time as possible by her side and when her doctor gives the regretful news that she's unlikely to awaken, Matt is devastated. It's an emotional scene, but only for its ability to evoke the general sadness derived from anyone's abrupt and tragic passing. Death is sad by nature and Elizabeth's situation is no exception. Still, almost nothing is known about Matt and his marriage at this point and Payne takes an immense risk in placing such a supposedly moving scene so early in the film without establishing sufficient means for the audience's emotional investment. It's fine if the scene's intended power is retroactively earned. Plenty of films drop first-act bombs and force the audience to piece the restulting details together. The problem with The Descendants, however, is that its details fail to add up to the emotional resonance that its concluding scenes assumedly possess.

But first, in addition to Elizabeth's condition and selling the land, Matt is thrust into the lead parent role, a responsibility for which he feels unprepared. Complicating everything is the revelation that Elizabeth was cheating on him with Brian Speer (Matthew Lillard), an area realtor. After learning of the affair from his older daughter Alexandra (Shailene Woodley), Matt tracks Brian to Kauai and sets off to confront his cuckolder with both daughters and Alexandra's dopey friend Sid (Nick Krause) in tow. The resulting road trip allows Matt to break out of his comfort zone, face the man who done him wrong, and win the respect of his children in the process. With Elizabeth's looming demise, his strengthened fatherhood is a major victory and its progression is well earned. Scene after scene, Matt proves himself to be a moral man who always tries to do the right thing and be a model for his children.
It's a joy to see Clooney continue to perform on such a high level. He's a major reason while the film ultimately succeeds, though in its resolutions of the remaining story lines, it nearly implodes.

The trip doubles as an opportunity for Matt to see the land and for various family members to reminisce over good times spent there. At various points prior to his decision, Matt is urged by concerned citizens to consider preserving the land. When the decision is finally made, it's a thoughtful and surprising moment. Some eleventh hour information affects his choice, lessening its ancestral impact, but it mostly works, particularly as an extension of the newly mature relationship with his daughters.

The Elizabeth connection, though, falls flat. Its failure wouldn't be such a problem if it was a minor thread, but when the bulk of the film's final scenes revolve around the sorrow of her demise and there's still no reason to care about her, it's a fiasco. Without a worthwhile investment, her death remains the unspecific broad misfortune that it was when her doctor first informed Matt of her chances. The audience is supposed to mourn over a character they never met and whose life, as presented in the film, made minimal impact on her husband and daughters. The King family still mourns, but seemingly out of the same dutifulness that kept them at her unresponsive side throughout her decline. They may as well be mourning for a cardboard cutout.

Fortunately, the dynamic between Matt and his children is enough to suppress most of the story's weaknesses and make for a worthwhile film. The title may suggest a significant connection between Matt and his ancestry, but it winds up being his own descendants who come to mean more to him than a tract of land. That realization, though it comes tragically late and after significant personal trauma, is the film's heart. It's enough, but there remains an inescapable sense that other opportunities were missed.

Midnight in Paris

2012-01-05T20:15:00.000-08:00

For someone who went to see The Curse of the Jade Scorpion on opening weekend and lives across the street from the theater that extended Midnight in Paris' run through early fall, it's baffling why I waited until the DVD release to see Woody Allen's latest film. All signs pointed toward it being a must-see: the reviews were stellar; its Parisian scenery further warranted its viewing on the big screen; and Neal Reed at the Fine Arts Theatre peer pressured me in a subscriber's email by noting that numerous Ashevillians were returning downtown to see the film again and again. Even my parents, who are lucky to make it to the cinema once a year, saw it before me (a fact which my mom promptly rubbed in my face). After finally getting to it, am I kicking myself for not seeing Midnight in Paris sooner?

McAdams and Wilson walkabout.

Yes and no. It's fun and pleasant, filled with gorgeous scenery, well-drawn characters, and an interesting premise. After a gorgeous Manhattan-esque opening showcase of Parisian sights set to the kind of jazz number that's opened Woody Allen films for forty years, the eye candy gives way to Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) gushing about the city to his fiancee Inez (Rachel McAdams), and sounding very much like Isaac going on about New York. They're in town accompanying her parents (Mimi Kennedy and Kurt Fuller, both at their scathing, judgmental best), enjoying the city on their dime while her father completes a corporate merger. Intoxicated by the French atmosphere, Gil contemplates whether to stick with his "hack" but successful screenwriting career or pursue his dreams of being a novelist, an aspiration further encouraged by the city and its 1920s heyday that he so nostalgically adores.

Michael Sheen: supertool!

At dinner one night, Gil and Inez run into her former college acquaintance Paul (Michael Sheen), a bearded pseudo-intellectual who's an expert on all things pretentious, corrects tour guides (who later refer to him as "pedantic"), and is adored by Inez. To avoiding spending the evening with Paul and his wife Carol (Nina Arianda) after a wine tasting, where Paul naturally held court, Gil tipsily wanders the streets until he's unexpectedly lost. Out of ideas and getting zero help from the locals, the clock strikes twelve, an antique Puegeot pulls up, and its riders whisk him off to what appears to be an elaborate '20s costume party.

It's so elaborate that Gil watches someone resembling Cole Porter (Yves Heck) perform "Let's Do It (Let's Fall In Love)" and chats up Zelda (Alison Pill) and F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston), all of which he takes to be odd coincidences. But it's no coincidence. They are who they say they are and Gil comes to accept the oddity in all its glee, though it takes meeting his idol Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll) at the night's end to solidify his affirmation of the time warp. Returning from the past as accidentally as he entered, Gil is in awe of the wild, inspirational evening. Was it the booze? His imagination? Some combination of both? Convinced that Inez will love it, he drags her along with the promise of a surprise beyond belief. Like the poor man waiting in vain for Michigan J. Frog to sing and dance for others, no magic Pugeot arrives and a frustrated Inez grabs a cab home. Alone and double checking his location, the clock strikes twelve, the Peugeot reappears, and the magic continues.

Colorful sights of the party.

Gil's amazement is genuine, joyous, and contagious. The continual name-dropping and subsequent agog wears a bit, but how else is he supposed to react? "Oh, it's T.S. Eliot (David Lowe). That's cool, I guess." Increasing their appeal, Allen smoothly works in details and themes of how these legendary personalities have been revered over time: Scott Fitzgerald's dilemma between focusing on his immense gift of writing and his desire to be with the wife he loves; a farcical seed of Un Chien Andalou (as suggested by Gil, with its meaning lost on Luis Buñuel); and Hemingway's choppy sentences, which he employs in conversation as if writing aloud. It's a fantastic trip and Allen sustains Gil's and our joint wonder throughout the film.

But of course there are complications. While dropping off his manuscript for Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates) to critique, Gil becomes enchanted by Adriana (Marion Cotillard), mistress to Picasso (Marcial Di Fonzo Bo) and formerly attached to a string of other famous French artists. The two naturally hit it off and, in typical Allen style, Gil begins to contemplate whether to stay with Inez (who he admits is a bit of a pill) or pursue Adriana, who's more his type but whose parallel universe existence remains somewhat questionable. It's a conundrum of fantasy versus real life that closely aligns the film with Allen's underrated The Purple Rose of Cairo, and though the fantasy here is equally if not more wild than a character stepping out of a movie screen, there's a heightened sense of realism that grants immense depth to Gil's problem.

"Ah, geez...and you walk so much better than Inez, too!"

In one of the film's best scenes, a melancholy Gil hangs out with a table of surrealists, led by Salvador Dali (a wonderful Adrien Brody) who gives spirited, nickname-like interpretations of their names (though Pen-dair doesn't carry quite the pop of Da-li!, and intentionally so to great comic effect). As Gil presents his dilemma, Man Ray (Tom Cordier) sees nothing bizarre about being part of two worlds, Bunuel (Adrien de Van) agrees, and Dali goes on about how Gil's busted Wilson nose and his sad, confused demeanor remind him of a rhinoceros, which he promises to paint. And so, Gil must look elsewhere for advice.

Da-li! Da-li! Da-li!

Midnight In Paris is as enjoyable as it sounds. Its central messages of living in the present and the potentially endless cycle of each era pining over supposedly superior bygone golden ages are successful, though a bit forced. Europe continues to provide Allen with the consistent zest that's been missing from his New York films since the late '80s, and in Owen Wilson, he's found an atypical stand-in whose "aw, shucks" likability and general lack of neurosis surely contributed to the film's mammoth critical and box-office success. It's not a film I feel compelled to revisit anytime soon, but I'll be sure to consult it before traveling to Paris.

New York Times Double Feature

2011-12-28T12:26:00.000-08:00

The New York Times has long seemed like an impenetrable palace, an institution whose Oz-like secrecy contributes to its status as the nation's go-to source for news. So, when 2011 brought not one, but two behind-the-scenes looks at the Grey Lady, the announcement was, well, newsworthy.

David Carr (L) and Bruce Headlam (R)

Andrew Rossi's Page One: Inside the New York Times spends a year following the paper's newly created Media Desk. The film explores the current landscape of newspapers, effortlessly weaving in major media-related news stories of the past year (WikiLeaks, the iPad's debut, etc.), and as our familiarity with the department's reporters grows, it's a thrill to see each get their respective scoops. Facilitating the rooting interest in the Times staff is Rossi's ability to make Page One like a Christopher Guest film in terms of its access to characters, depicting the reporters at ease in front of the camera, operating as if they weren't being filmed. The level of comfort in turn makes their reporting feel organic and exciting, occasionally reaching the heights of journalism thriller greats All the President's Men and Zodiac. Give the editors credit for crafting a smooth cinematic experience, but also to the cinematographers for positioning themselves at appropriate angles and the reporters themselves for enough “cameras aren’t really there” moments to make it seem like fly-on-a-wall filmmaking.

Brian Stelter: hybrid reporter!

Participating Media Desk writers include unflappable editor Bruce Headlam, boy wonder Brian Stelter, and go-getter Tim Arango. But the rock star of the bunch is David Carr, a former crack addict who rewards the Times' faith in him by being its greatest advocate. The man is hardcore dedicated to his craft, yet goes about it in a respectable way. (At one point, Headlam informs a concerned caller/expose-target that Carr is one of the most fair people he knows and has complete trust that Carr's handling of the story will be just.) He's a bit of a technophobe, jokingly noting his conviction that the Twitter-friendly Stelter is "a robot sent from the future to destroy" him, yet supports any means the Times can transmit its reporting as long as the paper maintains its integrity. By contrast, when confronting news institutions without such integrity or those who attempt to discount the Times' importance, Carr is a live wire, confidently defending his employer and demolishing what little legitimacy these cocky shock-news companies rode in with. Watching Carr operate is a joy, an experience full of laughter and wide-eyed awe. It may be the performance of the year.

Carr in action.

In a time when print media's future is in question, Page One serves as a strong advocacy piece for the Times and its brethren without being fanatical. It could and should be used as a powerful recruiting tool within schools and encouragement in college newspapers for the brightest reporters to stick with their writing. About the only knock against the film is that a good deal of stock footage is grainy/blocky and feels lifted from YouTube. For an otherwise crisp looking project, these low-quality clips are an unnecessary distraction. Also, while Stelter and Carr are given background stories, Headlam is not. As arguably the film's main human character, he deserves more attention, though his subtle workplace heroics provide an indication of what he must be like outside of the office.

A few sections over in the fashion department is Bill Cunningham, an octogenarian photographer who's been identifying trends in style since the '60s. Director Richard Press follows Bill as he pedals around Manhattan on his bicycle and captures him snapping shots of unsuspecting pedestrians, sensing patterns in their clothing choices to later assemble for his weekly Sunday fashion spotlight collage. Having previously documented trends including baggy/sagging jeans, men in kilts, and the advent of bottled water as an accessory, Bill's mission is to spot the connection between the runway and the sidewalk, noting which designs are actually embraced by consumers and in what conditions the items are worn.

Bill Cunningham: man on the street.

As with the likes of this year's Buck, Press' Bill Cunningham New York is another fascinating character portrait of a trailblazer, a man of immense clout in his field whose anonymity to the masses is remedied by the exposure of a well-made documentary. Considering Bill's unwavering dedication to his work, it's a minor miracle that the film exists at all. For decades, he's been living in a cramped artists studio in Carnegie Hall. He has few true friends (though many professional peers and admirers, including Anna Wintour and Michael Kors), never had a romantic relationship, and though his isolation may sound unfortunate, he's unfazed. Bill openly acknowledges that with work, there's no time for anything else, the commitment to his craft so strong that societal concerns (other than fashion) are of little consequence.

Furthering Bill's appeal is his extreme practicality. His wardrobe consists of a blue poncho worn by French maintenance workers, chosen by him for its durability in reducing wear from the friction of his ever-present camera. His monastic residence consists of a box of a room crowded by file cabinets housing his archives with a slab bed squeezed in. He shoots on film and relies on the darkroom developers to meet his deadline, which makes for some interesting moments. And for a man of such clout in fashion (a Parisian runway show rep calls him "the most important person in the world"), he doesn't seem to accept any payment, saying money would give others control over his work and he's unwilling to compromise that freedom. He presumably earns some sort of salary from the Times in order to pay rent and eat, the latter of which he does sparingly and thriftily, though he appears to have full creative power over what makes the paper.

Bill at home. Who needs furniture?

The quirks add to Bill's charm, but the film's best moments come when focusing on his work. Seeing him in action, it's amazing that he gets away with taking his street photos, which feel fairly invasive. It seems as though women would take offense at a "creepy old man" shooting their legs, but no one seems to mind. Perhaps its the mindset of New Yorkers, unfazed by anything, or a gradual conditioning to his presence. It doesn't seem to be Bill's celebrity, which goes unrecognized by the layman and isn't identified by a press badge. At one point, he does get cussed out by a pair of teenage schoolgirls for aiming his lens at them, but he laughs it off and perseveres, searching for the next notable outfit. Back at the Times, organizing his weekly spread, it's a marvel to see Bill's pictures come together, the themes and patterns that whirl through his mind on the street made manifest on a computer screen (beside which the luddite Bill shouts out commands as his comically patient editor assembles the page).

Creepy old man or photojournalistic genius?

Bill Cunningham New York is a wonderful documentary, yet for all its success, the film is ironically limited only by its equally wonderful subject. It's about as well-made a portrait of a loner workaholic as can be done, though simply delving into Bill's life is a flawed endeavor. For a man whose life is his work (and vice versa), the inherent curiosity of attempting to separate the two creates problems. From a human interest standpoint, we want to know about his past and what drives him, yet also see him at work. A focus on either component elicits a desire to learn about the other, and with Bill, no separation exists. Inquiring about his personal past is both a necessary and impossible feat: we want to know, but there's either nothing to tell or the subject is unwilling to reveal the information we seek. In the few moments when the filmmakers try to unearth personal information, the palpable awkwardness suggests that trust has been breached with a man who doesn't want to explain his life, and the existence of such scenes is momentarily regrettable. Bill wants his work to speak for him, and while it certainly does, not exploring his private life would have been an even greater mistake. It's a fascinating conundrum and one that adds to Bill's mystique, but also keeps the film from reaching the highest of documentary profile heights. Perhaps that's just the way Bill would want it.

Hugo

2011-12-11T11:42:00.000-08:00

Tinkers.

Martin Scorsese's Hugo is an achievement in family filmmaking. Far more than The Muppets, and possibly anything in the past twenty years outside of Babe and the Pixar films, there's plentiful and accessible entertainment for all. Scorsese's fingerprints are all over the project as his film geek's respect for cinema history, his own filmmaking talents, and a refreshing employment of 3D to further a story and deepen its powers instead of serving as a mere gimmick separate it from more predictable fare.

That said, it's not a great film. It's essentially two separate stories that never effectively come together. The first follows orphan Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) in 1930s Paris as he attempts to fix an automaton which, once completed, he believes will write out a message from his dead horologist father (Jude Law). Living in forgotten workers' quarters behind the walls of Paris' train station, Hugo's drunk Uncle Claude (Ray Winstone) takes him in and teaches the boy how to maintain the station's numerous clocks, to which Hugo proves a natural. After Claude goes missing, Hugo keeps the machinery running, dodges the orphan-nabbing station inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen), and pilfers spare parts from Papa George's (Ben Kingley) toy booth to use on the automaton. When Papa George catches Hugo attempting a steal, he makes the boy turn out his pockets, the contents of which include a notebook containing Hugo's father's sketches. The notebook mysteriously enrages Papa George, and when he promises to destroy it, a tentative bond is forged between the two as Hugo seeks to reclaim one of the few remaining links to his father.

