dezervision

Taking Care of Business.

2010-07-06T18:01:00.000-07:00

A review of Get Low.

There are certain pleasures in life, like soaking in a hot, relaxing bath until your fingers are prune-y, that you don’t always make time for, but when you actually do, you never regret it. Seeing Get Low is one of those pleasures. Get Low, written by Chris Provenzano (story and screenplay), C. Gaby Mitchell (screenplay) and Scott Seeke (story) and directed by Aaron Schneider (Oscar winner in 2004 for the short live action film Two Soldiers), is the epitome of what an independent film should be: an affecting, original, character-driven story that doesn’t require the distraction of car chases or massive CGI to entertain the viewer. Get Low is memorable for its unique characters, its atypical setting, its remarkable performances and the overall high level of creativity and craft with which it is executed.

Set in 1935 in East Tennessee, Get Low is based on the true tale of legendary hermit Felix “Bush” Breazeale (Robert Duvall) and the funeral party he threw for himself while still living. Get Low explores how the much-feared and reviled Felix planned and executed the shindig at which he raffled off his sizeable parcel of land. He finds willing accomplices in his strange endeavor to “get low” aka “get down to business” in the fiscally savvy Frank Quinn (Bill Murray), owner of Quinn Funeral Homes and Frank’s honest, good-hearted apprentice, Buddy (Lucas Black). As part of Felix’s journey to reconcile his life, he encounters and must make peace with Mattie Darrow (Sissy Spacek), a woman from his past, and Reverend Charlie Jackson (Bill Cobbs), among others.

While Get Low presents Felix as a typical mean old coot, a role he is all too happy to play to the general public, the beauty of the film is in peeling back Felix’s layers to reveal his unexpected back story. Get Low refreshingly refuses to spoon feed its audience. Instead, it utilizes the kind of detailed storytelling that requires the viewer to pay close attention. (A word of warning, however, that close attention must also be directed to the sound, as some dialogue is softly delivered and easy to miss.) Such attention is rewarded by a cleverly written, beautifully shot, skillfully directed, intimate film. The ambling pace and drawn out revelation of Felix’s history may feel a bit slow at times, but this is probably more due to the hyberbolic, hyperactive expectations of cinema that pre-fabricated movies like Clash of the Titans and Transformers have engendered in us. In the viewing of Get Low, patience has its virtues.

Among those many virtues are the strong, entertaining performances of the entire cast. Robert Duvall is heartbreakingly hilarious as Felix. As written, the character is singularly unique, and as brought to life by Mr. Duvall, he is engaging, infuriating at times and even charming at others. Bill Murray is pitch-perfect as the proprietor of Quinn Funeral Homes. Mr. Murray conveys more in a wordless moment than some actors can in an entire performance. His timing, both comic and dramatic, is impeccable, and he skillfully balances Frank’s self-interested and altruistic tendencies with subtlety. Sissy Spacek elevates an already top-notch cast -- her Mattie’s presence is warm, her soul so sad. Lucas Black’s Buddy is described by Frank as the “heart of Quinn Funeral Home,” but he could also aptly be described as the heart of the film. Buddy is a character who could have been cloying in his earnestness, but instead, Mr. Black underplayed him, making him someone you want to spend more time with on the screen. Finally, if Buddy is the heart of the film, then Bill Cobbs’ Charlie is its moral center, but without being preachy (remarkable for one playing a reverend) or self-righteous. Mr. Cobbs gives a memorable, biting performance.

Get Low is the kind of movie that reminds you that filmmaking is an art. It’s a film that nicely weaves together moments of humor with moments of darkness. So get ahead of the curve in this year’s Oscar prognosticating and jump into the darkness of your local theater to see Get Low when it opens (on July 30, 2010). Join me in sending a message to the “greenlighters” of movies to make more of this kind of film: (To paraphrase Felix Bush): “No damn trespassing [on our intellect.] Beware of mule.”

Seminal Issue.

2010-06-29T18:55:00.000-07:00

A review of The Kids Are All Right.

My take on The Kids Are All Right (“TKAAR”), written by Lisa Cholodenko (Laurel Canyon, High Art) and Stuart Blumberg (The Girl Next Door, Keeping the Faith) and directed by Lisa Cholodenko, can aptly be compared to my feelings about the Obama presidency thus far: it was eagerly anticipated and highly touted, but, likely because expectations were so high, it failed to live up to the hype. While there are a fair number of elements to enjoy, appreciate and even admire, overall, the experience of seeing TKAAR, like the experience of being led by the Obama administration, isn’t all it was cracked up to be.

TKAAR tells the story of a long-married lesbian couple, Nic (Annette Bening) and Jules (Julianne Moore), who have two teenagers, Joni (Mia Wasikowksa) and Laser (Josh Hutcherson) and the disruption to the harmony of their family caused by newly-18-year-old Joni’s decision, at younger brother Laser’s urging, to seek out the sperm donor who “fathered” them. The donor, Paul (Mark Ruffalo), is more than happy to make contact with the kids and tries to establish a relationship with each member of the family, who respond with varying degrees of receptiveness. The drama plays out over the summer before Joni is to leave for college. The summer is fraught with tensions and fears over what growing up and moving on means for everyone, which are only exacerbated by the introduction of interloper Paul.

TKAAR is a smartly written, sharply directed film with rich, flawed, multi-dimensional characters. It captures the growing pains of a family wrestling with the adolescence of not only its children, but also its marriage, in a realistic and heartfelt manner. TKAAR does a particularly good job of depicting the struggle, through Joni, of a kid on the precipice of adulthood trying to differentiate herself from her family unit and overcome the anxiety wrapped up in leaving the proverbial nest. Joni’s dramatics feel a bit over-the-top at times, but then again, so do most teenage girls.

Less successful is the portrayal of the stagnation of a long-term marriage. From the first scene, Jules felt like she was another of Nic’s children (which was likely due in equal parts to the way the character was written and the way Julianne Moore chose to play the role), and given how whiny and self-indulgent they both were, it was difficult to see what made them ever work as a happy couple. There were moments during the film when I consciously wondered who I was rooting for, because none of the characters were likeable. For me, this was the central weakness of the film. I enjoy watching flawed, complex characters, but my personal preference is to have a character to get behind. For the most part, Joni was that type of character and occasionally Nic was as well, but Jules became so frustrating to watch that she was no longer funny.

There is, however, a great deal of humor in the film. TKAAR successfully uses levity to lighten the load that the heavy themes impose. And the performances are tremendous. Annette Bening is terrific as Nic; she truly inhabits her role and made me love her in the end despite her flaws. Mark Ruffalo disappears into his portrayal of Paul and made a very selfish, unlikeable character entertaining to watch. Both Mia Wasikowska and Josh Hutcherson made their teenage characters relatable, sympathetic and layered. The weakest link was Julianne Moore’s Jules, also the most difficult character to capture. Jules is a free spirit who hasn’t quite grown up and there were scenes where Ms. Moore achieved authenticity in her performance and other scenes where Jules felt more like a caricature, as though Ms. Moore was playing at her rather than playing her, which made it much more difficult to relate to Jules.

In the end, the movie for me paralleled Ms. Moore’s performance -- it was strong in parts, but just didn’t always hit its mark. I have mixed feelings about TKAAR. It’s the kind of movie that I feel like I’m supposed to love, but didn’t. What I do love is that a movie like TKAAR, an independent film with a smart script that has a point of view, is being made (especially in this summer schlockfest we are in the midst of). TKAAR is certainly far more worthy of viewing than at least 90% of what’s at the box office right now. The higher my expectations for a film, the higher my standards are. So I encourage you to check it out TKAAR and other indie films for yourself. Because just like with the Obama administration, there’s always hope that the next thing will fulfill, or even exceed, our expectations.

Lotso Good Buzz

2010-06-28T17:32:00.000-07:00

A review of Toy Story 3.

There are some things you can always count on: You will always spill something dark and sticky on white pants; you will always be hungry half an hour after eating Chinese food; and you will always, always leave the theater smiling (and probably humming) when you go to see a Pixar movie. Toy Story 3, written by Michael Arndt (Little Miss Sunshine), John Lasseter (Cars, Toy Story 2, Toy Story), Andrew Stanton (WALL-E, Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc.) and Lee Unkrich (Finding Nemo, Monsters, Inc., Toy Story 2) and directed by Lee Unkrich, continues Pixar’s unblemished streak of original, clever and downright moving films.

Set about ten years after Toy Story 2 (which approximates real time, as it was released in 1999), Toy Story 3 continues the story of Andy and his toys, following the consequences for all of them of Andy’s imminent departure for college. Because Andy must pack up his entire room to make way for little sister Molly to move in, Andy is confronted with the difficult decision of what to do with toys that no longer plays with, but which still hold a great deal of sentimental value. And by the same token, his toys, corralled as always by steadfast leader Woody, must survive a dangerous adventure into the unexpectedly hostile territory of a local daycare center. Themes of duty, loyalty and selflessness play prominently amidst the amusing hijinx of old favorites Buzz Lightyear, the Potato Heads, Rex, Slinky Dog, new friends Ken and Chatter Telephone and many, many others.

I should provide a disclaimer, in case you couldn’t already tell, that I am an unabashed lover of Pixar movies. As far as I’m concerned, Up was the best film of 2009. I think that the artists and writers at Pixar handle story and character better than just about any filmmakers -- including both animated and live action films. Toy Story 3 is yet another example of their ability to create sophisticated stories that entertain at multiple levels and appeal to children and adults of all ages. There are great callbacks, winks and nods to adults and some of the funniest “potty” humor -- which will appeal to both sixty and six-year-olds.

The vocal talent employed for every character is outstanding. Tom Hanks and Tim Allen infuse Woody and Buzz with warmth and heart and inhabit them, never allowing their own personas to overshadow the characters. Newcomer-to-the-franchise Ned Beatty is terrific as Lotso, as is everyone new (Michael Keaton as Ken, Timothy Dalton as Mr. Pricklepants) and old (Don Rickles as Mr. Potato Head, Estelle Harris as Mrs. Potato Head, Wallace Shawn as Rex, John Ratzenberger as Hamm, etc. etc. etc.). The animation is vibrant and exciting. In particular, the specificity of the movement and detail of the Ken and Barbie dolls was impressive. However, I will note that I saw the 3D version and don’t know that my visual experience was significantly enhanced by it; the 2D version should be just as enjoyable (especially given the sky high price for 3D movie tickets).

Toy Story 3 should also be just as enjoyable for someone who has never seen the first two movies in the Toy Story franchise as for someone who has. While I’ve seen both films, it’s been many years since I’ve watched either and it did not detract from my movie-going experience. Toy Story 3 is more than just a fun movie, it shares important lessons about sticking by your friends, doing for others and knowing when to let go. Only the most cynical will not be made a little bit misty by the end of the film, but it’s not a sadness that weighs upon the heart, rather, a recognition of a shared experience that resonates. You are only depriving yourself if you choose not to see Toy Story 3; is the first must-see movie of the summer, if not the year.

Queen for a Day... or 23,227

2009-10-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

A review of The Young Victoria.

Like a rich, high quality milk shake, The Young Victoria is the kind frothy good fun with substance that makes me grin. It will appeal to anyone who enjoys seeing a well-made film, but it will particularly delight those who are fans of historical dramas and/or intelligent romances. Written by Julian Fellowes (Gosford Park) and directed by Jean-Marc Vallée, The Young Victoria is a wonderful film that makes for an immensely-satisfying movie-going experience. While it will not thrill or surprise you with plot twists, it will more than entertain for each of its 100 minutes with a well constructed story that is well paced, well cast and well acted.

The title of The Young Victoria is fairly self-explanatory to its plot: it tells the story of Queen Victoria's ascent to the throne of England's monarchy from a year before her coronation through her early missteps as a young, inexperienced queen to her love affair with and eventual marriage to Prince Albert. The film focuses on the relationships that Victoria (Emily Blunt) developed with various influential figures in her life – from her mother (Miranda Richardson) to her governess (Jeanette Hain) to her uncle, King William IV (Jim Broadbent), whom she succeeded, to Lord Melbourne (Paul Bettany) to Prince Albert (Rupert Friend) to finally, last, but not least, her beloved King Charles Spaniel, Dash.

