The Passion of Joan of Arc

Dir. Carl Theodore Dreyer, 1928



There are perhaps few who have not heard of Joan of Arc in some way, either as a martyr, French symbol, soldier, or literary character. This role has been performed in countless films and plays, and has been referenced in countless songs, stories, and even video games. Despite the fact that she is a real historical figure, everything about her appears mythological and fantastical. Even the most unsentimental history seems highly unlikely, and every telling of the story is riveting by its very nature. None more so than The Passion of Joan of Arc, an absolute wonder of a film whose focus is not the visions, battles or capture of Joan, but her emotional state and condemnation by religious tribunal.

As early as the opening scene, a shackled Joan is escorted heavily into a room lined with the disapproving faces of a bloated bunch of monastic fatcats who hold her fate in their hands. They patronize her, insult her, spit on her, threaten her with heresy and torture, and allow her to be humiliated by the jesterlike guards. Through it all, Joan watches and takes it, opening her eyes wide to the behavior around her and shedding tears for the dilemmas put before her. She knows that she has been ordained by god to lead the French armies to freedom from the English, but in order to stick to her guns, she has to deny Mass and communion, and accept a gruesome death. The sympathy or faith of a few monks is not enough to save her, and her death sets off a domino effect of dissatisfaction and rebellion among the peasants who live near the church.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this film is that it requires complete suspension of disbelief. It is inconceivable that something that has such continuing relevance, visually and contextually, is over 80 years old. It's eye=opening to discover that so many cinematographic styles have a single source. Joan of Arc appears so modern because the composition of the frames, the camera angles, tracking shots and swift swings of the camera have been used everywhere since then. I had no idea that in the early days of cinema (for this is from the silent period), there was the technology to do such dramatic things with equipment. The most compelling aspect is the intimacy of the close-ups. Dreyer did not allow his actors to wear makeup, and good he did, as you would certainly be able to see it on the faces.

The faces are incredible. Both cartoonish and human, grotesque and familiar. I felt like each character looked like someone I knew or had met, and the name was just on the tip of my tongue.




The typical overly hammy performance of a silent movie star is completely absent here: the emotions are so raw. One can really empathize with the range of Joan's sorrows and fears, the snide judgments of the monks, the sympathy and pity of the few clergymen who believe in her, and the shifting curiosity and outrage of the peasants. It is a feat of human expression. Not only amazing for the time period that it comes from, but for any performance of any era.

I was fortunate to have seen this twice with the UC Alumni Chorus and an orchestra performing the score live. The piece that they performed was not the original from the 1928 release, but a more recent composition by Richard Einhorn, "Voices of Light." It has an appropriately hallowed sound to it, and the vocal talents were exemplary, making the entire spectacle all the more momentous. It was an engrossing and moving experience, one that I would revisit any time.

A Single Man

Dir. Tom Ford, 2009



A directorial debut is always an interesting venture. Sometimes, it reveals the filmmaker to be a visionary, a true artist, a person whose future work you greatly look forward to. Sometimes the first film appears somewhat sophomoric, and you either hope for this filmmaker to redeem him/herself with later films, or you don't particularly care. Somehow, A Single Man inspired in me all three of these sentiments. That which clothing designer Tom Ford did well, he did superbly, and where it was flawed, it seemed beyond correction. And yet, overall, it was enjoyable enough for me to be curious about the future directorial pursuits of Tom Ford.

A Single Man is based on the 1964 novel by Christopher Isherwood, and follows a middle-aged college professor, George Falconer (played by hot-again Colin Firth), whose partner of 16 years, Jim (Matthew Goode), has died relatively recently. We go through one day with him, from his morning routine to his day at work, the people he encounters and his memories. He has minor adventures that paint a kind of tableau of his perceived necessity of detachment and the pain of remembering. Occasionally, he feels a sense of joy or pleasure at seeing a handsome man or a beautiful setting, but it is bittersweet. Only when one of his pupils, Kenny Potter, takes a particular interest in him, does he start to reconsider his outlook on life.

It has to be said, it is really nice to see Colin Firth look good again. He was delicious as the Misters Darcy (Fitzwilliam and Mark), but after that, he's been kind of schlubby and slightly lame. But oh! Behold:



Ford, the designer for Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent Accessories, and his own label, pays a ridiculous amount of attention to the styling of both the characters and the settings, making all of the actors look irresistible, at their aesthetic best. Setting the film in the early 1960's provides an opportunity for a sleek, retro, modish wardrobe. Julianne Moore, who plays George's best friend, Charley, is a beautiful woman, and Ford dressed her to look devastating, drunk, wealthy, past her prime, sexy, and slightly pathetic all at the same time. Actually, it's not easy to tell how much the clothing helped, because Moore is a pretty good actress, and plays beautiful, sad drunks fairly often. But! She did look excellent.

The cinematography is quite stunning. The opening scenes are a series of wispy glances at what appears to be a naked person's body adumbrating through water. Later on, we experience a flashback to Jim and George at Vasquez Rocks together, and the light is so harsh, the black-and-white so contrasty and sharp, much like lying on sandstone in the sun feels. At the moments where George feels despair, the colors are muted and desaturated, but flush into vibrancy during his fleeting moments of sentimentality. These are the moments that the film was made for, seeing the world in the stylish splendor of a fashion designer. This is why I would recommend the film to someone, and this is why I would happily see another film of Tom Ford's, should he take on celluloid again.

Sadly, Ford's strength is also his weakness. In trying to make such a beautiful film, he sought out beautiful sets, beautiful clothing, and beautiful actors. This last component, while undeniably pleasing to the eye, is not always enjoyable to watch. For example, Kenny Potter, George's infatuated student, is played by Nicholas Hoult, who has become quite the beau-gosse since About A Boy.



Grown up quite a bit, hasn't he? He is quite handsome, but he is just not a good actor. He is, unfortunately, a very important character, so there are quite a few slow and pseudointellectual conversations between Kenny and George that can quite painful due to Hoult's lack of gravitas and, well, skill. The purpose of his scenes is largely to showcase his attractiveness and the carrot of possibility of a happy future that he presents to George, but we are not George. We are the audience, and to watch Hoult drone unconvincingly about fears of mortality is rather tedious.

I have not read the book, so I'm not sure how the sequence of events plays out in a written medium, but the film dragged a bit. There were quite a few moments that could have easily been the last scene, but it just kept going. Ultimately, the conclusion was appropriate and poignant, albeit somewhat predictable. The film is carried just enough by Firth and Moore and most of the visuals, so overall, it can be classified as worthwhile. It is something of an emotional quandary to judge a film like this; the good parts are really so good, and the mediocre parts are somewhat difficult to watch. In the end, I am heavily seduced by eye candy, and after a few days, I find the visuals to be the most memorable. They stand the test of the short term, and save the film from overall failure.

Happy-Go-Lucky

Dir. Mike Leigh, 2008



For once, I'm going to cut to the chase here. I love this film. I have seen it twice, now, and the second viewing has done nothing to lessen my love for it. In fact, it has intensified, because much like Mike Leigh's other films, there are many layers of depth among the characters that are very subtle, and that become more evident upon multiple viewings. As Leigh would tell you himself, his directing style is not so much about taking command and making his vision come alive. Rather, he starts with an idea or a general scenario, and he hires actors to collaborate with in developing the characters and the actual events that take place in the movie. It takes a village to make his films, and the result is that every single performance is rich, nuanced and powerful, such that you can't imagine that the actors actually have personalities different from that of their characters'.

The film revolves around Poppy, played by Sally Hawkins, who is a somewhat lower-middle class schoolteacher in London. She is perpetually chipper and giggling, wanting nothing more than to like and to help everyone. After her bike is stolen, she resolves to taking driving lessons, and is paired with her polar opposite, Scott, a bitter, misanthropic man who has no patience for Poppy's constant joking. This, however, is only the major source of conflict in the story, otherwise the film largely follows Poppy's life through injury, dance lessons, work, friendships, family relationships and love. This may sound somewhat Hallmark, but there is no saccharine sweetness to the story; it is a stark exposition of this woman's daily routine.