Beware my brace and doggy!

The build-up to completing the automaton and receiving his father's message is a slow one. Though the train station and especially fleeting glimpses of Paris itself are fairly vibrant with 3D depth and color, the dialogue is full of clunkers, the acting torpid (especially Butterfield and Chloe Grace Moretz as Papa George's literature-loving goddaughter, Isabelle), and there's minimal suspense or intrigue. Any sense of the inspector as a legitimate threat to Hugo is negated by his crippled leg, Forrest Gump brace, and the awkward see-sawing between his sense of duty and a timid crush on a florist (Emily Mortimer), all of which Hugo views through his spy holes scattered throughout the station. Even the unexpected manner by which the automaton's final component is discovered feels lifeless, though when the machine whirs to life, it's absolutely magical.

Unfortunately, that level of magic is lacking from much of the film, notably in the subsequent scene that marks the bridge between the two stories. The image that the automaton ultimately sketches is one with the power to resonate with anyone who's taken an Introduction to Cinema course and its implications have the potential to drop the floor out from beneath the audience. But instead of launching the children directly into solving the mystery and the subsequent adventure that awaits, Hugo drags, losing any momentum it may have clumsily earned.

More thrilling than Iron Man 2!

The stall-out is a shame, especially considering the immense wonder and joy of the film's final half hour. Its pleasures are too remarkable to be revealed here other than being Scorsese at his cinema-loving best and a grand departure from the sluggish first act, which frustratingly features occasional isolated moments of promise, nearly all of which, appropriately, deal with the subject of film. As Hugo's memories reveal how he came to live alone at the station, they do so as a film strip whirls away in the background, its shimmering lights unseen to Hugo though his experiences with his father are as vivid to us as they are to him. It's a subtle touch and hints of more magical allusions to come, though they rarely do. Later, Hugo and Isabelle sneak into a movie theater to see Harold Lloyd's Safety Last. The sight of the spectacled klutz precariously dangling from the hands of a tall building's clock provides old school thrills for modern viewers, but other than Isabelle squeezing Hugo's arm at the first sign of on-screen danger, there's little to indicate that an exceptional time is being had. They're actually booted from the theater before any tangible connection can be made.

As Hugo becomes increasingly film-centric, Scorsese appears bent on implying that the boy has a cinematic mind and loves film, but that's hardly relayed. Hugo recalls going to see films with his father, but Butterfield reminisces without enthusiasm, negating any sense that Hugo remotely cares about the medium other than its relation to his father. The scattered joys here are for the cinema history lover, and when Hugo focuses on the wonders of early filmmaking, it's a genuine treat. However, it's all minus the assistance of a protagonist whose enthusiasm for the subject might further the experience, and that disconnect, among other issues, keeps the film from being as fantastic as it purports.

Nice try, Marty.

Catching Up with the AFI Top 100 List

2011-12-02T13:29:00.001-08:00

The American Film Institute (AFI) has an annual film special each summer that counts down the best in North American cinema. Past lists include Heroes & Villains, Actors & Actresses, and Comedies. The first list, in 1998, was the Top 100 American Films as selected by over 1,000 "leading members of the film community." Citizen Kane, a film that I had not heard of at the time, topped the list and I was baffled how Driving Miss Daisy had failed to make the cut.

In 2007, AFI celebrated their 10th list by holding a new Top 100 Films vote to include great films that have been released in the meantime. The new vote also meant that the established list was subject to change. Being a sucker for film specials, I of course tuned in, making this a solid decade of me watching AFI summer specials.

The list is as follows. I have put a star by the ones I have seen (79 out of 100, or 79%. Up from 24 out of 100 in 1998 and 75 out of 100 in 2007) a pound sign by the ones that I own (6 out of 100 or 6%). I suppose the lesson is that I still have 21 left to see and haven't made much of an effort in the past four years.

100. Ben Hur*
99. Toy Story*
98. Yankee Doodle Dandy
97. Blade Runner*
96. Do The Right Thing*#
95. The Last Picture Show*
94. Pulp Fiction*#
93. The French Connection*
92. Goodfellas*
91. Sophie's Choice
90. Swing Time*
89. The Sixth Sense*
88. Bringing Up Baby
87. 12 Angry Men*
86. Platoon*
85. A Night at the Opera*
84. Easy Rider*
83. Titanic*
82. Sunrise
81. Spartacus*
80. The Apartment
79. The Wild Bunch
78. Modern Times
77. All The President's Men*
76. Forrest Gump*
75. In The Heat of the Night
74. The Silence of the Lambs*
73. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid*
72. Shawshank Redemption*
71. Saving Private Ryan*#
70. A Clockwork Orange*
69. Tootsie*
68. Unforgiven*
67. Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf
66. Raiders of the Lost Ark*
65. The African Queen*
64. Network
63. Cabaret
62. American Graffitti*
61. Sullivan's Travels
60. Duck Soup*
59. Nashville
58. The Gold Rush
57. Rocky*
56. Jaws*
55. North By Northwest*
54. M*A*S*H *
53. The Deer Hunter
52. Taxi Driver*
51. West Side Story*
50. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring*
49. Intolerance
48. Rear Window*
47. A Streetcar Named Desire*
46. It Happened One Night*
45. Shane
44. The Philadelphia Story*
43. Midnight Cowboy*
42. Bonnie and Clyde*
41. King Kong*
40. The Sound of Music*#
39. Dr. Strangelove*
38. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre*
37. The Best Years of Our Lives
36. The Bridge on the River Kwai*
35. Annie Hall*
34. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs*
33. One Few Over the Cuckoo's Nest*
32. The Godfather Part II*
31. The Maltese Falcon
30. Apocalypse Now*
29. Double Indemnity*
28. All About Eve*
27. High Noon
26. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington*
25. To Kill A Mockingbird*
24. E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial*
23. The Grapes of Wrath*
22. Some Like It Hot*
21. Chinatown*
20. It's A Wonderful Life*
19. On The Waterfront*
18. The General*
17. The Graduate*
16. Sunset Boulevard*
15. 2001: A Space Odyssey*
14. Psycho*
13. Star Wars*
12. The Searchers*
11. City Lights
10. The Wizard of Oz*
9. Vertigo*
8. Schindler's List*
7. Lawrence of Arabia*
6. Gone With The Wind*
5. Singin' In The Rain*#
4. Raging Bull*#
3. Casablanca*
2. The Godfather*
1. Citizen Kane*

Blindspot Theatre - Sunset Boulevard

2011-11-28T11:06:00.001-08:00

In watching a certified classic decades after its debut, there's a sense that little remains which hasn't been said. Numerous essays have already been written about the film and its iconic scenes, images, and dialogue have been shown on awards shows and AFI Top 100 countdowns and mentioned on various film discussion programs. It would seem that a good deal of the fun of experiencing these films has evaporated, its key moments already revealed in some regard. But for the latent filmgoer seeing these canonical titles for the first time, there's still plenty to be gained even with such knowledge, arguably more so than when the film was released. The thrill and discovery of an unknown work was never part of the bargain, yet with all the compositional dissections, thematic analysis, and DVD bonus features, a rich experience awaits.

He always wanted a pool. (Paramount Pictures)

For Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard, that means the opening narration, the underwater shot of Joe Gillis (William Holden) floating dead in a pool, and "I am big. It's the pictures that got small." It means silent film stars like Buster Keaton playing cards with Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) and the dead arm of a pet monkey slated for burial. But there are also surprises, notably the wait for "All right, Mr. Demille, I'm ready for my close-up," and the suspense (after realizing it hasn't been said) of decoding when it will be delivered and the unexpected but suddenly inevitable context of its delivery. As Norma walks towards the camera, arms extended and head tilted back in all its anti-talkie glory, the film's technical, dramatic, and storytelling genius is evident in ways its famous components could never muster alone. Even in knowing the story and the protagonist's fate (which is revealed in the opening minutes), it's a masterpiece.

There's a postmodern joy in stringing together Sunset Boulevard's iconic bits, anticipating how they fit into the whole, and waiting for the enormous pleasures of its payoff.. The film earns its place on any All-Time cinema list, and, though it comes as no surprise, rises far above its well-known parts. After all, a particular scene rarely remains in the collective cultural memory unless it's part of a likewise great film.

Norma Desmond: close up. (Paramount Pictures)

The Muppets

2011-11-26T07:59:00.001-08:00

Man or a Muppet? (Walt Disney Pictures)

It's been a while since the Muppets have done much of note. There was Weezer's entertaining 2002 "Keep Fishing" video and (allegedly) the 2005 made-for-TV The Muppets' Wizard of Oz (starring Ashanti!). 2011 finds them in theaters for the first time since 1999's so-so Muppets in Space and the necessity for the latest production is a meta-conundrum that receives nearly as much screen time as the film's essentially MacGuffin conflict. In the opening act, none other than Kermit the Frog admits to the Muppets' likely cultural irrelevancy, doubting that anyone would want to see the old gang reunited. James Bobin's film then spends over an hour trying its hardest to disprove such a theory and presents a fairly convincing argument.


The old gang (Walt Disney Pictures)

On a long-awaited trip to the unexpectedly decrepit Muppets studios in L.A., super fan Walter (made of felt but somehow not a Muppet) sneaks away from the lackluster Alan Arkin-led tour to Kermit's old office. There, he overhears Tex Richman's (Chris Cooper) plan to buy the studios under the guise of turning it into a museum, subsequently tear down the lot for its oil, and generally tarnish the Muppet name (which he would also own). Unwilling for his idols to suffer such a fate, Walter enlists his human brother and fellow Muppet fanatic Gary (Jason Segel) and his girlfriend of ten years Mary (Amy Adams) to bring Kermit & Co. back together for one final benefit showto raise the $10 million needed to outbid Richman for the studio and legacy rights.

It's a perfectly plausible "one last heist" scenario and proves irresistible to the Muppets who, like the post break-up Beatles, are in various states of coping outside of the spotlight. While the glumly optimistic Kermit appears content in his aging Hollywood mansion, Fozzie Bear struggles as part of the Reno-based tribute band The Moopets, Gonzo is a toilet tycoon, and Animal is in temper management therapy under the sponsorship of Jack Black. They've all been waiting to some extent for a reunion (Gonzo the Great has been wearing his costume beneath his suits for years), and with Kermit on board and only days to go before their deadline, the magical assemblage takes off.

Could you say "no"? (Walt Disney Pictures)

Perhaps it's too magical. The build-up and reacquaintance with these beloved characters is packed with such throwback fun that the benefit show itself could only be a letdown. (One of the event's segments that doesn't work is Camilla and the Chickens cluck-covering "Forget You," whose only purpose other than being a current song is as a reference to Cee-Lo's Muppettastic Grammy performance, itself an allusion to Elton John's "Muppet Show" appearance. The film doesn't need the number, nor several others, but there is a reason for it.) That no genuine variety show is currently on television is another indication of the telethon's limited ceiling, though the filmmakers certainly try and nearly succeed on nostalgia alone.

Segel's and Nicholas Stoller's script is little more than a tribute, content to revel in past glories instead of creating many new ones, but true to earlier Muppet films and "The Muppet Show," it's a wonderful mesh of pop culture. In addition to the expected contemporary celebrity cameos and musical numbers (including three from Bret McKenzie, all very "Flight of the Conchords"y, especially "Muppet or a Man"), there's the likes of Kermit's bumbling 1980s robot (slash butler, chauffeur, and dial-up internet connection) and some Andrew Bird whistling. The Muppets also effectively satirizes various cinematic storytelling staples, calling attention to the efficiency of montages, "traveling by map" a la Indiana Jones, and employing a SnorriCam (seen in the likes of Requiem for a Dream) on Walter after he hears Richman's evil plan.

Elsewhere, casting two leads who've yet to be truly cynical onscreen appears to be an inspired move, but feel a bit flat. Segel is a solid human representation of the unabashed grinning that Muppets tend to inspire. His bubbly personality is pure fandom, though the enthusiasm is more effective from a writing standpoint. Adams seems like his ideal female counterpart, plenty chirpy herself (even The Fighter couldn't make her look hard), yet brings little to Mary and isn't given much to do. When she does, dancing alone in a diner, it's bereft of much magic. The likes of Michael Caine, Tim Curry, and Charles Grodin have all proven successful human co-stars, so what gives? Even Walter in all his man/Muppet ambiguity is pretty dull and uninspiring.

Sorry, but it's not really about you. (Walt Disney Pictures)

No, the real stars here are the Muppets themselves, which is the point. All involved are tangibly aware of the unnecessary necessity of another Muppet movie and revel in the joy of the reunion. Perfectly suitable for children, the film is unlikely to attract many fans for whom this is their first time with Jim Henson's critters, but is a joyful romp in the memories of loyal Muppet fans.

Turkey Day Roundup

2011-11-23T08:01:00.001-08:00

The right man for the job.

-After this year's Anne Hathaway & James Franco dud, I was excited to see what Eddie Murphy would do as the show's host. Then producer Brett Ratner made a homophobic statement, resigned, and Murphy backed out, too. The long-hoped resurgence of Funny Eddie remains on hold, but now I'm even more excited for Billy Crystal's return to hosting duties. The last ceremony proved that the show needs a comedian to keep things lively and who better than Billy?

Still, other issues abound. For the Oscars to be truly enjoyable, it needs to be unpredictable. In 2011, hardly a major category remained that wasn't predetermined based on earlier guild and association awards. I understand and support the the need for cinematographers and editors to have their own awards, and get that together they comprise the Academy, but why should their picks hold such strong sway over the Academy at large? Couldn't the Oscars come first and be followed by the individual picks to see the voting breakdown? That may be more exciting.

How the Academy ignored Ameena Mathews, I have no idea.

Additionally, the Academy has already dug itself a major hole by releasing the names of the fifteen films that made the Best Documentary Feature shortlist. Among those selected are three that I enjoyed (Bill Cunningham New York, Buck, and Project Nim) and a pair of 2011 Full Frame alumni that sounded appealing (If A Tree Falls and Hell and Back Again). Mysteriously absent are The Interrupters, Senna, Being Elmo, Tabloid, and Page One. All five were critically well-received, with The Interrupters among the year's highest scores on Metacritic with an 86, Being Elmo currently garnering straight A's, and Senna gathering a cult following overseas. For Steve James, it's Hoop Dreams all over again as another of his stellar films goes ignored. There's talk that The Interrupters may earn an editing nomination, as Hoop Dreams did, but there's no excuse for its failed inclusion.

-Several intriguing options are out in theaters this weekend, namely Martin Scorsese's Hugo and the long-awaited return of The Muppets. J.Edgar is out there, too, though I haven't felt compelled to check out anything of Clint Eastwood's since his Iwo Jima doubleheader.

Also promising is the upcoming indie film schedule. Melancholia, Take Shelter, Le Havre, The Descendants, Young Adult, Shame, and A Dangerous Method all "Coming Soon" to either the Carolina or Fine Arts Theatre and The Artist is sure to come at some point, though it did open the Asheville Cinema Festival two weeks ago.

Thank you, Netflix Instant!

-On the home-viewing front, ever since Netflix split its services and introduced (and quickly killed off) Flickster, there's been mass confusion over where to turn. The top two competitors appear to be Netflix Instant and Amazon Prime. The latter is a few dollars cheaper and has a good deal of overlap with Netflix in its Instant Video selection, including numerous exclusive titles. I already enjoy free two-day shipping through the "add a family member" perk of my dad's annual Prime subscription and I wouldn't use the Kindle bonus (which is more limited than it sounds), so there's not much to gain from going Prime myself (though I encourage anyone who frequently buys from Amazon to strongly consider it for the shipping savings alone).