Emily Blunt is terrific as Victoria. She plays the stages of her maturation in a realistic, sympathetic way, believably conveying the charming and self-possessed attractive side of Victoria, as well as the thoughtful and uncertain side and the less attractive impulsive and obstinate aspects of her character. The one area of weakness in Ms. Blunt's performance was her portrayal of the young, almost-childlike, sheltered Victoria in the pre-coronation part of the tale. It was simply harder to buy, as Ms. Blunt's appearance and demeanor is naturally a bit more mature. The rest of the cast was similarly strong. It was not at all difficult to imagine how Victoria could have fallen head over heels for Rupert Friend's (Chéri) Prince Albert. He managed to convey a great deal not only through his words, but through his soulful eyes that mesmerized from behind a mess of facial hair that made him unrecognizable to this passionate Pride & Prejudice (2005) fan as the nefarious Mr. Wickham from that production. Similarly, Paul Bettany so inhabited the role of Lord Melbourne that he was unrecognizable – in a good way. And Jim Broadbent deserves special mention for his portrayal of King William IV – he was simultaneously hilarious and frighteningly out of control at certain moments.

Those moments of King William IV's royal bellowing may provide the only true suspense to anyone who knows anything at all about British History, but you do not choose to see a movie like The Young Victoria to find out what will happen next, but rather to experience how the story will unfold, and the film tells its tale splendidly. The masterful pacing of the story is a credit both to Mr. Fellowes and Mr. Vallée. The use of the correspondence between Victoria and Albert to frame the story in narration worked very nicely and was well-balanced; it never felt overdone. In fact, no aspect of the story ever felt dwelled upon for too long. The Young Victoria was the rare movie whose end came before I was ready for it to be over. I would've gladly spent more time with Queen Victoria, especially if it meant gazing further upon Mr. Friend's Albert.

Lovely though he may be, Mr. Friend was not the only delightful sight in The Young Victoria. One expects the costumes in a period film to be elaborate, but the costumes in this movie (designed by Sandy Powell, Oscar Winner for The Aviator and Shakespeare in Love) were exquisite: intricate without being overblown and memorable without overshadowing the characters. Of particular note is the rose-adorned gown Victoria wears to the first ball after her coronation. Were I ever to have the opportunity to attend a royal ball, I believe that would be my first choice in attire.

Barring an opportunity to attend a royal ball with Mr. Friend, seeing The Young Victoria is a first rate way to spend an evening. The movie does not open for even limited release until December, but we (that would be the "royal we") highly recommend that you seek it out when it does.

The Boys Are Back... and So Am I

2009-10-04T17:23:00.000-07:00

A review of The Boys Are Back.

[Apologies for the extremely long gap between reviews. With the awards season for films heating up once again, this site will be updated on a much more regular basis.]

Seeing The Boys Are Back, adapted by Alan Cubitt from a memoir by Simon Carr, and directed by Scott Hicks (Shine, Snow Falling on Cedars), is kind of like having a store-bought chocolate chip cookie. It doesn't quite rate the way a homemade chocolate chip cookie does, but when you're really in the mood for a cookie, it satisfies the craving and you don't regret eating it afterward. The Boys Are Back, possibly the most unfittingly-titled movie in recent memory (seriously, is there anyone who doesn't automatically think of the identically-named song as well as the Woody and Buzz sequence in Toy Story that uses that song when you hear the title?), is a quality film that you will in no way regret seeing, but I boldly venture to predict that it will not be the best film you will see in 2009. Clive Owen's performance, on the other hand, may soon enough be advertised as "award-winning," and award-worthy it is, but we'll get to that in due time.

The Boys Are Back tells the story of Joe Warr (Clive Owen), a successful sports journalist who loses his young wife, Katy (Laura Fraser), to cancer and is left to cluelessly raise his six-year-old son, Artie (Nicholas McAnulty), on his own. Joe's parenting philosophy to "just say yes" and live in "hog heaven" works for a while, until the arrival of Joe's fifteen-year-old son from a previous marriage, Harry (George MacKay). Harry's visit both complicates and illuminates the inadequacies of Joe's parenting style, forcing Joe to confront the damage he has inflicted with the mistakes that he has made and continues to make.

Clive Owen gives a remarkable performance as Joe, as he brings real humanity and soul to the role. There are times when Joe does or says things that are patently unlikeable and it's a credit to Mr. Owen's talent (as well as Mr. Hicks' direction) that you still root for Joe to turn it around, make the better choice, say the right thing, even in those moments. George MacKay (seen most recently giving a noteworthy performance in Defiance) also merits special mention for his portrayal of Harry. As Harry, Mr. MacKay conveyed such an enormous amount of heartache and heartbreak merely through a doleful look at his father that I challenge you not to have the impulse to want to hug him fiercely. And while Mr. McAnulty did a fine job as little Artie, his large role in the film reminded me of the many reasons why I generally dislike child actors, through no fault of their own. I find that, with few exceptions, child actors tend to be coached into being a version of themselves onscreen and thus occasionally their performances feel false, and this was such a case. There were moments when Artie would say or do something to his dad that was designed to have a particular impact, and I would have to force myself to focus on watching Joe so as not to feel quite as manipulated.

Another form of manipulation that The Boys Are Back relied upon was the device of a narration that bookended the film. I found it unnecessary and distracting. Some narrators have their place and add something beyond exposition to their stories with their disembodied voices. Unfortunately, not so much with Mr. Owen's narration. While it was helpful in delineating Joe's terribly sad situation quickly, it felt somehow out of sync with the tone of the rest of the movie. In addition, I wasn't crazy about the choice to have Joe actually see and converse with his deceased wife in certain situations – it also felt like a manipulative device. I admit that I could be biased by the esteem I hold for HBO's Six Feet Under and its skillful use of that contrivance, but I did find it to be an overt way for Joe to express sentiments that otherwise might not have been verbally explicated. I contend that they might not have needed such explication, as we the audience could have been trusted to understand what was being spelled out by watching and connecting with the emotion of the surrounding scenes.

In addition to being comprised of well-constructed, emotionally rich scenes, the physical scenery of the film was exquisite. Shot in South Australia and England, The Boys Are Back was beautifully shot and contains a number of visually stunning sequences. But despite the fact that you may have recognized while watching that you enjoyed what you were looking at, the film never felt like it was showing you the story, rather, it kept you involved in the story. You really felt that you knew the individuals and their relationships and their pain, which is a credit to the great skill of Mr. Hicks' direction.

Mr. Hicks also did an excellent job balancing the tone of The Boys Are Back. It is a tragic story that doesn't wallow in its tragedy, but rather, embraces a fair amount of humor and even a few heartwarming moments, particularly in the development of the relationship between the two brothers. Mr. Hicks also did a nice job of pacing what could've been a very slow film. It feels a bit long in the first half or so, but picks up nicely after that.

Overall, The Boys Are Back is more than worth your time, but be forewarned that while it may win awards for its performances, it will not win the moniker of the "feel good movie of 2009." And if you in any way possess any neat-freak or obsessive-compulsive tendencies, the kitchen scenes may have you re-classifying this film from the "drama" category to the "horror" genre.

Graphic Film

2009-01-15T17:36:00.000-08:00

A review of Waltz With Bashir.

Waltz With Bashir is a unique film that is both watched and experienced, the kind of art that does far more than entertain. It is advertised as an “animated documentary,” but the filmmaker himself, Ari Folman, admitted that it would more accurately be described as an “animated autobiography.” (I was privileged to attend a screening of the film that featured a Q&A session with Mr. Folman afterward.) Mr. Folman also described Waltz With Bashir as an “anti-war film.” It succeeds as both, opening the door to allow us to witness a part of Mr. Folman’s life that he could understandably have preferred not to think about, let alone share, and in so sharing, he deeply impacts his audience with his very personal chronicle of the senselessness and horrific cost of war. While seeing Waltz With Bashir may only take up 87 minutes of screen time, it will occupy your mind for far longer.

Waltz With Bashir tells the story of Mr. Folman’s journey to recover suppressed memory of certain of his time served in the Israeli army. Mr. Folman was a soldier during Israel’s 1982 war against Lebanon and was among those troops who advanced into West Beirut. It was during this campaign that Bashir Gemayel, senior commander of the “Phalangists” Christian militia, was elected President of Lebanon. Soon afterward, Bashir Gemayel was assassinated. In response, his Phalangist army, declaring their aim to be the purging of Palestinian fighters (who were suspected of committing the assassination), massacred large numbers of women, children and elderly Palestinians who were occupying the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps. The gaps in Mr. Folman’s memory pertained to his and his fellow soldiers’ role or lack thereof in that massacre. In order to fill in those holes, Mr. Folman reconnects with a number of men with whom he served and interviews them, attempting to use their recounting of their memories to jog his own.

From its opening moments, Waltz With Bashir jarringly demands your attention and very cleverly takes one into the film by introducing an illustration of the recurring war-related nightmare of one of Mr. Folman’s friends, which involves being chased by 26 rabid dogs. It is through his friend’s distorted memory that Mr. Folman confronts his own and sets about on his quest to set his own personal record straight. The film does take concentration to follow, particularly because there’s no set-up at the beginning to explain the history of events behind and during the 1982 Lebanon war. But the manner in which the information unfolded ultimately was more compelling than if it had been presented linearly, and I applaud Mr. Folman’s choice to challenge the audience rather than spoon-feed it.

Similarly, Mr. Folman challenges his audience to confront unsettling and ugly truths throughout the film. It was disquieting to hear the perspective of these men who served as Israeli soldiers so casually admit that in their youth, they were scared shitless and really didn’t know what they were doing. Disquieting because such statements could easily apply to any nation’s soldiers and put war in context: really, it must be what nearly every war is about for its combatants from the inside out. Even more disturbing was the parallel that a psychologist draws with Mr. Folman in a session depicted in the film regarding the complicity of the act of bystanding, because of the accuracy of that parallel. It was for me one of the most affecting moments of the film.

The medium utilized by Waltz With Bashir, Mr. Folman’s choice to animate this film, was likewise effective. It infuses a dreamlike quality to the illustration of the visions or hallucinations with which he and his friends had replaced certain actual memories. And it allows the audience to absorb certain disconcerting events without shutting down and distancing themselves. It also makes the last 50 seconds of the film all the more shocking and horrifying in contrast. The bottom line is that while Waltz With Bashir can feel somewhat slow and at times a bit arduous to watch, it’s worth the effort. Seeing this film will make you think and that’s a good thing.

Go Ahead, Make His Day

2009-01-09T17:31:00.000-08:00

A review of Gran Torino.

Watching Gran Torino evoked the feeling you get when you watch a youngster take his first training-wheels-free ride on a bicycle – you hold your breath while he weaves and wobbles and fervently hope he can stay on without faltering, or worse, crashing, and when it’s over, it’s taken a little longer to get from point A to point B than it should’ve, but you applaud the accomplishment enthusiastically because all in all, it was an ambitious task completed with aplomb. Directed by Clint Eastwood (Letters from Iwo Jima, Million Dollar Baby) and written by Nick Schenk (with story credit to Dave Johannson and Nick Schenk), Gran Torino is a well-paced, engaging, affecting drama. As with a child’s maiden two-wheel voyage, Gran Torino pressed the line between success and disaster, as, at various times, it flirted with being overly-earnest, cartoonish or predictably stereotypical. Luckily for the audience, Mr. Eastwood is an incredibly skillful director, aided immensely on this project by his own substantial acting chops.