If I were to meet Poppy, I might possibly find her aggravating. In the very first scene, she is shopping and goes into a bookstore where her sprightliness is so irritating to the cashier that he does not engage her in conversation. Poppy takes all of this in stride and seems aware of her sometimes off-putting nature. She continues to live like this, because the friends who love her seem to truly love her for who she really is, and isn't that all that really matters? She does have a serious side, however, as shown in the way she handles a troubled student in her elementary school class. She takes him aside and arranges for him to meet a social worker, and her jocularity does not come through. If I were to know Poppy for a long time, I think I would grow to love her.

The story of Poppy and Scott, her driving instructor, is difficult to watch, but extremely engrossing. Poppy cannot help but push Scott's buttons, for he does baffling things like make vaguely racist assumptions, decry the entire English governing body, and designate a ridiculous mnemonic for checking mirrors (Enraha, the holy triangle). It is laughable, and Scott is kind of pathetic, but Poppy sees the troubled child that he must have been and, against better judgment, alternately tries to psychoanalyze him while continuing to "take the mickey" out of him. Scott is far too angry and confused about himself to understand Poppy's nature, but he refuses to give up on his driving pupil, so they continue to see each other, with somewhat grim results.

Just for kicks, I read some of the user reviews on Netflix after my second viewing, and I was pretty floored by the poor reception. Now, my taste diverges greatly from the average Netlix subscriber's, as evidenced by the fact that I strongly dislike to feel completely apathetic toward the majority of the 100 most popular titles. Yet I was surprised that there were not more people who were enchanted by Poppy's touching sweetness and humor, mixed with her flawed, though relatable, nature. The most common critique was that Poppy was annoying and the film was boring. I can understand people finding Mike Leigh's films boring, because he focuses much more heavily on character studies and interactions than plot, and he is definitely not a director that appeals to everyone. But despite the fact that, yes, Poppy is annoying, she is such a good person, and Sally Hawkins's portrayal is both subtle and bold. There are no flat characters, and no single person can be reduced to a caricature or stereotype.

Because this is how things are, because humans are varied and inconsistent, this is why I love Leigh's entire filmography. Not all of his movies are great, but he chooses to focus on building and developing really complete characters with the actors cast in the role. If what you are really seeking is a great story or exciting diversions or great artistry or special effects, and you could not care less for the characterizations, perhaps these films are not for you. There are nice stories sometimes and varying amounts of set design, but the acting is the main attraction. I love to see really great performances and characters who are as realistic as people you could meet in real life. There were times that I thought Poppy was being foolish or unwise, but people don't always make the right decisions and sometimes put themselves in dangerous or bad situations. It is brave and that might be why it is unpopular to take this strategy in filmmaking, but it works for me, and I always look forward to the next one.

Interview with the Vampire (DVD)

Dir. Neil Jordan, 1994



Picture it: 1994. The Northridge earthquake happened, gas was $1.40 per gallon. Brad Pitt was a young heartthrob fresh out of Kalifornia and about to grace the screen with Legends of the Fall. Tom Cruise was famous from A Few Good Men, and was the other heartthrob that teenaged girls dreamed about. Christian Slater wasn't yet irrelevant. Kirsten Dunst was 12 years old, pure and cute as a button and not yet the strange sad-eyed hipster of modern occurrence. When Interview with the Vampire came out, it was like pornography for women. Here were all these sexy, long-haired stallions pouting their lips and seducing women, baring their teeth and flashing their unnaturally blue eyes at us all. Anne Rice was exceedingly popular; it was Twilight for the older generations. This was one of the biggest films to open that year, and a slight controversy only added to its intrigue.

Fast-forward 15 years. I am sitting alone in my bedroom, procrastinating a little bit, and remembering my decade-old fondness for this film, which is available to view instantly on Netflix. I imagined that it would be fun and possibly humorous to revisit such a relic from the mid-90's. I was not prepared to be slightly bored and uncomfortable with the deliberateness and seriousness of this film. Director Neil Jordan clearly took great pains to make this film what it is, and while it's not entirely awful, it is very much a film for the time, and does not translate well to today's standard and aesthetic.

For those unfamiliar, or those who have simply forgotten, the plot follows Louis Pointe du Lac (Brad) as he wallows in misery from mortality to immortality. Because he is a childless widower, he feels he has no reason to live, which is apparently perfect for vampire makin'. The vampire, Lestat (Cruise), picks him up and sucks him dry, and then the two of them live in devilish abandon in Louis's giant plantation house in New Orleans through much of the 19th century. They grow to hate each other because Louis, apparently, didn't realize what vampires do, and he has a crisis of conscience over killing people. Lestat is just, like, whatever, and bites prostitutes in the breast and kills them that way. (I'm sure you remember that scene. It certainly made an impression on me.) Their intense hatred for each other drives them to collectively vampirize the young and motherless plague victim, Claudia (Kirsten Dunst), who is a source of further sexual and non-sexual tension between all of them because it just wouldn't be a movie without it.

Claudia and Louis, whose love affair is hardly portrayed on film (as Dunst was 12 years old when the film is made), scheme to free themselves of Lestat, whose main flaw appears to be that he is just too vampirish. Feeds on human flesh, breaks things. Louis and Claudia are more subdued, but at that point, Louis has reconciled himself to the inevitability of murder for survival, and Claudia is a good little vampire who lures in adults with her childlike wiles. They commit the ultimate crime, vampiricide, and leave the charred remains of Lestat behind in New Orleans as they take off for Europe to find more of their kind. And in the hundred or so years that they spend scouring the continent, they realize that their kind is just like Lestat. I won't reveal the end, but it is incendiary.

It's very difficult not to be tongue-in-cheek about this. It is absolutely not a terrible movie, not at all, but it's excessively melodramatic. The visuals are lovely. There is a rich darkness about the film that Neil Jordan was careful to preserve from the source material, and it is very appropriate for the tone. But it is quite absurd. There is a gravity to everything that happens, a complete and utter humorlessness about it all, that it's laughable. Such a snapshot of mid-90's male cheesecake cannot but be hilarious. Reading the IMDb trivia, and seeing the other actors that were in consideration for Lestat and Louis's roles (Rutger Hauer! Johnny Depp! Julian Sands!) just completes the snapshot of what this film was going for.

The most interesting component of this film is definitely Louis and Claudia's relationship. Because laws are what they are, as previously mentioned, there is nothing portrayed between them, only heavily insinuated. But even then, it's glossed over very lightly as though the filmmakers didn't want to suggest too definitively that there is a relationship between an adult man and a girl child, even though in the context of the film, the girl child is about one hundred years old. Kirsten Dunst was easily the best part of this film, as she appears to be world-weary and jaded, and yet youthfully bratty. It would be difficult for a film to explore the motivations for Louis and Claudia to explore romance together without it being either painfully pretentious or blunt, pandering to the lowest common denominator and insulting my intelligence. But it has the potential to be so intriguing. I'd even read the book if I liked Anne Rice's style at all.

If I had been watching this with someone else who felt the same way I did, I'd probably have a great time giggling about the pedantic dialogue, the cheapness of the vampire-teeth dentures that make the actors talk like their mouths are full, and the absurdity of the casting. But I watched it alone, over the course of three or four days, and I did not have a particularly good time, except when I could laugh about it afterward with the friends of mine who'd seen it relatively recently. Standards of beauty have changed, as has public opinion of Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and Kirsten Dunst, so seeing them as the paragons of beauty, sexuality and purity no longer works. I remember my mindset when I first watched it, and I remember why I liked it. Unfortunately, it is no longer enjoyable, since it took itself far too seriously at the time that it was made. A little levity next time, folks!