The central pendulum swinger is Netflix's ability to flip new DVD releases to streaming either the day of its release or soon after. I've missed out on multiple intriguing indie films on their short (read: week-long) stay in Asheville, and now many of them are available via Netflix Instant including The Trip, Troll Hunter, Rubber, 13 Assassins, Hobo With a Shotgun, and L'amour Fou. Additionally, several documentaries that were shown at this year's Full Frame (Buck, Page One, If A Tree Falls, The Last Mountain) or received positive press elsewhere (Pearl Jam Twenty, American: The Bill Hicks Story, Bill Cunningham New York,Conan O'Brien Can't Stop, Life in a Day) are on there. None of them are free with Amazon Prime and several documentaries aren't available at all through their $3.99 a pop digital rental service. Advantage: Netflix. (As an augment, I also recommend subscribing to RedBox's monthly free DVD text. The code has to be used the day its sent, which is almost always at the first of the month, but free is free.)

The Skin I Live In

2011-11-16T07:13:00.001-08:00

Photo: Sony Pictures Classics

Up until the big reveal in Pedro Almodóvar's The Skin I Live In, the film is mired in a struggle to establish itself as more than an intriguing mess. It's well shot and acted and has plenty of memorable moments, but feels disjointed and cruel for little reason. But then the film's essence makes itself known and the loose threads come together and the resulting mental buzzing is one of those rare cinematic moments that moviegoers dream about. It all makes for an odd yet wonderful experience, one for which Almodóvar deserves high praise in challenging our perceptions and expectations as viewers.

Antonio Banderas plays Dr. Robert Ledgard, a plastic surgeon who, as the film begins, presents his work on artificial skin at a medical conference. Back at his estate, confined to a spacious, luxurious room and sent food through a dumbwaiter, is the beautiful Vera (Elena Anaya). Wearing a full-body skin-toned suit to protect her synthesized flesh, she spends her days reading, watching television, and doing yoga. Her presence is kept secret by Robert and his mother/maid Marilia (Marisa Paredes) and monitored via video surveillance, through which Robert spends long stretches staring at his patient and zooming in on the features he's crafted. The overarching secrecy and a failed suicide attempt indicate that Vera is there against her will, but how she got there and the extent of her purpose in Robert's master plan remains deliciously ambiguous.

Photo: Sony Pictures Classics

It's not until Marilia's estranged son Zeca (Roberto Álamo) shows up, clad in a Carnival tiger suit and seeking refuge from police after a heist, that things start to unravel. In the aftermath of Zeca's visit, Robert reflects on the events that brought Vera to him, resulting in a series of unexpected events that culminate in the aforementioned mind-tingling epiphany. Nearly a decade prior to the 2012 setting, Robert's wife was horrifically burned in an automobile accident from which Zeca escaped. Her charred skin and delayed discovery of her disfigurement leads to instant suicide, witnessed by their preteen daughter Norma, who is in turn psychologically scarred for life. Robert's subsequent obsession to design a skin that would have restored his wife to her former beauty comes to rule his life and is further driven by complications from Norma's ongoing issues, heightened by the actions of Vicente (Jan Cornet), a young would-be romantic.

To reveal more would be unfair as the waves of surprise are a key element of the film's charm and the intellectual whirl of the reveal is an experience that everyone deserves. Almodóvar's Funny Games-esque manipulation of audience expectations is both trying and rewarding. In depicting Saw-like scenes without significant emotional or narrative justification and only providing both after a significant delay, he retroactively gives new meaning to all prior scenes and elevates the tension for the twenty or so minutes that follow. Though momentarily derailed by a sequence of heavy-handed exposition that, especially from such an acclaimed foreign director, feels mishandled, The Skin I Live In is a notable achievement in a largely unremarkable year of narrative cinema. On the brink of the awards-season maelstrom, 2011 has plenty of chances to redeem itself, but don't be surprised if Almodóvar's latest is a frequent inclusion on year-end critical Best Of lists.

Photo: Sony Pictures Classics

Blindspot Theatre - Red Dawn

2011-11-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

Photos: United Artists

Red Dawn must have been the greatest thing for teens when it premiered in 1984. Dirty Commies attack and the kids fight back: who doesn't want to see one's enemy mowed down by a bunch of righteous adolescents? Nearly thirty years later, however, it's little more than a product of its time; a frightening idea that's adaptable to any international conflict (a remake is due next year), but is so damn '80s that it's painful to watch.


Grey (L) and Thompson (R) packing heat.

It's always amusing to see a young, pre-crazy Charlie Sheen and Patrick Swayze up to his usual tough guy overacting. (Has Swayze ever been good, outside of Donnie Darko? I mean...*ahem*...R.I.P. you legend, you.) What's unexpected is Lea Thompson firing a machine gun and Jennifer Grey ~~dirty dancing~~ running for her life across an open field. It's endearing, patriotic stuff, but can't overcome wild west weaponry sound effects (apparently lifted from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, twenty-some years before) and cornball '80s dialogue (think "Ain't got time to bleed" from Predator, but spoken by high school drama students). When even seasoned Lt. Col. Tanner (Powers Boothe) is overwhelmed by the kids' Lord of the Flies transformation, he looks over at Robert (the incomparable C. Thomas Howell, pre-Soul Man) carving kill totals on his wooden gun stock and says, "All that hate's gonna burn you up, kid." Robert snickers, replies, "It keeps me warm"...and the crowd goes wild.

Milius tried to make them go to rehab...

With the copious gunfire and body count, it's easy to imagine writer/director ~~Walter Sobchak~~ John Milius reacting to the explosions a la Danny McBride in Tropic Thunder, and it's effective for most of the film's first half. The likes of War of the Worlds and especially the communist allegory Invasion of the Body Snatchers previously covered its thematic territory, but Milius' use of teenagers as hold-the-line protagonists is an intriguing twist. Unfortunately for Red Dawn, Back to the Future and The Breakfast Club debuted the following year, eclipsing it asseminal '80s films and turning Michael J. Fox and the John Hughes regulars into the decade's lasting faces. Further diluting Red Dawn's legacy in 1985 were The Goonies, Teen Wolf, St. Elmo's Fire, and Weird Science, all of which hold up better today. Still, before the concept gets beaten into the ground, the kids' rise to rebel prominence and that badass battle cry warrant inclusion in the '80s pantheon. Beyond that, little is worth mentioning.

Senna

2011-10-09T15:20:00.000-07:00

In a genre ripe with exposition narration, Senna is refreshing. Composed entirely of interviews and archival footage from a variety of sources, the documentary explores Ayrton Senna's wild professional life, from the amateur go-kart circuit to multiple Formula One championships, leading to his untimely death at age 34. Where a more conventional film may have relied heavily on talking heads, Senna's faceless anecdotes present only a partial portrait of the man, leaving viewers to interpret his triumphs and struggles through its footage, which, other than televised races, is devoid of commentary. For a film about a largely unknown figure, such a trusting approach is a risk, but one that pays off.

The Boy from Brazil.
(Photo: Universal Pictures)

Senna immediately establishes its subject as a star worthy of support. From his earliest interviews and race footage, young Senna is likable and a driver clearly on the rise. His potential already palpable among colleagues and press as a rookie, he climbs through the field at rainy Monaco and finishes a close second. Within two years, he and new teammate Alain Prost are touted as the circuit's top two and the pair live up the the billing. But as the wins and championships come for Senna, the rivalry with Prost grows increasingly personal. The latter's comradery with F1 president and countryman Jean-Marie Balestre is convenient and troubling, and the Frenchmen essentially conspire to keep Prost atop the racing world at confounding lengths. Senna vehemently protests, and while he nobly strives to achieve a standard of parity among drivers, he's instead slapped with fines and suspensions. Returning to the track, Senna further dominates his sport, leaving fans and competition wondering if anything can stop him.

Senna and Prost: never seeing eye to eye.
(Photo: Universal Pictures)

Senna's talent is undeniable and it appears that he was a remarkable person as well. Through a few less flattering interactions and driver remembrances, the film half-heartedly suggests that unrestrained ambition (the source of quasi-frequent crashes) kept him from having an even more remarkable career, but it's a poor attempt to present him as flawed. Overwhelmingly, the film deifies Senna, serving as a highlight reel of his achievements both on the track and in striving for reform within racing's political arena. Home video only adds to his humanity, presenting him as a normal guy reveling in relaxation with family and friends, recharging for the next opportunity to impress behind the wheel, where he's anything but normal. He's the Michael Jordan of the auto racing world, a hero with unlimited surprise and potential, and nothing in Senna indicates that he should be viewed otherwise.

Senna atop the podium: a regular sight.
(Photo: Universal Pictures)

One need not have much interest in auto racing to appreciate Senna. With a magnetic personality at its core, bolstered with universally thrilling race footage and human drama, there's plenty to enjoy. The same goes for die-hard race fans as knowledge of Senna's fate is incapable of diminishing the film's power. The journey to his demise is so well-crafted and tense that it may induce heart attacks. As Senna's unnamed final race approaches, the suspense is heightened each time he steps into the driver's seat. The on-board camera footage of him taking one sharp curve after another further tightens the wire and harrowing shots of other drivers' wrecks only elevate the stakes. For nearly twenty minutes, the dreadful uncertainty of what the next frame may bring is borderline unbearable, yet also wonderfully entertaining. Again, much of the footage has already been seen in some regard, but the manner in which it's compiled and the wealth of behind-the-scenes access of garage exchanges and drivers meetings makes Senna a wholly new experience. In sifting through innumerable reels of video (some of whose quality feels a bit cheap, though still effective), Asif Kapadia has created a work that feels both comprehensive and introductory. Their portrait of Senna is sleek and focused, suggesting the amount of footage that remains outside of the theatrical cut. The potential remains for multiple future docs of this fascinating man, but Senna has set the standard awfully high.

Tense to the last turn
(Photo: F1archives.com)

Moneyball

2011-10-09T15:03:00.000-07:00

Bennett Miller's Moneyball was my most anticipated film of the year and is even better than I expected. The story and talent drew me in while the project was still in pre-production, but I wasn't prepared for just how well it would all come together. Every element required to produce a superb film is present and together leave me grasping for ways in which the story could have been told more effectively.

It's October 2001 and the Oakland Athletics have lost in the first round of the playoffs to the New York Yankees. Within weeks, three of the team's biggest stars sign with teams who can offer them more money than the cash-strapped A's, leaving the team's general manager Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) searching for a solution to win the following season. Enter Peter Brand (Jonah Hill), fresh out of Yale, who's convinced that players should be valued on their ability to score runs and nothing else. He's adopted the methods of statistician Bill James that, with the help of computers and logarithms, provide an unorthodox but potentially more accurate understanding of the game. It's exactly the kind of edge Billy's been seeking and together he and Peter assemble a roster of "misfit toys," players cast aside by other teams for various reasons, at a steep discount.

Pitt and Hill: the dream team.
(Photo: Columbia Pictures)

Everyone doubts their approach. To his scouts, Billy's own shortcomings as a can't-miss prospect cloud his judgments as a GM. Analysts think he's crazy. Team manager Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman) does, too. Working under a one-year contract with negotiations stalled, he's stymied by the roster he's been handed. In order to salvage his reputation and have a shot at employment elsewhere, he benches Billy's more questionable selections, refusing to let what he views as a hopeless strategy play out. When the season begins with a string of losses, the doubters feel vindicated and Billy fears for his job. But after a few adjustments to ensure that the strategy is at last enacted, the wins start piling up and all eyes turn to Oakland.

Leading the charge, Pitt and an understated Hill are a dynamic duo of superhero proportions. After scenes of palpable loathing for his bullheaded scouts, there's instant chemistry when Billy and Peter meet. A visual odd couple, the two men plain understand one another, which quickly leads to trust and, eventually, friendship. Hoffman, somewhere between his Synecdoche, New York existential crisis and Mission: Impossible III villainy, makes a fine antagonist for Billy, the only roadblock keeping the experiment from being fully enacted. He doesn't have much screen time, but each of his scenes with Billy are full of tension and mutual animosity. After a string of leading performances, it's nice to see Hoffman lately doing more of what he does best: stealing scenes as a top-notch character actor.

Hoffman tries to make sense of it all.
(Photo: Columbia Pictures)

The behind-the-scenes work is equally stunning. Screenwriting credits are split between Steve Zallian and Aaron Sorkin, working from Michael Lewis' surprisingly cinematic source material. (How do you make statistics filmable? Watch and see.) Reports indicate that it's apparently not a true collaboration, likely Sorkin tweaking dialogue, and though each writer's separate strengths are on clearly on display, the script is remarkably fluid. Moneyball shares plenty with Sorkin's The Social Network in terms of tone and well-crafted dialogue, but also resembles Zallian's Searching for Bobby Fischer and Schindler's List in its humanity and quality of relationships.

It's the power of these interactions early on, notably the initial scene with Billy and his scouts, that allow the film to exceed the parameters of a mere "baseball film." Miller's invisible direction completes the circle, encouraging the material to funnel through its numerous dramatic and technical strengths. His cameras follow the cast through aging clubhouse sets that have to be real, backed by a subtly electronic soundtrack (reminiscent of The Social Network). It's chopped to Hitchcockian perfection in the editing room and the archival footage is arranged so effectively that it would make Ken Burns jealous. All of it works, never once nearing the schmaltz and predictability that less capable hands may have squeezed out. The resulting genre-buster is a wildly accessible film on par with the best its players have produced. Trust the numbers.

Yep, they totally nailed it.
(Photo: Columbia Pictures)

Insidious

2011-09-29T08:32:00.000-07:00

Scary movies appeal to me for their roller-coaster like thrills, but I rarely watch them. It seems like most that come out these days are heavy on gore and light on the actual jumps. To get me interested in one, there needs to be a combination of compelling plot and positive critical reviews, and that's just what happened with Insidious.

Wilson and Byrne picking up the pieces.
(Photo: Filmdistrict)

The film is directed by James Wan and written by Leigh Whannell, who had the same roles on the original Saw. That film was more disturbing than brilliant, but not terrible. The closing "gotcha" moment makes it clear why viewers were drawn to the seemingly unending string of sequels that followed, but the reveal wasn't enough to outweigh the overall masochism and warrant my interest in continuing. Saw and Hostel feel responsible for the torture-porn flicks that have come to dominate the horror genre, so it's interesting that Wan and Whannell have reunited on a film that's so much of a throwback to the pre-Saw days.

With Insidious, the filmmakers return to that great staple of horror films: the haunted house. When, Renai (Rose Byrne) and Josh Lambert (Patrick Wilson) move into a big new house with their three children, they see it as a fresh start for their careers and a step up in the community. But after their oldest son Dalton (Ty Simpkins) falls off an attic ladder and into a deep coma, strange things start happening around the house. With Josh away at his teaching job, Renai is left alone to face doors that shut on their own, raspy voices over the baby monitor, and mysterious wounds to Dalton's legs. Convinced the house is to blame, she convinces Josh to move, but soon after unpacking at their new new digs, the haunting continues.

Stuff gets real: summoning the spirit world.
(Photo: FilmDistrict)

Old school jumps and disturbing images abound, but they really take off in the second house. Wan knows right when to hit the classic musical boom and further spook the audience, searing his remarkable demons into our collective conscience. A last-resort hiring of a psychic (Lin Shaye) elevates the stakes and leads to the film's most compelling scenes. Ghostbusters and Paranormal Activity receive minor send-ups through the psychic's nerdy assistants (Whannell and Angus Sampson), but their comic relief fades quickly.

Make no mistake: Insidious is a pure horror film and its scares are thoroughly effective. I went from confidently navigating my house in the dark to seeing things in my peripherals and looking behind every other corner. Only Psycho and the original Halloween (not The Exorcist) have incited similar chills and paranoia. A month later, I've improved but not by much. As long as no one plays "Tiptoe Through the Tulips," (forever altered, just as Girl, Interrupted changed my perception of Petula Clark's "Downtown"), I'll be fine.

Director Double Features

2011-08-31T14:04:00.000-07:00

When I was hired a year ago at the Transylvania County Library, the director and my supervisor, the Adult Services Librarian, both encouraged me to curate a film series. The ASL helped me craft a budget and select a time that would appeal to our underserved populations: working folks (quasi-evening time) and college students (when they'd be back on campus). It's more difficult to find the same day on three consecutive weeks than it may sound, especially when it's your county's 150th anniversary and the library is hosting event 'round the clock, but we booked the dates and are set to premiere the film series this Thursday. To mix things up a bit but still keep to a theme (other than simply "good movies"), I went with Director Double Features and the schedule is as follows:

Thursday, Sept. 1 – The Coen Bros.
4:30-6:30 PM – Miller’s Crossing
6:45-8:45 PM – The Big Lebowski

Thursday, Sept. 8 – Richard Linklater
4:30-6:15 PM – Waking Life
6:30-8:15 PM – Dazed and Confused

Thursday, Sept. 15 – Wes Anderson
4:30-6:15 PM – Rushmore
6:30-8:15 PM – The Royal Tenenbaums

I was also able to order other excellent films by these directors, so in addition to those being shown, the library has added A Serious Man, No Country For Old Men, Blood Simple, Barton Fink, A Scanner Darkly, Slacker, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Darjeeling Limited, and Bottle Rocket.

