Brilliantly filmed and terribly dubbed, Orson Welles took on the Henry IV cycle from Shakespeare and blended it into this coherent but sometimes archaic masterpiece, starring himself, and Jeanne Moreau and John Gielgud and other assorted stars, and wonderfully filmed amid castles and forests and snowy landscapes in Spain. Falstaff is the man of monumental size and appetites and recklessness and greed, and Prince Hal, heir to Henry IV's throne, loves hanging out with him, with the women and the liquor and the contempt for all civilized and lawful things. The heart of the story is Hal's conversion to Henry V, the good king, and his shocking rejection of Falstaff when it is time to assume his kingly role. But this about a man filling a role or history rewriting itself to glorify a patron? Falstaff really is disgusting: he robs and plunders and drinks and mocks, and the affection with which is generally held by his friends and friendly audiences is a bit bewildering. Hal, of course, is right to separate himself from his old irresponsible ways and its personage-- if you believe in it-- but everyone seems to think we still love the Falstaff's of the world-- except in real life. Then they, like Lucy, are merely annoying.
Kumail's Pakistani immigrant family is old-school: they want to arrange a marriage for him with a nice Moslem, Pakistani girl, and have made it clear that compliance is expected or Kumail will be shunned by the family. So when Kumail meets a friendly heckler at one of his stand-up routines, Emily, he's got a problem, which seems solved when they break up after Emily discovers that he has been meeting numerous eligible women as his mother tries to marry him off. But then Emily has a health crisis and Kumail, the closest thing to a relative, is called to the hospital to help. When Emily's parents show up, greater complications ensue. Holly Hunter, as Emily's mother, Beth, seems incapable of giving an uninteresting performance. Even Ray Romano as her husband Terry is more than acceptable: he finds the right tone for his character and brings along unexpected revelations that liven the proceedings. As you might expect-- or might not-- a comedy featuring a stand-up comedian features a lot of funny lines (how 9/11 was a "tragedy" for this Moslem: we lost 19 of our best). But the chemistry between Kumail and Emily is believable and funny and the dynamic between Kumail and her parents sparkles with life, especially after they attend one of his stand-ups and encounter a heckler. "Big Sick" is like "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" without the coy self-satisfaction or glib ethnic humour. Directed with restraint and taste-- a fine movie.
A film that does almost everything right and yet never really won me over. Elisa is a janitor, a mute, working in some nefarious government facility where a creature-- who bears a strong resemblance to the "Creature from the Black Lagoon"-- is brought for analysis. Elisa strikes up a covert relationship with the creature, feeding him eggs, and playing him music, while supposedly doing her janitorial chores in the room. In the meantime, a Russian spy who is ordered to extract the creature-- at first-- is also charmed by it, and by Elisa's relationship with it. It is intelligent! It can communicate! When he finds out what the military has planned for it, he steps in and inadvertently partners with Elisa. All of this is set in dreary late 1950's world of greasy streets and dark furnishings and shabby buildings. Elisa's neighbor is a lonely, gay artist who was fired from his job for drinking and now freelances. And he is the key to understanding what del Toro is after here: loneliness. The creature and Elisa and Giles, the neighbor, are all exceedingly lonely: they are misfits, homely, and lacking the glib social skills of the people around them. But in this story, those social skills are toxic, used as a club, intended to mask evil. "Shape of Water" is well-acted, well-directed, and often compelling. But it also resorts to cliche in the end, a showdown that was wholly predictable, and careless: why does Dimitri feel compelled to tell Strickland about Elisa? He has no rational reason to do it, and every reason to lie. Refreshingly, Strickland doesn't waste a lot of time talking in the inevitable scene wherein, in most movies, there is a lot of talk-- to build suspense, and to provide cover for improbably plot developments. It feels like del Toro gave in to the urge to provide the big bang ending in spite of himself, and it left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth. A second more serious flaw: for all the hype about his performances in these types of roles, Doug Jones was not very convincing as "Amphibian Man". He walked and moved too much like a human and often looked exactly like a man in a costume.
Dark thriller about a agoraphobic psychologist who specializes in serial killers being stalked by-- of course-- a serial killer. Above average. Maintains good tension throughout and Holly Hunter's original portrayal of a gritty female detective, M.J. Monahan, is unfussy and fresh. Dr. Helen Hudson is tiresome and boring, and unfortunately represent the classic Hollywood cliche of the mythic psychologist who amazingly really understands how psychologically disturbed people think. In this case, we have a psychotic killer who has made it his life's work to recreate the modus operandi of famous serial killers. Each of his attacks copies the technique of a different notorious murderer. There is a grisly scene near the beginning that doesn't totally make sense in a physical way, and we immediately understand that the scene is being extended artificially to add suspense-- so it's not really suspenseful. There are reasonable nods to believability-- M.J. does call for backup before entering the labyrinthine college campus-- and some due diligence. So it's a superior thriller that won't leave you feeling as cheated as most of them do.