Public Enemies

Dir. Michael Mann, 2009



As I was watching this film, I found myself momentarily confused. I was unable to remember who the director was, what it was that had made me want to see this film so much, or if it was only the cast that drew me in. As tantalizing as Johnny Depp, Christian Bale and Marion Cotillard may be, I'd like to think that I am more sophisticated a moviegoer than that. (I admit that sometimes, a pretty face or acting chops are enough to get me into a seat, but none of these actors satisfy that yen for me.) Only when the credits started rolling and the giant "Michael Mann" splashed across the screen was I fully aware of the extent of my disappointment.

With a subject matter as rich, exciting, and myth-riddled as the lives of bank robbers during the Great Depression, let alone that of the most notorious of them all, John Dillinger himself, you would think that a film in the hands of as capable a director as Mann would be amazing. If not extraordinary, at least fascinating, thought-provoking, or even challenging. Public Enemies is, of course, none of these. It is merely a telling of what happened. These guys. Did stuff. And then they did other stuff and more people came along. This is how the film presents itself, a detail-less narrative of events and occurrences, peppered with machine gun fire, pretty faces, and arch smiles delivered from one polished face to another.

The opening scene appears to be Dillinger being admitted to a prison in the midwest somewhere, when all of a sudden you realize that it's an elaborate bust. Back in the days where security could not contain the likes of Dillinger and his gang, they just beat up a few cops and run away, leaning out of the windows and shooting guards with Tommy guns as they go. A close friend of Dillinger's goes down in the bust, and they periodically hearken to him, fondly, remembering his words on how to be most successful in their "business." After holing up for a little bit and then taking down a bank in Chicago, Dillinger sees Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard) at a nightclub and determines that she is great and they are going to be together forever. She is part French and part Menominee Indian, and this allegedly lends her some appeal beyond her physical beauty, but we're just going to have to take their word on that one.

Meanwhile, Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale) is such a great FBI agent that he is promoted by J. Edgar Hoover (played by a fairly comical Billy Crudup) to helm the investigation to apprehend and kill Dillinger and any others in his gang. Purvis has a bunch of meatheads working for him, so he asks for a special task force to help out. So then a couple of grizzled old experts waltz in and suddenly know everything and how to really take 'em down. But John Dillinger is a tricky sumbitch, and he manages to flit around a little more before the final climactic showdown(s) where there are lots of special effects and bullets flying and we all grip our armrests in wide-eyed anticipation. Pardon the possible spoilers, but this is theoretically based on a true story so, I mean, obviously something happened.

Michael Mann has had a long-ish, illustrious-ish career of making films with short titles: The Insider, Collateral, Ali, Miami Vice. His films are usually powerful and intense, with some probing into the seamier side of human nature. However, his films are a bit like melba toast with cottage cheese and marmalade: good quality, full of things that are good for you, and wonderful if that's exactly what you're in the mood for. But they can also be dry, overwhelming, and unsatisfying if you really just want something sugary or to really fill you up. A film like Collateral was just right for what it needed to get across, which wasn't much, and The Insider did a really excellent job of laying out the facts as they were while Russell Crowe and Al Pacino took care of the rest. Those films were satisfying, filling. Public Enemies should have been a meal, not a snack.

It must take a unique personality to rob banks, kill police officers, escape prison, and keep a network of friends, associates and safehouses across the country. Someone like John Dillinger would have to be incredibly intelligent, ruthless and unbelievably charming. He would be in excellent physical shape and yet look unassuming enough to not draw excessive attention to himself. The Dillinger in Public Enemies only vaguely resembles the person he must have been. He doesn't appear to have much of a sense of humor or a particularly magnetic personality. His intelligence translates more as quickness and strategic skill, and his athleticism best used for hitting people really hard. Johnny Depp has taken on many roles where a strong personality shines through, so I know it is possible for him to execute such a task. The fault really must lie in the screenplay, and with three writers, it's a wonder that such a critical detail slipped them all.

I haven't read the book, and this movie didn't really instill in me any desire to do so. I never really found Dillinger that fascinating, but he probably could have been. He and all of his notorious brothers in arms: Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, Pete Pierpont, etc. Only Nelson was played with any obvious idiosyncrasy, but he was probably the easiest to reduce to a caricature. It is so frustrating to think about how, how, GREAT this film could have been! I am not a screenwriter, so I don't really know what I would do to enhance the personalities, but I would start with some research.

These gangsters seem like they're just anybody. Any maybe that's the point, but what is really so irresistible in films about gangsters and criminals is to see just how off-kilter they are amid the regular human characteristics. Maybe these gangsters aren't sociopaths or psychotic, and maybe they are just opportunists who happen to be really good at something, but come on. This is a film. Give me something to watch.

Star Trek

Dir. J.J. Abrams, 2009



Here is the obligatory disclaimer about how I am not an avid fan of "Star Trek" the television series, in any of its versions and generations, and I don't think I've seen any of the films prior to this one. I've probably watched two whole episodes since entering my teens, and before that, I was probably only half paying attention. When I was in junior high, I came upon a bumper sticker that said, "Klingons, Ferengis and Borgs, Oh My!" and so I did a little scouting to find out what on earth that meant. I have seen countless spoofs (countless), so I feel that I am pretty well aware of the major catchphrases, characters and events that have entered into science fiction lore. That being said, I am not sure at all whether that puts me at an objective advantage or disadvantage when it comes to appreciating this particular slice of cinema.

I won't keep you in suspense. I liked it! At first I was profoundly disturbed by how pretty the characters of James Tiberius Kirk and Mr. Spock were, and what a departure that was from the dated looks of William Shatner and the immortal scowl of Leonard Nimoy. I found it highly unlikely that a guy as attractive as Chris Pine could end up as the captain of an intergalactic spaceship with a crew of thousands. I suppose this is the point, as the golden boy, Jim, not only succeeds in part from the legacy of his heroic father, who sacrificed himself to save hundreds of people, including his own son, but also from his dizzying intellect. However, he is continuously breaking the rules, getting in the way, destroying things, and somehow defying all odds, yet turning up time and time again with hardly a hair out of place, and a new great idea for how to save the universe. He couldn't be less of an underdog.

Spock, played bizarrely by the giant-featured Zachary Quinto, deals with the typical inner turmoil associated with being torn between the Vulcan code of emotional detachment, and his half-human heritage which is the exact opposite. His character exists as only slightly more than a foil, then a cheerleader for the mindbending efforts of Kirk as he expresses his disdain for order and no-win situations. Perhaps it is only my perception, but it seems like the character of Spock is the more difficult one to take on, because of Nimoy's legacy, and the constraints of playing a character that cannot be reinterpreted too liberally without losing the entire essence of his purpose on the Enterprise.

Guys, the plot is exciting and convoluted, and deals with black holes and alternate realities, and, to be quite frank, I'm still sort of wrapping my brain around that one. Suffice it to say, it's not the same old song and dance action movie premise. In the first scene of the film, Kirk's father takes over the helm of the Enterprise when the previous captain is summoned into a giant Romulan spacecraft emerging from a black hole. The Romulan leader, Nero, interrogates the erstwhile captain about taking responsibility for something that apparently hasn't happened yet. When this captain professes confusion, and names the star date as 2233-04 (or something, as if I could actually remember that), Nero becomes so incensed that he rams his giant pointy staff into the captain's chest, and opens fire on the Enterprise with great vengeance and furious anger.

Fast forward 25 years, and the new class of the Starfleet Academy is getting ready to start their training. Enter: Jim Kirk, destroyer of cars and initiator of barroom brawls, who cheats his way out of an unwinnable qualifying exam programmed by the one and only Spock, colludes with the one Dr. McCoy to shanghai himself onto the Enterprise when responding to a Vulcan distress signal. Spock has chosen the Enterprise over the Vulcan Academy because he is tired of being Vulcanly discriminated against for being half-human. They assemble the usual cast of characters, played refreshingly by charming young actors, and the lot of them get together and hyperspace here and there to seek out worlds unknown and stuff like that.