Mr. Eastwood plays Walt Kowalski, a freshly widowed, sharply grizzled Korean war vet living in the same house in which he raised his family. From the first moment you meet Walt (that’s “Mr. Kowalski” to you), his loneliness is palpable. With his wife gone, the most meaningful relationship he has is with his barber, who rivals him in crankiness. Walt’s bond with his two sons and their families is distant at best. His priest, Father Janovich (Christopher Carley), looks like he’s not old enough to drive, let alone legally consume the sacramental wine or tend his flock. Plus, Walt is an unrepentant racist sonofabitch, further isolating him from even the people in his neighborhood, which has changed over the many years he’s resided there and now consists largely of Hmong immigrants. So it surprises everyone, himself included, when Walt takes a shine to Thao (Bee Vang), the teenage boy next door (after Walt’s caught him trying to steal the prized 1972 Gran Torino of the film’s title), and develops a friendship with him and his sister, Sue (Ahney Her). Unfortunately, the transitioning character of the neighborhood has also included an infiltration of gang activity, and Walt can’t stop himself from getting to involved to protect his new friends, embroiling himself in a vicious, dangerous cycle of violence from which no good can ultimately come.

Mr. Eastwood’s portrayal of Walt is fully committed to the snarling nastiness of the bigot that lies at Walt’s core. But he equally allows the human side of Walt to seep through, the side made up of genuine goodness that desires a connection with people and sincerely wants to help. It is the precision of maintaining this balance that was so effective in preventing Walt from becoming cartoonish, in keeping Walt feeling real. Less effective was the aspect of Walt’s character that was haunted by his Korean war experience. Telegraphed by an ongoing push-pull with Father Janovich over whether Walt will fulfill his wife’s dying wish to go to confession, Mr. Eastwood doesn’t so much show us Walt’s feelings about his war experience as tell them, which gives us less to connect with.

What Mr. Eastwood does beautifully as a director, though, is show us how the various relationships at the center of Gran Torino develop. There was a poignancy and organic quality to the progression of Walt’s relationships with Thao, Sue, Father Janovich and even Thao and Sue’s grandmother (Chee Thao), who spoke no English. In particular, Walt’s relationship with the grandmother brought a little comic relief. Gran Torino is a serious, heavy tale and it was a great counterbalance that the script, direction and performances made use of humor to lighten things up, because otherwise seeing the movie would’ve been a ponderous experience.

But there were a number of flaws in the film. While the script did make good use of humor, some of the dialogue felt overwritten, almost novel-esque. A number of the characters did veer into the cartoonish realm – the degree to which Walt’s sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren were portrayed as selfish and self-centered was exaggerated; less would’ve been more. Further, in the hands of a lesser actor, I suspect that Walt would also have veered into this territory; Mr. Eastwood’s performance elevated the movie significantly. And while I applaud Mr. Eastwood for what appeared to be authentic casting of Hmong actors in the Hmong roles, several of the characters, particularly Sue and Thao, came off as a bit unnatural, particularly evident only because both of them shared so many scenes with the masterful Mr. Eastwood.

These flaws, however, do not amount to enough to interfere with one’s overall appreciation of Gran Torino. While it certainly isn’t the “feel good movie” of 2009, it’s a compelling tale that merits viewing on the big screen. Ride on over to your local theater and give it a test drive.

Battered Ram

2009-01-06T00:57:00.000-08:00

A review of The Wrestler.

Watching The Wrestler, written by Robert D. Siegel (The Onion Movie and former Editor in Chief of The Onion) and directed by Darren Aronofsky (The Fountain, Requiem for a Dream, Pi), felt as satisfying as checking out your ass in the full-length mirror after you’ve finally gotten yourself back to the point where you can wear your skinny jeans again – you’ve been here before and you know the moment might be fleeting, so you try hard to manage your expectations, but dang are you going to enjoy the moment while it lasts. The Wrestler features the “comeback” performance of Mickey Rourke (Nine 1/2 Weeks, Body Heat), whose immense talent hasn’t been utilized in a leading role since the early ‘90s. Mr. Rourke plays the titular role of professional wrestler Randy “The Ram” Robinson, and to say that the film would be nothing without him is no hyperbole. Those of us who really love movies, who appreciate the great actors of our time and relish truly remarkable performances, can only hope that Mr. Rourke’s return to the spotlight will not result in the same self-destructive implosion that deprived us of full enjoyment of his gift these past fifteen plus years.

The Wrestler relates the story of The Ram, a veteran professional wrestler regularly working the local circuit in his home state of New Jersey. The Ram’s been around so long that one of the local promoters wants to organize a twenty year anniversary re-match of a legendary grapple between The Ram and “The Ayatollah.” But for the bright lights of Saturday nights’ performances, there isn’t much glamour to Randy’s life – he can barely afford to make rent each month on his unit at the trailer park where he lives – so this kind of hype and attention serves as salve for a gnarled ego. Much to Randy’s dismay, however, his body will no longer permit him to put it through the punishing paces that have been routine for the past two plus decades. Not even with a little bit (read: a lot) of artificial enhancement. But as his body breaks down, Randy struggles to fight back, trying not to allow his spirit to follow suit. To that end, he woos the local hooker-with-the-heart of gold (except that she’s merely an exotic dancer who gives lap dances), Cassidy aka Pam (Marisa Tomei), tries to repair his broken relationship with his estranged daughter, Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood), and picks up extra shifts at the local grocery store. But while you can take the wrestler out of the ring, you can’t take the Ram out of Randy and he can’t resist the urge to reprise his former self, with all the attendant consequences.

As one might guess, those consequences can be utterly heartbreaking. The Wrestler is predictable, but the fact that one can anticipate what’s coming is inconsequential: the beauty of this tale is in the telling. Mr. Rourke is captivating as The Ram, and even when you knew he was going to screw things up and he went ahead and did just that, you still wanted to root for him. It’s true that Mr. Rourke’s time-worn, scarred, former pretty-boy visage contributes to his portrayal of the character, but in reality, the performance is all there in his eyes. It’s The Ram’s eyes that convey his sadness, his hopefulness, his desperation. Mark my words, if Mr. Rourke doesn’t win the Best Actor Oscar, it will be because Sean Penn got the political vote (not that Mr. Penn didn’t himself give a brilliant performance in Milk, but frankly, this should be Mr. Rourke’s year). Similarly, Marisa Tomei’s Pam expresses volumes with few words, even in the way she dances – sometimes angry, sometimes forlorn and sometimes just empty. Ms. Tomei seems to get better and better with age (check out her performance in last year’s Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead if you missed it) and, if I may say, so does her body. Holy hell, she is in unbelievable shape – we should all be so lucky as to look half that good at any age. And while young Evan Rachel Wood was good as Randy’s daughter, she was a bit of a weak link among such company. Her Jersey accent came off as somewhat forced and her character’s arc seemed out of whack – she started off angry, simmered down, then brought it back up (to an eleven), and it didn’t seem like there was enough of a build to the point from which she started.

What Mr. Aronofsky did build very well from the start was our exposure to Randy’s world. The film did a great job of immediately introducing you to and then transporting you into the world of professional wrestling. Within every aspect, from backstage to performance to the ugly truth about the rampant use of PEDs (Performance Enhancing Drugs) and the physical punishment these guys put themselves through, no detail was spared. It’s a fairly unpleasant experience watching what these guys go through (a warning for the faint of heart, blood and needles – and even staples – abound) (seriously, it’s bad enough that you might actually want to eschew the movie snacks for this one) and it’s intended to be. It should be awful to watch because it conveys what these men put themselves through just for that moment of glory that their craft allows them. Do yourselves a favor and endure those parts, though, because it’s worth it to see Mr. Rourke’s return to glory.

Best in Show

2009-01-04T21:20:00.000-08:00

A review of Slumdog Millionaire.

Slumdog Millionaire (“Slumdog”), adapted by Simon Beaufoy (Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day, The Full Monty) from a novel by Vikas Swarup (disclaimer: I have not read the source material) and directed by Danny Boyle (Millions, 28 Days Later) (with a co-director credit to Loveleen Tandan), is a visceral, jarring, loud film. The experience of seeing Slumdog felt assaultive at times, but unlike in a typical Hollywood shoot-‘em-up or gore-fest, the violence and graphic portrayal of foul and disturbing events was in the service of skillful storytelling. Slumdog is simultaneously a phenomenal portrayal of a world that’s completely new and utterly foreign to me and the retelling of the oldest story ever told: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy make it his life’s quest to re-attain girl.

While Slumdog may be a recycling of an oft-told tale, its take on it is refreshingly and engagingly original. Slumdog tells the story of brothers Jamal and Salim Malik who grow up, literally, in the dumps of Mumbai. Jamal and Salim are orphaned at a very young age and must fend for themselves in the filthiest conditions imaginable. Check that, the garbage pits and nooks of the slums where the brothers hole up to survive are indescribably squalid. Yet even when they have less than nothing themselves, younger brother Jamal reaches out with his kind heart to fellow orphan Latika to befriend and help her in whatever way he can. Before long, the gang of three get mixed up with actual gangsters, living well for a time until danger presents itself and Salim must make a difficult choice. Jamal and Salim escape, but must leave Latika behind, and it is Jamal’s quest to find Latika that preoccupies his odyssey for the rest of the film. Ultimately, Jamal appears on the Indian version of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” for the purpose of reuniting with Latika, knowing that it is a show that she watches.

Slumdog uses a very clever storytelling device, framing the narrative around the foundation for Jamal’s knowledge of the answers for the “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” questions with which he is confronted in his appearance on the show. This results in a number of character-revealing vignettes that unfold more-or-less chronologically. But because of the device being utilized, we can jump in and out of various episodes of Jamal’s life without disrupting the flow of the film. It also builds energy and suspense into what might otherwise be flat scenes of the taping of a game show.

Mr. Boyle elicits similar energy out of the performance of his actors. As he did with Millions, Mr. Boyle works incredibly well with young actors, coaxing organic, convincing performances out of them, without crossing into cloying territory (always a danger with actors that young). The youngest versions of Jamal, Salim and Latika (Ayush Mahesh Khedekar, Azharuddin Mohammed Ismail and Rubiana Ali, respectively), in particular the charming Ms. Ali, were impressive in their handling of difficult material. There was something magnetic about Madhur Mittal’s performance as the oldest Salim as he managed to allow a glimpse of the sliver of Salim’s heart that was still preserved within his hardened exterior. And Dev Patel as present-day Jamal perfectly embodied the personification of a “slumdog,” from his posture to his body language and attitude. (The less said about – and by – the oldest version of Latika (Freida Pinto), the better. She’s awfully pretty to look at and… she’s pretty to look at.)

Slumdog is masterfully directed, integrating very strong and distinct music and with equally strong and distinct imagery, even managing to present subtitles in a clever and entertaining manner. It almost felt like a movie on steroids. But make no mistake about it, Slumdog is not for the faint of heart. It contains a horrifying portrayal of abject poverty. Some parts of the film were violent, raw and difficult to watch, but they were not gratuitous. So do yourself a favor and grit your way through them and go enjoy Slumdog on the big screen. And be sure to stay all the way through the end credits. You can thank me later.

Age Appropriate

2009-01-04T17:04:00.001-08:00

A review of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (“Benjamin Button”) is a beautiful – though ultimately flawed – film. Written by Eric Roth (The Good Shepherd, Forrest Gump) (with story credit to Roth and Robin Swicord (The Jane Austen Book Club, Practical Magic), based upon a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald and directed by David Fincher (Zodiac, Fight Club), Benjamin Button contains a beautiful love story and is at times breathtaking to watch, given its stunning and often mind-boggling visuals. Because of its significant reliance upon the use of visual effects, any fair discussion of Benjamin Button must acknowledge its sheer achievement in filmmaking, in the way it was able to plausibly portray Brad Pitt as the backward-aging Benjamin at every age (my understanding is that the filmmakers superimposed Brad Pitt’s age-appropriate visage upon whatever size/age actor was playing him when the character was either far too old or far too young to be physically portrayed by Mr. Pitt).