Mildred Hayes' daughter, Angela, was raped and murdered and she is not satisfied with the police efforts to find the culprit. On a whim, she rents three billboards outside of town and announces her dissatisfaction to the world. Sheriff Willoughby takes exception, and his deputies are angry: Willoughby is not a well man and they feel Mildred is being unfair. The elements of stereo-types float through this movie and all of them are subverted by McDonagh's clever, literate plot. The music is funky, alt-country. Peter Dinklage makes a tasteful cameo and everyone resists caricature. "Three Billboards" is about intemperate anger and impulse and the disasters we cause when we think we are seeking justice, and the judgments we make when we let emotion guide our perceptions. Superbly acted all around, well-edited, well-filmed-- surely an Oscar candidate in three or five categories-- this is a rich, thoughtful, provocative film that deserves far more attention than it has received so far.
Think of a person you know with absolutely no talent, no judgement, and poor taste. Imagine this person with millions of dollars available and the sudden urge to write, direct, and produce a feature film. In 2003, a strange man with a vaguely Eastern European accent met an aspiring actor named Greg Sestero in San Francisco. After months of frustration trying to advance their movie careers as actors, Tommy Wiseau decided they would make their own movie. The result was the legendary "The Room", which made $1800 in its debut only to resurface, zombie-like, as a comedy, a film so bad that it was ridiculous, and in its ridiculousness, hilarious. "Disaster Artist" fudges some of the facts (audiences did not openly find it as hilarious at the start: it took a while, and it was because some astute film-goers began to promote it as hilariously bad) but it's main flaw is the way it neglects the really interesting issue of how a failed artists perception can so drastically mismatch the reality. I doubt that Wiseau ever really got what was so funny about his film, but he learned to embrace it, the way William Shatner learned to embrace the campiness of his character in the original "Star Trek". There is a lot of examine there, especially given the current state of politics, in which a large segment of the voting population embraces a braggart as President without a clue as to why sensible people correctly regard him as a vulgar, tasteless, poseur. This is an entertaining movie but could have been richer. And Franco's direction convinces one that he should be an actor.
Incredibly, this film broke the record for favorable reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. But the previous record holder was "Toy Story 2", so what does that mean? It's an acerbic story about a rebellious teen, Christine "Lady Bird" McPherson, who is at loose ends about her future as she nears her high school graduation. She is angry and impulsive and delusional (she thinks she might get into an Ivy League College), and constantly at odds with her nasty mother, who does love her, and punches are pulled as they resolve their issues. She gets a boyfriend who we figure out long before she does that he's gay, loses her virginity in an awkward scene in which it was decided that she would not remove her bra, and secretly applies to a college in New York against her mother's wishes, but with the active approval of her dad. Nobody is exactly caricatured here: it's refreshing to see teachers and other adults portrayed fairly realistically. They are caring and thoughtful, for the most part. But Christine's anger seems unfocused and sometimes aimless. She has some artistic pretensions, but we never see anything really promising there. She's sharp but not studious or ambitious, really. The movie would have improved a lot if they had been able to dramatize a shift in her personality and confidence after she does move to New York. Instead, we get a certified cliche. She hears a choir singing in a church and suddenly misses her home and her mother. It must be acknowledged that "Lady Bird" is too hip, too sophisticated to adopt the "Breakfast Club", "Pretty in Pink" tropes of glorious adolescent masochism. It's failures are mainly artistic and conceptual: I'm not sure there is really a story in this story. The film it most resembles is not those confections, but the sassy "Wish You Were Here" with a young Emily Lloyd navigating the same confusing waters.
You would not have expected Cathleen to want to be a nun. Her mother smokes and drinks and has men over (her father has abandoned the family). She swears and mocks and embraces worldly amusements. They go to church once because they had nothing better to do that day and Cathleen's mother wants her to make her own decision about religion. But it is enough for Cathleen who becomes intensely curious about religion, mesmerized by the statues and ritual, and fascinated by the idea of being a bride of Christ, of being in love, and loved, personally, by God. So, against her mother's wishes, she signs up, at a very strict convent, and is introduced to the severe Reverend Mother who gives them a welcome, asks for questions, and then remonstrates with a girl who dares to ask one: "postulants don't have questions". "Novitiate" follows this class of young girls as they struggle with identify and self-discipline and devotion, and try hard to repress natural desires that sometimes can't help but overflow towards each other. Cathleen, brilliantly played by Margaret Qualley, observes and absorbs: she's one of the better prospects, with good self-discipline. Other girls are humiliated or evicted with cruel relish by the Reverend Mother. In one powerful scene, one of the girls, Evelyn, is forced to kneel in the center of the group and confess to her weaknesses. Untidiness is not sufficient for Reverend Mother: let's get the real dirt! But Evelyn ends up expressing painful doubts about her own mission. The scene is so well directed, her expressiveness so naked, you feel awkward for the actors. The postulants are not allowed to touch anyone, of course, and we see some of them, desperate for some affection, make furtive gestures towards each other, or more. In the middle of all this, Vatican II emerges, and Reverend Mother rages against the changes, convinced, not completely incorrectly, that it will mean the end for her order, especially since a core component of Vatican II was the idea that nuns are no more beloved by Christ than other Christians.
Disappointing effort by Todd Haynes about a young boy who leaves his unhappy Minnesota home to travel to New York, and parallel story of young girl who leaves her unhappy New Jersey home to go to New York. They are obviously meant to be connected in some wonderful, mysterious way, which only turns out to be a rather obvious, lame circumstance. There are no revelations here so much as bread crumbs, all of them rather random and unconnected. Why does Ben go deaf? Why does Jamie attach to Ben so easily and quickly, with any of that easy banter or playfulness boys of that age thrive on? The actors are weak, the cinematography mildly artistic, the music a bit over-bearing: why did this get such glorious reviews? Because it is, at least, somewhat original and fresh? The last twenty minutes are pompous and over-bearing, just aching to let you in on some profound piece of ART, only to pile on sentiment: it's telling the viewer to feel, rather than evoking feelings with drama or expression.