Refreshments will be served, most likely freshly popped popcorn, fun size candies, and cans of soda. If the film series is a hit, we'll be showing movies more often at the library, maybe not always with refreshments ($$$), but with a more varied and possibly later schedule. 4:30 isn't a great starting time, but I'm expecting more people for the later shows anyway and the early time allows more possibility for older patrons to attend. We'll see what happens.

Movie Marathon Weekend

2011-08-25T16:43:00.000-07:00

The cinematic stars are aligning, the wife is away, and the DVR is getting full. It's time for another movie marathon weekend!

The Tentative Schedule
TBD free Redbox DVD (Get yours too! Top choice: Cedar Rapids. Will also settle for The Beaver or The Conspirator), tonight

X-Men: First Class, Friday, 5:05 PM, Cinebarre

Super 8, Sunday, 2:45 PM Cinebarre

Some combination of The Sweet Smell of Success, Harper, The Sound and the Fury, and Mildred Pierce, all on the DVR from TCM, throughout the weekend

Finish second half of Red Dawn, library DVD

Possibly Insidious or something else appealing that may come down on the new book cart

Woo!

2011 "Mid-Year" Review

2011-08-19T09:34:00.000-07:00

Entertainment Weekly's annual Fall Movie Preview is out and with it a reminder that the year's marquee films will soon be landing in theaters. As is usually the case, the news comes at a time when few quality films have been released so far, leaving film critics yearning for enough entries from which to create the customary Top 10 list. With the exception of a certified masterpiece, the usual solid bunch of documentaries, and a few surprises, it's been a particularly lackluster year and the summer slate (on a steady decline for the past few years. Where's Christopher Nolan when you need him?) has done little to help.

Excuses, excuses...

I haven't seen that much, but I don't feel like I've missed much, either. Submarine, Certified Copy, Cave of Forgotten Dreams, The Trip, and Bridesmaids (see, I'm not a complete snob!) are the main ones that I let slip by. As for Midnight in Paris...I've previously made it a point to support Woody Allen's films in theaters, yet when his latest is lauded as his best work in years, I'm suddenly content to wait for the DVD? What's keeping me from seeing this film? Am I put off by it hogging the marquee at the Fine Arts Theatre for the entire summer? Do widespread acclaim and box office success make my unwavering Allen support feel suddenly less important? Or is it merely a matter of timing and budgetary restraints, coupled with my bafflement at its WNC longevity? I don't know! I'll get to it before the year's out, possibly at Cinebarre. Speaking of our second-run theater, that's where I plan to catch X-Men: First Class, Super 8, and Cars 2 over the next few weeks. $1 Sunday shows are tough to beat.

Yet even for $1, there are plenty of films that I won't see. I'm no superhero film hater; it's just that the majority of superhero films from this summer look terrible. Thor, Green Lantern, and Captain America carry minimal visual or storytelling appeal and after colossal missteps Iron Man 2 and The Incredible Hulk, my faith in the forthcoming Avengers film is wavering. And I don't know what category Cowboys & Aliens falls into, but it's definitely not in the Remotely Appealing pile, and neither is Transformers: Dark of the Moon, the latest in what has to be one of the worst franchises of all time. Also not passing the sniff test is any comedy not named Bridesmaids or Crazy Stupid Love, to which The Hangover II certainly qualifies. Then there's something like Rango, a film with such mixed reports that I've nearly forgotten it exists.

If any film seemed perfect for DVD, it's this one.

The perpetual ghetto that is the Spring mainstream release schedule failed to deliver a genre gem like Zodiac or Shutter Island as it has in the past. Source Code appeared to be that film, but despite a strong concept and opening hour, it solved the case too quickly/easily and the "epilogue" was ridiculous. The Adjustment Bureau also had potential. The extraordinary chemistry between Matt Damon and Emily Blunt made later leap-of-faith decisions believable, even if the film's philosophy and science teetered to the point of collapse. But it's a Spring movie, so at least it was watchable and mostly enjoyable. Others of interest that I'm fine waiting for DVD include Hanna, Paul, The Lincoln Lawyer, The Conspirator, The Way Back, Limitless, Cedar Rapids, Jane Eyre, Larry Crowne (it can't be that bad), Green Hornet (ditto), and The Beaver (seriously). I'll leave Fast Five to the kids from high school who put spoilers and body kits on Dodge Neons.

It's no shock that documentaries remain the most reliable genre in 2011. Full Frame featured another A+ schedule and continues to be an absolute joy to attend each April. Buck, Project Nim, and Page One: Inside the New York Times have all shown at the Carolina and I wouldn't be surprised if Tabloid (which I haven't seen), Being Elmo, and The Interrupters also make it there. Not receiving theater distribution is the criminally unknown Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles, the brilliant whodunit doc that's the best non-fiction piece of the year so far. It's currently available via Amazon Instant and iTunes

Let the gushing begin!

The film to beat, however, is Terrence Malick's Tree of Life. It defies classification (and summation) in that it's about everything (the creation of Earth, the advent of life, meditations on the afterlife) and one specific thing (childhood in 1950s Texas). From the moment I exited the Fine Arts Theater in late June, the sumptuous cinematography, carefully chosen classical soundtrack, and spot-on vignettes of boyhood made me view my surroundings differently and I existed in a peaceful consciousness for several hours. I can't think of another film that moved me in such a manner. It's the best film since 2007's power trio of Zodiac, No Country for Old Men, and There Will Be Blood. The closest emotional approximation is The Royal Tenenbaums, which I watched twice on its home viewing release date, purchased both the DVD and soundtrack a few days later, and has permeated my thoughts in some manner for nearly ten years. I've never sat down to write a review of Tenenbaums, but I suspect that once I do I'll struggle in the same way I have with Tree of Life: a full-length critique tends to ramble and become too personal (as this paragraph already has) and something more restrained fails to do the film justice.

Though there are only five Malick films and I've technically seen three of them, I can't say that I'm familiar enough with his work. The New World was surprisingly moving but all I remember from The Thin Red Line (which I saw once, twelve years ago with my grandparents) is George Clooney giving a speech, Woody Harrelson getting his nuts blown off by a grenade, and Jim Caviezel (I think?) paddling a canoe through a wooded swamp. But after seeing Tree of Life, I can say without hesitation that Malick ranks high among our most talented filmmakers and also among our most important. His work demands to be studied and contemplated and, as those who are familiar with his films know, it's packed with enough thought to be dissected for years.

Thanks, I'm good.

Coming down a bit, but still near the top is Beginners, Mike Mills' moving look at his relationship with his father. Kelly Reichardt has another strong showing with Meek's Cutoff. Her tale of a westward pioneer expedition gone wrong is a step up from her also excellent Wendy and Lucy, and though it's captivating and features a strong cast led by Michelle Williams, it's not one that I feel the urge to revisit. The same may be said for Of Gods and Men, based on the true story of a monastery under threat of terrorism in Algeria. There's really nothing wrong with either, but, as Ken Hanke noted, the bleakness of each makes the prospect of even thinking about them too much unappealing.

Harry Potter came and went with less fanfare than I'd anticipated. Deathly Hallows Pt. 2 is an excellent end to a well-made series, a pure exclamation mark that refuses to slow down. It was also my first film seen entirely in 3D. While I was hoping for more "flying out of the screen" moments, the filmmakers instead used the technology for increased depth, which made for a nice touch. The story was strong enough and there was plenty of action, so even though 3D wasn't essential for enjoyment of the film, it was still a plus. Also, thank goodness for 3D trailers as a visual warm-up, or I may have exited the theater with a pounding headache.

No typo, folks.

At the other end of my tastes, I Saw the Devil may be too gruesome and cruel for most viewers, but I enjoy the occasional intense flick, especially when it commits to a tone and is as stylishly done as this one. Other "unusual" films that look interesting but I've yet to check out include Rubber, Hobo with a Shotgun, 13 Assassins, Trollhunter, and Insidious. I'm also halfway through Thailand's 2010 Palme d'Or winner Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives on Netflix Instant, whose ghost monkeys and cunnilingual catfish might qualify as different.

That's it for now from the first eight months. Check back soon for my most anticipated titles of the Fall, a list that at last count ran over thirty titles.

Project Nim

2011-08-05T11:13:00.000-07:00

Dr. Herb Terrace must never have seen Planet of the Apes. Otherwise, he would have known to leave a baby chimp named Nim at Oklahoma's Institute for Primate Studies instead of attempting to raise him as a human in 1970s New York. But so begins Project Nim, Columbia University's ambitious study to determine if an ape can learn sign language and communicate in complete sentences.


Nim with Laura Petitto, the first teacher to take his sign learning seriously	(Photo: Susan Kuklin)

Director James Marsh chronicles Nim's journey, interviewing key figures along the way, and effectively mixing in archival images and his standard dramatic reenactments to form a documentary nearly as good as his previous film, Man on Wire. It's certainly deeper. From the opening minutes, when Nim's mother is shot with a tranquilizer dart in order to part her from her child, ethical dilemmas abound. The endeavor seems misguided and cruel at its inception, but when its focus is a cute baby animal running around in a diaper, initial concerns are swept aside in the name of wonder and awe. Marsh, like a talented disaster-film director depicting the pre-iceberg beauty and elegance of the seemingly unsinkable ship, turns the build-up of Nim's formative years into something magical.

As Nim grows from adorable infant to eager student, the pace feels effortless. The clips of Nim signing with his handlers, and these subjects fondly reminiscing on their shared time, build a tangible excitement. Sign by sign, the grad student teachers form emotional bonds with Nim and their swinging personal sideshow adds a humorous yet human dimension to his captivating progression. However, developing on a parallel path are his animal instincts, and with each bite and scratch, interactions with Nim become increasingly dangerous. After a particularly gruesome attack, the risks of the work outweigh any scientific breakthrough, and it's back to Oklahoma for an ape lacking experience with his own species. It's a betrayal and an injustice for sure, but merely the first in what will prove to be a tumultuous life.

Man on Wire's Philippe Petit was a storyteller's dream, and in Nim, Marsh has identified another fascinating tale (also from the '70s: surely the source of all thing truly great). Project Nim is a remarkably clean documentary, sharp in imagery and high on directorial flourishes. In contrast to the simple graininess of Nim's old footage, the dramatized recreations (most of which work) feature active camerawork, and the most notable touch occurs during talking-head interviews, which often feel like the least cinematic moments in documentaries. As each person exits Nim's life, the camera does a slow pan to the side, obscuring the human behind a wall. It's a simple move, but clearly well-planned and exceedingly effective.

Nim with Bob Ingersoll, perhaps his strongest ally (Photo: Bob Ingersoll)

With so many narratives to juggle, Marsh succeeds in developing them all, though some better than others. Several threads cease abruptly and the ending itself lacks a strong resolution, especially with chatty interview subjects on hand, all of whom seem capable of contributing closing remarks on Nim and his odyssey. Man on Wire features a solid epilogue of Petit continuing his acrobatics and various skills at the time of filming, and Project Nim could likewise benefit from pleasant summation and retrospect. Nim's story, however, is far different from the childlike joy and elegance of Petit's, so the sudden ending is somewhat appropriate considering the abruptness with which he was parted from each life. But with such an interesting subject whom so many cared about, a more developed conclusion still feels warranted.

Project Nim opens at the Carolina Asheville today. It's not the year's best documentary, but it's not far off.

Beginners

2011-07-27T18:52:00.000-07:00

Christopher Plummer and Ewan McGregor in Beginners
(Photo: Olympus Pictures)

In the opening minutes of Beginners, Mike Mills' autobiographical follow-up to Thumbsucker, Oliver (Ewan McGregor) announces via narration that his parents were married for 44 years until his mother (Mary Page Keller) died. Shortly thereafter, his father (Christopher Plummer) revealed that he was gay and five years later succumbed to cancer.

It's a risky move, giving away such major details so early on, and one that lends the film's first half an odd medium tone. As Oliver cleans out his father's house, gives his inherited Jack Russell named Arthur a tour of his new surroundings, and generally tries to get on with his life, there's a muted feeling in the air. Scenes are neither funny nor sad, but teeter on both, eliciting a grin & chuckle or a wince, but nothing more. The characters and audience aren't exactly walking on eggshells, but it's close.

Even during flashbacks that provide background for Oliver's emotional purgatory, the tone remains consistently vague. There's his relationship with his father Hal, post-coming-out, and the various adjustments to a man he thought he knew who's suddenly frequenting dance clubs and has taken a young lover (Goran Visnjic). Farther back is preteen Oliver (Keegan Boos), spending time with his amusing but unhappy mother Georgia while an unseen Hal works at a museum. In the present, a grieving and confused Oliver works on an album cover for the conveniently named band The Sads. While co-workers offer awkward words of support, he sketches witty single frames of his melancholia that together comprise what he calls "The History of Sadness," and though the project serves as quasi therapy, its personal nature mostly adds to his isolation. Through it all, the performances are fine and there's something there, but it's all a bit stilted.

Boys II Men
(Photo: Olympus Pictures)

And then Oliver meets Anna (Melanie Laurent) at a party he reluctantly attends. Voiceless due to laryngitis, the French actress asks him via notepad, "Why are you at a party if you're sad?" The pair later head off into the night, clingy Arthur in tow, for an evening of innocent fun ("Can we just sleep?" she asks) and a morning promise of a second date.

As their relationship blossoms, so does the film. In Anna, Oliver finds someone with whom he can communicate about his parents and attempt to make some sense of circumstances in which he finds himself. While they fall deeper in love, their shared experiences recall moments with his father in their final years together and uncomfortable times with his tortured mother, whom he initially thought was the victim of a loveless marriage but whose deep pain he only now understands. It all begins to make a little more sense to Oliver and the complex connections between memory and the present bring a needed anchor to him and the film itself.

The straw that stirs the drink
(Photo: Olympus Pictures)

Though Anna's love has healing powers for the struggling Oliver, she lacks the predictable quirk and cheezy dialogue of a manic pixie dream girl. Laurent plays her too subtle and natural to be accused of such mediocrity. And when the inevitable complications arise on both sides, Mills and his cast keep the story from veering into cliche. (Arthur's subtitled thoughts also help.) Mills' artistic flourishes add yet another dimension, supplementing Oliver's recollections of his childhood with old magazine advertisements of staged domestic scenes. These images mirror the era-appropriate phoniness that likewise afflicted his parents' marriage, and while he employs them as irony in his album art project, its statement fails to click with anyone other than himself.

Such disconnect is the story's primary strength. Once the film takes off, it's clear that the focus isn't Hal's decline and death (as the opening narration and subsequent flashbacks may have indicated), but Oliver's struggle to piece together his perplexing past and move forward with happiness. The narration merely establishes Oliver's situation. His connections with Hal, Georgia, and Anna have yet to be forged, so once they are made and the predetermined events eventually occur, the emotional payoff is well-earned. Hal's death is inevitable; not mentioning it early on would have created an unnecessary paper-thin mystery and wouldn't have allowed for the rich relationships that evolve organically. While Hal's journey plays a central role, Beginners is firmly Oliver's story.

And that awkward, uncomfortable first half? At the film's end, it feels like an accurate tonal representation of Oliver's existence at that time. Following Hal's death, he's not ready to laugh and doesn't much want to wallow in despair. He doesn't know where to go or what to do, and, in retrospect, the filmmaking relays that undesired caution. Only when he's capable of change and fully willing to progress does the film follow and adapt to his maturations. It's a remarkable achievement by the cast and crew. Filmmaking is rarely intelligent to the point where technical and theatrical approaches successfully capture complex emotions and evolve in symphony with character and story growth. Early on, the editing, lack of music, and emotionally distant dialogue is the cinematic equivalent of walking on eggshells. When Oliver and Anna's relationship takes off, these approaches change to evoke their blooming, becoming more fluid and joyful. Through these decisions, the film itself attains the seemingly impossible and becomes a living, growing organism. It may not be a wholly original moviegoing experience, but it certainly feels like one.