Benjamin Button tells the tale of Benjamin (Brad Pitt), an odd boy born prematurely old. Childbirth kills his mother and, unable to handle the grotesque and strange nature of his son, Benjamin’s father abandons him to be cared for at a home for the aged. Queenie (Taraji P. Henson), one of the caregivers at the home, adopts the child and names him Benjamin, raising him as her own son with the help of her beloved, Tizzy (Mahershalalhashbaz Ali), who also works at the home. As Benjamin grows up at the home, he slowly outgrows the maladies of old age, gaining the ability to walk and see more and more unimpeded with each passing year. The home also introduces Benjamin to the love of his life, Daisy (Elle Fanning), at the age of seven, as her grandmother is a resident there. It is with Daisy (also played by Madisen Beaty at age 10, then Cate Blanchett as an adult) that Benjamin has his first adventures. The rest of Benjamin Button is an exhaustive recounting of the adventures that Benjamin pursues, the places around the world those adventures take him and the great love that he and Daisy share.

Much as I enjoyed the substantial portion of Benjamin Button that magnificently drew us into Benjamin and Daisy’s love affair, there were some fundamental disconnects that prevented me from falling in love with this movie as a whole. To begin with, the entire set-up of the narrative structure, the introduction of an elderly woman on her deathbed in August, 2005 in Katrina-threatened New Orleans felt forced, preachy and out-of-place. It felt shoehorned into what might otherwise have been a lovely, seamless narrative. As it was, I felt jolted and jarred when I realized that this old woman before us was Daisy (a very heavily made-up Cate Blanchett) and that she and her daughter, Caroline (Julia Ormond), would serve as narrators by reading from a diary that she had waited until her deathbed to look at (minor spoiler: really? I mean, come on, she really waited until her deathbed to read what Benjamin said? I found that particular detail difficult to swallow) because it was not presented to the audience in any kind of fluid manner. Further, each time the action of Benjamin’s tale was interrupted and we, the audience, were pulled back to 2005, it felt completely disruptive to the pace and storytelling of the film; it utterly destroyed its fluidity for me. I am very curious to know whether the original draft of the script had the New Orleans/Katrina set-up, because it felt sanctimonious, overdone and unnecessary and, I am guessing, was possibly the result of Brad Pitt’s quite admirable efforts in aiding Katrina recovery, efforts whose accompanying political commentary had no place in this film.

The story of Benjamin Button was so grand in scope that there were bound to be some problems here and there, but I found there to be many distracting narrative holes. Entire characters would disappear from the film, or die, or disappear, then die, and so little time or treatment would be given to them that it was difficult to absorb their loss and accord it any meaning. It’s understandable given the length of the film that not each and every character could be granted the time and attention that the richness of their character merited, but as a result, I often was left feeling cheated, wanting to know more. For example (minor spoiler alert), with the deaths of Benjamin’s father, of Tizzy, of Queenie, I understand that part of the point was to demonstrate that the tragedy of death is unfortunately a routine part of life, especially for someone like Benjamin who lived life backwards, but I felt that point could’ve been effectively made and still given us greater depth to those moments. I also wanted to know more of who Caroline was as a girl, what her relationship was like with her mother. We get a line or two from Caroline about how they weren’t as close as she wishes they’d been, but why? How did that relationship develop? Did Caroline move away? These seemed to me important and meaningful details that the film should’ve touched upon.

Other details that left me with questions included the set-up of the story about the construction of the backwards clock, the mechanism that was apparently responsible for Benjamin aging backwards. It seemed an odd, odd story for Daisy to know and be able to recount, especially given that she hadn’t yet read the diary. Why this baby thusly afflicted? Was he born at the precise moment the clock became operational? Was it because he happened to be born in New Orleans that day? Was his mother’s death from the effects of childbirth a factor?

The fact that so many questions were raised and remained with me was indicative of an engrossing story with credit due to the writers. Eric Roth, the screenwriter who adapted Forrest Gump, is the primary screenwriter credited on Benjamin Button, and there are certain hallmarks of his style that are indelible. The overly simple nature that Benjamin sometimes exhibits was reminiscent of Forrest Gump, as was the use of landmark historical moments to measure the passing of time and pivotal life milestones of our main characters. However, the use of the hummingbird seemed distractingly out of place and a direct callback to the feather in Forrest Gump. It took me out of those moments and made me think, “get a new device, Mr. Roth!”

Where the script eschewed devices and just focused upon the core love story at the heart of Benjamin Button, it was beautiful and engrossing to watch and truly heartbreaking. Benjamin Button features a great performance by Cate Blanchett in particular, and Brad Pitt was also excellent. Any complaints I had about Mr. Pitt’s portrayal of Benjamin had more to do with the way the character was written (i.e., as too much of a simpleton in various situations) than with Mr. Pitt’s abilities. And Taraji P. Henson elevated a role that could’ve been two-dimensional and made her Queenie memorable without being melodramatic.

Given the foregoing, I hope it is clear that I find Benjamin Button to be a very discussion-worthy, quality film to go see. And it is one that should be experienced on the big screen. Just be aware that at 159 minutes, it will occupy an entire afternoon or evening. If movie popcorn does not appeal to you (and if it doesn’t, I have to ask, what’s wrong with you?), I highly recommend that you pack snacks and go with a buddy. You’ll want someone to tell you what you missed when you take your inevitable restroom break.

Into the Woods

2009-01-04T11:47:00.000-08:00

A review of Defiance.

Defiance, written by Clayton Frohman and Edward Zwick (based upon a book by Nechama Tec, which I have not yet read) and directed by Edward Zwick (Blood Diamond, The Last Samurai), is a powerful, well-made film with a message that both resonates and reverberates. How anyone manages to retain his or her humanity in the face of the atrocities of war, and then a step beyond, amidst the horrors of a genocide being perpetrated upon one’s people, is both a mind-boggling feat and an affirmation of life. That ideal is expressly articulated in a pivotal scene by leader and brother Tuvia Bielski (Daniel Craig), that each day lived while maintaining one’s humanity, one’s principles, is an act of defiance against the Nazis, and it sits at the heart of the film Defiance.

Defiance recounts the story of a group of Jews, led by the Bielski brothers, who fled the persecution of the Nazis during World War II and took refuge in the Nalibocka Forest of Belorussia. Brothers Tuvia, Zus (Liev Schreiber), Asael (Jamie Bell) and Aron (George MacKay) suffer the loss of their parents (and eventually their own families, in the case of Tuvia and Zus) and flee to the woods to evade capture and death. In the process of eking out their own survival, the Bielski brothers encounter more and more fellow Jews in the same predicament (and eventually help to rescue some from nearby ghettos), all of whom look to them, and in particular, eldest brother Tuvia, for leadership and aid. The brothers work to organize the ever-growing population into a community with rules and principles while also trying to keep everyone alive by providing shelter and nourishment. At the same time, the group scavenges weapons and coordinates its own defenses, morphing into the Bielski Partisan, a form of a rebel fighting unit. Inevitably, tensions clash among members of the Bielski Partisan, in particular between eldest brothers Tuvia and Zus, and Defiance dramatizes these tensions amidst the larger struggle for survival.

Defiance features some tremendous performances, in particular, by Daniel Craig as Tuvia. Mr. Craig dramatized the horrible moral dilemmas presented by the situation his character and the others were thrust into without seeming heavy-handed. His Tuvia showed the pain of his choices with subtle expressions and dared to venture into unsympathetic territory by not sanitizing the depiction of actions we might wish he had not taken. Mr. Craig also made this James Bond fan temporarily forget he represented the modern embodiment of 007, a feat indeed (especially considering the makeup artists did nothing to alter those entrancing blue eyes). Liev Schreiber also gave a strong and restrained performance as militant Zus. Jamie Bell’s boyish Asael felt a bit over-the-top at the beginning, but his evolution into a man felt earned and well-played. Mia Wasikowska merits special mention as Chaya, as she hit just the right notes of quiet energy or hysteria, as was called for (of course, a sign of good direction by Mr. Zwick).

As is evident from the content of this review thus far, there isn’t much not to like about Defiance. But there is something missing that precludes me from placing it in the “great” film category. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very good film, but there was something about the way the story was presented that prevented me from fully connecting with it. It may have been the way the story was introduced, confronting the viewer immediately with the horrors of the senseless killing of the Jews through what seemed to be historical footage that transitioned to the Bielski brothers’ discovery of the murder of their parents. While effective in grabbing viewers’ attention, it gave us very little sense of who these brothers were before they are consumed by the loss they have suffered. The assaultive nature of the events and their broad scope may actually have diluted their effect a bit, at least until we get to know the brothers individually. In addition, we never got a strong sense of the brothers’ relationships. Clearly, there was rivalry between Tuvia and Zus, but there was little indication of this history of that tension. Similarly, it was never entirely clear why these two grown men had abandoned their wives (and Zus his child) and ended up with their younger brothers in the woods – was it because they had heard their parents were in danger and at that point, their own families were not? And a more minor, cosmetic complaint, the brothers, in particular Mr. Craig and Mr. Schreiber, did not remotely resemble each other, which was somewhat distracting.

But these criticisms did not so overwhelm my experience of seeing Defiance that I wouldn’t recommend it. (Nor did its 137 minute running time, although be forewarned that it does at times feel a bit long and slow.) Quite the opposite, in fact. I encourage you to see the film and determine if you agree with me or not, in particular on the “connectedness” issue. While Defiance is clearly a movie seeking to impart a message, I did not find it to be at all sanctimonious. Instead, the movie has stayed with me in a positive way, and I look forward to having the opportunity to read the book upon which it is based.

The Wizard of Oz

2009-01-03T18:53:00.000-08:00

A review of Australia.

Australia, story by Baz Luhrmann, written by Baz Luhrmann, Stuart Beattie (Collateral, Derailed), Ronald Harwood (The Pianist) and Richard Flanagan and directed by Baz Luhrmann (Moulin Rouge, William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet) is not a great movie, but I loved seeing it anyway. If you’re in the mood for a predictable, sweeping, romantic epic, Gone With the Wind, Australia-style (and seventy years later with the attendant advances in special effects, visual effects and sound editing), if you will, then spending an afternoon watching Australia is exactly what this movie reviewer prescribes for you. It is exactly what you would expect from this genre of movie and from filmmaker Baz Luhrmann and there is something wonderfully comforting and satisfying about that.

Australia traces the history of the nation of Australia prior to, during and directly after World War II, through the eyes of one Aboriginal boy, Nullah (Brandon Walters). Particular attention is directed at the horrific and racist policies of the Australian government, which forcibly separated Aboriginal children and children of mixed race from their parents and placed them into what in essence amounted to internment camps in an effort to “assimilate” them. (This policy remained in effect until 1970 and it was not until 2008 that the Australian government offered an official apology for its implementation. Rabbit-Proof Fence, a 2002 film directed by Phillip Noyce is an excellent film that also addresses this subject matter.) Australia is narrated by Nullah, the child of an Aboriginal mother and white father, as his relationship with Lady Sarah Ashley (Nicole Kidman), aka “Mrs. Boss,” evolves and strengthens. Lady Ashley arrives in Australia to find her husband murdered and thus must literally take the reins of his cattle drive in order to save her ranch, Faraway Downs. She convinces Drover (Hugh Jackman) to join forces with her, and thus begins a will-they-or-won’t-they romance worthy of Scarlett O’Hara/Rhett Butler comparisons.

The choice to frame the movie around Australia’s racist Aboriginal policies was an excellent one as it simultaneously educated, raised the stakes by creating an immediate urgency and made for a compelling drama between the push-pull of Nullah’s dueling heritages throughout the film (whether or not he will go on a “walkabout” with his grandfather King George, a rite of passage for Aboriginal boys, becomes a pivotal moment for both Nullah and Lady Ashley and Drover’s relationship). However, the use of Nullah as a narrator felt a bit forced and unnecessary. The film was not one that required a narrator. That being said, I understood the choice to clearly establish Nullah’s story as that which would provide Australia’s structure. The way that narration was utilized at the beginning, though, felt quite cumbersome. It was a strange device to have Nullah begin narrating, then go backwards to follow Lady Ashley’s story, then quickly return to the same moment after not very much time. It just felt awkward.