Uneven, occasionally vivid Thanksgiving story about an art expert who is fired from her job at the Art Institute of Chicago, hears from her daughter that she is planning to lose her virginity that very weekend, and travels home for an ordeal of a Thanksgiving holiday with her dysfunctional family. Holly Hunter is an exceptional actress but even she can't save this from the occasional descent into caricature-- without wit or invention-- and the gratuitous happy ending which is jarringly out of sync with the tone of the rest of the film. Her brother Tommy is a passive-aggressive practical joker that grates on the viewer. Claudia's sister deserved better than this mean-spirited portrayal: she's kind of right about the family. And Claudia's love interest in something of a stalker which, in this scenario, almost pleases her. Her father-- poorly played by Charles Durning-- is harmless, but his big scene, recalling a moment at the airport when Claudia was very young, fizzles, because he can't find the tone. Better than average, perhaps-- there's some rawness and spirit to the proceedings-- but pales behind an achievement like "Junebug".
Incredibly charismatic performance by Brooklynn Prince as a 6 year old girl living in a seedy (though freshly painted) motel in Florida, near Disney World, but utterly apart from it. Moonee and her friends wander from hotel to hotel, to ice cream stands, nearby farms, abandoned condos, and the detritus of shattered American dreams as their mother struggles to assemble the rent, and under the casual protection of the building manager, Bobby-- a refreshingly reliable and wise male character. Prince gives an absolutely stunning performance: she is mouthy, amused, energetic, insightful, bubbly, and cynical. She is loyal to her mom who is more of an irresponsible playmate than a mother, and respectful of Bobby who keeps an eye out for her, but is reaching the end of his tether at her mothers' shenanigans. Most of the adults relate to the kids realistically: annoyed but indulgent, impatient, sometimes, sometimes nurturing. But don't overlook the bleakness of this landscape. Moonee and her friends are largely abandoned by failed parents, and by a society that is more interested in hyper-gratification at Disney World than in the problems of a dissolute young woman and her child. There are no great moments of resolution here, or climatic conflicts, other than the intervention of the authorities at one point. Just a vivid portrait of life on the underside of our empty culture. "The Florida Project", incidentally, was the original development name for Disneyland. Some scenes were clearly shot guerrilla style, without the consent of civic or corporate authorities.
Intriguing documentary filmed by Tom Berninger, brother of The National lead singer and songwriter Matt Berninger, who works out his own feelings in inferiority and envy while filming the National on a tour, while he is supposed to be one of the roadies. Unusually intimate-- he engages with band members and his brother in a familiar, casual tone, and sometimes searing, when he gets fired, and Matt gets exasperated with his mistakes and failures. What we see is the self-pitying Tom trying to resolve his own position in this world: a hugely successful older brother (his parents, though, thought he was the more talented sibling), and glib, comfortable parents who still think he will be a success on his own someday, perhaps as an artist or film-maker (some of the most unexpected scenes occur at his home as he engages his own parents in assessing himself and his brother). The film-making itself is decent-- fairly good shots and good audio-- and he manages to edit his hours of video into a fresh, vivid encounter with a charismatic band (Aaron Dessner comes across as very interesting, and miraculously tolerant of Tom's requests for poses and actions), and himself.
Vital, energetic, and sophisticated portrait of five young Italian men in a small Italian village in the 1950's. Unemployed, bored, living with their families, they live to hustle women and hang out together, until one of them, Fausto, gets a girl, Sandra, pregnant and leaves for a honeymoon in Rome. Fellini was open about the biographical elements of the story-- it's the story of his youth in Rimini. You can see why his films appealed to American critics: it's far more adult and sophisticated than almost anything from Hollywood at the time, and is more comparable to film like "Slackers" much, much later. Nobody with the exception of Moraldo is admirable in any serious way. They all live with their mothers and become weepy when thinking about how much they have sacrificed for their darling boys. Leopold is a writer: when a famous actor comes to town for a performance he unexpectedly considers one of Leopold's plays and then leads him on a strange, even more unexpected walk. Alberto likes wearing dresses and goes wild at the annual carnival-- a vibrant scene directed with gusto, and provides the movie with late momentum.