Beginners is full of relatable characters and situations and turns Mills' deeply personal journey into one of near universal access. It's a slow burn, initially cold and confounding, but thoroughly rewarding and easily one of the best films of the year.

Writer/Director Mike Mills brings the truth
(Photo: Olympus Pictures)

8 Mile

2011-07-23T12:05:00.000-07:00

Curtis Hanson directs Eminem in 8 Mile
(Photo: Imagine Entertainment)

It could have been terrible. At the center was Eminem, essentially playing himself before he won the Rap Olympics and was discovered by Dr. Dre: a piece of trailer park white trash in mid-90s Detroit attempting to change his life by becoming a rap star. In fall 2002, after three critically-lauded yet controversial albums, the MC wasn't exactly known as Mr. Personality. His violent and often homophobic and misogynistic lyrics had garnered more detractors than his millions of fans, and he (along with producers Ron Howard and Brian Grazer) wanted the world to view his life story? And what was Curtis Hanson thinking by getting behind the camera and directing the story? Didn't he have better things to do after L.A. Confidential and Wonder Boys elevated him to must-see status?

Turns out everyone knew what they were doing.

The many faces of Eminem
(Photo: Imagine Entertainment)

The film works because the script doesn't require Eminem to say much. As Jimmy "Rabbit" Smith (or "B. Rabbit" as in Bunny), all he needs is to be moody, have an expressionistic face, and rhyme well. Slightly in his comfort zone, he's a natural for the role and there's a clear sense that he wants to do the job right. Is he perfect? No. When confrontations call for verbal, non-lyrical responses, the holes are gaping, and the "calming" voice he turns on to comfort his terror-stricken little sister should send her running for Social Services. Likewise, Kim Basinger is far from her best as Rabbit's loser mother, specializing in sudden bursts of misguided anger that feel embarrassingly forced. Other supporting roles fare somewhat better, including a comically trashy Michael Shannon as Basinger's boyfriend (and Rabbit's former high school classmate), Brittany Murphy as Rabbit's spotlight-chasing love interest, and Rabbit's rag-tag entourage. Despite the occasional clunky moment, the story arc is strong enough and the drama of each scene suffices in delivering a specific thought or emotion, propelling the film forward. Rising above it all is Mekhi Phifer as Future, Rabbit's dreadlocked friend and mentor, and the host of the weekly rap battle, which he's convinced is Rabbit's key to success. His guidance and enthusiasm keep Rabbit confident in his most self-doubting moments, and Pfifer's acting chops and positivity likewise keep the film from derailing at several crucial points.

Eminem and Phifer bond in the trailer park
(Photo: Imagine Entertainment)

Hanson does an excellent job of capturing the grittiness of Detroit, nuances of blue-collar life, and the excitement and possibilities of the mid-'90s hip-hop scene. (Not that I was there at the time, but it seems believable.) The soundtrack, when not laced with Eminem's own impressive instrumentals, is filled with major songs from the depicted time, none more jarring than Mobb Deep's "Shook Ones (Pt. II)." The Queensbridge rap duo's breakout track serves as the film's fitting bookend, the track itself setting up Rabbit's tragic first rap battle and its instrumental providing the beat for his spectacular, if inevitable, final showdown with Papa Doc (Anthony Mackie).

But no matter how strong the story or filmmaking, if you're not even mildly interested in hip-hop, 8 Mile may still not work for you. Not that it doesn't try valiantly to convert reluctant viewers. The often a capella rhyming amplifies the lyrics, and in the absence of thumping beats and background shouting that scare off many potential listeners, the most important aspect of hip-hop shines through. In parking lot cyphers and factory lunch lines, aspiring lyricists show off their wordplay skills, bending poetic language to tell stories and playfully insult those nearby. Their words are comprehensible and their intentions clear; it's essentially dialogue written in a more entertaining manner and emphasizes the music's finer aspects. This approach is most clearly realized in the Papa Doc battle, in which Rabbit blends anecdotes from his manic past week into a cyclone of self-deprecating storytelling ranging from the various flaws of his friends (one of whom shot himself in the leg) to overheard tidbits about his opponent, most notably his not-so-gangster past. The screenplay's (and Rabbit's) ability to combine all of these thoughts and stories into a cohesive 90-second rhyme is stunning. It's a triumphant culmination of Rabbit's story up to that point and cinema's finest example of hip-hop's power and appeal.

Rabbit's rhyming venues ranges from informative and loose (above)
to adrenaline-filled and tense (below).
(Photos: Imagine Entertainment)

8 Mile is a captivating meditation on the power of music and friendship and an exciting chapter of the American Dream, of which Eminem is one of its most noteworthy recent success stories. It's not for everyone, but, as with hip-hop, given a chance the film offers numerous surprises.

Blindspot Theatre - Bull Durham

2011-07-20T13:50:00.000-07:00

"Why are you waiving off my signs?"
Photo: Orion Pictures

After an erratic debut for the Durham Bulls, cocky top pitching prospect Ebby Calvin LaLoosh (Tim Robbins) is sent guidance in the form of journeyman catcher Crash Davis (Kevin Costner). Cheering them on is Annie Savoy (Susan Sarandon), the team's biggest fan, who each season selects a Bull to share her bed. When Annie picks Crash and LaLoosh (the latter of whom she nicknames "Nuke") as her finalists, the battery mates are forced to balance their feelings for her with their dedication to baseball and the team, none of which comes easy.

Shot in and around Raleigh/Durham, Ron Shelton's comedy is a pure love letter to baseball, its players, and its fans. It faithfully depicts the ups and downs of life in the minors, duking it out for a shot at "the show" while dealing with losing and winning streaks, superstitions, and various personal issues. It eschews political correctness in favor of honestly, depicting ballplayers as the masculine, cursing, hard-drinking guys that many are yet which glossed-over sports broadcasts and family friendly baseball films refuse to show. As a result, Bull Durham is often brutally funny and always true to the game.

It's also exceptionally made. The steadi-cam close-up shots of Crash and Nuke encompass some of the best cinematography in any sports film. The slightly wobbly camera, most notably employed on the numerous instances when Crash calls time and approaches the mound to chat with his pitcher, emulates the perspective of a fellow player (though even teammates are rarely granted such access).

That's an accurate assessment of the first half, at least. The film's second section devolves into melodrama and corny sex scenes with the requisite '80s saxophone solo classing up the joint. It's probably an honest representation of the emotional rollercoaster of unrealized dreams and a yearning for something more steady than a non-guaranteed baseball contract, but the romance elements detract from the strength of the baseball scenes, even if they are tangentially related.

Crash stands in, internal dialogue and all.
Photo: Orion Pictures

Still, there's plenty to like, especially Robbins hamming it up as the goofy LaLoosh. His grimaces of concern and mouthed apologies as his errant fastballs sail through the announcers' booth and ricochet off the Bulls mascot are wonderful. Costner again proves to be a serviceable leading man, but though he emanates cool and has some great lines (notably the "I believe in..." speech), he's not overly impressive. His turn here was at the start of a remarkable run (Field of Dreams, Dances with Wolves, JFK) in which he was very good, so though it's early in his career, there are clear traces of quality performances to come. Elsewhere, the appeal of Sarandon as a sex symbol is baffling. '80s bombshells Kelly McGillis or Geena Davis would have been far more convincing (if expected) in getting Costner and Robbins to go gaga.

An added bonus is the inclusion of old minor league parks from across North Carolina, including Greensboro's War Memorial Stadium (1926) and Asheville's McCormick Field (1924), two of the oldest still-operating (insome capacity) baseball stadiums in the nation. That Shelton's attention to detail extends to the locations themselves elevates the film above more mediocre ballpark fare, and it's the overall dedication to "getting it right" that has established Bull Durham as one of the finest baseball movies in existence. It's no Natural or Sandlot, but its willingness to dig for something less restrained and more authentic gives it a quality that those arguably better films lack.

Ye Olde War Memorial Stadium

Queen To Play

2011-07-13T19:44:00.000-07:00

After seeing an American couple play chess, Helene (Sandrinne Bonnaire) decides that the game is her ticket to escape a mundane life as neglected wife, mother, and maid. She begins to play and read about the game late into each night and enlists her American expat client (Kevin Kline) to be her teacher. But when small town gossip threatens to destroy her family, Helene must determine whether or not chess has a place in her life.

Parlez-vous francais?

(Photo: Studio Canal)

It's an intriguing if predictable set-up, but instead of enticing audiences to pick up a chess board (as Searching for Bobby Fischer so marvelously did nearly 20 years ago), Carolina Bottaro's film fails to inspire the viewer to want to play or have anything to do with the game. While Steve Zaillian's film made chess feel accessible by clearly depicting its potential magic and joy and surrounding it with complex characters, Queen to Play keeps the game elusive and confusing. Bottaro's swiss cheese script is devoid of chess' pleasures, eschewing relatable scenes of learning by leapfrogging to those of Helene as a sudden quasi-master, and fails to develop its characters beyond stereotypes. The audience is expected to cheer her progress, yet there's little connection to her fairly conventional journey. Are she and those around her eventually transformed by the game? Clearly. Are viewers likewise transformed? No.

Queen to Play is a wannabe feel-good film that doesn't earn the big Rudy moment it so desperately thinks it deserves. It's a poor ambassador for the game and film in general.

Kick-Ass

2011-07-10T11:46:00.000-07:00

Dave prepares to get his ass kicked.
(Photo: Lionsgate)

Kick-Ass depicts what it would be like if, say, my co-workers and I put on costumes and tried to be super heroes. With no radioactive spider bite or alien birth to give us actual powers, we'd almost certainly get beat up, knifed, and possibly hit by a car, much like what happens to the high school superhero-wannabe Dave Lizewski (Aaron Johnson), a.k.a. Kick-Ass, on his first foray into crime fighting. No matter our good intentions for undertaking the task of doling out justice in an unjust world, we'd have a better chance of being interred by an undertaker than coming anything close to a success.

From Guy Richie protege Matthew Vaughn (Layer Cake, Stardust), Kick-Ass is a complete joyride for embracing the above concept in all its ill-advised awkwardness and running with it. Instead of last decade's flood of superhero films, many of which had the gifted folks coming to terms with their often newfangled abilities, Kick-Ass brings the conflicts down to a refreshingly human level, thereby transcending nearly all previous entries in the genre. Whereas Clark Kent laughs while breaking the sound barrier sprinting through cornfields and Peter Parker gleefully webs his way through New York City, when Dave attempts to hop rooftops, he comes to a skidding halt at the building's edge, looks down at the chasm below, and chastises himself for ever thinking that such a feat was possible. For that and numerous other realistic scenes, Kick-Ass is the People's Superhero Film.

If they're in your room, it's already too late.
(Photo: Lionsgate)

And for everyone who read the preceding paragraphs and thought, "But isn't Batman just a regular guy, albeit an obscenely rich one, who fights crime without superpowers?," let me introduce you to Big Daddy (Nicolas Cage) and Hit-Girl (Chloe Grace Moretz). Yes, they are bleed-if-you-shoot-them humans, but, like Batman can easily be interpreted, they're completely crazy. Vaughn cloaks Big Daddy in a sculpted black suit and mask eerily reminiscent of The Dark Knight, providing clear commentary on Joe Human vigilantes and their sanity.

Right around the time she calls him the "c" word.
(Photo: Lionsgate)

While Batman's outings are rooted in reality, he's got access to so many gadgets and do-dads, all of which function at a suspension-of-disbelief level common to more fantastic superhero movies. Kick-Ass refuses to compromise on reality and should be commended for such an approach. Even at its most cartoonish, Kick-Ass still makes sense. When Hit-Girl reloads the clips of her pistols in mid-air, there's enough background suggesting that it could happen. Big Daddy has trained her for such action, preparing her to withstand point-blank shots to a bulletproof vest and instilling her with an encyclopedic knowledge of firearms and combat, and combined with her perverted perception of reality at her father's hands, her cartoonish action scenes feel entirely plausible.

Kick-Ass the most refreshing superhero film to date and the most enjoyable action film since the Bourne trilogy. It's crude and violent, but one hell of a good time. In a summer filled with Marvel Comic pretenders and on the heels of the abysmal Iron Man 2, it's a joy to see such a film do its genre, and quality films in general, justice.

(Currently streaming on Netflix Instant.)

Sticker Reviews

2011-06-29T07:47:00.000-07:00

A large number of the library's DVDs come from patron donations. It's always interesting to see what folks bring in, from brand new films that have been watched once to boxes and boxes of one's purged collection. Yesterday we received a generous donation that came with a pleasant surprise: brief reviews.

On about a third of the cases, the patron had attached a small white sticker or address label, written concise thoughts, and affixed a letter grade. They almost certainly were not for our benefit as a guide to what we should or shouldn't add to our collection, but for their own as a reminder of each film's worth and rewatchability. I'm guessing most were purchased from the Previously-Viewed racks at Ingles or somewhere similar since most of the grades indicate that none of these films are quite Lawrence of Arabia. I wish I was high-tech enough to attach a picture, as they really are neat little scribblings, but just imagine going to a flea market and seeing a vendor with DVDs sporting little stickers with Twitter-length reviews etched upon their surfaces.

Here are the reviews I was able to spot. I doubt that they'd be hiding elsewhere on the cases, but I wouldn't put it past this crafty patron:

Lethal Weapon 4: "Silly - Goofy. Not So Hot. C"

A History of Violence: "Very Violent. Not Very Credible. C"

Marie Antoinette: "Ho Hum. C"

Eye of the Beholder: "B - Hard To Figure Out"

Die Another Day: "Absurd But Fun"

There Will Be Blood: "Grim. DD-L Tour-De Force. B+"

The Italian Job (1969): "B Funny, Cute"

A Home at the End of the World: "C. Good Cast. Little Strange, Little Stupid. Ho Hum"

Twilight (1998): "OK. B. Newman Is Great"

For Love or Money: "Cute B-"

Red Dirt Rising

2011-06-20T08:38:00.000-07:00

Directors Kathleen "Bo" Bobak and James Suttles explore NASCAR's roots in Red Dirt Rising, a North Carolina-set film high on passion despite its low production value. Fault mainly lies with the budget and writing, as comically bad human drama scenes abound, but the film greatly succeeds at capturing the simple thrill of racing. Multiple times, amateur racers Jimmie Lewallan, Bill Blair, and Co. are simply hanging around, giving each other good-natured jabs on anything from women to work, when talk shifts to the superiority of one's car and his racing abilities. A braggadocio wager is hastily made and everyone jumps in his vehicle to settle the chatter. Once these moments of one-uppmanship evolve into legitimate oval racing, the spirit of competition and the love of being the fastest and most skilled man behind the wheel seamlessly translates. In an age of corporate sponsorship and big money, it's easy to lose sight of the sport's core, but Red Dirt Rising returns to NASCAR's humble origins and excels at rekindling its central appeal.

The directors' decision to shoot the film on RED, however, gives the film an odd visual quality, somewhere between ultra low-budget and high-tech. It's almost too clean for the time period it depicts, and motion-filled scenes (the opening shot of a young boy running and several of the impromptu dirt-road races) carry a falseness with their blurry yet clear appearance. Instead of the grittiness that stripped-down HD filmmaking lends something like Michael Mann's excellent Collateral, the use of RED in Red Dirt Rising unfortunately detracts from the storytelling and authenticity of its setting.

Best of 2010

2011-06-18T20:06:00.000-07:00

Why not come out with a rundown of last year's best films halfway through this one? With the release of True Grit, nearly all of the following films are now on DVD, so if you like what you read, the film won't be that far away.