Far from awkward was the chemistry between Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman. They quite literally smoldered on screen (although it’s entirely possible I could’ve been distracted by all the shirtless shots of Hugh Jackman as the ruggedly scruffy Drover). Both gave strong performances, Jackman contending with his lack of wardrobe while Kidman adeptly handled her overabundance (in addition to costumers, Kidman had a credited milliner and milliner/belt maker; calling the Oscar for Best Costumes right here, right now, folks). Brandon Walters, a novice actor of Aboriginal descent, was authentic and sweetly moving as Nullah. A special shout-out to David Wenham, who played the dastardly Neil Fletcher as such a convincingly evil bastard, he prevented me from being able to place him as the man behind the noble Faramir from the Lord of the Rings movies until I referenced his name in the credits at the end of the movie. Fletcher could easily have come across as a cliché, but thanks to Wenham’s performance, he was a three-dimensional jackass.

What was cliché, however, were the numerous “just at the last minute” moments. If one keeps in mind that this is the type of movie one is signing up for when one chooses to go see Australia, then it won’t irritate or frustrate (as much as it might otherwise) (also, be prepared for some overusage of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”). What may still frustrate is the feeling of “haven’t these people suffered enough?” There was a moment where I thought to myself, “Seriously, why does everyone have to die?” And then, predictably, someone else died. I didn’t offer a comparison to Gone With the Wind at the top of this review for nothing.

Despite its flaws and predictability, Australia is worth seeing, and particularly merits viewing on the big screen. The visuals are absolutely stunning. Australia is a beautiful country and the film Australia is exquisitely shot. Even when one consciously knows you must be watching CGI (Computer Generated Image) shots, it still looked real enough that the knowledge didn’t remove you from the moment. So seize this moment and go see Australia. Just refrain from drinking any large beverages beforehand, as the 165 minute running time can challenge even the strongest of bladders.

Dead Weight

2009-01-02T22:27:00.000-08:00

A review of Seven Pounds.

Seven Pounds, written by Grant Nieporte and directed by Gabriele Muccino (The Pursuit of Happyness) is heavy, and not in the good way. It tries very hard to be what I think of as a “Statement Movie.” By my definition, Statement Movies are self-important, pretentious movies that consciously set out to send a message. These movies are rarely effective, because they get bogged down in conveying whatever life lesson preoccupies the script, instead of organically allowing the story being told to reach each viewer as it may. Statement Movies do not appeal to me, mostly because I strongly object to being told how to think or feel. I have no issue with movies that make me think (and even those which manipulate my emotions to a certain degree, The Pursuit of Happyness being a good example) and which have that goal as their primary objective; in fact I think it is a valid and often noble use of art. To my mind, however, Statement Movies are the bastardization of this form of art, and for me, Seven Pounds falls squarely into that category.

Given the foregoing, it will come as no surprise that I did not enjoy the experience of seeing Seven Pounds. The majority of the issues that I had with the film were with the script. I disliked the story and the premise from which it sprang, and given that baseline, it would be difficult to enjoy any aspect of the movie. Among my problems with Seven Pounds is the fact that in both its marketing campaign and the unfolding of the story, it attempted to play “hide the premise.” Its tag line, “Seven Names. Seven Strangers. One Secret.”, is disingenuous, because the secret is self-manufactured. As I promise at the top of my site, this is a spoiler-free environment, so I will not give away Ben Thomas’ (Will Smith) “secret,” but I believe the story might actually have been more effective without obscuring the inciting incident of Ben’s journey. Instead, the first 20-30 minutes of the movie were confusing in trying to determine what was real, who Ben was and in what chronology events were actually unfolding. The obfuscation felt unnecessary, contrived and as though a device was taking the place of actual substance because such substance was not available to be tapped into. What I can tell you about the plot of Seven Pounds without spoiling things is this: it's the story of how Ben Thomas, in the wake of a great tragedy, chooses to live his life, ultimately deciding to bestow seven people with invaluable gifts in an effort create right out of wrong, at least as Ben sees it.

I found a great deal of what occurred in Seven Pounds to be wildly implausible. There are certain “buys” that I’m willing to grant in the telling of a well-crafted tale, certain coincidences that might otherwise be a stretch, but that I’ll allow because a story has earned the right to rely on a contrivance or two. Seven Pounds stretched this concept too far and failed to earn “buys” I might otherwise have granted. For example (none of the following give anything significant away about the story), the ease with which Ben gains access to the CICU and Emily Posa’s (Rosario Dawson) room, the effortless and rapid manner that a loner like Emily becomes attached to Ben and the choice of a character like Connie (Elpidia Carrillo) to put her trust in a stranger like Ben. These, among a number of other pivotal plot details, were too much for me.

Despite my dislike of Seven Pounds, given the material, I did find it to be a well-performed and well-directed movie. Will Smith gave a moving performance, as did Rosario Dawson. Ms. Dawson infused her portrayal of Emily with many layers that helped to compel my attention when my mind might otherwise have wandered, given my frustration with the direction of the story. Woody Harrelson’s depiction of Ezra Turner merits special mention; he conveyed more with few words and a quieter energy than most supporting actors have the restraint to demonstrate.

Unfortunately, that restraint was not shared in most other aspects of the film. In the end, Seven Pounds failed to come to a satisfying conclusion, raising more questions than it answered, but not the kind of thought-provoking, big picture-type questions that might allow you to translate the experience of seeing a movie into a discussion about larger world or life issues. Rather, the questions Seven Pounds left me with were specific script-related questions, which included thoughts like, “Who was Ben to judge other people?”, “Why would Ben have taken what he took from his brother, thereby jeopardizing him professionally?” and “ Who was Dan to Ben and what did he owe him that he would agree to follow Ben’s plan?” Ultimately, the Statement I felt Seven Pounds was trying to make was this: Live and a good life and you will be rewarded; fail to and you will pay. Frankly, I don’t see things as black and white as this, and the movies that most entertain and challenge me occupy the gray spaces. I hope to see more of those this awards season, but for my money, Seven Pounds is not one of them.

Milk: It Does A Body (Mind and Spirit) Good.

2008-12-14T17:51:00.000-08:00

A review of Milk.

Milk, written by Dustin Lance Black and directed by Gus Van Sant, is a deeply affecting and profoundly moving film. The film itself is not without flaws, but the experience of seeing it was nearly perfect. I can’t recall another movie-going experience when there was such enthusiastic, sustained applause at its conclusion. Milk would be affecting whenever it might be seen, but the synergistic timing of its release in the wake of the passage of Proposition 8 in California heightens its relevance as well as its odds of dominating in the upcoming awards season.

One of the triumphs of Milk is in what it avoids – it could easily have become an aptly-named, self-fulfilling prophecy, “milking” its viewers for their most sentimental, basic feelings of pity. Instead, Milk has churned itself into a beautiful, multi-layered piece, one that forces you to deeply identify at one point or another with someone or something in the film. I know I’ve seen a truly great movie when I am not only moved and entertained by the experience of seeing it, but I also learn something. Perhaps it is my own ignorance of the history of the gay rights movement and of the politics of the ‘70s, but, though I knew the film had its own agenda, I really got a sense of what a struggle it was (and continues to be in much of the world) for gay men and women in the ‘70s to exist, to survive, let alone be accepted.

Milk follows the story of Harvey Milk (Sean Penn), the first openly gay person to be elected to public office in California. After four unsuccessful attempts (and the redistricting of San Francisco) over as many years, Milk and his motley crew of true believers finally accomplish their goal and get Milk elected to the office of Supervisor of the City of San Francisco. But the victory is not without sacrifice, as his single-minded drive ultimately costs Milk his relationship with Scott Smith (James Franco), who the film suggests, is the love of his life. Milk is short on details of Harvey’s life prior to meeting Scott in New York City in the early ‘70s, which is one of my complaints about the film. I appreciate the detail with which Milk depicts his political career through to its tragic end, but, as a biopic, it feels fairly incomplete. While the script is sprinkled with a few lines here and there to give the audience a sense of his family history (i.e., the fact that he was never able to come out to his parents and only came out to his brother after they had passed), it left me wanting to know more, in particular more about what drove his activism.

Milk devotes a great deal of detail, however, to Harvey’s fight to defeat Proposition Six (a California ballot initiative which stated that any public school teacher “advocating, imposing, encouraging or promoting” homosexual activity could be fired) in 1978. The parallels between the battles waged over Proposition Six in 1978 and Proposition Eight in 2008 are truly uncanny. In both cases, the parties seeking to discriminate used reprehensible tactics, invoking fear, and more specifically exploiting children to invoke that fear. Yet, the powerful unity that resulted in the successful defeat of Proposition Six in 1978 versus the failure to vanquish the same spirit of hatred in 2008 made me wonder if perhaps something I believe I read on Andrew Sullivan (of The Atlantic)’s blog (The Daily Dish at andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com) was correct – that acceptance isn’t won by couching it as a civil rights issue, but rather by gay people proudly proclaiming themselves and their commitment to their partners. In that way, more people could overcome their fear and see that the majority of them know a committed gay couple who deserves equal rights and access to marriage just as much as any heterosexual couple.

I shall step down from my soap box and note that I particularly enjoyed the moment when Harvey stepped upon his. There were so many great moments and artistic choices to appreciate about this film. Director Van Sant’s stylistic use of opera worked well at times, and felt a bit over the top at other times. The city of San Francisco itself felt like a vibrant character and the use of historical footage was masterfully interwoven. Sean Penn gave an utterly brilliant performance, making you forget he was Sean Penn and completely inhabiting Milk. James Franco was terrifically understated as Scott, conveying volumes with a slight smirk and a shake of the head, carving out more and more of a distinct identity for Scott as the film progressed. Emile Hirsch’s Cleve Jones was incredibly entertaining. I was a bit concerned by his first scene’s introduction of his character, as it was more caricature than character, but the more we got to know Cleve, his unique energy and voice became apparent. Josh Brolin (as Dan White) and Victor Garber (as Mayor George Moscone) also gave strong, noteworthy performances. The one weak link for me was Diego Luna’s portrayal of Jack Lira. It felt too theatrical and staged, and I needed it to feel a bit more grounded and real in order to connect with what Milk experienced through that relationship. The off-balance nature of the character was so exaggerated that it made me wonder how accurate a portrayal it was.

I was also left wondering whether the tape recording used as a framing device was an artistic invention. The very fact that Milk made me want to know more is, to me, the sign of a successful piece of art. I feel as though I’ve seen this year’s Best Picture winner. While it is true that I have a soft spot in my heart for the biopic genre, I think that the quality of this film combined with its eerie electoral timing makes it a lock. Given the California political landscape, I’d be surprised if Academy members don’t take this opportunity to make a statement of their own. So I urge you to make a statement with your wallets and go see this wonderful film in theaters sooner rather than later.

Livin' On a Prayer

2008-10-24T21:34:00.000-07:00

A review of Religulous.

Bill Maher’s Religulous, directed by Larry Charles (Borat, Curb Your Enthusiasm), is smart, incisive and engaging. To be familiar with Bill Maher and his brand of intelligent, biting, envelope-pushing humor is to similarly be aware of his utter disdain for organized religion of any kind. At least that is the persona he chooses to present to the public. Notably, however, when one watches his big screen endeavor intended to deflate and challenge the premise and plausibility of organized religion, Religulous, it becomes apparent that Mr. Maher is not devoid of faith, but rather seems to be suffering an ongoing crisis of faith precipitated during his teenage years by his parents’ departure from the church (he was raised Catholic though his mother was Jewish) so that they could utilize birth control. That seems to me to explain a great deal, not only about the genesis of Mr. Maher’s search for logic in religion, but also with regard to his highly sexualized public persona. Instead of making a film to demonstrate that religion is silly, Religulous seems to chronicle a quest for proof that there might be some form of organized religion that isn’t a farce (by Mr. Maher’s demanding standards).