Wildly inventive at times, but also seriously flawed-- Radcliffe plays a corpse that washes up on an island just as Hank (Dano) is about the kill himself out of loneliness. The corpse is seriously flatulent relieves himself almost constantly until Hank literally puts a cork in it. Good comedy can and should be transgressive but not everything that is transgressive is good comedy. And there is a manipulative streak of gay evangelism here: why don't you just come out, Hank? Why don't you acknowledge that you should have sex with me? Why are you resisting? Inevitably, it's because you're uptight and repressed. And what is the geography of this place anyway? They are on an island, then in a redwood forest, then in suburbia-- but it's not magical-- it's just confusing in the way inadequate writers insist is really quite meaningful when it's not. The music, by Manchester Orchestra, is at least interesting at times
Edgar Wright, it is said, was sitting on this idea for a film for many years-- since 1995. I have no idea what idea they are talking about: "Baby Driver" has no ideas. It's a long chase film, with a few minor variations on the usual cliche'-ridden cast of tough guys and sexy dolls and master minds. We are given to believe that Baby is more honorable than the others because he pouts when they kill people. He doesn't leave. He doesn't turn anyone in. He just pouts. Director Wright brags that almost none of the film was CGI-- except for about 450 shots. Does converting the Subaru's to rear-wheel drive so they can peel away from crime scenes count as "authentic"? We are supposed to be excited by this. As we are excited when, trying to depart from a robbery location without attracting attention, Baby guns the engine and lays rubber, spinning and smoking his wheels, until, hell yes, the police notice which car the robbers are in. The chase scenes are edited to give the impression of action but fail because the cuts are often arbitrary and even ridiculous. Edgar Wright interviewed some ex-convicts before making the movie. Why? To avoid doing anything that might be construed as believable? Worst of all, we are treated the contemptible rehash of the dead villain springing back to life, not once, not twice, but three times. Wow. I'll bet you were surprised. As surprised as you were by Baby getting an incredibly light sentence after being involved in the violent deaths of several police officers? Or the inconsequential results of Bats killing the arms dealer? Some of the actors expressed how thrilled they were to be watching Kevin Spacey do his magic. This is what happens when actors like Dustin Hoffman, Jaime Fox, Kevin Spacey, Jennifer Lawrence, and so on, once did good work. They get a reputation. Then they start playing unchallenging roles demanding caricatures of their earlier work, and certain people fall over themselves with wonder.
Grim but effective drama about the last few weeks in the life of Christine Chubbuck, a TV reporter in Sarasota, Florida, who killed herself on-air in July 1974, after a series of disappointments and personal trials. Christine was depressed, particularly at the fact that she was almost 30 and still a virgin. She had some medical problems. And she found out that two of her colleagues, but not her, had been promoted to a new station in Baltimore owned by the owner. Filmed in muted colours that look as though they had not been corrected-- in fidelity to 1980's television-- but beautifully edited and paced, and displays a deep knowledge of the workings of a local television station, the politics, and the mechanics of the technology at the time. A fine, moving film.
It's 30 years later and "K" is a known replicant out doing his job killing rebellious replicants when he encounters a strange tree and possible hidden compartment. He finds the skeleton of a woman who appears to have died during a C-section in child-birth, which arouses the deep concern of Lieutenant Joshi, because replicants are supposed to be able to replicate. K tries to solve the mystery because, well, a number of absurd coincidences make it really, really important for him to do that. He tracks down Gaff in an old age home, and meets a sort of witch replicant who provides him with ridiculously specific details about Deckard, and then he tracks down Deckard who appears to me to have been waiting 30-years for K to show up and ask him some questions, but first, let's have a fight scene, with a convenient struggle that allows us to have dialogue so I can change my mind about killing you and we can be interrupted by the arrival of the evil corporate hack's agents, who want to send Deckard somewhere to be questioned more seriously, but really, to carelessly allow K to try to rescue Deckard.... It just piles on. It doesn't do enough to keep you distracted from all the holes in the plot, and certainly doesn't do enough to make you care about this story line. Unlike the first "Blade Runner", no case was made for why a replicant having a "soul" would be any different from a replicant without one, which is what, notwithstanding the method acting, K is.
Everything is in place for a spectacularly brilliant movie: 65,000 oil paintings used to animate Vincent Van Gogh's paintings and bring the story of his last few days to life. One of the most interesting personalities in art history. And then the writers got to work and create a remarkably lame story about the son of the postman, Roulin, setting out to deliver Vincent's last letter to Theo, at the insistence of his father. He is reluctant. Why? To advance tension in the plot is the only explanation. And everyone around Vincent seems to see into the future when a Van Gogh sells for $93 million: they all know that he really is a genius even though at the time he had only sold one painting and most people thought he was merely mad. Theo, of course, is dead by the time Armand Roulin arrives in Paris, so he has to seek out other people from Van Gogh's portraits, including Pere Tanguy, and Dr. Gachet, and his daughter Marguerite. It's all sophomoric and presented with the unpleasant tone of adolescent self-pity: Armand even binge drinks to accentuate the depths of his despair. And eventually we don't really find out anything more about the mystery of Van Gogh's suicide other than it likely was suicide. But the animation of Van Gogh's paintings-- in oils!-- is stunning and worth the price all by itself.
Reasonably tight SciFi drama about a separated man who, suddenly in charge of his two children, must navigate the invasion of Earth by aliens who use gigantic tripod-like ships to annihilate humans and human weapons. Ray Ferrier uses his wits and ingenuity to escape various tight fixes, including a mob who take his car, and the sinking of a ferry, to try to get to his ex-wife in Boston. Along the way, his son, Robbie, insists on joining the marines to attack the invaders. Because they often welcome civilians into the armed services during a military action. And his daughter Rachel inconveniently screams whenever the aliens get too close. This is a Spielberg film so we know what the ending is: the family must be reunited. And as is also typical of Spielberg, the action sequences are well shot and sometimes thrilling. And, of course, the dramatic scenes are heavy-handed and over-wrought.