Highly Recommended
Rabbit Hole
The Tenth Inning
The Social Network
And Everything is Going Fine
True Grit
Exit Through the Gift Shop
Scott Pilgrim vs. The World
Shutter Island
Inception
Never Let Me Go
Kick-Ass
127 Hours
Another Year
The King's Speech
Black Swan
Waste Land
Restrepo
Toy Story 3

Inside Job

Dogtooth

Mother

The Kids are All Right

Casino Jack and the United States of Money

No Crossover: The Trial of Allen Iverson

Do It Again

Louis Sullivan: The Struggle for American Architecture

The Kings of Pastry

Cyrus

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

My Perestroika

A Prophet

Worth Seeing
The Fighter
Winter's Bone
Greenberg
The Town
Animal Kingdom
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I
Salt (year's best surprise)
Alice in Wonderland
Catfish

Dirty Business

Fish Tank
The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's Nest
Easy A
It's Kind of a Funny Story
Red Riding: 1974
Get Low
Hot Tub Time Machine
Green Zone (take one dramamine an hour before)
The Ghost Writer
Garbo: The Spy
Nowhere Boy
Strange Powers: Stephin Merritt and the Magnetic Fields

Underrated

Sex and the City 2

Omissions
Blue Valentine
Life During Wartime
Carlos
Barney's Version
Hereafter
The American
I Love You Phillip Morris
How to Train Your Dragon
Tangled
Tiny Furniture
Please Give
Four Lions
Leaves of Grass
You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger
The Tillman Story
Last Train Home
Robin Hood
Nice Guy Johnny
Get Him to the Greek
Machete

Pretend They Don't Exist
Iron Man 2
Diary of a Wimpy Kid
Chloe
Dear John (a great year for Amanda Seyfried...not)
The Girl who Played with Fire
I'm Still Here

Festival Report: Full Frame 2011

2011-05-15T12:42:00.000-07:00

While I wasn't able to see the amount of films I usually take in at Full Frame, my 2011 campaign was still a success and gave me some good ideas for years to come. Last year, I requested and was given two DVD screeners on the festival's final day with no indication that they need be returned. Either they were for the taking at that point or the press folks made a boo-boo, because this year was a different story. Screeners were plentiful, but all of them required a sign-out for a day loan and many were ~~Library~~ Press Lounge Use Only.

Still, the availability of screeners alerted me to the reality of not being tied to a film's lone showing or potential Sunday awards re-screening. If you choose and time your in-theater films right (these would be ones with intriguing filmmaker/subject post-film Q&As and/or without screeners), you can see a ton more films via screeners. Instead of spending 20-30 minutes each time in line and in the slowly-filling theater waiting for a film to start, why not limit that idle time and maximize the festival experience by watching a screener on one of the press lounge's laptops? If this blog teaches you anything, it's that moviegoing isn't really a social experience. In the theater films I do attend, it's great to chat pre- and post-film with neighbors about what else they've seen, and there is pleasure in laughing or screaming with an audience, but overall, watching a film is a solitary experience. It's the discussion of film that's social.

So yes, next year I'm going to ask pre-festival for a list of screeners and arrange my schedule for maximum watchage. I'd also like to schedule an interview with a filmmaker or two. I'll need to have seen the person's film before talking about it, but conducting an interview would be a good step forward for this blog and may lead to more festivals and overall film access in the future.

And now, the films:

The conductor and his players

In the short film Il Capo, a shirtless Italian man conducts his crew of mechanical earth movers as they knock out slabs of marble from a mountain. It's essentially a one-trick pony: the man silently employs an elaborate series of hand gestures to instruct his workers on how to approach the rock. Though interesting the first few times, director Yuri Ancarani never really strays from focusing on the signals. A meandering helicopter shot of the surrounding Italian mountains adds little to the film and Ancarini's shots of the marble demolition rarely depict the magnitude of the rock or of the machines themselves. It's all interesting to an extent, but feels more like an aside in a narrative film than a subject worthy of its own film, no matter the running time.

Buck remains a skilled roper
Photo: Cedar Creek Productions

Buck Brannaman, however, is no one-trick pony and neither is his bio-doc, Buck. Essentially the inspiration for Nicholas Evans' novel The Horse Whisperer and an important creative consultant on the subsequent Robert Redford film, Buck drives around the country delivering equine seminars that "help horses with people problems." With the assistance of a wireless "Madonna microphone," Buck's confident and soothing voice extols wisdom upon his students, giving them a better understanding of their relationship with horses and all living things. He asks why whipping and abuse would bring about trust between man and beast, and, since the mere act of mounting a horse mirrors that of a predator going in for the kill, what behavior should be employed to foster a relationship through which the animal experiences minimal fear of being around humans. These are Gladwellian concepts that make perfect sense coming from Buck, yet are frequently dismissed in the name of established but harmful practices. Buck brings the same wry cowboy wisdom to his personal anecdotal interviews, rounding out the film with humor and heart as he goes about his often lonely life primarily spent on the road.

Whisper? Not with that microphone
Photo: McGinnis Meadow Cattle & Guest Ranch

Witnessing Buck's personal and professional peace, it's astounding to learn all that he's overcome. A professional trick roper and Kellogg's Sugar Pop kid by the age of six, he and his older brother Smokie were tormented by their controlling father and forced into foster care. Director Cindy Meehl deftly weaves recollections of Buck's tortured past between scenes of his triumphant adult life and provides a balanced portrait of what drives this special man. Sequences of Buck's healing practices resulting in immediately noticeably changes are magical in their simple complexity. Meehl recognizes the power of these scenes and saves David Robbins' effective twangy score for the talking heads and other non-instructional portions. Buck is an outstanding portrait of an extraordinary man and it's no surprise that it won the audience award at Sundance and again at Full Frame.

Back when chess was just a game...or was it?

Bobby Fischer Against the World is a

polished and well-made bio-doc about the former world chess champion. Spanning Fischer's roller coaster of a life, including some wonderful archival footage of his phenomenal rise in the chess world as a teen and pre-teen, the
majority of the film builds on the positive aspects of his legacy and focuses on his 1972 championship match against Boris Spassky.
Liz Garbor's film carefully handles its subject, transporting the viewer back to the early Cold War era and recreating the public's growing fascination with young Fischer.
Considering the child prodigy mystique and the all-encompassing competition with the Soviets, his rise remains easy to support. An all-star '70s funk soundtrack ("Shaft," "Bang A Gong," "Rock 'n Roll Pt. II," etc.) keeps the momentum rolling as Fischer topples all competition on his way to the top.

Fischer surveys his empire in his prime

Simultaneously sprinkled in, however, are tidbits of Fischer's mounting personal oddities and signs of his progression into seclusion. Garbor's
depiction of his fall into paranoia is heartbreaking but fair, and despite the immensity of his decline, still leaves judgment of Fischer's life up to personal interpretation. Considering his former popularity, it's wrenching to see him grow increasingly distant and indecipherable, and when an audio clip of Fischer celebrating the 9/11 attacks as a fitting example of "what goes around comes around," it's a stunning low to an existence so far removed from the nobility of chess.
Bobby Fischer Against the World i
s a fine historical document and would be a solid double feature with the excellent Searching for Bobby Fischer, but doesn't take any risks to distinguish itself from its History Channel cousins. That's apparently fine for HBO, who will premiere the film on June 6.

Small boat, big world
Photo: Film First

Jessica Edwards selects interesting topics for her short films. First came Seltzer Works, about the eponymous bubbly water, and now there's Tugs, Edwards' slice-of-life look at a tugboat company in the NYC harbor. Through brief but spirited dialogue with the crew and shots of the little boats hard at work, numerous appealing characters and the rewarding pleasures of life on the water are relayed in under ten minutes. Given the mixed blessing of screening before Being Elmo, Tugs was seen by all who came to check out the furry red monster and promptly (and unfairly) ignored in the surreality of the puppet-dominated post-film Q&A. That's unfortunate for a film that accomplishes far more than any episode of Elmo's World in less than half the time.

(Unfortunately, that's all I can say about Being Elmo for now. As with Page One: Inside the New York Times, it's under a press embargo until slightly before its official release. Check back over the summer for my reviews as these films hit theaters.)

Close quarters in the Collyer household

Is a historical reenactment starring paper puppets a documentary? Doubtful, but Junk Palace is an excellent film nonetheless. Director Lyon Forrest Hill imagines the final days of Homer and Langley Collyer, whose Harlem brownstone was filled with trash (and the brothers' corpses) when police entered the premises in 1947 to investigate complaints of a terrible odor. The hours that went into drawing, cutting, assembling, and animating each figure and scene are evident throughout the short, and effective sound effects, lighting, and editing give the film the vibrancy of a live-action work. It's an impressive undertaking and one that demands to be seen, but Full Frame is a surprising place for it to be shown.

Justin Duerr by one of the mysterious tiles

Puzzles abound in Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles as three young Philadelphians attempt to solve a particularly interesting one that's drawn them together. In Philly, other major Midwest and Northeast cities, and as far down as South America, someone has placed colorful tiles in asphalt that all say the same basic message: Toynbee Idea/ In Movie 2001/ Resurrect Dead/ On Planet Jupiter. What does it mean and who is behind it? Justin Duerr, Steve Weinik, and ~~Tim Lincecum~~ Colin Smith try to find out as Jon Foy documents their every move.

Colin Smith (L) and Jon Foy (R)
Photo: Larry Busacca/Getty Images
North America

The trio has been documenting and dissecting the tiles for years and Foy's film serves as both a springboard to finding the tiles' creator and a concise collective of the entire Toynbee Tile universe for hardcore enthusiasts and novices alike. Once Duerr & Co. bring the viewer up to date with the basics of the tiles and their various theories of the tiles' meaning, the amateur detectives follow up on the most significant leads to entertaining results. Efforts to contact a neighborhood recluse with the help of some local eccentrics gets them somewhere, as do various archival newspaper clippings, a short wave radio convention, internet communications, and a one act David Mamet play that hits on multiple hot spots of tile lore, despite the playwright's prior insistence that he invented the dialogue.

Foy presents the quest and its relevant information in classic "whodunit" style. The trio are knowledgable of their subject yet patient and caring in relaying their thoughts and findings. The Toynbee Tiles are clearly important to them and their enthusiasm in cracking the case is a joy to witness. With each new nugget and clue, the mystery inches closer to being solved, though the tension and excitement of the unknown remains elevated. Few narrative films are this engaging and well-made, and for a first-time filmmaker (who financed the work by cleaning houses and taught himself film scoring to create a hauntingly good soundtrack) covering such an obscure subject, Foy has made a modern classic.

Ameena, Cobe, and Eddie
Photo: Chris Strong

A year after his ESPN 30 for 30 doc No Crossover: The Trial of Allen Iverson premiered at Full Frame, Hoop Dreams director Steve James is back with his latest film, The Interrupters. In it, James spends a year following three members of Chicago's CeaseFire, an organization that attempts to prevent violence by intervening in the lives of those at risk of inflicting the next attack. Ameena, Cobe, and Eddie all have checkered pasts of their own, involving an array of arrests, prison sentences, drug addictions, and violence. Now upstanding citizens dedicated to keeping others from making their mistakes, the interrupters use their still-prominent street cred to become a key part in the lives of current gang members and families of victims, all of whom are susceptible to inflicting unnecessary violence.

James films Ameena
Photo: Kartemquin Films

It's an intriguing topic and one that's nearly an After School Special. However, the dedication of the interrupters to saving lives and James' access to and straightforward filming of these often high-tension situations elevates the film to must-see status. It's amazing that the collection of gun-toters and gang-bangers would allow themselves to be put on camera, but the editing suggests that James' presence isn't a nuisance. Instead, it's an added benefit to the interrupters as the camera forces those at-risk to rationalize their irrational motivations for violence, thereby creating an opening through which the interrupters can do their best to bring about change. No one wants to kill anyone else, but the ingrained feeling of defending a friend's honor blinds the gang members from larger consequences. It's the interrupters' job to change this destructive thinking, and while they're not always effective, when they're able to turn someone's life around, the film shines and proves that positive change is possible despite a pervading sense of hopelessness.

(I briefly spoke with James at Full Frame and learned that not only should The Interrupters get a decent nationwide release, but will also be featured on PBS' Frontline series later this year.)

The Always Detectives looking spiffy
Photo: Native Voice Films

In a time where the people of India cannot rely on their police forces for protection or justice, Rajesh Ji and his Kolkata-based Always Detective and Security Agency stand as a force for good. The Bengali Detective features Rajesh & Crew racing around responding to tips, performing raids, and...rehearsing to be on a television dance program? In his comedic and dramatically balanced film, Phil Cox embraces the eccentricities and commitment of these crime-solvers, an integral part of a growing trend of independent law enforcement in an equally expanding economy.

Rajesh and the men investigate a murder
Photo: Native Voice Films

The pot-bellied Rajesh is devoted to his family, work, and his dream of becoming a famous dancer. He approaches each subject with great enthusiasm, yet makes hopeful promises that are not quite within his control. He confidently guarantees his clients that he'll solve their cases, though after a failed raid on counterfeiters refers to his operation as "Laurel and Hardy detectives." For his dance team, he fearlessly predicts victory, but the disco detectives' skills, along with their hand-to-hand combat, provide much of the film's comic relief. While at home, he worries about the declining health and eyesight of his diabetic wife Minnie and his son's future. He assures Minnie that she will heal, but admits to the camera that while he feels like a hero at work, these same heroics fail to transfer to domestic life.

The Blingali Detective
Photo: Native Voice Films

With such an engaging lead character, The Bengali Detective is thoroughly enjoyable. Its multiple story lines provide an active pace and each one's small victories and defeats give it an authenticity that a single big solve could have negated. The cinematography is impressive and never gives the impression that the same part of Kolkata is featured twice, and the recurring Bollywood police procedural theme music is a natural sonic accompaniment to the bustle of the Indian streets. Surely there will be more to come from Rajesh and the Always Detective and Security Agency.

Photo: Native Voice Films

Beastie Boys - Fight For Your Right (Revisited)

2011-05-04T20:54:00.000-07:00

The Beastie Boys make great music videos. Always have, always will. Millions of fans agree, as do the good folks at Criterion who honored the Beasties with 2000's Beastie Boys Video Anthology. Prior to the days of YouTube, the only way to preserve Beastie videos were to have a blank tape in the VCR and be quick enough to hit record when "Sabotage" or "Hey Ladies" came on MTV or VH1. With the release of the Video Anthology, the world's premiere film preservation company concurred that these videos belonged among their collection of "important classic and contemporary films" and offered them up in a tantalizing 2-disc set that set a new standard for music video appreciation, paving the way for the Director's Series collections featuring the likes of Spike Jonze and Michel Gondry.

The Video Anthology still feels cutting edge. With the help of your DVD remote, you can change video angles and audio tracks (including over 40 remixes) on the selected video at any time during playback. It's a stunning feature and remains a tad overwhelming. The only knock on the collection is that is doesn't include videos from the Def Jam days. That means no "Fight For Your Right," "No Sleep till Brooklyn," "Hold It, Now Hit It," "She's On It," and no "Rhymin' and Stealin'." The first two are now available on the companion DVD for the Solid Gold Hits disc, but thank goodness for YouTube.

Now, 25 years after Licensed to Ill, Beastie Boys are back with a new album (Hot Sauce Committee Part Two) and, as a super special treat, a 30-minute video, Fight For Your Right (Revisited). The film boasts the all-star cast of the year, following Mike D (Seth Rogen), Ad-Rock (Elijah Wood), and MCA (Danny McBride) after the party from "Fight For Your Right," continuing their raucous ways throughout NYC, and eventually confronting their future selves (Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly, and Jack Black) who challenge them to an old school dance-off. Written, produced, and directed by the real MCA (Adam Yauch) and featuring the finest camerawork and effects yet from the Beastie's videography (plus a sample of their best music in 13 years), Fight For Your Right (Revisited) is an insanely good time and is arguably their best video. Considering the run time, it's an unfair comparison, but there's so much joy and ridiculousness on display that it's quality is undeniable. As for traditional short-form video, "Sabotage" and "Intergalactic" remain key standouts, but Yauch and his star-studded cast have created a special film that firmly captures the wild essence of the trio in their youth.

(Re)familiarize yourself with the original 1986 classic, then check out the new joint. And watch "Sabotage," too so that that ending will make more sense.

Source Code

2011-04-29T16:59:00.000-07:00

Photo: Summit Entertainment

I need to start listening to my own advice.

