Walk This Way

A review of Man on Wire.

Man on Wire, a documentary directed by James Marsh, chronicles the incredible feat of Philippe Petit. (Yes, let’s all throw paper airplanes at me for the unintentional though clearly avoidable rhyme.) On August 7, 1974, Philippe Petit wirewalked across the terrifying expanse of nothingness between the barely completed Twin Towers in New York City. The political landscape of the moment – i.e., the imminent resignation of President Nixon and a nation consumed by the dishonesty and obfuscation of its leadership, provides an evocative context for Petit's single-minded focus on a seemingly purposeless goal.

The film does an excellent job building dramatic tension out of a story without suspense (we all know Petit came, he saw, he wirewalked). Similar to the way Titanic’s graphic reenactment of the ship splitting in two prepared the audience for what was to come, so too did seeing Petit’s actual wirewalks at Notre Dame and in Sydney, Australia. The film also utilizes dramatic re-creations of wirewalking, which are at times effective and at other times seem a bit cheesy. However, seeing the guerilla-esque preparations along with having the visual of those first two exploits makes it a little bit easier to wrap your brain around the truly remarkable nature of what is to come.

But the act of wirewalking is not the only mesmerizing aspect of Man on Wire. Philippe Petit is himself a force of nature with whom one does not really relate so much as witness. Petit's charisma almost vibrates off the screen, and the reverent manner in which his accomplices describe him even now, more than thirty years later, suggests that he is a kind of cult-inspiring figure. There is a magnetism to his charm that helps us to understand how people were pulled into his orbit and why a man like Jean-Louis would be reduced to tears when recalling his participation. Present-day Petit himself is interviewed on screen, giving us a more three-dimensional sense of his presence, though the most revelatory image of Petit is that of him deep in concentration, in the act of wirewalking between the Twin Towers. It's almost as if he has transcended to another dimension of consciousness.

The footage of Petit actually wirewalking between the Twin Towers would be compelling in and of itself, without the tragedy of September 11th. But being able to peek back into the past and see the Twin Towers when they were nascent creations, in their final stage of construction, is just plain eerie, as one watches from an inescapable post-9/11 perspective. In particular, there is one shot of Petit as he is traversing the wire and a jet crosses overhead. I believe this was a still photo in which the plane hovers, seemingly mere feet above Petit’s head. It seemed to almost portend the danger that would come with the turn of the 21^st century.

The filmmakers try to create an atmosphere of danger in the smuggling of the equipment to the roof of the Twin Towers, the illegal nature of the act itself and the exposure of the accomplices to liability. In this, they do not fully succeed, but that has more to do with the subject of the film than the filmmakers' effort. For, while Petit's act was breathtaking and beautiful, it was also phenomenally reckless. When you get right down to it, Petit is an incredibly selfish figure. What he did was ultimately for himself and in reality put a large number of people in great danger, not only his accomplices, but those souls watching from the sidewalks below. While the experience of watching the wirewalk undoubtedly gave those who saw it a great deal of pleasure for those brief moments, it was a fleeting pleasure, one that could hardly compare with the exhilaration felt by Petit during and after that wirewalk.

The title, Man on Wire, we learn in the end is less about the clever play on words it evokes than the surrealism of the feat portrayed, as the words are lifted directly from the police report indicting the fantastical act of Philippe Petit. How else to describe what they had witnessed that day? And in that same vein, rather than reading a description of this film, I urge you to see it on the big screen and experience Petit's act for yourself. If the foregoing hasn't been enough to convince you, see it because any movie that has a credit for an "archery consultant" has got to be worth your time.

Pantsed.

A review of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2.

As a self-avowed chick and a lover of flicks, a chick flick like The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 (Pants 2) is tailor made for me. (Pun fully intended; groans fully expected.) Adapted by Elizabeth Chandler (who also wrote the first film) from Ann Brashares' series of novels (which I fully disclose I have never read) and directed by Sanaa Hamri (Something New), Pants 2 delivers exactly what it promises to. It's a solid chick flick that entertains, amuses and tear jerks, all in good measure. Pants 2 is well executed in that as a whole, it is greater than the sum of its parts, which is a somewhat remarkable accomplishment when one considers the talent assembled to make the film – the four members of the “sisterhood” are played by Alexis Bledel, Amber Tamblyn, Blake Lively and America Ferrara, who have each starred in or are currently starring in their very own drama series.

Pants 2 follows the story of lifelong friends Lena, Tibby, Bridget and Carmen, picking up two summers after Pants 1, when the girls have just finished their freshman years at college. They each have selected a course of action for the summer that matches one of their passions – Lena is studying figure drawing (and the class’ attractive male model), Tibby is focused on filmmaking, trying to write a romantic comedy script at the same time her relationship with Brian couldn’t be more dissimilar from that genre, Bridget enrolls in an archaeology program in Turkey, only to discover that the culture she has the most to learn about is closer to home and Carmen finally learns to put herself first and flourishes in a summer stock Shakespeare leading role. They endure their fair share of heartache and joy, angst and triumph.

Pants 2 approaches the original movie in quality, but doesn't quite get there. The transitions between the four stories are not nearly as well executed or seamless as they were in Pants 1. Part of the reason for this is that it felt like the filmmakers were just trying to cram too much story into one movie and something or someone needed to take a backseat. Of course, given the fairly equal star power of each of the lead actresses, this clearly wasn't going to happen. So the film ends up feeling like the screen time of each of the girl's stories was meticulously calibrated. And instead, it was the pants themselves that took a back seat. Unlike in the first film, the pants' role felt shoehorned in, which made the last act of Pants 2 jarring, as its action is primarily motivated by the pants.