Interesting film if only for the fact that at least it's about real people with familiar issues (the brother who returns from Iraq severely mutilated, the goth girl who goes straight, the disillusioned parents). Colleen Lunsford, who was a goth rebel in her youth, is now a novice in a convent-- the "Sisters of Mercy". When her brother comes back from Iraq with serious burn wounds and holes up in the family's guest house, she returns home to try to reach out to him. She reconnects with a high school friend, fences with her mother, and makes it clear that she has no romantic interests in anyone. It's a bit off-kilter and fresh, but not nearly as well developed as, say "Blue Jay", and not as mature or provocative. Consistently weak performances throughout. At one point, Colleen prays, and looks skyward-- are you kidding me? She never, at any point, conveys the conviction or passion of religion, or that sense of comfort within her own faith.
Jim and Amanda had a great high school romance going 20 years ago. Now both of them happen to be back in the California town they both left and they bump into each other at the supermarket, and carefully, almost reluctantly, agree to have a coffee together. And so begins a delicate dance fraught with emotional peril, and layers are peeled until we begin to approach the core event that drove them apart, and their regrets and ambivalence about it. Consistently startling and disturbing-- you almost wish you could step in and steer them away from exposure-- Jim and Amanda recreate the extraordinary rapport they had to the point where you almost expect them to fall in love. They role-play and dance and convincingly narrate their own myths, but are inevitably driven to the unresolved tensions they also created. Neither of them are perfect-- Amanda clearly has it more together than Jim-- but you can understand how they might easily have married and settled in together, if not for the mistakes. Beautifully acted-- mostly improvised-- by two leads who develop an extraordinary rapport with each other. They are obviously compatible and funny and they obviously adore something about each other. Which makes the story all the more tragic. Riveting. Nothing like it out there-- complex, adult, almost frightening in its acute dissection of how relationships work and fail.
Mythic, stylish, imaginative tale told with gorgeous stop-motion animation (with substantial use of cgi and other techniques). Kubo is a young boy who has lost his father and is losing his mother. Every day, he strolls into town to earn a few coins by playing his shamisen, a three stringed traditional Japanese instrument, which magically animates sheets of paper into living origami, including a delightful fire-breathing chicken. Kubo has only one eye: his evil grandfather and two aunties took one, and are looking for him: they want the other one. We later learn some mythic significance to this, but the myth-making, in the end, gets soggy and sentimental and concludes that families are important and memories are important. Which is odd, because the animation is so fresh and vivid and original-- all put into the service of the most conventional message imaginable. Kubo's mom becomes a bit of a nag, and his father is manly and brave, and they only exist to provide and care for Kubo and have no personality beyond that. Voices and music are excellent.
The thrilling 1924 rescue of sixteen stranded mimes off of Puget Sound in the Arctic who survived a shipwreck for four weeks by eating others others imaginary shoe strings.
Dramatic recreation of the story of prejudiced Eskimo girl who learns that her father kills polars bears for his quilt.
Messy. Water buffalo! Who thought of that? What a film! Remarkable! And joyful. An exuberant celebration of horrible table manners. Excellent. And so charming.
Water buffalo! Who thought of that? What a film! Remarkable! And joyful. An excuberant celebration of horrible table manners. Excellent. And so charming.
Amusing and sometimes charming story of a young high school student who forms a band in order to get the beautiful girl he sees smoking across the street from his school one day. The songs are pretty good, the performances quite good-- it looks like the kids can really play. There's the predictably repressive Catholic brothers who run the school, and the ending is implausible and rather disturbing in a bad sense-- do they really want to leave us wondering about their future given the dubious plans they have?
Typical of big Hollywood productions of the era, glittering sets, elaborate, deeply rehearsed musical/dance numbers, and relatively intelligent, cleverly written script. But it's still a musical-- what to make of it? "Professor" Harold Hill is a con man, a shyster, who takes on an allegedly resistant Iowa town to try to sell them musical instruments, lessons, and uniforms, and then abscond with the money before the lessons begin: he really can't teach a note. So not the most convincing fraud: they still get their instruments and uniforms. But he meets his beautiful nemesis in librarian Marian Paroo, who instantly identifies him for what he is. To the movie's credit, Marian is an interesting, complex character. You keep expecting her to turn him in but she doesn't: why? She would have us believe that Hill's exuberant embrace of spontaneous gratification appeals to something in her. I would argue that the fact that Jones was pregnant at the time was a factor in her performance: she is insouciant at times, sensual, and amused, even while outwardly dismissing him. The rest of the town are mostly affectionate caricatures, based, as is known, on Mason City, Iowa. Shirley Jones is a peach. Like most musicals, it's a bizarre confection of massive stagey dance numbers with literate, sometimes subtle-- and sometimes subversive--drama. Between the lines, Hill and Paroo obviously have a one-night stand (at one point she tells him that she knows she can't expect a traveling salesman to offer "more" than something, but doesn't, of course, say what that something is). It belongs to an era in which expectations of the audience were much higher than they are now.
What a film! Remarkable! And joyful. An excuberant celebration of horrible table manners. Excellent. And so charming.
What a film! Remarkable! And joyful. An excuberant celebration of horrible table manners. Excellent.
Testing Howard's Ending. Hoo Haw! "Hoo" haw! with quotes.
What? What? Are you kidding?
Happy happy, joy moy.