Star Trek is entertaining and exciting and, though this may seem like a backhanded compliment, not at all phoned in. I mean, think about it. With such iconic lines as "Set phasers to stun!" "Dammit man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" and "Live long and prosper," this could easily fall into tongue-in-cheek parody. However, the actors embrace both the dramatic and campy, but most of all, they completely own their roles. It took a while to get used to seeing some of the actors in the styling of 24th century astronavigators, like Karl Urban and John Cho, and it took me a while to figure out where I saw this adorable elf before:


(Answer: Charlie Bartlett)

It is a heavy burden to reinvent a classic. J.J. Abrams was up against a lot of naysayers, though he is not one to be discouraged by what some may tell him is not a good idea. He takes risks, chooses interesting projects, and even if something seems gimmicky, like Cloverfield or baffling, like any episode of "Lost," it's always a fun and entertaining ride. For the start of a reboot, it's promising. I do look forward to the second installment in the series, not as a sequel but as a second chapter. It officially joins the ranks of "Serial Movies I Look Forward To," alongside the James Bond flicks, the Batman series and the Iron Man franchise.

Sin Nombre

Dir. Cary Fukunaga, 2009



I have been trying to think about why this movie isn't amazing to me. Is it possible that my time-honored history of enjoying relatively depressing movies is at an end? A formula that used to fulfill me on a basic emotional level now disappoints me. But it's more than just the fact that the film is relatively solemn that put me off somewhat; the other reason is, unfortunately, something I can't quite put my finger on. I'm inclined to say that it's because of the somewhat recycled subject matter, but when I actually stop and think about it, I have not actually seen that many films about Mexican gangs and illegal immigration. Perhaps it's my proximity to the subject, having grown up in Southern California? Whatever it is, it's unfortunate, because I suspect that this was probably pretty good.

The film starts by following two characters that appear to have very little in common besides general geographical proximity. The first is a teenage Honduran girl, Sayra, who is reunited with her father after some years, and is persuaded to ride the trains to the United States through Mexico. She appears somewhat conflicted about this, in part due to her conflicted feelings about her estranged father and his new family in New Jersey, and most likely also due to the dangerous nature of the voyage. She, her father, and uncle trek through some jungle before catching the train and stowing aboard on the roof with other immigrants hoping to find a better life in Los Estados Unidos.

The second story line follows a gang member named El Casper, or Willy, depending on your emotional proximity. He is a little bit distracted from his duties, which involve gang member initiations and keeping an eye out for rival gangs, because of a relationship that he tries to keep a secret from the rest of the gang. Eventually, the gang leader, Lil Mago, finds out about his girlfriend, and due to some kind of code, attempts to rape her but kills her instead. Lil Mago's coldness disturbs El Casper, and in an attempt to rob the immigrants on a train going north to the US, and starting to rape Sayra, El Casper kills Lil Mago.

From that point on, El Casper and Sayra are linked by destiny, or something like that. He is her guardian, and she gives him a way to redeem himself for the life of violence. Classic tale of redemption and discovery, love and loss, angels and demons, etc. Perhaps it's that kind of thing that feels slightly stale to me. Even though it's a fairly unique setup, as far as typical film plots go, it's such a commonly used theme that the details seem incidental.

The argument that sticks with me is that of my filmgoing companion, who agreed that while it was not exactly an entirely original setup, it was well done. And for that, Sin Nombre a "good movie." I agree with this, I believe it is well done. The performances are on target, the script is good enough, and there is nothing about it that bothers me on any level. It is produced by Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna, which has given this film the opportunity to use good quality equipment, better actors, and to film in good locations.

However, all of these things aside, I still can't get past the fact that it didn't wow me. I was not disturbed by anything: the violence was almost rote for such a subject matter, and I am much less squeamish these days anyway. It was entirely bleak and depressing: who knows if that might have bothered me as well, but the fact that it didn't just completely crush my soul OR leave me feeling hopeful and uplifted was a bit of an emotional letdown. This second point is kind of weird, considering I put off watching the film for several weeks because I was worried that I was in too delicate a state to be seeing something that was really going to depress the hell out of me. For instance, The Constant Gardener upset me for days, and I was not nearly as stressed when I saw that as I have been lately.

This may all be a result of my desensitization to terrible events from sensationalism in the media. Maybe I'm getting older and jaded, and I really need to be blown away, or moved to tears, or to just somehow be impressed by something entirely new. I wish I had a better reason for only feeling lukewarm about this film, but the fact is that it must just be on some metaphysical level that this doesn't work for me.

Oldboy

Dir. Chan-wook Park, 2003



Has everyone seen this movie yet? Am I the last person to finally see what the big deal is? If you haven't seen it yet, then don't read on any further, because I am going to talk about this frankly. I wouldn't want to ruin the ending for anyone, like multiple people have done for me.

All right. I wonder what this movie is like to watch without having any idea what it's about, the bumps along the way, or how it turns out. When this film came out a few years ago, it was such a sensation among such a cross-denominational body that on a regular basis, I would encounter people talking about it and, inevitably, revealing something. I can tell that there is something appealing for almost anyone, so long as they have a tolerance for the other aspects of it. For instance, a hopeless romantic might even like Oldboy, so long as he or she doesn't mind gore. The buzz about this film was so fevered that, unfortunately, it's almost impossible to look at this in a vacuum, and to judge it on its standalone merit.

Oh Dae-su is just some asshole who happens to stumble upon the worst luck possible: he is suddenly imprisoned by an unknown captor for 15 years for a crime he cannot immediately recall. While locked up, he pontificates on his past life and learns to fight. He goes from soggy loser to hardened badass. The minute he is let out of his prison, he embarks on a journey to understand what led to his incarceration, starting by answering anonymous cell phone calls and eating something alive. [Spoiler number one: I tell anyone that my favorite animal is the octopus, and they say, "Oh! Have you seen Oldboy? He eats a live one!" I knew it was going to happen, that some poor octopus would die for the sake of art, but that doesn't make it any less disturbing. Octopi are some of the smartest creatures on the planet. I'll bet he didn't even enjoy it.]

Ahem. So that happens, and in the process of choking down Earth's most intelligent cephalopod, he catches the flu and wins the sympathy and sanctuary of the cute little sushi chef, Mi-Do. You all know this. While avenging his own misery and tracking down the guy who made it all happen, he also develops a kind of relationship with Mi-Do based on mutual desperation and fear of losing the other. Eventually, he makes the 5-day deadline and figures out what all happened, and it all spirals out of control into the mutual revenge-fest that is befitting of one of the installments of the Revenge Trilogy. (The other two of which are Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and Lady Vengeance.)

Okay, so if you're still reading along with me, you know, blah blah, Oh Dae-su caught the jerk who orchestrated this whole thing having inappropriate relations with his sister and blabbed it all over the school, leading to the sister's suicide. This, I actually didn't know. I did not know that this was the driving force of Captorman's (forgot his name) evil plan, and so that reveal was actually a surprise, though I found it very thematic with the whole incest undertone of the film. Because we also all know that Captorman's evil plan involved hypnotizing Dae-su and Mi-Do into meeting and falling in love. But she's his daughter! Man, that must have been such an amazing twist for the people who don't have annoying friends!

But I do have annoying friends. And live in an annoying city full of annoying people who don't understand that some people like to see movies with a blank slate. So I can only tell you what this movie is like for someone who knows what's going to happen. And, you know, it's a little anticlimactic, when all is said and done. After the major reveal, the film really does not need to go on for another 15 minutes. We were all there for the twist, now we don't need to see a guy cut out his own tongue, another guy shoot himself in the head, and a ridiculous return to hypnosis. It's kind of like watching The Usual Suspects after you know that SPOILERSPOILER Verbal Kint is Keyser Soze. I mean, it's an interesting movie with interesting details, but it really exists for the ending.