Not long ago, I warned against contracting "Spring Fever" from the season's films that look interesting but will almost surely disappoint. As these films hit theaters, I managed to avoid them all. But I had a feeling that Source Code would be different. Its premise was more intriguing than most pollen-era titles; it's directed by Duncan Jones, whose Moon was one of the best debuts in recent years; and its cast includes Mr. Consistent (a.k.a. Jeffrey Wright), Vera Farmiga (earning raves for her directorial debut Higher Ground), and Jake Gyllenhaal (who I've always liked. I just pretend Prince of Persia never happened). Then the reviews came in and it seemed like the film to see.

I really need to start listening to my own advice.

Overall, I had fun with Source Code, but for all its originality, it ends up being fairly generic. I got caught up in the story's execution and pacing, thanks to Jones' direction, the editing (to an extent), and Gyllenhaal's performance. Each eight minute Source Code iteration, in which Gyllenhaal's Colter Stevens is sent back in time to stop a Chicago train bombing, is thrilling in its own regard. Stevens discovers clues and rules out possible suspects before the train explodes and sends him to a quasi perdition in a mysterious metal pod, resembling the cramped interior of a space shuttle, only to be sent back to try again. Within these cold between-mission confines, he attempts to figure out why he's inhabiting the body of someone named Sean Fentress while within the Source Code, where he is when the last thing he remembers is flying a helicopter in Afghanistan, and generally what the heck is going on.

A military officer named Goodwin (Farmiga) provides minimal guidance through a video screen and is hesitant to deviate from the core of the mission, especially with Dr. Rutledge (Wright), the mind behind Source Code, urging her to stay focused. After all, time is running out and, as Stevens' handlers inform him, each second spent explaining the predicament puts more innocent lives at stake. Contrary to appearance, everyone on Stevens' train is dead, but ID the bomber and a larger potential attack may be prevented. Stevens' questions are answered slowly through discoveries on the train and accidental nuggets from Goodwin and Rutledge, but it's refreshing to know as little as Stevens and discover information as he does. The "real time" unraveling of this giant ball of confusion is, along with the thrill of the Source Code itself, the film's great strength.

Photo: Summit Entertainment

But it's all solved far too quickly. Twenty minutes before the credits roll, the key mysteries have been spelled out, including the identity of the bomber (which, with a train full of possible suspects, is discovered far too easily). With the tension largely deflated, minimal stakes exist in these final scenes, despite dull attempts to ratchet it back up. Those hoping for an Inception-esque twist to bring the film a new level of interpretation and appreciation are left unfulfilled. The filmmakers, however, appear to think that they indeed have provide such a "gotcha." It's hardly worth protecting (still, I'll refrain from spoilers), but unlike it suggests, the intentional endless wormhole of explanations and theories (and potential sequels) at the film's conclusion doesn't contribute a complimentary amount of complexity. It just makes it feel that much more vacuous.

As the film's final act takes away from its opening power and intrigue, its other weaknesses become increasingly evident. Michelle Monaghan, given the difficult task of repeating the same initial dialogue each time Stevens starts his mission on the train, succeeds at being interesting in each iteration, but a love interest, especially one as poorly developed as this one, feels superfluous in such a film. In line with the anticlimactic bomber ID, subsequent central threads are tied up far to quickly and cleanly. Even the train explosions feel tame. it's never clear exactly when the bomb will detonate, but when it does there's little shock. Instead of elevating the suspense of an unknown blast and making the explosions sonically and visually terrifying, the flaccid editing and sound design (and I saw it in an equipment-rich theater) suggest that a cap gun has gone off, somehow sending a ball of fire rippling through the train car. The editing leading up to the explosion is the key to the film's suspense and intrigue, yet it fails when the film needs it most.

With Moon, Jones had significant control over the film. In addition to directing, he contributed the story and had a hand in multiple creative aspects. It was his film. Source Code is not. It's a great idea trapped in a mediocre script, and the major studio influence is evident through numerous conventional plot points that hinder the film from its potential.

Photo: Collider.com

Of Gods and Men

2011-04-29T14:26:00.000-07:00

Photo: Sony Picture Classics

Xavier Beauvois' Of Gods and Men, winner of the Grand Prix at last year's Cannes Film Festival, is a powerful, melodic look at monastic life. Composed primarily of short, simple, slice-of-life scenes of Trappist monks in Algeria going about their daily tasks and communing with nature, the film depicts a peaceful life soon disrupted by the threat of Islamic extremists inciting terror in the poor community served by the monks. Their safety questioned, the monks must decide whether to flee and ensure their survival or remain and continue to faithfully answer their calling.

Based on events that took place fifteen years ago, there's little mystery as to the outcome, but as with other solid historically-based narrative films (the Apollo 13 Honorary List), it's filled with such compelling characters and so well-crafted that the expected ending grows increasingly unpredictable. As the monks' own doubts arise concerning whether to remain at the monastery, they find strength in themselves and reaffirmation of their shared calling despite being constantly tested. It is therefore through their repetitive tasks that they find purpose in the simplicity of watering plants and scrubbing floors, and especially their worshiping.

True to their Trappist life, dialogue is relatively sparse, leaving much to be implied by the monks' facial reactions and general body language. The actors are superbly cast, each channeling momentous emotions and quickly establishing each character through each distinct face. There's the puffy-eyes and lined face of unflappable yet relaxed Luc (Michael Lonsdale, Munich's mysterious Papa), doctor to his fellow monks and the community; the "youthful" glow of Christophe (Olivier Rabourdin), the youngest monk (probably in his 40s), full of immense joy and a matching vulnerability; the ancient, leathery puppet skin of eldest monk Amedee (Jacques Herlin), who seems ready to crumble at any moment; and the strong jawbones and wondrous yet troubled eyes of their leader Christian (Lambert Wilson, the Matrix sequels's Merovingian). Through extended close-ups and their brief but expressive dialogue, each monk exudes a personality as unique as his looks. Framing rarely looks this good.

Jacques Herlin (L) and Michael Lonsdale (R)
Photo: Sony Picture Classics

Outside of worship in the sanctuary and respectful fellowship with their Muslim brethren in the surrounding village, the monks silently relish the beauty of nature at its most peaceful and serene, but as their situation grows increasingly dire, the weather follows suit. Beauvois' execution of a scene in which Christian wanders confused in a rainstorm, so shortly after he's glowingly walked through the woods among a flock of sheep, is stunning in its simplicity. The nature scenes complement those depicting more traditional religious work and, in addition to the notable facial acting, provide more than sufficient background for the monks' actions in the face of great fear and uncertainty. In confronting the ever-growing terrorist conflict, which provides plentiful tension, we are reminded of their bond to one another and to their calling, their connection to nature and life, and the importance of serving as a rock for a troubled community. Despite a fair amount of doubt within the monastery, it's clear where the monks' priorities lie.

Of Gods and Men is a triumph and one of the finest (and least preachy) films about religion. It opens today at the Carolina Cinemas in Asheville and possibly in your town as well.

Photo: Sony Picture Classics

How Do You Know: Well...

2011-04-22T19:20:00.000-07:00

The way people talk in How Do You Know is not how real people talk, but instead how they could talk if their filters were removed. The loose dialogue bothered me for most of the film. It felt like a Woody Allen movie whose actors wouldn't commit to the script's wackiness (also known as the majority of Woody's comedies post-Bullets Over Broadway.) But as the film wore on and the characters' chemistry began to succeed, I thought, "Well...overall, it works. Sort of."

By this point, I was rooting for Reese and Paul.
Before? Ehh...
(Photo: Columbia Pictures)

It may be that James L. Brooks simply writes hyperbolic dialogue. And in many ways, good for him. He realizes that he's working in the medium of film, which is not restricted to being faithful to real life (and often succeeds most when it eschews realism). Why not stretch the limits of speech and interaction and life? Who says he can't? When his films elicit laughter or genuine emotions, such an approach succeeds. But when it detracts from its intentions by getting lost in its own experimentalism, it's not so good.

How Do You Know has elements of both, and in forming my opinion of it, I realized that Broadcast News, which people love but I only thought was so-so, does too. (I don't remember much about As Good As It Gets, but I have a feeling from the scenes that fuzzily exist in my head that it does the same.) Again, cheers to Brooks for committing to his style, but it's one that, like the almost-there Allen scripts to which it's most closely related, meanders too much to fully succeed.

Somewhere: Think For Yourself

2011-04-22T18:27:00.000-07:00

I'm finding that in my reading and movie-going, I'm increasingly drawn to works that respect me as an audience. Far too often, fiction writers are overly obvious in their stories, failing to trust the reader to interpret emotions and plot points on one's own. Instead, the writer spells out each tidbit, thereby restricting readers from independently piecing the work together and limiting interpretation to a single answer. It's a frustrating experience, the literary equivalent of paint by number. It's in avoiding such insults to the reader that I take so long in crafting my own fiction, little of which has risen to readability though the number of works-in-progress is high.

Cormac McCarthy (L) and the Coen Brothers (R): three guys
who won't tell you how or what to think.
(Photo: Eric Ogden, Time Magazine)

The same standards are true for film. Most quality films do a good job of incorporating the fiction rule "show, don't tell" and let the viewer figure out how a character feels or the story's outcome without overtly stating too much. Though some are still prone to a fair amount of exposition (i.e. Inception), the best films present an acceptable amount of information and let the viewer do the heavy lifting. It is in these piece-it-together moments that personal interpretations are made and connections to a film are forged that last a lifetime.

Sofia Coppola's Somewhere meets and exceeds these standards. Coppola's previous films are all sparse in dialogue and exposition, but Somewhere makes her Lost in Translation look like a Woody Allen film. Her latest is the story of Johnny Marco (Stephen Dorff), a famous Hollywood actor who lives a detached life at the Chateau Marmont. He rolls through women, attends parties in his own room where he knows no one but everyone knows him, and gets carted to and from various film work, little of which seems to bring him joy. When his pre-teen daughter Cloe (Elle Fanning) shows up unexpectedly, his Hollywood lifestyle collides with previously neglected parental duties to interesting results.

Ahh, the Hollywood life...
(Photo: Focus Features)

All of the discomfort, selfishness, yearning, and love suggested by the above capsule summary is present on screen without drawing too much attention to itself. It's another look at celebrity ennui from Coppola, but she knows the subject well and depicts it through brief dialogue and her now-expected stunning visuals. Johnny isn't much for chatter; instead, we see him wander through his daydream of an existence and his disenchantment is clear. He can't remember names of prior flings, he sits through mind-numbing aspects of his job (i.e. a press conference for foreign reporters, sitting for a mold of his entire head), and knows so little about Cleo that he makes other dead-beat dads look good. Most haunting of all is that he appears to recognize his shortcomings and dissatisfaction, yet does little about it.

"You know what I'm saying, right?"
(Photo: Focus Features)

The standout scene showcasing Johnny's world occurs in Italy at a well-attended ceremony (unnamed, of course) where he is being honored (for what exactly, who knows?). With elegantly dressed Cleo beside him, the duo swap amused glances at the gala enfolding them, primarily the rapidly spoken Italian, understood by neither. Whereas a lesser filmmaker would have had one of these characters turn to the other and say, "Man, I'm so confused. Do you have any idea what they're saying?," Coppola shows us their confusion, throwing us into the audience alongside Johnny and Cleo. With no subtitles or English translation courtesy of another character, their discomfort is our discomfort. Nothing more needs to be said. On to the next scene!

Worthy of a long take
(Photo: Focus Features)

Yet with all that style and audience respect going for it, Somewhere isn't a great film. In the end, little is relayed other than Johnny is bored with his life and wants to be more of a father for Cleo. It's arguable that the minimalist approach limits the story's substance, but today's dime-a-dozen action flicks, raunchy comedies, and bad dramas say far less. Still, even the artistic storytelling techniques that bind the film together often threaten to pull the bottom piece out of its Jenga tower, sending it crashing to the ground. Coppola employs multiple longs takes, all of which drag on and attract unnecessary attention to themselves, but cut just before insanity sets in. I'd heard about the film's opening scene, a long take of Johnny driving his Lamborghini round and round an oval track, and worried about its eventual length. As Johnny makes lap after lap (in a possible homage to the motorcycle race in The Brown Bunny, a film to which Somewhere owes much), I wondered how long the scene would go and how much I could handle. As my patience wore thin, I worried that it was a portent of what else the film had to offer. Right before I considered checking my watch, Johnny stopped the car and things improved from there. At least the other near-distractingly long takes offer more interesting imagery...in the form of twin pole dancers with matching tramp stamps and fold-up poles performing to Foo Fighters's "My Hero" and A. Marie's "One Thing," respectively. Now that's entertainment.

Full Frame 2011: Revised Schedule

2011-04-14T10:48:00.000-07:00

Below is my updated Full Frame schedule:

Il Capo + Buck Friday 1:10 PM
Bobby Fischer Against the World, Saturday 11:00 AM
Page One: Inside the New York Times, Saturday 2:00 PM
Tugs + Being Elmo, Saturday 4:10 PM
Junk Palace + Resurrect Dead, Saturday 7:20 PM
Magic Trip, Saturday 10:20 PM

I'm in for a lovely marathon day on Saturday and will hopefully be able to snag a few screeners for films I'd originally planned to see. Look for reviews here and follow my tweets at @tenenbaums

I Love Durham, Vol. 3

2011-03-31T09:25:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the folks at Full Frame for granting me press accreditation to their festival for the third time in four years. It's a wonderful four days of film and an event that I hope to be a part of for years to come.

This year, I've requested tickets for the following screenings:

How to Die in Oregon, Thursday 1:30 PM
Guilty Pleasures, Thursday 7:00 PM
If A Tree Falls, Friday 11:00 AM
Il Capo + Buck Friday 1:10 PM
Bobby Fischer Against the World, Saturday 11:00 AM
Page One: Inside the New York Times, Saturday 2:00 PM
Tugs + Being Elmo, Saturday 4:10 PM
Junk Palace + Resurrect Dead, Saturday 7:20 PM
Magic Trip, Saturday 10:20 PM
Tabloid, Sunday 11:00 AM

I'm most excited to see Resurrect Dead, but Tabloid (Errol Morris), Guilty Pleasures, Buck, and Being Elmo are close behind. Resurrect Dead plays at the same time as Hell and Back Again, a film about a North Carolina Marine who struggles in his return home after sustaining a serious injury in Afghanistan. It won a pair of awards at Sundance, including the World Cinema Grand Jury Prize. Hopefully I can snag a screener. I'll also miss out on Project Nim, directed by James Marsh (Man on Wire), due to prior engagements, but being a Marsh film, it will surely get a decent release.

I've done my homework this year on which films I see and nearly all of them either won awards at Sundance and/or had good buzz from screenings at SXSW. In the past, come the Sunday awards announcements, I've only seen one or two of the winners. Hopefully, I've got the major players covered and won't feel pantsed when the ~~trophies~~ envelopes are handed out.

Spring Warning!

2011-02-27T20:45:00.000-08:00

March starts on Tuesday and with it, the annual craptacular cinematic dumping ground collectively known as Spring Movies. I've written about these troubling times before, but each year I find the need to remind myself to steer clear as the bait becomes increasingly tempting.

This year, there's the usual batch of appealing stars in films that (based on their respective trailers) look like a damn good time. We've got Bradley Cooper and Robert De Niro in Limitless, which looks like a cross between Wall Street and any number of rise-and-fall cocaine kingpin movies. There's Matt Damon, Emily Blunt, Anthony Mackie, Terence Stamp, and John Slattery in The Adjustment Bureau, based on a Philip K. Dick short story and adapted by a Bourne Ultimatum writer. Matthew McConaughey returns to the courtroom (as he repeatedly noted on the Red Carpet) in The Lincoln Lawyer alongside Marisa Tomei, Ryan Phillippe, Josh Lucas, John Leguizamo, Bryan Cranston, and William H. Macy. And today the campaign began for Source Code, starring Jake Gyllenhaal, Michele Monaghan, Vera Farmiga, Jeffrey Wright, and directed by Duncan Jones, the mind behind the excellent Sam Rockwell spectacle Moon.