Phillip is orphaned when very young, in 19th century Cornwall, and adopted by his adult cousin, Ambrose, who takes ill and goes to Italy to recover where he meets another cousin, Rachel, whom he decides to marry. Then something goes wrong and he sends a number of hidden, coded scripts to Phillip blaming Rachel, before he dies. Phillip expects the worst but when Rachel arrives at the estate he stands to inherit, he is smitten, and Rachel gives no indication of seeking to profit from her relationship with Ambrose. Which is exactly how she proceeds to profit from her relationship with Ambrose. Phillip-- perhaps too credulously for us to buy into-- proceeds down a path that looks disastrous, especially to his god-father's daughter whose sole purpose seems to be to provide a virtuous alternative to Rachel. But we're left wondering because it appears that many if not all of Phillips suspicions are unjustified. What rescues the film is Holliday Grianger's carefully calibrated portrait of Louise who flashes something like a smirk at just the right moments to raise doubts about the purity of her motives. She clearly expects Phillip to marry her eventually and Rachel is clearly a threat, but you have to wonder about her too. The conclusion is total Victorian melodrama and implausible-- why not ... well, why not anything but that.
Very unusual, intelligent story of a holistic health practitioner who ends up joining a party hosted by the ambitious husband of a customer. Kathy's daughter went through a diagnosis of cancer and Beatriz was an indispensable part of her recovery, so Kathy relishes the opportunity to show gratitude by including her at their dinner when her car breaks down, though Beatriz doesn't appear to have much in common with the acquisitive, Trumpesque guests. They are celebrating the acquisition of a property they can develop that will make them all a lot of money, but which has incurred some community disapproval and protests. Beatriz is a spiritualist who sees their exploitative practices as deeply harmful to the earth and to the poorer families who are dispossessed by these transactions. It's personal for her: her own family had to relocate after the property they were on was handed over to rich developers with the backing of the local authorities and police. But Doug (the Trump-like mastermind) is no caricature. He's smart enough to be nice to Beatriz even after she explodes at him. And he credibly articulates a view of life that makes sense to him, if not to Beatriz or to us. Hayek may be a bit too humorless as Beatriz, but she also sustains a feeling of gravity and humanity, in contrast to the joyful exuberant aggression of the other guests. Not convinced by the ending, but entranced by the rest of the movie. By the director of "The Good Girl", another surprisingly caustic take on American capitalist culture.
The book by Jeannette Walls was-- literally-- unbelievable. Jeanette grew up in a highly dysfunctional family that hit the road when bills became due or overdue, or the police began poking around, and wandered the country sleeping in the open, or in abandoned houses, avoiding school and jobs, and responsibility. Rex Walls was a hopelessly impractical dreamer, a highly intelligent man who was unable or unwilling to hold a steady job, and gradually took more and more to drink, neglecting and starving his family. His parents were violent and creepy. Mom Rose Mary was an artist who didn't seem all too concerned either. The book was a compelling read because Walls writes well, if not stylishly, but this movie is a disaster. Scenes are static and dull, and none of the characters really comes to life at all. Watts and Harrelson give sub-par performances and Brie Larson is never believable. Did they not rehearse? There's no tension here really-- why is the film so focused on Jeannette's desire to leave home, as if that was some kind of meaningful crisis? A reconciliation scene so cringe-worthy, I think I actually shriveled up a little watching it. "Glass Castle" was so bad I began to believe I needed to re-read the book to elucidate more clearly in my own mind what a lousy story this is. The younger actors playing Jeannette are better than the adults but still suffer from poor direction: Jeannette as a young girl often sounds like the adult projecting herself back in time, rather than a flesh and blood character. When Rex declares that he is going to build a glass castle, the young Jeannette sounds more like an older Jeannette illustrating that she believe him, than a child actually believing him. This is a consistent flaw in all the performance: everyone's trying to set things up for the big finale, which is itself rather grotesque: is that really all it takes to make it all okay?
Melanie is a young, black girl who is infected with the zombie virus-- as given in this story-- and should be attacking and eating humans. For some reason, she is different, and, in a dark, dystopian lab, a scientist, Dr. Caroline Caldwell, thinks she might have the key to the cure for the zombie virus, a pathogen fungis. The plan is to eventually kill her and dissect her brain to retrieve the antibodies necessary for a cure to save all of mankind. Like most movie scientists, we are asked to believe that Dr. Caldwell's theory is 100% correct, and she is assumed to be generally rational. We are to assume that other scientists don't disagree with her theory, or that teather Justineau wouldn't argue that the science isn't conclusive. Justineau likes Melanie and wants to save her. Melanie still can't resist going after a living creature occasionally, but she cooperates with Justineau, and Sgt. Eddie Parks, and when they are forced to escape the compound they are in and make their way through zombie infested regions, she is a big help-- because the zombie know she is one of their own and not a target. It's a somewhat compelling story until some glaring inconsistencies arrive-- a convenience for certain plot devices. The zombies initially attack without hesitation, in a mad splurge for flesh, but at other points they behave quite differently-- giving the director time to have a crisis scene among the principles. And Melanie doesn't seem all that alarmed when Dr. Caldwell-- who is in a convenient crisis of her own at the moment-- tries to persuade her to cooperate with her own evisceration. Yes, one does wonder about he child actors in the film. The children in the last scenes have no reason to be wearing clothes-- in fact, given the established story line, it is absurd. But you can't have that. But you can have them tearing humans apart and eating them? Tearing bloody flesh with their mouths? But the actress, Sennia Nanua, is a gift to the director: she is amazing. In an early scene, where the infected children are taken to class in restraints, her facial expressions are a marvel: this is someone who knows and accepts the routine (as a child would), and doesn't like it, but wants to ingratiate herself with her adult minders.