I do know that there are people who bought this movie and watched it multiple times, and perhaps there is a reason for it. It was definitely entertaining, and the moment when Dae-su first resurfaces in the world and encounters the first human being in 15 years; that is a really touching moment that was very well done. It's a thrilling ride, and the gritty fight scenes with the flying blood and body parts are undeniably fascinating. But it doesn't really stand up as an entirely satisfying film without the twist or the anticipation of the moments that make the film so infamous.

Tokyo Sonata

Dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 2008



In my years as a film-viewer, which is the only kind of credential I really have to present, I have seen quite an assortment of unbelievably strange films, and other incredibly slow films. Being categorically slow or strange doesn't automatically turn a film from my good opinion, and sometimes it actually makes it better, or more interesting, or that it just suits the topic so well that there is no other way to present the idea. However strangeness or slowness is a kind of subtlety that requires great skill to handle correctly. Just like a film on any kind of controversial topic, there will certainly be an audience that will be uninterested, so it's best to cater to those who will accept the strangeness or slowness, and tell the story that needs to be told.

I'm not sure that Tokyo Sonata succeeds in this regard. It's both slow and strange, which, right now, to me, seems like a rare combination. I am also a fan of Japanese cinema, new and old, and I appreciate the fresh look at metropolitan culture through a different lens. This film is just odd. Something just doesn't work. Halfway through the film, I shot my filmgoing companion a quizzical look, and he confided, "I don't quite get the...thesis here." Whether or not this is the film that Kiyoshi Kurosawa had envisioned, it's misdirected and has too many disparate parts.

The Sasaki family, a fairly nuclear family living in Tokyo, falls prey to the laws of chaos theory once Ryuhei, the father, loses his job due to downsizing. Too ashamed and prideful to tell his family or to immediately take a new, lesser job, he goes around pretending to still be a high-ranking administrator, while taking advantage of the soup line and haunting the unemployment office. His dutiful wife, maybe bored, maybe disenchanted, sees him one day eating his free meal, and she suddenly understands everything. Ryuhei, meanwhile, tries to control the only thing left in his life, the activities of his children. He forbids his younger prodigious son from taking piano lessons, and his older son from joining the American army. We all know what happens, though, with this kind of desperation, and the appropriate rebellion ensues.

All of the events leading up to the Moment when the film comes together (you know there's going to be one) take about an hour and a half. It's slow, but the anticipation keeps you around, keeps you alert. (Except for one man in the audience who had only come, clearly, to kick off his shoes and snore his way through the second act.) All of a sudden, the film takes a drastic turn for the dramatic, but because it is so unexpected and unprecedented, it is difficult to look at the action with a serious eye. It all just seems so comical when the three main characters - mother, father and younger son - supposedly hit rock bottom with the kind of gasping, bumbling imperfection of a minor Shakespeare character. It reminded me a bit of The Host, which was decidedly a black comedy interspersed with dramatic and tragic moments. The emotional push-pull in that film was disconcerting, but it remained consistent throughout.

In case you already bought advanced, non-refundable tickets and you are cursing yourself for the lack of foresight, it isn't all bad. If I had seen the two parts separately, I'd have possibly enjoyed them for different reasons, and could say positive things about them as two different films. The characters of Ryuhei and his wife are a bit sad, but also familiar. The secretive husband and the quiet, sacrificing wife are common enough to engage an emotional response, though they don't entirely avoid being a cliche. There are some sweet and interesting scenes that are relevant to the film as a whole, and others that are maybe just vignettes to set the place and time. In the moment, there is enough to enjoy that I didn't feel uncomfortable or bored. Unfortunately, I never managed to shake the feeling that there was something slightly off.

The director, Kurosawa, perhaps intended for Tokyo Sonata to be a statement about the social pressures of Japanese society and the need for a patriarch to save face in front of his peers and family. I am not Japanese, nor have I visited the country, so I can't make any blanket statement about the importance of honor, but I know what I've heard from other sources. It is a popular theme in modern Japanese cinema, and I've seen it executed more successfully. Even with strangeness and slowness thrown in. Perhaps I'm incorrect in pinpointing that as the failure for this film, and after I finish this, I'll probably think of another slow, strange film that worked for me. (Yep. The Taste of Tea and Last Life in the Universe.) But I can say that the disconnect between the tone of the first three-quarters of the movie and the last quarter caused me, and at least one other person that I know of, to furrow our brows in confusion.

Sorry guys. (To my two readers.) I obviously dropped the ball on this, and now it's sort of late to be doing this. I'm taking a break from this project (clearly) until a time that I can look myself in the face and really believe that I am not saying the same thing every single time. Thanks for sticking around. I enjoyed doing this, for a time.

Everything I Saw In Theaters In 2008 And Up To This Week

Atonement- 1/6/08
The Golden Compass- 1/12/08
Cloverfield- 1/19/08
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly- 1/20/08
The Savages- 1/25/08
Persepolis- 2/8/08
Be Kind Rewind- 2/22/08
In Bruges- 3/19/08
Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day- 3/29/08
Young @ Heart- 4/19/08
Smart People- 4/20/08
The Band's Visit- 4/27/08
Iron Man- 5/10/08
Topsy-Turvy- 4/30/08
The Visitor- 6/6/06
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull- 6/8/08
The Fall- 6/22/08
Get Smart- 6/25/08
Wall-E- 6/27/08
Wanted- 6/29/08
The Incredible Hulk- 7/4/08
Hellboy II: The Golden Army- 7/12/08
Hancock- 7/13/08
The Dark Knight- 7/18/08
Wall-E- 7/19/08
Pineapple Express- 8/10/8
The Dark Knight: Imax Experience- 8/10/08
Vicky Cristina Barcelona- 8/23/08
The Little Mermaid Sing Along- 8/24/08
Hamlet 2- 8/31/08
Tropic Thunder- 9/7/08
Girl Cut In Two- 9/12/08
Burn After Reading- 9/13/08
Miracle at St. Anna- 10/3/2008
Choke- 10/5/2008
Cool Hand Luke- 10/7/2008
W.- 10/17/08
Rachel Getting Married- 10/18/08
Ashes of Time: Redux- 10/24/08
Happy Go Lucky- 11/01/08
Rock n Rolla- 11/06/08
Synecdoche, NY- 11/13/08
Quantum of Solace- 11/14/08
Passion of Joan of Arc- 11/23/08
Milk- 11/27/08
Slumdog Millionaire- 11/23/08
Ciao- 12/14/08
The Wrestler- 12/22/08
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button- 12/25/08
Revolutionary Road- 12/26/08
Let The Right One In- 1/9/2009
Taken- 2/01/09
Gran Torino- 2/16/09
Frozen River- 2/17/09

Frozen River

Dir. Courtney Hunt, 2008



In a time when the most prominent female figures in cinema are the leads in such films as Confessions of a Shopaholic or He's Just Not That Into You, here is a film driven by the kind of woman you might one day actually meet, and might actually like. It takes independent cinema to portray people with struggles and difficulties more complex than just managing an unrealistic credit limit or trying to figure out whether or not you're correctly interpreting a guy's mixed messages. In Frozen River, the characters are stark and yet rich with emotion and nuance, with responsibilities and scars more profound than could possibly be written into a script.

Melissa Leo, an extremely underused and underrated actress, plays Ray Eddy, a mother of two boys living in a trailer in the far north of upstate New York. When we first see her, she is sitting in the passenger seat of a car with the door open, glove compartment hanging open, thinking through some emotions before putting on a brave face for her kids. She stays cheerful for her giddy five-year-old son, who is excited about the new double-wide that they are getting. As the new trailer drives up, Ray runs to meet them and tries to bargain with the salesman to set up installation payments, or to pay at a later date. They turn her down, give her an ultimatum, she turns to face her 15-year-old son, TJ, who already knows what happened. Apparently, her husband had run off to Atlantic City with the four thousand dollars they were going to put toward the double-wide.