The strength of the film is that the four leads work well together, and the best scenes are the ones that feature them actually physically interacting. In particular, the relationship between Tibby and Carmen translates across the screen in a very real manner, just as it did in Pants 1. There is love and pathos, and they have the kind of fights that anyone with a true best friend can identify with. Lena comes into her own in her relationships with Kostos and the other girls, and Alexis plays her with great warmth, heart and humor. Amber Tamblyn has long been a favorite of mine, and her Tibby feels very real, although her story moves a little bit too slowly. Bridget's, on the other hand, feels rushed and plays the weakest, through no fault of Blake Lively's performance, as her path is almost too linear and predictable and a bit of a retread of her journey in Pants 1. Finally, America Ferrara's Carmen not only anchors the movie with her voiceover narrative, but is also the soul of the tale. While Carmen's easy success in the theatre is not necessarily something everyone can identify with, her struggle to find a place to belong is, and America translates it beautifully.

Speaking of beauty, one complaint about Pants 2 – it's a focus I can't seem to stray from: each of the girls always looked so good and perfectly coiffed this time that it was a little bit distracting. Even the pony tail Blake Lively wore in her scenes digging around in archeology pits was flawless. And don't get me started on Lena's little sister, Effie's, hair. Every time she was on screen, I found myself wondering if they had flatironed that 'do, probably not where the filmmakers' would've liked my focus to be. I will admit that my focus also strayed whenever Tom Wisdom's Ian appeared (Carmen's love interest), because he resembles Keanu Reeves to such a remarkable degree that I could only think to myself "Whoa." (I know, I know, insert more groans here: _______.)

In conclusion, while Pants 2 may be a bit too formulaic, or hew a little too closely to pattern, if you will, overall, it was a great deal of fun to see at a matinee. I left the movie feeling happy, having had a solid cinematic experience. I highly recommend grabbing a gal pal (or dragging a captive boy – I guarantee you there's adequate eye candy) and legging it to the theater (couldn’t resist inducing one last groan – all good things come in threes) before it fades into the sunset of summer's end.

Summer Lovin'

A review of Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (“VCB”) is an appealing trifle of a movie. It’s like the ice cream cone you get at the end of a hot summer’s day that you don’t really need. But since it’s so much fun to try a new flavor and add some decadent toppings, you figure why not? No harm, no foul, and since when are ice cream cones about need anyway? This is VCB in a nutshell – it’s a very entertaining film that won’t change your life, but will certainly amuse and brighten your day. Seeing VCB is time well spent.

A bit of a disclaimer before I go any further: I am no Woody Allen expert. I have seen a number of his films (yes, including Annie Hall), but I am by no means a completist. So I cannot evaluate VCB as it may compare to the complete Woody Allen oeuvre.

That being established, VCB is a movie unabashedly preoccupied with love. Vicky (Rebecca Hall, most familiar to me from Starter for Ten) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson, Woody Allen’s latest go-to muse) are friends who have traveled together to spend July and August at the Barcelona home of Vicky’s parents’ friends, Judy and Mark Nash (Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn). Vicky is taking a vacation from her graduate studies in Catalan identity and her impending marriage to successful-but-boring Doug and Cristina has decided that she hates the twelve minute film to which she just devoted six months of her life, leaving her future as an actress in turmoil. They both fall for irresistibly sexy artist Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem, who seems to smolder from every pore), and coupling, uncoupling and recoupling ensues, as Vicky and Cristina simultaneously try to expand and reconcile their notions of love.

VCB skillfully sets the tone of the film from the opening moments via the Narrator (I feel the need to capitalize “Narrator” because he truly plays a pivotal role). At first, I found the narration jarring. But once I realized this wasn’t a Morgan Freeman g-d-like figure narrating, rather, the Narrator was almost commenting on the story as it was unfolding, I embraced him (especially for livening up the Scarlett Johansson-centric moments; we’ll get to that). The narration is a very specific stylistic choice, through both the words and the tone voiced, offering just the right degree of sardonic disdain.

The performances are, for the most part, laudable. Rebecca Hall as Vicky gives a wonderful, understated performance. In the wrong hands, Vicky could’ve been a tiresomely annoying character, and it is to Hall’s credit that I always looked forward to seeing her resurface in the tale. Of course, partial credit for that may also go to the wooden Scarlett Johansson, who could not have been more flat, uninspiring and, let’s be honest here, simply boring. Her Cristina is supposed to be a woman who enraptures Javier Bardem’s Juan Antonio, a passionate artist. I never bought it. (Maybe she was trying so hard to portray her character as a bad actress that it affected her whole performance? Or maybe she’s just bad.) Moving on, Patricia Clarkson and Kevin Dunn were serviceable in their roles, but they mainly served as expository crutches and tools for the expression of plot contrivances.

The highest praise must be reserved for both Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz, who plays his ex-wife, Maria Elena. Bardem plays Juan Antonio with an effortlessness and sense of fun that elevates a character who could’ve been hopelessly two-dimensional in lesser hands. Similarly, Cruz inhabits Maria Elena fearlessly, transforming a potentially stereotypical shrew into a fully-realized fiery force of nature. The interplay between the two of them raises the film to another level entirely and is a pleasure to watch. In particular, Juan Antonio repeatedly exhorts Maria Elena to “Speak English!”, a highly amusing bit that you must see to fully appreciate.

VCB was fairly well-paced, dragging only when its focus lingered too long on Cristina (we get it, Woody, you’ve got a thing for Scarlett, but for the sake of your art, can you move on to maybe someone more interesting like… Penélope Cruz?). The climactic scene (for which Scarlett is, appropriately, absent) pushes the limits in terms of the tone of the film, but provides for a satisfying, if predictable, denouement. So if you’re looking for a diversion from the world as you know it, VCB is worth the price of admission, as well as the 97 minutes of your life. Just say sí.