Intriguing biopic of John Lennon's early life-- just before the Beatles rocketed to success, co-written by his half-sister, Julia Baird.. Like "Backbeat", it smartly ignores the traditional pop star tropes in favor of a more convincing portrait of a troubled artist as a young man. Lennon lives with his aunt Mimi and seems unaware of the fact that his biological mother--Mimi's sister, Julia-- lives just short distance away. Their meeting creates tensions between Mimi and Julia, and John struggles with feels of having been abandoned. Julia tries very hard to win John's love, now that he is an adult, while John's growing passion for music begins to give him more independence. Well-acted, well-written, and snappy and entertaining, if not always accurate. Indeed-- it's a bit of a mess in that respect. McCartney met the director, a friend, to discuss the film, and insisted that Mimi was not the unpleasant character originally portrayed. Yet details of her relationship with John-- complaining about only receiving as much money from him as Cynthia Powell's mother, and that he hadn't signed over the house he gave her to her name-- and her well-known disapproval of John's girlfriends, indicate otherwise. Is McCartney just trying to be nice?
Desplechin tries very hard to attach SIGNIFICANCE to this rambling, sophomoric exploration of just how interesting he is, because he has fond memories of a sexy young girl, took part in helping some Jewish Refuseniks escape Russia, trained in Anthropology with an older black woman. That is, I assume Paul Dedaulus is the stand-in for Desplechin: he lives in that adolescent masochistic world in which young writers or artists or gay men really believe their sufferings make them special. Paul has a traumatic child-hood-- his mother appears to be psychotic and his father beats him for getting lousy grades at school. So he goes to live with an aunt for a time, and then from couch to couch, while he inexplicably doesn't seem to consider getting a job, until he enrolls in University. Esther is the girl who is not nearly as charming or witty or funny as Paul seems to think he is, and, actually, not really as beautiful as he things she is either. She's certainly as self-obsessed as he is. It is a mystery as to why, near the end, Paul laces into a former friend, Kovalki, for having hit on Esther at a time when Paul was living far away and didn't seem to care enough about her to drop by occasionally and see her, while, we are given to understand, she in despair at his absence. Or maybe she was in despair at the thought of herself being miserable without him. It's hard to tell, at times, if this is well-acted or not: the actors spend so much time being fussy about their own misery.
Based on Alice Munro's stories and looks like it could have been excellent if directed with the slightest cleverness. Unexpectedly static and schematic and poorly rehearsed and poorly directed.
Daring documentary about the trove of old films, over 500, found in a frozen, filled-in swimming pool in Dawson City, the Yukon, in 1978, and the city of Dawson itself. The films ended up where they did because Dawson City was the last on the long line of cities to receive films in the early 20th century and it didn't pay to return them to the movie distributors. So the theatres just stored them in unused buildings until they were finally told to just dispose of them. They then dumped them into a swimming pool that was being covered over to make a permanent ice rink. Thus preserving 500 films that are otherwise completely lost to history. Morrison mixes in clips of the old films, especially if they pertain to life in the Yukon at the turn of the century, with photos and text, to tell the story of the gold rush, the city that exploded for only a year or so, and the tragedy of boom and bust cycles on the citizens-- the downtown burned down 9 times in the first 9 years-- and the indigenous peoples of the north. The score, by Sigur Ros collaborator Alex Somers is heavy on electronic and effects but combines with the black and white footage to provide a mesmerizing gloss on the past and present of Dawson, even when-- or especially when-- the film footage is damaged: Morrison unabashedly lets it run, scrapes and scratches and all, and it's beautiful. Nothing like it.
Maggie wants to have a baby, and considers using the sperm from a local pickle merchant named Guy (an off-hand allusion, I think, to "Crossing Delancey"). She doesn't want the sex-- it would complicate things-- so she is asking him to put it into a bottle. In the meantime, she meets and falls for repressed novelist John, whose wife, Georgette, appears to be a frigid bitch. Her friend, Tony, a former boyfriend, gives her advice, which consists mostly of contradicting her poorly thought-out plans. John and Maggie move in together, but what if this was a mistake? What if John and Georgette should really be together? Minor-league Woody Allen, really, with elements of "Crossing Delancey" thrown in, and resolution you could see coming a mile off. The biggest problem is that Julianne Moore, who plays Maggie's rival, was born in 1951, and plays a -- well, what is it? Danish? German? Swedish? Dutch? Whatever it is, she misses the accent badly. Greta Gerwig was born in 1983. Ethan Hawke was born in 1970. It just is not believable-- in fact, it's kind of revolting-- that a 65-year-old woman would be a credible alternative to lucious 35-year-old Gerwig, for 45-year-old Hawke. It's ridiculous. However, I will give them extra points for a bizarre and very funny French-Canadian rendition of Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark".