Rather than this film turn into the story of a woman coping with having no man, getting her man back, or meeting and falling in love with a new man, this is about a woman who can do it, and does it. She tracks down her husband's car, picked up by Lila, a young woman from the Mohawk tribe, with problems of her own. The two women are at odds at first, and what starts off as indignant coercion turns into a common convenience over which they form a willing partnership. They begin to smuggle illegal immigrants from Canada to the United States by driving over the expanse of frozen river that normally separates the two countries. It started off with Lila and Ray holding each other at gunpoint, but the steady incline in trust and understanding leads to solid teamwork.

The great thing about most performances in independent films is the refreshing subtlety. I last saw Melissa Leo in The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada and she was good, but I admit to not having thought too much about her as an actress. It is clear to me that whatever fame and notoriety she is missing is because nobody must know who she is. Because she's pushing 40 and has visible lines on her face, she will never be a Hollywood household name, but her style is forceful and confident. She's hard as nails, but her tenderness is visible, never cloying. She interacts well with Missy Upton, who plays Lila. Upton, too, has a quiet kind of strength, and never once plays into cliches. Even the actor who played TJ, the 15-year old son, is effective in the way he incorporates teenaged sarcasm without turning into a caricature.

It's also refreshing to see a successful female filmmaker, especially one who addresses issues of racial tension and poverty. I can sense the woman's touch in a film's production, and it seems to be in the details: the genuine maternal intuition, the expression of emotions, the relative scale of the drama. As a woman, I can identify with this perception of the world and this understanding of humanity and certain experiences. Courtney Hunt chooses to show us the oft-seen story of the "unlikely friendship" (a phrase a strongly dislike) against a backdrop of muted social consciousness and the importance of family and self-sacrifice.

I had watched a lot of studio films in a row before seeing Frozen River, and it was like eating an apple after days of processed food. It feels real, natural, fresh, good for you. Almost a relief. I was allowed to think for myself, to process the nuances and secrets hidden in a glance or a flourish in the background. Even the reduced quality of film was a nice change from the overly polished glamor of big-budget flicks. Best of all, it didn't immediately vanish from my mind as I walked out of the theater. I could ponder and dwell on things that bothered me or that I needed to process. Thinking just feels so good.

The Mango Awards

I know I only have between zero and three regular readers of this blog, but I would like to celebrate my favorite movies of the year, with my first ever Mango Awards Ceremony. I am going to evaluate all of the movies I have seen in the last year, or to the best of my ability. There will be two classes of categories: the awards for films released in 2008 and films that I saw on DVD that are most likely released in any of the years preceding 2008.

This should be interesting and pretty easy, since it's only me voting. I'll list everything I've seen, for my own reference, then later decide the winners. In the unlikely event that anyone would like to weigh in, the polls are open, and maybe I'll have a reader's choice award or something. I might as well call it the "Bryan Award" or whatever, since I doubt more than one person will say anything, if at all.

So stay tuned!

Ciao

Dir. Yen Tan, 2008



Loyalty is a strong bond. It is probably the one noble incentive for doing something fairly unpleasant, scary, or uncertain. Loyalty to a friend can lead you to take care of his posthumous affairs, even when it is emotionally taxing, and to face the unknown. While loyalty is one theme in Ciao, it is also what kept me watching the entire film rather than leave during the first 10 minutes. I am glad I stayed to watch it because once it found its stride, it was a moving and thought-provoking film. It is very flawed, at times uncomfortably so, but it contains the seeds of a promising career for all of the parties involved.

While I do not personally know, nor have I met the filmmaker, director, writer, anything, I know someone who knows the editor. This is two degrees of separation, but they are good friends, and I am always willing to support friends of friends, especially in the face of the harsh Hollywood machine. I know that it is difficult to translate a good idea to film, and that there are so many variables that are so difficult to control, plus budgetary limitations, time constraints, etc. I needed to open my mind and look at the intent of this film, to understand it as an entity rather than just the small details of its component parts. It was uncomfortable at times, but in the end, I gave in completely.

The film leaps immediately into the drama: a man, named Mark, somehow dies rather suddenly, leaving his best friend, Jeff, as the only one able to sort out his personal business. This involves answering emails and notifying friends and acquaintances that he is deceased. Thus, Jeff meets Andrea, an Italian man who met Mark online and had arranged to fly out to meet him for the first time. They would be lovers, hopefully, and Mark's death was a sudden shock, as Andrea was already in the country. Jeff, intrigued by this mystery man whom Mark had kept a secret, invites Andrea to come out to Dallas anyway. It's a little crazy, sure, but the love that both Andrea and Jeff felt for Mark clearly told them that someone so meaningful probably can't be all bad. It is a rather reckless leap of faith, but one that I cannot admit to finding unrealistic.

When Andrea arrives, there is awkward uncertainty as the two men gauge each other and slowly let down their guard. Jeff is still boggled that Mark never mentioned Andrea, with whom he apparently communicated frequently for some time. Andrea is still boggled that Mark died so suddenly, and seeks to learn about him from and through his best friend. After a while, their conversations grow more intimate and they allow their emotions and secrets to come out. Each man is nursing wounds from unrequited loves, and dreams of the possibilities afforded from things beyond their reach. It is only a matter of time before they feel love for each other, which we know will happen from the film's poster, and because of the nature of a story like this. It is an old story, but set in the repressed banality of the life of a homosexual man in a conservative, post-industrial city.

The events in the film are very sympathetic, and the emotion is very human. As the characters learn more about each other, we learn more about them, and about the events that bring people together. This might sound cheesy, but whatever skepticism or antagonism one may feel about someone, the immediate reaction to a loss is sympathy and compassion. Jeff hadn't known about Andrea because Mark was afraid he would judge him for his previously impulsive love life. While he may have dismissed Andrea as just another "fuckoff," his heart was softened by his friend's death, and as a tribute, or to honor one last wish, Jeff chose to understand this man from across the world and to embrace Mark's personality. Mark did not have a dying wish, but if he had, it would probably have been understanding and acceptance of his nature. That kind of friendship and loyalty is touching, and yet understated.

The amateurism of the film is evident in some of the typical film-school techniques employed: stationary camera repeating exact shots multiple times, somewhat stilted, theatrical dialogue with awkward timing and lack of facial expression, and somewhat beginning-level actors. By far the most pleasing person to watch was Andrea, played by Alessandro Calza (who also wrote the script). He was not necessarily the most natural, but his awkwardness was more forgivable as a foreigner. Jeff's stepsister, a somewhat unnecessary character who clearly was mostly a tool for allowing Jeff's inner monologue to be spoken out loud without the use of voiceover, was the weakest character. The film equipment was good quality, and the images were lovely, but perhaps the crew needed a bit more practice and experimentation to fully understand the possibilities afforded by high definition work.

That being said, the nuances of the emotional range were hidden between the unnatural-sounding words and odd actions. My tendency is to use realism as the measure of quality, but even though this played out very much like a "film," there is a real, developed maturity in the content. There is an understanding of human nature and the strength of friendship and love affairs. Curiosity and grief drives Jeff to a potentially dangerous situation, especially when he knows that Mark was previously in an abusive relationship. While actor Adam Neal Smith does not necessarily physically evoke the stages of grieving, Jeff's character is full enough that if he existed, we'd know that he was seeking answers and looking to complete his view of Mark by reading more emails than necessary and eventually asking Andrea bold questions about their international relationship.

I'm not sure I would be so forgiving and patient with this film if I were not tangentially and indirectly connected to it, but I sought to understand it and take it in. I was patient with the annoying parts, and cringed at the less effective writing at times, but I wanted to get to know it. Often there is more than what meets the eye, and a little patience can reveal a lot more than what appears at face value. I am quick to dismiss something as "terrible," but perhaps this was a good exercise in opening my mind and reserving judgment until I get more information. It was ultimately worth my time, and I was impressed by what I could take away from it. If the measure of a good film is what kind of mark it made or how it influenced me, then I can say that this is a good film.