The prospect that such a religion might actually exist seems to terrify Mr. Maher on some level, since accepting such a notion would require him to rethink and reset who he is, publicly and privately. Thus, as so many of us do, he uses humor as a defense mechanism and goes for the broad and “easy” jokes to ensure that he entertains his audience while also demonstrating his intellectual superiority. To achieve this, among the majority of the people that he spoke to for his film, Mr. Maher clearly selected those who represent the most extreme views of their particular religion. While seeing him provoke these various characters in interviews might seem to make for better drama and ostensibly be more interesting, in reality, it’s a copout. Sure, we all get a good laugh at how ridiculous these people seem and at Mr. Maher’s mostly clever snark, but the greater challenge would have been for him to speak with more relatable people and draw their views out, then find the humor in the spaces between, because it’s certainly there to be found.

The moments when Mr. Maher chose the easy, obvious and occasionally offensive insults were disappointing precisely because he is so intelligent and capable of more. It is this expectation of a higher level of humor and discourse that brought me to the theater to get more than my weekly dose from Real Time instead of, say, finding satisfaction with Dane Cook’s Tourgasm. That being said, a great deal of Mr. Maher’s conversations were fascinating. For example, when he did speak with a more moderate figure, a prominent American scientist who bucks the trend in the scientific community and sincerely embraces a Christian faith, the conversation was both illuminating and entertaining. Mr. Maher sought to elicit an explanation of the inexplicable from one who lives his professional life according to the scientific method.

Mr. Maher similarly seeks an explanation for how the United States’ identity has become so wrapped up in religious fervor. He compares Americans to those of similar faith abroad, trying to understand how it is that Americans have gotten so carried away in their expression of faith. A particularly clever and illuminating segment of this exploration involved an examination of the origin of what some claim is “this Christian nation.” Mr. Maher thoroughly debunks that notion by tracing the history of the birth of the United States and presenting numerous quotes from various Founding Fathers that directly contradict those who would claim the U.S. to be “this Christian nation.”

It is these moments, when he makes the political personal, that Mr. Maher is most effective. The conversation that he has with his mother and sister, tracing the origin of his own faith and crisis of faith is both witty and touching and frames the film’s narrative well. But the relatively small glimpse we get of this conversation left me wanting more. Similarly, Mr. Maher bookends the film with his attendance of a truckstop church service and his discussion with the truckers in attendance after the service. Though he ultimately shakes his head in amusement at their embracing of a faith they cannot explain, it actually seems as though, more than anyone else, this group challenged Mr. Maher in his cynicism and made him think. That is ultimately what Religulous seeks to do it and it is a goal well-achieved. I recommend the film to anyone intrigued by a mostly-intelligent discourse on religion, although be forewarned if going to see it in the theater: not only does Mr. Maher have a big head when it comes to his estimation of himself, but physically as well -- the close-ups of his head/face/forehead on the big screen can be distracting as they make it clear: the man has had work done. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, especially since with this film, he’s delving deeper and getting spiritual work done.

Sister Act

2008-10-21T12:40:00.000-07:00

A review of I’ve Loved You So Long.

Written and directed by French filmmaker Philippe Claudel, I’ve Loved You So Long (“ILYSL”) is a beautiful, artful film. It’s the first theater-going experience I’ve had in a long time where I had the thought while watching, “wow, this is a really great film.” And I specifically used the word “film” rather than “movie” in my head, not because it was in French with English subtitles and I was therefore affected, infused with unadulterated pretentiousness and seduced by croissants. Rather, it is objectively a well-crafted, emotional story of the reunion of long-estranged sisters whose lives intersect once more fifteen-plus years after the wrenching tragedy that ripped them apart.

Kristin Scott Thomas plays Juliette, who has come to stay with her much younger sister, Léa (Elsa Zylberstein), after a fifteen year absence. (In choosing not to reveal what has kept Juliette away, I am probably engaging in spoiler-avoidance overkill, as that revelation occurs fairly early in the film. However, I feel that my experience seeing this film was enhanced by the blank slate nature in which I took it in, and my wish is for you to have the same kind of enthralling, unmarred-by-anticipation experience.) Juliette not only moves into Léa's home, but also into her life -- with her family, including husband, Luc, Luc's father, Papy Paul, and her two adopted Vietnamese daughters, P'tit Lys (age eight) and Emelia (about three), as well as with her friends, in particular, Léa's colleague and fellow professor, Michel. Juliette and Léa have one of those Big Heavy Events From The Past ("BHEFTP") to resolve between them, but unlike in Rachel Getting Married, the BHEFTP here informs and motivates the action rather than usurping it.

ILYSL relies upon symbolism to set much of its tone, and while it occasionally teeters on the line of obviousness, it primarily achieves its goal with subtlety. There are two primary symbolic journeys, the first involving Juliette's physical appearance. At the beginning of ILYSL, Juliette appears so haggard, awful and pale that she is barely recognizable as a woman. As she progresses through her journey of reconnecting with her family and the world around her, she slowly regains her color and vibrancy and her femininity. Similarly, we also track Juliette's state of being by her ability to physically connect, literally, to tolerate human contact. Specifically, Juliette's relationship with her niece, P'tit Lys, provides a kind of visual barometer for Juliette's emotional and mental state. At the outset of ILYSL, Juliette can barely be in the same room as P'tit Lys, let alone hug or touch her. But as Juliette allows herself to slowly reawaken and do more than merely occupy space in the world, she allows herself to grow closer and more affectionate with her nieces, reaccepting her maternal self. These two symbolic journeys were very clear and easy to clock, but portrayed artfully. Juliette’s steps forward felt more than merely depicted, they felt earned.

In the same vein, all of the accolades that Kristin Scott Thomas is sure to garner for her performance will likewise be earned. She gives a transformative performance that was compelling, heartbreaking and quite simply magnificent. She will surely be nominated for an Academy Award, and rightfully so. I would be surprised if the film were not also similarly recognized, in either the Foreign Film or Best Picture categories, or both. Each of the performances, from Elsa Zylberstein’s guilt-laden Léa to Frédéric Pierrot’s tragic Captain Fauré, a seemingly minor yet significant presence in Juliette’s new life to the ebullient Lise Ségur as P’tit Lys, together provide strong support to an engaging tale. It is not only the performances that are noteworthy, but also the construction of such unique and fully-realized characters who progress through well-defined arcs that build the momentum toward the reveal of the central mystery.

And even though I guessed the specifics of the central mystery early in, knowing what was coming did not in any way detract from my enjoyment of ILYSL. The story was well-paced and unfolded naturally. Certain stylistic choices, for example the thematic use of water, felt a bit heavy-handed, but not distractingly so. And other overly-dramatic moments, such as the recitation of a children’s book over news being received on the phone felt staged, but were effective nonetheless. Similarly, Juliette’s final words and the echo that the film leaves us with were a bit theatrical, but could not be more apropos or poignant. Overall, ILYSL is a beautifully crafted film that I would not hesitate to recommend sans réserve.

Patently Reviewed.

2008-09-25T18:48:00.000-07:00

A review of Flash of Genius.

I really wanted to love Flash of Genius, because it’s my kind of movie. If I have a wheelhouse, the biopic tale of an underdog triumphing over evil occupies a great deal of real estate in there. And while I enjoyed Flash of Genius and wouldn’t discourage anyone from seeing it, the film does not fall into the "rush right out" category. In fact, given its pacing, Flash of Genius is precisely the type of movie that might best be enjoyed at home on DVD, so you can pause it every so often and even take a break at some point so that you don’t get too impatient with the methodical unfolding of events that builds toward a predictable conclusion.

Adapted by Philip Railsback from a New Yorker story by John Seabrook and directed by Marc Abraham (an accomplished producer of such fare as Children of Men and Thirteen Days making his directorial debut), Flash of Genius chronicles the tale of Dr. Robert Kearns (Greg Kinnear), the electrical engineering professor who first cracked the code, so to speak, and successfully created a functioning intermittent windshield wiper. After conceiving the circuitry behind the intermittent windshield wiper, Kearns strikes a deal with the Ford Motor Company to manufacture and supply it to Ford. Flash of Genius recounts Kearns’ struggle to hold Ford accountable when the powers that be renege on the deal and, for all intents and purposes, steal Kearns’ invention, and the havoc that Kearns’ obsession with and inability to get past this wrong wreaks upon his life and his family.

Flash of Genius is filled with superb performances. Greg Kinnear truly inhabits Bob Kearns, unflinchingly embracing his prickliness, unyielding morality and obsessive nature. Mr. Kinnear infuses Bob Kearns with layers and nuances that make him more likeable than he may have a right to be. He is both the heart of the movie and, to some degree, its greatest challenge. I had the pleasure of attending a Q&A with Mr. Kinnear after seeing the film, and interestingly, he seized upon one of my notes – he mentioned that, originally, after he had read about half of the script, he put it down, having determined that he was fairly certain he didn’t actually like Dr. Kearns. Ultimately, to the benefit of everyone, Mr. Kinnear seized the gauntlet thrown down by the prospect of playing a character like Dr. Kearns. Equally crucial to the film's high quality was the casting of Lauren Graham as Bob’s wife, Phyllis Kearns. In less deft hands, Phyllis could have come off as villainous, shrewish or even ancillary to the tale of Bob’s fight. But Ms. Graham strikes just the right balance of wifey-ness and independence, maternalism and spunk, and instead, Phyllis remains front and center, even when she’s not physically present.

The primary weakness of Flash of Genius is that the tale of a man who invented something as small in scope and grandeur as the intermittent windshield wiper and then fought about its ownership in court is an inherently difficult story to dramatize. For better or for worse, windshield wipers simply aren’t all that sexy, and a battle over their speed isn’t exciting to watch, especially when one considers the fact that a particular outcome had to have been achieved in order for the story to merit a cinematic adaptation. The story also lacks the Brockovichian urgency of an intense life-or-death fight against The Man, a nefarious corporate power who is responsible for inflicting grievous physical harm upon hundreds of people. Here, Bob fights an iteration of The Man, Ford, for stealing, which is deplorable, but not nearly as visceral as, e.g., causing cancer in a child. Further, the more significant wrong committed against Bob is not the theft of profits from his invention, but more importantly, the robbing of his dignity, which is a more internal loss, and thus more difficult to translate to the screen.

Similarly, while I understand the filmmakers' choice to hook the audience into the story of Flash of Genius via flashforwarding to Bob's nervous breakdown (note: I don’t consider this to be a spoiler as it is the opening scene of the film), I ultimately found the moment difficult to connect with because it wasn't fraught with tension and drama (for me, anyway). It actually confused me a bit as an introduction to the character and left me in a state of anticipation, waiting for the moment when the story would catch up to where we as an audience had already been taken. That set the tone for the pacing of the rest of the film, and I felt impatient watching it, wanting Bob to get to the next step quicker. It also probably didn't help that it's difficult to spend two hours with a character who is so prickly and at times, fairly unlikeable. Ultimately, though, Flash of Genius is worth your time; it's a well written, well directed, well performed movie that, like the court system portrayed in the film, is just a little slow.

The Neverending Wedding

2008-09-17T21:09:00.000-07:00

A review of Rachel Getting Married.

Written by Jenny Lumet (daughter of director Sidney) and directed by Jonathan Demme, Rachel Getting Married (“Rachel”) is not a fun movie to watch, nor does it seem it was intended to be. It's one of those indie films built around a Big Heavy Event From The Past (“BHEFTP”) that allows that BHEFTP to dominate everyone and everything in the film. And we get that from the opening scene of the film, so there’s nothing left to do but watch how that BHEFTHP is going to play out between our protagonist, Kym (Anne Hathaway), and every other character in the movie, including Kym’s sister, the nuptials-bound Rachel (Rosemarie DeWitt) of the film’s title.

Kym, released from a nine month stint in rehab at the top of the film, returns home to her family's sprawling Connecticut home just in time for elder sister Rachel's wedding. We learn immediately that Rachel and her friends resent Kym for siphoning attention on this and every occasion. Kym and Rachel's overly emotional father, Paul (Bill Irwin), can't help but keep constant tabs on Kym while their mother, Abby (Debra Winger), couldn't want less to do with her. Divorced from each other, both parents are remarried but maintain a cordial relationship. Rachel chronicles the weekend's worth of wedding events and how Kym's presence in the face of this happy milestone forces everyone to confront the BHEFTP.