They all look relatively good. But the question remains: why are they being exiled to release date purgatory? Something has to be wrong with them. Trailers can be immensely entertaining, but history tells us to be wary. Remember Smart People? Stop-Loss? (I've conveniently forgotten other examples, though an old EW cover featuring Ben Affleck and Charlize Theron hawking Reindeer Games comes to mind.) They all had star power and an interesting story hook, yet all fizzled and deepened the Spring chasm. Just look at what else is coming out: Beastly, Take Me Home Tonight, and Red Riding Hood (Amanda Seyfried is the new queen of Spring)...all guaranteed flops. As I argued last year with Shutter Island, the primary exceptions to this rule are quality genre horror films that themselves transcend their genre (Zodiac, The Silence of the Lambs). I've yet to see any such example on this season's schedule.

Since Moon is still largely unknown, there's a good chance that Source Code is immune to Spring Fever and is instead the result of Summit Entertainment not knowing what to do with their young, gifted director. Still, I'm going to wait on reviews and word-of-mouth before venturing out to my local theater, and I suggest you do the same. As an alternative, it's also the time of year when solid foreign films and documentaries sneak into larger cities, so if you're in New York in late March and want to see the excellent My Perestroika, go for it.

Oscar Thoughts: Decluttered

2011-02-27T13:47:00.000-08:00

For a more organized presentation of my Oscar thoughts, I'll borrow IndieWire's format:

Best Picture
The nominees: Black Swan; The Fighter; Inception; The Kids Are All Right; The King’s Speech; 127 Hours; The Social Network; Toy Story 3; True Grit; Winter’s Bone
What will win: The King’s Speech
What might win: The Social Network
What should win: The Social Network
What shoulda been a contender: Another Year, Never Let Me Go, and Shutter Island

Best Director
The nominees: Darren Aronofsky; Joel & Ethan Coen; David Fincher; Tom Hooper; David O. Russell
Who will win: David Fincher
Who might win: Tom Hooper
Who should win: David Fincher
Who shoulda been a contender: Christopher Nolan (Inception) and Martin Scorsese (Shutter Island)

Best Actress
The nominees: Annette Bening; Nicole Kidman; Jennifer Lawrence; Natalie Portman; Michelle Williams
Who will win: Natalie Portman
Who might win: Annette Bening
Who should win: Natalie Portman (but I agree with IndieWire: it's been a great year for women in film)
Who shoulda been a contender: Julianne Moore (The Kids Are All Right), Noomi Rapace (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), Kim Hye-Ja (Mother), and Carey Mulligan (Never Let Me Go)

Best Actor
The nominees: Javier Bardem; Jeff Bridges; Jesse Eisenberg; Colin Firth; James Franco
Who will win: Colin Firth
Who might win: This one's been in the bag since last year's ceremony
Who should win: Jesse Eisenberg
Who shoulda been a contender: Jim Broadbent (Another Year) and Leonardo Dicaprio (Shutter Island)

Best Supporting Actress
The nominees: Amy Adams; Helena Bonham Carter; Melissa Leo; Hailee Steinfeld; Jacki Weaver
Who will win: Melissa Leo
Who might win: Hailee Steinfeld or Helena Bonham Carter (if there's to be a surprise, it'll be here)
Who should win: Hailee Steinfeld
Who shoulda been a contender: Greta Gerwig (Greenberg), Mila Kunis (Black Swan) and Lesley Manville (Another Year)

Best Supporting Actor
The nominees: Christian Bale; John Hawkes; Jeremy Renner; Mark Ruffalo; Geoffrey Rush
Who will win: Christian Bale
Who might win: Geoffrey Rush
Who should win: Christian Bale
Who shoulda been a contender: Matt Damon (True Grit), Tom Hardy (Inception), Armie Hammer (The Social Network), and Andrew Garfield (The Social Network)

Best Original Screenplay
The nominees: Another Year; The Fighter; Inception; The Kids Are All Right; The King’s Speech
What will win: The King’s Speech
What might win: Inception
What should win: The Kids Are All Right (give it some love, already!) or Inception
What shoulda been a contender: Greenberg

Best Adapted Screenplay
The nominees: 127 Hours; The Social Network; Toy Story 3; True Grit; Winter’s Bone
What will win: The Social Network
What might win: It's a done deal
What should win: The Social Network
What shoulda been a contender: Shutter Island, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Never Let Me Go, and Kick-Ass

Best Documentary Feature
The nominees: Exit Through the Gift Shop; Gasland; Inside Job; Restrepo; Waste Land
What will win: Restrepo
What might win: Exit Through the Gift Shop
What should win: All of them should tie
What shoulda been a contender: And Everything Is Going Fine

Best Foreign Language Film
The nominees: Biutiful; Dogtooth; In a Better World; Incendies; Outside The Law
What will win: In a Better World
What might win: Dogtooth
What should win: Dogtooth
What shoulda been a contender: Mother and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Oscar Thoughts

2011-02-26T15:55:00.000-08:00

It's Oscar time again, the culmination of what many have called a subpar year for film. But take a look at the Best Picture nominees and there's not a bad film that made the cut. It's not like last year, the first to feature ten films in the primo category, when The Blind Side (and, let's be honest, Avatar) made a quasi-travesty of the award. With 127 Hours sneaking in ahead of Ben Affleck's so-so The Town for the final spot, prestige was returned to the evening's final prize and made the category's expansion look like the good idea it was intended to be.

As a recovering awards show junkie (I skimmed the Golden Globes and all but boycotted the Grammys for the second year), I admit that little stock should be placed in something as storied as the Oscars. Many of the awards have political connotations and are the result of a relentless hype machine courtesy of the film's producers. Others are decided before the film's release or are essentially a lifetime achievement award, not necessarily the year's best but "one last chance" to give the person this long-coveted prize. But regardless of the ills of the Oscar machine, the awards are an overall force for good in the film industry. An Oscar nomination boosts the exposure of good films, and with ten Best Picture nominees, there's room for smaller titles like Winter's Bone and The Kids Are All Right to stand alongside the big boys. So yeah, I'll be watching, and here's what I'll be thinking:

It's hard to imagine that either The Kids Are All Right or Black Swan will walk away empty-handed (or, as I sadly call it after last year's catastrophe, the Up In The Air treatment). I expect Natalie Portman to win Best Actress, but Annette Bening is capable of pulling the upset. She's well-liked in Hollywood and has three prior nominations, whereas Portman "will have other chances." Back at the Golden Globes when Portman appeared to be a lock, I thought that Oscar would spread the love Tilda-Swinton-in-Michael-Clayton-style and reward the Kids script, but now it seems that The King's Speech is poised for a big sweep, which may include typical complimentary awards such as Editing, Cinematography, and, yes, Original Screenplay.

Inception is truly the most original screenplay, but as with the likes of Memento and Being John Malkovich, it will lose out to a solid but not exactly original script. (Was Gosford Park really more new and creative than Memento?) Fortunately, it will rightfully clean up in the technical categories, accomplishments that far exceed those of its fellow nominees.

Considering Mark Walhberg's efforts to bring The Fighter to the screen, I wish that he'd get the 2006 George Clooney treatment. That year, Clooney's Good Night, And Good Luck was universally well-received and nominated for multiple awards, none of which it stood a chance (i.e. Best Actor David Straithairn vs. winner Philip Seymour Hoffman of Capote). So, to reward all that Clooney did for the film (write, direct, produce, star, cater, etc.), he was given Best Supporting Actor for Syriana (not a great performance). It voters cared for Walhberg the way they did Clooney five years ago, they'd have nominated him for The Other Guys, but no, that would be silly.

Melissa Leo is good in The Fighter, but not great. With all the hype surrounding her performance, I expected about five more loud, screaming scenes than she delivered. Had the film been a small indie with little to no media attention, her work would have stood out as being solid and not too showy. It's definitely a good performance, but it's nowhere near what Christian Bale does in the same film. David O. Russell's Best Director nomination is somewhat baffling as The Fighter, unlike Three Kings and I Heart Huckabees, doesn't feel like a David O. Russell film. Instead, it feels like it could have been made by anyone. Russell's nomination blocked out Christopher Nolan, whose Inception has his stamp all over it. Nolan's ongoing directorial snubs are baffling (he was likewise omitted for The Dark Knight, likewise a directing marvel), but eight nominations, including original screenplay, is still impressive.

With ten nominations, True Grit seems poised to win a few statuettes. The great Roger Deakins should take the Cinematography category (hello Career Achievement award!), and while they could take a few more technical categories, Hailee Steinfeld remains a strong contender for Best Supporting Actress. It's the same category where Tatum O'Neal and Anna Paquin won, and, more recently, where Abigail Breslin and Saoirse Ronan were nominated. Despite the nomination controversy (her Mattie Ross is unquestionably the film's lead), Steinfeld's performance is the best in the category and belongs alongside the above award-winning young women.

It's frustrating that The Social Network could conceivably end up with merely two Oscars. Aaron Sorkin's script and the score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross are locks, but not too long ago so was the film and director David Fincher. The latter is still the front-runner, but The King's Speech's Tom Hooper is very much capable of snatching it from him. It's shocking that a film so well-made and current will likely lose to a pleasant period piece. The King's Speech is an undeniably good film, but each year seems to bring a quality British film (An Education, The Queen) that, though well-received, are incapable of transcending the limitations inherent of charming British films.

As in years past, the Documentary category features films that played at Durham's Full Frame Festival, further strengthening the prestige of those four magical days in April. Waiting for "Superman" is nowhere to been seen, but Full Frame winners Restrepo and Waste Land are there alongside the is-it-a-documentary(?) Exit Through the Gift Shop. I've yet to see Inside Job and Gasland, but considering the subject matter and the gutsy way in which directors Sebastian Junger and Tim Heatherington entrenched themselves with their soldier subjects, it seems likely that, while Banksy is tagging the outside of the Kodak Theater, Restrepo will claim the award.

Last year, in Bridges-Firth I, The Dude beat Mr. Darcy when the latter's turn in A Single Man was actually better than the former's in Crazy Heart. For ~~Rocky-Creed II~~ Bridges-Firth II, there's another switcheroo. Firth's King Edward is a solid performance, but not as wonderful as Bridges's Rooster Cogburn (a kind of older/wiser but still wild/unpredictable Dude in the Old (mid-)West. But since the Academy went all Career Achievement for Crazy Heart, it's Firth's turn this year and there's no way he loses (even if the real showdown should be between Jesse Eisenberg and James Franco, but we'll revisit that match-up in the next ten years).

And for the first time in my thirteen years of Oscar viewing, I've seen all of the nominees in the Animated Short and Live Action Short categories. Thanks to the always fabulous Carolina Cinemas across the street, I saw all ten (plus two "Highly Commended" animated shorts) over three hours for one low ticket price. (iTunes has each film for purchase at $1.99 a pop. Rip-off!) My favorite animated short is "Madagascar, a Journey Diary." It blends numerous animation styles (stop-motion, hand-drawn, rotoscope, computer...that's as far as my vocab goes), many of which feature stunning cinematography (can you call it that when it's animated?) while documenting a young man's visit to the African island nation. Shaun Tan's "The Lost Thing" is equally stunning in its originality (if you're unfamiliar with Tan's work, such as the wild illustrations of The Arrival, it's well worth investigating) and I've got mad love for "Day & Night," Pixar's best since maybe "Geri's Game" (and that's saying something). "Let's Pollute" is fun in its hyperbole infomercial style and "The Gruffalo" boasts children's book prestige and a voice cast featuring Helena Bonham Carter, John Hurt, Robbie Coltrane (Hagrid!), and Tom Wilkinson. But "Madagascar, a Journey Diary" and "The Lost Thing" are exceptional animated works and no star power can deny that.

For Live Action, there's plenty of quality, arguably more so than in the Animated category. "Na Wewe" is a fast, brutal experience at a roadside stop during the Hutu-Tutsi conflict. "The Confession," possibly the most effective of the bunch, begins with light-hearted humor concerning a boy's first communion before tumbling into tragedy. But of the five, it's the three comedic entries that most stand out. The black and white "God of Love" quirkily follows an unassuming modern cupid as he eases into his bow and arrows. "Wish 143" nearly goes over the edge comedically with a teenage cancer patient's Make A Wish request to lose his virginity, but reels it in with the heartwarming efforts of a caring straight-man priest. They're all strong films, but for the most consistently entertainment, look to "The Crush." The tale of an 8-year-old boy's willingness to go to great lengths for his teacher's affections has immense humor and heart, and is essentially a solid short story adapted for the screen. It has just the right amount of tension as it builds toward its stunning conclusion, and it definitely gets my vote.

Elsewhere, bet your life's saving on Toy Story 3 taking Best Animated Feature and I'd love to see the challenging Dogtooth win Best Foreign Film. For Costume Design and Art Direction, I'll be rolling dice and flipping coins just like you.

Third Time's the Charm

2011-02-08T08:49:00.000-08:00

From the time I first read about The Squid and the Whale, back when writer/director Noah Baumbach was better known to me as the co-writer of The Life Aquatic, I've wanted to like it. Premiering at Sundance 2005, it won both a directing and a writing award, and the trailer looked amazing. But when I actually saw the film, I was unimpressed. Here's what I said five years ago:

"[W]hile I was hyped on 'The Squid and the Whale' and it has been receiving multiple critics award, I was kind of relieved that it wasn't on Ebert or either of the EW critics' Top 10 lists. I need to see it again. Jeff Daniels' character was very convincing, but the film felt too forced...and so damn short (80 minutes)! 'Troopie Love' [my baseball documentary] was 62 minutes..."

Clearly, I saw promise. I wasn't ready to write it off completely. So when it came out on DVD, I gave it another shot and the results were nearly identical to the first go-round, if not more off-putting. The scenes in which Frank, the preteen and youngest son (played by Owen Kline), responds to his parents' divorce in his own unique ways (masturbating at school, spreading semen on books and a girl's locker, drinking alcohol, playing with condoms...all over stark, '70s drug movie music) disturbed me to greater effect and felt increasingly out of place in an otherwise calm film. As a whole, I simply didn't see what the big deal was and shelved the film indefinitely, citing the Frank sequences as reasons for dismissal.

I didn't give up on Baumbach, though. I caught up with his first feature, Kicking and Screaming, which put its hooks in me when it got the Criterion treatment in 2006. I went into Margot at the Wedding hesitant, wary that there would be more Frank-ish scenes, but the movie was a pleasant surprise, as was Greenberg, Baumbach's 2010 film with Ben Stiller (that I saw back in September but have yet to write about...oops...). The Squid and the Whale would occasionally pop up in conversation and I'd defend my stance, but as time passed, I was increasingly willing to revisit it. I'd given up on P.T. Anderson's Punch-Drunk Love after two viewings, but there was far more potential in Squid than in that overrated dung heap. (Watch, I'll probably be writing my apology letter to that film in the next few years.)

Then The Social Network came out and I loved it. Jesse Eisenberg, who plays older brother Walt in Squid, is marvelous as the "character Mark Zuckerberg." He didn't wow me in Squid, and he was only OK in Zombieland and Adventureland (that latter of which is an extremely overrated movie), but also in 2010 I had the pleasure of seeing his debut in the excellent Campbell Scott tour de force Roger Dodger. Combined, his first and most recent turns gave me a newfound respect for Eisenberg and I felt ready to go after Squid once more.

I'm so glad that I did. Since I've always wanted to like the film, I don't feel like I ever handicapped it by going in with a bias (other than lofty expectations), but this time, for whatever reason, everything clicked. The film felt like a New Yorker story, populated with interesting characters, witty dialogue, and a tight structure (hence the short running time!). Bernard (Daniels)'s pretentious quips hit with more sting than before and the brothers' divergent responses to their parents' divorce felt more distinct and warranted, thereby making the Frank scenes far more tolerable. Even the regular "my brother"s from hipster tennis pro Ivan (William Baldwin), funny the first few times, felt magnified. By the end, the story felt complete and ready to reach a fulfilling conclusion, which it did.

As the credits rolled and I reveled in Loudon Wainwright III's superb "Swimming Song," I sat on the sofa, perplexed at why my former selves were unable to grasp the film's greatness. Maybe it's a sign of growing up. Recently, I've felt like I can discern themes from films (i.e. 127 Hours) and books (i.e. Log of the S.S. the Mrs. Unguentine) far better than when I was an undergraduate. Perhaps that's the secret to my enjoyment of The Squid and the Whale. Many readers believe that you never truly re-read a book because each time you come to the text, you're a different person and the changes that have taken place since the previous read will give you a slightly different perspective on the work. I guess it's the same for films, too.