Ashes of Time Redux

Dir. Wong Kar Wai, 2008 [original release, 1994]



Wong Kar Wai's films are so multisensory and tapestry-like that I just want to devour them with a spoon. He and Christopher Doyle have made some of my favorite movies and when the films are over, I am as satisfied as if I had done everything I loved doing for the perfect amount of time. So it goes without saying that I was on board with this film even before seeing it. I was already convinced that I would love it, and I did no research on it beforehand so that every moment would be original and untainted by expectation or anticipation. Coming to the film was like coming to a dinner where I knew I would be served my favorite food.

I almost feel as though it's unfair for me to review this alongside any other film because it impacts me in such a personal way. Here is one of my favorite directors working with one of my favorite cinematographers and some of my favorite actors. If there are any flaws, I'd be willing to overlook them and chalk them up to character or charming imperfections, whereas any other film would get dinged for somehow dropping the ball. Luckily, there are no glaring flaws, so I didn't have to have an internal battle over how I should feel about it.

The plot is unclear, mysterious, labyrinthine. We see a man, Huang Yaoshi, who lives alone in the middle of nowhere, who is awaiting a friend of his. The friend, Ouyang Feng, comes bearing wine that makes you forget, and seems to be carrying the burden of his painful memories himself. We don't know who they are, only that Huang appears to be some kind of hitman, and his Ouyang to be pathologically attracted to and by women who are spoken for, destroying engagements as he passes. As Huang meets with other people who request his services, he finds a common thread among them: they yearn for something intangible and desperately cling to hope for finding peace.

A pair of siblings come to Huang with conflicting requests for revenge, and Huang is unable to accommodate them because they turn out to be the same heartbroken woman, scorned by Ouyang. Tony Leung Chiu Wai, who plays a blind swordsman, has a vague request for Huang which he is unable to persuade him to fulfill, and which Huang later discovers was not what it appeared to be, anyway. A woman comes to Huang, asking him to help her avenge her slain brother, but can only pay him in eggs. Another man, whom Huang subcontracts to do his dirty work, contends with his duty and his indomitable wife. All of these figures rotate around Huang, who harbors his own demons, and nurses his own broken heart and wounded pride. Wong Kar Wai's frequently used themes of loss, revelation and reflection seem so fresh and unrepetitive

For those familiar with Christopher Doyle's cinematographic style, I don't have to mention the visual splendor of the color scheme, startling landscapes and dramatic distortions. But for anyone doubting that a film like this might be worth seeing, think of it as a moving tableau. The light is positively heavy with emotion and sensuality, and everyone onscreen is so beautiful, even if not classically so. Every other review I have read, glimpsed, or heard reference to has said, even if they did not love the movie, that it is best seen on a big screen. Doyle works with images like a master violinist with his own craft. The mastery with which he and Wong Kar Wai communicate their visions is evident in how seamlessly the content and the appearance blend into a complete work of art.

I could wax poetic about this film all day, but it has already taken me far too long to write this review. Normally I'd end with a full-sized paragraph, but I just want to post this thing.

Rachel Getting Married

Dir. Jonathan Demme, 2008



The most widely advertised component of Rachel Getting Married is the acting performance of Anne Hathaway. At the movie theater, the projectionist came to the front of the auditorium and welcomed us all, told us that Hathaway's performance has been critically lauded, and that she's a shoo-in for an Oscar nomination. All of this is true, but what the media has failed to remark upon is also the strength of the rest of the cast, the excellent script, and the tactful directing. This is exactly the kind of film I love to watch, where every scene holds the possibility for something, but the movie remains unexpected.

The film opens with Anne Hathaway (not actually playing Rachel, but rather, her sister, Kym), sitting with a nurse and another patient on a bench outside. The other patient begins to whine and Kym sharply scolds him. The patient responds with malicious sarcasm, "Are you going to run someone over again, with your car?" Kym looks away quickly, scanning the horizon, and smoking her cigarette. So much is revealed in that short exchange, yet it opens up a whole universe of questions. Did she actually do this? Is she at a hospital for rehab or for an injury? Is she looking for someone? Who is Rachel, then?

As the film progresses, our questions are answered, but oh so slowly. Rachel is Kym's sister. Kym was in rehab. Kym was a model for at least some time. Kym goes to NA meetings and really, really believes in them. The plot of the film seems to move around her for the first part; she drifts into scenes and creates drama with her neediness and her wounded self image which battles her still-inflated ego. The other characters are correct in saying that Kym makes everything about herself, from taking it personally when she is neither selected to be the maid of honor due to her chronic unreliability and her "past," nor informed that Rachel and her husband-to-be, Sidney, are moving to Hawaii after their nuptials. Kym is a whirlwind of self-importance and brittleness, sharp tongue and shame.

Portrayal of family can be very hit and miss in films, though it doesn't seem like the complexity of this kind of interpersonal relationship should be so difficult. Yet I think portraying a dysfunctional family that still has a lot of affection for each other is the most challenging because it requires a sensitivity to the ways in which people who love each other can be cruel, but then make amends almost as though nothing happened. Rachel Getting Married does this without ranging into the sentimental or the improbable. Kym, Rachel, their parents and their friends are all intelligent and emotional people, but the conversation never strays into the trite or the pretentious, and the compassion that they express seems genuine. This is both testament to the writing and the acting, but the entire ensemble just brims with talent and aptitude.

As much as I enjoyed this film, it wasn't perfect. Any film laced with tragedy borders on the melodramatic at times, and this is no exception. Although, sometimes a real-life situation can be melodramatic at times, and truly, there is no other way to show a confrontation between mother and daughter than tearfully maudlin. Additionally, there is the occasional scene in the film that is meant to show the closeness and the quirkiness of the family, but they can be a little strange and a little bit long. For example, there is a scene in which Rachel's father and Sidney race to see who can load the dishwasher in two minutes with the most dishes. This scene seems hardly edited for time, and we experience every moment of that two minutes, down to the scrubbing of the platters and the re-stacking of the plates, and including the time in between the dad's and Sidney's rounds. It's kind of cute, kind of funny, and then takes a turn for the sad, but then you realize that there has been some portion of the film has been devoted to watching people load a dishwasher.

Altogether, I loved Rachel Getting Married. Anne Hathaway may have the greatest star power and therefore the loudest accolades, but Rosemarie DeWitt has gained recognition for her stint in Mad Men, and so will her marketability increase with this. It's not a film with an obvious protagonist or villain, but in it, we can see the multi-faceted nature of people who really do mean well, but say and do terrible things. It is a subject that I enjoy seeing in movies because it forces me to look beyond the forced dichotomy of good and evil that so many stories present, and most things in life are not so simple.

Margot at the Wedding

Dir. Noah Baumbach, 2007



I don't really know what Noah Baumbach's deal is. I can see that he's a really weird guy, and that's his shtick, but it doesn't work every time. Now that I have seen three of his films, rather than thinking the first one that I didn't love, Kicking and Screaming, was just the odd one of a presumably successful repertoire, I can see that the one that I do love, The Squid and the Whale, is actually the odd one out of an apparently lackluster repertoire. Margot at the Wedding retained some of the sparkle of relatable humanity that was so wonderful about The Squid and the Whale, but the oddness of the characters and the disconnectedness of the scenes from one to the other were ultimately disappointing.

Nicole Kidman plays Margot, who, along with her son, Claude, goes to the sudden wedding of her sister, Pauline, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh. The two sisters are sharp and witty, but with different outlooks on life: Margot is a pessimist and Pauline is an optimist. Margot's "still got it," and Pauline thinks she needs to just take what she can get. Each sister's respective children have more in common with each other than the actual siblings do. While at first we are unclear why Margot would go such a distance for a wedding she was predisposed to disapprove of, we soon realize that she was promoting a book, arranging a tryst with a neighbor, and running away from her husband, who is never portrayed as anything less than a decent guy.