One of the strengths of the film is its performances. Without a doubt, Jonthan Demme is an immensely skillful director who ably conjures extraordinary performances from his actors (see, e.g., Jodie Foster and Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs and Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington in Philadelphia). But some of his choices in Rachel are mind-boggling (we'll get to those). Under his tutelage, however, Anne Hathaway gives a fierce, fearless performance. She made me forget she was the adorable Mia of The Princess Diaries or the annoying Andy from The Devil Wears Prada, and she disappeared into the role of Kym, giving a great deal of depth to her performance. And even though I found the movie predictable, and somewhat frustrating in its predictability, Ms. Hathaway’s performance still managed to move me at the climactic moments without making me feel too manipulated. Likewise, Rosemarie DeWitt infused Rachel with authenticity and made what could've been a tiresome character both relatable and sympathetic. Debra Winger stood out for giving a fairly two-dimensional character many layers, more often for what was left unsaid than her actual dialogue. And the rest of the cast, for the most part, was strong. Thus, the film’s flaws are not to be found in any weakness of performance.

Rather, the flaws in Rachel are to be found in its script. None of the characters felt fully realized; I never got a real sense of who they were, just what happened to them. They were limited in their revelation to us not in being defined by the BHEFTP, but by failing to show us who they were beyond the BHEFTP. For example, I never really understood why Rachel and Sidney (her fiancé, l’m guessing named for Ms. Lumet's father) fell in love each other. I heard the story of their meeting, but that didn't tell me anything of who they were to each other. It felt like Sidney existed to further other characters' arcs. For example, in a particularly calculated scene involving Paul and his soon-to-be-son-in-law, he and Sidney engage in a manly contest over the loading of the dishwasher. Yes, you read that correctly: the loading of the dishwasher. As in, which man could fit more dishes in. Anyway, the entire point of this fairly long and convoluted dishwasher scene was the discovery of a particular plate, or rather, Paul’s reaction to seeing said plate. It felt like a scene that would be constructed in a screenwriting class as an example of emotional manipulation. On top of that, there were a number of scenes where I cringed in my seat waiting for the cliché to happen, and more often than not, it did. Particularly egregious was the rehearsal dinner toast scene in which we got the self-centered, just out of rehab Kym making a toast to her sister that’s really all about herself and her recovery. And while we’re at the rehearsal dinner, why were there so many toasts? I’ve been to my fair share of nuptials and nuptial-related events, and I never seen that many toasts. It was fairly maddening.

Also maddening was the constant din of music in the house. About halfway through Rachel, one of the characters comments about that music – “do they ever stop?” That may have been the most apt line of the movie. Seriously, they never stopped. And I understand that the presence of the music was likely serving as artistic symbolism regarding the drowning out of the pain and the sorrow in the house, but it just became distracting to the greater art that was the film. In addition, so many scenes in the movie felt neverending. In particular, the musical acts at both the rehearsal dinner and the wedding reception. I honestly thought the wedding reception might never end.

And finally, speaking of endings, I found the conclusion of Rachel to be confusing and ambiguous, which left me feeling even less satisfied about the experience of seeing the film. Thus, while normally after a review such as this, I would urge you, fair reader, to wait until the DVD release to see Rachel if you feel inspired to see Anne Hathaway's performance, I will instead urge you to go see it in the theater if you are so moved, and then let me know what your interpretation of the ending was. Rachel at least achieved that much – it will certainly stay with me, although it will be the nagging uncertainty over the conclusion that remains stuck in my brain.

Tropic Blunder

2008-09-02T19:05:00.000-07:00

A review of Tropic Thunder.

My popcorn was better than Tropic Thunder, and that's saying something, because it wasn't even primo movie popcorn. This is a sad review for me to write, because Tropic Thunder had such potential. Written by Ben Stiller, Justin Theroux and Etan Cohen and directed by Ben Stiller, it was a movie that I eagerly anticipated all summer. The premise is ripe with possibility; there’s just so much funny that can come from it. And damn if the previews didn’t make it look, well, fairly awesome. So sad was I, then, when I hit the moment, and literally there was a moment as I watching the film (fear not, we'll get to it), when I knew unequivocally that Tropic Thunder would fail to live up to its potential. And perhaps my review will end up being harsher because my expectations were so high. If so, so be it. To those with great talent comes great responsibility and therefore accountability.

Tropic Thunder chronicles the misadventures of a cadre of actors assembled to shoot an action movie of the same name, based upon the bestselling supposed "true story" of Vietnam veteran Four Leaf Tayback's (Nick Nolte) time as a POW and his subsequent rescue. Threatened with a shutdown by the studio on only the fifth day of shooting on location in Vietnam, director Damien Cockburn (the hilarious Steve Coogan) desperately seizes upon Four Leaf's idea to shoot the film guerilla style. The mechanics of this "guerilla" style of filmmaking are never fully explicated, but they involve the use of "surveillance" type cameras installed in the jungle, as well as remote controlled explosives rigged by the trigger happy SFX guy, Cody (Danny McBride). Lead actors Tugg Speedman (Ben Stiller), Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.), Jeff Portnoy (Jack Black), Alpa Chino (Brandon T. Jackson) and Kevin Sandusky (Jay Baruchel) are unceremoniously dropped in the middle of the jungle and quickly become the prey of real-life dangerous heroin manufacturers.

If that set-up seemed laborious to read, imagine what it felt like to watch. And that's not even all of it. There was just too much there, which I often find to be a flaw in Ben Stiller's brand of humor – he doesn't know when to say when, overtaxing what might otherwise be an unequivocally funny movie. And there is a lot to be amused by in Tropic Thunder. From the very first moments when we are introduced to the main characters via trailers for their upcoming individual projects, the laughs are plentiful, especially when Robert Downey Jr. appears – the trailer featuring Kirk Lazarus made me laugh so hard I nearly cried – it's pure genius. As is the very premise of Lazarus – an Australian super-actor (winner of five, yes, that's five Oscars) who has undergone a skin pigmentation process to play an African American soldier who never breaks character. His interactions with Brandon T. Jackson's Alpa Chino (who makes the most of a two-dimensional character) are effective and amusing. Jay Baruchel plays a great straight man and mines the humor skillfully out of each of his scenes. Jack Black and Matthew McConaughey (as Tuggs's TiVo-obsessed agent, Rick Peck) are both somewhat annoying, but then so are their characters, so well played gentlemen, well played. And Tom Cruise as tubby, follicularly-challenged studio head Les Grossman is truly a gem, striking just the right level of crass bawdiness to make for a highly entertaining performance. And who knew Cruise still had such moves? Be sure to stay through to the closing credits to get the full effect.

And then there's Ben Stiller's Tugg Speedman, an annoyingly un-self-aware lug of a fading action star. Tugg is very one-note and funny only in limited doses. (Beware, some of the following may be considered to be "spoilers," although nothing revealed will actually spoil your enjoyment of the movie.) The gag relating to his bid for serious acting accolades, starring as a mentally challenged man in "Simple Jack," was funny insofar as it relates to Lazarus' discussion of what it takes to win an Oscar (not going "full retard"). But as he does so often (see, e.g., Dodge Ball), Stiller takes the joke too far. And here's where we return to that moment that made me go "oh no" as I was watching Tropic Thunder. First, there is a foreshadowing of the "oh no" moment as Tugg, alone in the jungle, is startled by a creature that he wrestles and kills, only to discover it is a cuddly panda, an animal he has been previously been photographed supporting. That made me groan because (a) what are the odds that he'd encounter the very animal whose livelihood he's made his cause and (b) a panda, in the Vietnamese jungle? really? The moment Tropic Thunder lost me for good, though, came soon afterward, when Tugg is captured by the dangerous heroin manufacturers. Really, the one DVD they have access to is "Simple Jack"? And they worship that schlock as true art? And seriously, the group's leader is a kid? Why? None of it made any sense, and none of it was particularly funny.

And therein lies the problem, because the rest of the movie is built on the notion that these are funny set pieces that can sustain the momentum of the plot. My take: they can't. So ultimately, Tropic Thunder is only half a good movie. I laughed at many parts of it and overall seeing the movie wasn't a bad experience, it just wasn’t particularly good. I could've waited on this one until it came out on DVD.

Walk This Way

2008-08-30T18:10:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-08-28T09:47:00.001-07:00

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'

2008-08-10T18:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Hit me.

2008-04-14T17:03:00.000-07:00

A review of 21.

Like so many a hand in Vegas, 21 felt like a missed opportunity. Given its premise – MIT students work together in an elaborate card-counting scheme to best the blackjack tables in Vegas and reap oodles of cash – it had the potential to be a fantastically entertaining movie. Unfortunately, to my mind, it only partly delivered.

Directed by Robert Luketic (Legally Blonde, Monster-in-Law) from a script adapted by Peter Steinfeld and Allan Loeb (from the book Bringing Down the House by Ben Mezrich, which I have not yet had the pleasure of reading but now plan to), 21 tells the story of Ben Campbell (Jim Sturgess), the quintessential good kid. Ben is an MIT senior and possessor of a shiny new acceptance letter to Harvard Medical School. What Ben doesn't possess, however, is the 300 K he'll need to pay for Harvard Med (but really, who does?). Enter Professor Micky Rosa (Kevin Spacey) and his coven of "extra credit" (literally) self-styled mathletes, who entangle Ben in their high-risk card-counting scheme by baiting him with the object of his crush, Jill Taylor (Kate Bosworth), at the expense of his relationship with his best friends, his heretofore impeccable school record and his integrity. Will Ben get the girl? Will Ben keep all his teeth? Will Ben fashion a plausible explanation for why he lacks any trace of a Boston accent despite being a native Bostonian? (As Jim Sturgess is a native Brit, perhaps the filmmakers figured they should just stick with a plain old "American" accent.)

It is precisely this – Ben's personal journey – that is most problematic to me in 21. At the outset of the movie, the script makes a point of showing us just how good a kid Ben is – a good guy to his friends, a good son to his mother, even celebrating his 21^st birthday with his buddies at the restaurant where she waits tables, and a good student – beyond the aforementioned Harvard Med acceptance, he also dazzles in his classes at MIT, which is how he attracts the attention of the Luciferous (no, not a word, but it should be one that exists specifically to describe 95% of the characters Kevin Spacey plays) Professor Rosa. In keeping with his virtuous character, Ben declines the offer to join the card-counting "team" not once, but twice, the second time saying no to Jill herself, who has turned up to erode his resolve while he's on the job at J. Press (a clothing store) (where, in yet another example if his high "good guy" quotient, he's recently been promoted to assistant manager). But then in a reversal the audience is permitted no part of experiencing, Ben shows up to team practice, making his entrance by showing off his innate card-counting prowess. It was incredibly dissatisfying to see nothing of what, given the set-up, should have been quite a moral struggle for Ben. And I was left asking myself why? Why the turn? Was it strictly because of his crush on Jill? Was he that tempted by the money? I needed to see more of the justification, especially given his anti-good guy behavior later.

In addition to the deficiencies in Ben's arc, the supporting characters were unevenly drawn. Ben's buddies, Miles (Josh Gad) and Cam (Sam Golzari), were terrific – funny, smart, spirited performances and excellent mirrors for Ben's turn to the dark side. But Ben's new companions on the card-counting team were simply types. We never got to know them, nor understand why they were on the team and why they wanted to be there. The kids never seemed to have enough fun to sell me on the greed, glitz and glamour justification. So why were they working so hard to bring Ben into the mix? And I never understood what was so special about Jill that she seemed to pull an Eve on Ben. The story revealed little about her character and Kate Bosworth's performance was, well, fine, but not compelling. And not to harp on hairstyles of actresses named Kate (see Snow Angels review), but honestly, I was distracted by how well-coiffed she was in each and every scene, and how exactly even her bangs and hair were cut, as though she had them trimmed every other day (which she probably did, on the set, but no college kid, especially one at a school in Boston in the middle of winter when hats go on heads fair often, is going to bother spending the time and money on). Kevin Spacey gave a fine performance of a one-dimensional character he's played several times before, as did Laurence Fishburne.

While the lack of definitive motivation for Ben's biggest decision prevents 21 from being a great movie, there was still plenty to enjoy. You'll probably see the "twist" coming from a mile away, but that still doesn't mean it's not fun to watch it play out. And I may be biased because I love the city, but I think Boston makes for a great setting, and sometimes a character, for many a film (see, e.g., The Departed, Gone Baby Gone, Good Will Hunting to name a few) and it only enhances 21. The contrast between wintry, conservative Boston and colorful, unrestrained Vegas is well-portrayed. I wouldn't necessarily recommend that you double-down and pony up the bucks to see this movie in a reserved-seating Arclight-esque theater, but it's certainly worth spending the nickels you would have otherwise entertained yourself with at the slots to see it on the big screen at a regular theater.

Dodge Ball.

2008-04-10T11:47:00.001-07:00

A review of Leatherheads.

Leatherheads is a pretty fun movie. Or, one could also say that it's a pretty, fun movie. It's beautifully shot and visually stunning, the costumes and hairstyles in particular standing out in a good way. And the scenes that consist primarily of witty, rapid-fire barb-trading are amusing and zing in all the right places. Unfortunately, these scenes cannot hold the movie together and "pretty good" makes for a decent, but not great, movie-going experience.

Directed by George Clooney and written by Duncan Brantley and Rick Reilly, Leatherheads' story revolves around the efforts of Clooney's Jimmy 'Dodge' Connelly to reignite interest in professional football in the 1920s and thereby preserve the existence of his team, the Duluth Bulldogs, and his job as the world's oldest running back. Dodge sees his solution in the person of star Princeton running back and war hero Carter Rutherford (The Office's John Krasinski), whose play has been attracting crowds of upwards of forty thousand fans. Dodge succeeds in getting Carter and his sleazy agent/manager, CC Frazier (Jonathan Pryce) to sign up to play with the Bulldogs. Enter Lexie Littleton (Renée Zellweger), the Chicago Tribune's crack reporter assigned to "cook Rutherford's goose" and reveal the truth about his heroism or lack thereof while serving as a soldier in the Great War. A love triangle develops (or rather, attempts to develop) (because really, does anyone ever doubt that George Clooney will get the girl? Or is here where I need to provide the disclaimer that I find Clooney disarmingly charismatic and irresistibly attractive?) (seriously, who could deny him when he cocks his head just so and makes those puppy dog eyes?) and hijinks ensue.

But even the entertainment value of the hijinks could not obscure the underdevelopment that plagues Leatherheads. It did not feel like a fully realized tale, but rather, felt like two different pictures. There was the movie about the evolving gentrification of professional football with the introduction of rules and the removal of the whimsy and trickery that seemed to give the game its appeal. Then there was the stylized romance between Dodge and Lexie, slapstick at its best. Back and forth it went, like the tossing of a football, zigging when it should have zagged, never settling upon a true rhythm and never fully integrating the two stories. The stakes never seemed high enough because the tone of the film reassured us that neither Dodge nor Lexie nor Carter would truly lose it all. Thus, the diversion needed to come in the route to the conclusion, one that never veered from the standard playbook. Clooney should've taken a page from his character and introduced a few trick plays rather than sticking to the tried-and-true buttonhooks and standard Statue of Liberty formations.

Within those limitations, however, the performances by the main players are strong. Clooney's Dodge charms his way through every scene and his comic timing is impeccable. You can almost see how much fun he and Zellweger are having amidst their onscreen volleys. And Zellweger handled the comedy and stylized scenes deftly, although at times Lexie's utter lack of flappability (rather ironic for a flapper) took me out of the periodness of the piece. Krasinski's Carter was equally well-played, and he convincingly oscillated from likeable to unlikeable, opportunistically switching allegiances and historic truths as the situation required. And Jonathan Pryce's CC was delightfully dastardly. A great number of the supporting characters were insufficiently defined and therefore not as memorable, a flaw in the film and a shame as it wasted some very talented character actors. One notable exception was Peter Gerety's (of HBO's The Wire) role as Commissioner Pete Harkin, a highly amusing ball buster (pun intended).

The conclusion of Leatherheads will surprise no one. But watch through the end credits anyway, and you won't be disappointed. They take you through an array of amusing photos which reveal the fate of the characters. Like the players in Leatherheads, you won't be any worse for the wear for having seen it, but you probably won't be much better off, either. So I'd consider it a solid DVD rental. I'd only give it matinee-price potential if a) you're really desperate to see something in the theater and truly nothing else appeals; b) you have a fine appreciation for the art of costume design and/or hairstyling and/or cinematography; c) you like your Clooney larger than life; or d) none of the above, but you're open to a little fun. Hey, pretty fun is better than no fun.

Annie Get Your Gun

2008-02-26T00:31:00.000-08:00

Snow Angels ("SA"), a drama adapted for the screen and directed by David Gordon Green (an indie director known in indie circles for such indie fare as All the Real Girls and Undertow), is like the annoying-if-well-intentioned friendless kid in class. You want to be kind to him, but he just so completely lacks self-awareness and is so self-indulgent, that the best thing you can probably do is follow the old adage, "if you don't have anything nice to say…" Not that I can't find nice things to say about SA – we'll get to that in a bit – it's just that there are a lot of other things to say about this flawed film.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should reveal that I am not familiar with the source material – a novel by Stewart O'Nan – so I cannot comment upon how faithfully the screen version hews to the original. SA presents the story of the interconnected lives of various residents of a small Canadian town. Arthur (Michael Angarano), a sweet high school band geek, finds hope amidst his parents' break-up in a relationship with new-girl-in-school Lila (Olivia Thirlby, who looks so cold during some of her scenes that I just wanted to make her some hot chocolate). Arthur's former babysitter, Annie (Kate Beckinsale), is trying to survive single motherhood following her separation from unstable, recently born-again religious fanatic Glenn (Sam Rockwell). And Annie's co-worker, Barb (Amy Sedaris), learns to transcend her anger to help her friend when own marriage to philandering Nate (Nicky Katt) turns rocky, due in no small part to Annie.

The film begins with a marching band rehearsal (featuring a cartoonish band leader) interrupted by the jarring echo of two gunshots. We are then immediately transported to "Weeks Earlier" as the film proceeds to fill in the story. Maintaining dramatic tension while using this type of flashback device is a challenging endeavor, and it's the rare movie that pulls it off successfully – Michael Clayton is the exception, not the rule. Suffice it to say that SA is no Michael Clayton. From the moment we were introduced to Sam Rockwell's over-the-top and uncontained Glenn, I had a very clear sense of how this all was going to play out, and it wasn't pretty. In fact, when the movie finally caught up with itself, I felt only relief at the sounding of the two gunshots, rather than any sense of sadness for the fate that befell their victims.

Along the same lines, I had a hard time caring about most of the characters, as there wasn't a whole lot to like or sympathize with. Five minutes after the film concluded, I couldn't remember Kate Beckinsale's character's name (Annie), which is either a sign that she wasn't much worth remembering or that I was dropped a few too many times on my head as a youngster. While the latter may be true, I'm fairly certain the former is accurate. Quite simply, I never bought Kate Beckinsale as her character – a small town waitress with no prospects beyond the hamster wheel of a life she found herself in. Beckinsale never fit in with the rest of the cast – she was too pretty, too polished and frankly, her perfect highlights were distracting. I found myself thinking on more than one occasion: a) I wonder how her character could afford such a fantastic color job; and b) who on earth could be so skilled at highlighting hair in this small town when everyone else was clearly coif-challenged (see, e.g., Amy Sedaris' Barb).

More than that, Annie just wasn't a very nice person. She lied, cheated with her friend's husband and flirted with Arthur, her former babysitting charge, just to feel better about herself with no care to how much of a tease she was to him. And she was a selfish mother, yelling impatiently at four-year-old daughter Tara at the slightest provocation. It didn't help matters that the little girl who played Tara was simply dreadful. This is not intended to be cruel, as children of that age don't really act, but rather are coached more than anything, and the little girl who played Tara (name intentionally omitted) was not well guided. There was nothing genuine about her scenes with either her mother or father and therefore it was even more difficult to care when climactic Tara-in-peril events unfolded.

Happily, there was one storyline that was perfectly lovely to watch unfold, that of the sweet romance between Arthur and Lila. Michael Angarano and Olivia Thirlby gave understated performances with layers and depth. Thirlby in particular, most recently seen as best friend Leah in Juno is a delight to watch on the screen, and I hope to see her in even more central roles in future films. Sedaris and Katt gave admirable performances despite being saddled with rather dreary characters. Beckinsale could take a page from Sedaris' lack of vanity in portraying her character – she disappeared into Barb.

SA concludes with the same static shots of the every day life in the town that flashed by at the top of the film, as if to indicate that despite the tragic events of the past 106 minutes, nothing changes, life goes on. And the final shot of the film, which I can only assume was meant to convey the same sentiment, was so abrupt as to feel silly. Thus, I cannot even recommend SA for a DVD rental. Maybe if you're on an international flight and your other choices are Lindsay Lohan's I Know Who Killed Me and Paris Hilton's The Hottie and The Nottie, then I'd say give it a go. It's not a terrible film, it's just not terribly good.

A Sure Thing. Sort Of.

2008-02-22T00:22:00.000-08:00

I was going to start off this first review by promising that I would never stoop to punning. You know, that I wouldn't write reviews featuring those clever attempts at plays on words that make you groan nine times out of ten, but that every so often have you nodding at your computer screen (or magazine, newspaper or parchment scroll) in amusement and admiration. But anyone who knows me for more than five minutes knows that however well-intentioned that sentiment might be, I would never quite be able to fulfill it. Much like the premise and promise of the subject of this review, Definitely, Maybe…

Definitely, Maybe ("DM") is a decent romantic comedy that delivers no more and no less than what one expects from the kind of chick flick that you're signing up to go see based upon the preview. Though DM tries valiantly to rise above the predictability of its genre with some nice, original brushstrokes, it ultimately does not, making it the kind of movie one might describe when asked "how was it?" as "good" with a little pitch to one's voice because, while there's nothing bad about it, there's nothing all that memorable about it. It's the kind of movie that you enjoy while you're watching it, assuming the rom-com genre is your cup of tea, and then you move on with the rest of your life.

That being said, there's plenty to like about DM. Ryan Reynolds is utterly charming as Will Hayes, a soon-to-be-divorced dad to Abigail Breslin's Maya. Reynolds has a self-deprecating ease about him that tempers the earnestness of Will (a good thing, because something needs to), and he cements his leading-man status with this performance. A clever set-up at Maya's school (that I would describe but is really far funnier to experience unspoiled) instigates an interrogation by Maya, and Will agrees to make like Bob Saget and recount the story of "How I Met Your Mother."

Thus we are sucked into the story of Will and His Three Serious Girlfriends, because everything always works better in threes, and we see Will meet girl, Will try to marry girl and Will lose girl several times. Elizabeth Banks, Isla Fisher and Rachel Weisz are each lovely and amusing in their own way and Breslin's Maya is cute without being cloying. Writer/director Adam Brooks' (writer of such similar fare as Bridget Jones, The Edge of Reason, Wimbledon and Practical Magic) choice to make Will an idealistic Clinton campaigner, paralleling Will's triumphs and setbacks with Clinton's, enlivens the story and distinguishes it. And Kevin Kline is a riot as dirty old man Hampton Roth, once you get past the shock of just how old he looks. Such flavor nicely tempers the fairly predictable plot that plods a bit at times and culminates in the conclusion you've been anticipating.

All in all, DM is worth the price of (matinee) admission. So if a chick flick that'll definitely make you smile and maybe choke up a bit sounds appealing, then spending an afternoon with DM is just what the reviewer ordered.