Pauline, on the other hand, reveals that she is pregnant, which is why she has chosen to leap into matrimony with Malcolm (Jack Black). Malcolm is chronically unemployed, disgruntled, immature and has other unspeakable issues. He and Margot cannot hide their contempt for each other, though Claude and Malcolm get along quite well. Claude is sadly torn between his loyalty for his mother and his sympathy for his aunt, whom he cannot see as the fool that Margot describes her to be. Preparations for the wedding include some friendly moments which someone's hissy fit inevitably ruins, or screaming matches that we wonder will ever get resolved.

I'm not sure which, if any, of the characters are meant to be sympathetic. Pauline starts out as the obvious choice for her sweet desperation, but then she proves to be just another Dumb Girl. Malcolm seemed like a poor old slob until you learn that his behavior is morally reprehensible. Margot somewhat earns our sympathy for being so emotionally cut off and unable to deal with her own self-loathing that she projects onto everyone else, but her words are so unpleasant that while I could intellectually feel for her, I know I would absolutely despise her if she actually existed. This leaves Claude, the unfortunate recipient of a broken home and a confused pre-adolescence. Perhaps someone with a similarly dysfunctional upbringing could relate more to him on a personal level, but I had difficulty overcoming his weirdness.

In The Squid and the Whale, the similarly pre-adolescent Frank has a similar oddness that he expresses in public sexuality and binge drinking. His parents are like Margot in that they are very intellectual and literary, and emotionally incapable of an appropriate relationship with anyone. These adults are developmentally stunted and have not taught their children any useful tools for existing in society. And yet Frank is more believable than Claude, more understandable and more sympathetic. Perhaps it is because he has a bigger role that he is allowed more screen time to develop more layers of personality, or perhaps it is because the words that Frank and his parents exchange seem more like realistic words than those between Claude and Margot. It seems as though Noah Baumbach took his good ideas in Squid and looked through his emotional thesaurus to find an equivalent, but as we all know, synonyms don't have the exact same meanings or implications as the original word.

I really wanted to like this film, nay, love it. The Squid and the Whale was full of such bittersweet humanity that watching it was like inspecting a fine gem and being blown away by the intricacies. Margot at the Wedding was too similar to not be compared, but too different exist alongside as an equal piece of art. While I have heard that Baumbach drew strongly from his own life for Squid, I can believe that he was a really weird kid who felt alienated from his peers because of his uniquely screwed up home life. While Frank made me want to give him a hug and buy him a sandwich, I just wanted to keep an eye on Claude and to make sure he didn't break anything or steal my underwear. It is a subtle difference between the two films, and a subtle departure that makes one excellent and the other middling. Repetition of theme, and overuse of device? That is a large part of it, but the rest may just be physical exhaustion from such exposure to irreparably weird people.

W.

Dir. Oliver Stone, 2008



I had no intention of seeing this film until about two weeks ago. It's hard to say what exactly changed that influenced my decision, but I think that my masochistic streak must have gone into gear. As someone who likes neither George W. Bush nor Oliver Stone, I figured there would be nothing in it for me, except to be possibly be annoyed, or to reaffirm my pre-existing feelings. Then, I thought it might be an important film to see for the awards season so that I would have my own opinion of the film and the performances. I found that while I by no means loved the film, and my views of Bush are neither changed nor augmented, it was interesting and ambitious, with some good ideas mixed in among expected weaknesses.

It was brave of Stone to make a film about a president while he is still in office, not only for the criticism it will inspire, but because of the fact-checking required to assure that it is not a work of pure fiction. I have neither the time nor the inclination to research things about Bush's past and present to make sure that Stone did not take liberties, but I suppose it cannot be avoided. The film covers W.'s life from when he was a fraternity pledge at Yale to the end of his first term in 2004. The history behind the man and the administration years are inter-cut together to show both Bush's upbringing and the result at the same time. In the end, this makes a it film built on dichotomy: on opposing sides, opposing views, and opposing goals. At times this works well, and at other times, it appears to be two films battling against each other.

In documenting Bush's early life, Stone portrays W. as a good ole boy, not particularly bright, but definitely personable. He lives his whole life in the shadow of his accomplished father, whom you may recognize as George Herbert Walker Bush, or "Poppy." Whenever W. wants something done, his father pulls whatever strings he can to make it happen, but the result is bittersweet: the victory is tainted by the shame that W. didn't do it all his own, and that his brother, Jeb, could have. Poppy's opinion of his son is that he should work for his living, but is willing to enable his slacking if it means saving the face of the Bush family name. W.'s inferiority complex leads him to plow through meaningless jobs, a marriage proposal he regrets, and a failed congressional election. Only in his governorship and his presidential election was he able to prove that he could pull himself up by his own bootstraps, but Poppy is always quick to chastise him for poor timing, or for stealing Jeb's thunder.

As leader of the free world, President W. is battling with his cabinet for how to best justify to the American people the decision to invade Iraq despite no tangible proof of WMDs, or reliable reports about Saddam Hussein's purchase of yellow cake Uranium from Niger. It is a political drama involving heated debates around ovular tables, punctuated by moments of prayer, and campaign strategists working to properly word speeches and press releases and fact-checking with world leaders and journalists. In this segment, W. is not sympathetic at all; his upbringing contextualizes his need to definitively capture Saddam Hussein and to tie al-Qaeda to Iraq to accomplish what Operation Desert Storm did not, but a few cautioning words from Colin Powell and smarmy speeches by Dick Cheney indicate that Stone believes that these are ill-chosen decisions and represent Bush's misguided and sinister presidency.

In describing it this way, it hardly seems like one film at all. Stone does not smoothly reconcile the early years with the later years, except to contrast the one from the other. While we can believe that Early W. and Present W. are the same person, all that Stone does to build W. up as a sympathetic figure, always seeking his father's approval is ultimately torn down by his depiction of W. as bumbling, tongue-tied, and taking direction from his Vice President. The Bushisms are expected, but they are not funny anymore given how often they are quoted in calendars, Newsweek, and the internet. When Stone chose to turn the tone from humanizing to ridiculing, I was less able to see characters, but rather actors doing impressions. I can see what his intent with the film was, and it was clever, but one of Oliver Stone's major flaws is his lack of subtlety. Had he allowed for a more neutral middle ground in the two approaches to W.'s life story so that they wouldn't appear so separate, the film would have been more successful.

When the casting for W. was first announced, I was pretty puzzled. Josh Brolin seemed far too beefy, Elizabeth Banks far too pretty, and Thandie Newton far too sweet for their respective roles of George W. Bush, Laura Bush and Condoleezza Rice. On the other hand, Jeffrey Wright as Powell, James Cromwell as George H.W. Bush, and Ellen Burstyn as Barbara Bush seemed well-chosen. The film held surprises, both pleasant and not. Brolin was quite good, and by the end, had perfected W.'s voice so well, that I was unsure to whom I was listening when he was giving speeches. Newton's portrayal of Rice was unflattering and a bit distracting in the way that her speech was so affected, and her face so wrenched up in a grimace. I didn't know that Richard Dreyfus had been cast as Cheney, and I was pleased to see him again, although a bit unsettled at hearing such poisonous words come out of such a differently familiar face. As a sort of sideways homage to The Daily Show, noted political satirist Rob Corddry unexpectedly comes in as Ari Fleischer.

Along with Stanley Weiser's commendable script, Oliver Stone puts together a commendable film. For the most part, it is interesting to watch and it is important as a historical artifact for what some people's perceptions of the administration is and has been. However, Stone was fighting a battle already in choosing such contemporary subject matter, and that has limited him in the scope of the film. Because I know that Bush is still in office and was re-elected in the 2004 election, I was unsure when the film would actually end. For the last six or seven scenes, I was sure it would be over, and then I was surprised that it went on. Who is to say that in the last two and a half months of George W. Bush's presidency, something noteworthy may happen, worth mentioning in a film? That would perhaps make for a more natural story arc.