Maggie wants to have a baby, and considers using the sperm from a local pickle merchant named Guy (an off-hand allusion, I think, to "Crossing Delancey"). She doesn't want the sex-- it would complicate things-- so she is asking him to put it into a bottle. In the meantime, she meets and falls for repressed novelist John, whose wife, Georgette, appears to be a frigid bitch. Her friend, Tony, a former boyfriend, gives her advice, which consists mostly of contradicting her poorly thought-out plans. John and Maggie move in together, but what if this was a mistake? What if John and Georgette should really be together? Minor-league Woody Allen, really, with elements of "Crossing Delancey" thrown in, and resolution you could see coming a mile off. The biggest problem is that Julianne Moore, who plays Maggie's rival, was born in 1951, and plays a -- well, what is it? Danish? German? Swedish? Dutch? Whatever it is, she misses the accent badly. Greta Gerwig was born in 1983. Ethan Hawke was born in 1970. It just is not believable-- in fact, it's kind of revolting-- that a 65-year-old woman would be a credible alternative to lucious 35-year-old Gerwig, for 45-year-old Hawke. It's ridiculous. However, I will give them extra points for a bizarre and very funny French-Canadian rendition of Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark".
The idea is to create a montage of sequences, using faster and faster cuts, to gives singular impression of the drama, the story to the audience, with some clips actually melding into each other-- water, the clink of bullets on steal, men struggling in water, dodging bullets. Does it work? I'm not sure. The sustained drone of the soundtrack-- music combined with effects-- became annoying at a point, like a perpetual tease of suspense before any actual climax. There is no actual climax, no narrative propulsion in that sense. Just a mad jumble of impressionistic moments. But give Nolan points for avoiding Spielbergesque grotesqueries, like Schindler weeping after the war is over for not having sold his ring to rescue even more Jews, or the weeping soldier, Private Ryan, questioning whether he was worthy of Captain John Miller's (Tom Hanks) heroism, with his family, at Miller's grave. There is progress here: soldiers don't volunteer to give their lives for others-- civilians and airmen do. But Nolan doesn't give you the big moment in which we all celebrate our vicarious virtues (aside from one regrettable scene in which soldiers on ships applaud the flotilla arriving to rescue their comrades). Instead, he makes it clear that survival was a matter of luck and good fortune. Interesting trivia: Charles Lightoller, of the Titanic, was one of the sailors who took his yacht over to Dunkirk. Incidentally, Nolan has stated that without the successful evacuation, Britain would have been "defeated", but Churchill had already made up his mind to continue fighting--with the unanimous agreement of his cabinet-- days earlier.
A musical (though the songs are sparse, and sometimes integrated into the action) about the romances and disappointments of the four Smith daughters, Tootie, Agnus, Esther, and Rose, in the year leading up to the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis. Rose and Warren are nearing a dramatic step, while Esther dreams of John Truett next door; little Tootie buries her dead dolls and engages in various mischief (as did Margaret O'Brien, who played her). Poor Agnus doesn't get much to do at all. Some surprisingly dark sequences-- like the Halloween night where children light a bonfire and heave furniture on it, and knock on doors and scream "I hate you" and hurl flour into the faces of neighbors. More than a little strange. Based closely-- apparently-- on the memoir by Sally Benson about her own upbringing, in St. Louis, and the house was recreated to her exacting specifications. Judy Garland was beginning her decline, just as this film thrust her into the front ranks of Hollywood adult stars. She spent hours in her trailer while the other actors and crew waited. Her performance in this film is fair, but she is over-shadowed by the brilliant Margaret O'Brien, perhaps the best child-actor of her generation, who was able to weep on cue, and easily commands dialogue when called upon. Stunningly, she was seven when "Meet Me.." was filmed.
How do you describe a film like this? A bus driver poet meets various people, listens to them, watches them, over-hears their conversation, encounters them, and goes home every night to a loving, loyal, charming wife, and annoying dog. And again and again. And that's it. Laura, his wife, has an obsession with black and white, and wants to learn guitar and become a famous country singer, expressed in a conversation that has a nearly comic tone, but is acted straight, without self-amusement. There is a moderately intense subplot about a couple breaking up, and a Japanese poetry fan gives Paterson (the poet with the same name as his city) advice. But "Paterson" is about the poetry of life itself, of noticing details of existence, and paying attention to every moment. And reflection and amusement and curiosity. Understated performances and nothing flashy about the direction-- which I liked (no handheld, jerky camera, or fast cutting). Just a quiet, poetic, entrancing film about poetry and love. There is a wonderful moment when Paterson meets a young girl waiting for her mother and sister and finds that she likes poetry and she reads one for him. She is amazing.
All the elements of the traditional Hollywood romantic comedy are there: the quirky, funny guy, the lonely, clumsy, attractive but unattractive girl, the losers, but there are enough fresh elements here to keep it entertaining. Nancy, through a reasonably developed sequence of events, ends up meeting Jessica's blind date, and, after some hesitation, decides to go along with the confusion. She and Jack, the date, have a great time, of course, before complications ensue. The rapport between the two leads is convincing and entertaining, and the secondary characters are mostly surprising and more dimensional than usual. There's almost a little heartbreak before that bizarrely English tradition of the very public-- and to my mind, humiliating-- confession of true and eternal love (see "Love Actually" or "Four Weddings and a Funeral" for previous incarnations). Mostly fun and amusing if not very unpredictable after all.
Norwegian poet and novelist Knut Hamsun won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1920 but nursed a vitriolic grievance against the English for their complicity in the massive starvation in Norway during the first world war. As such, he welcomed Hitler to power and continued to support him to the bitter end, while acknowledging some ignorance about his treatment of the Jews. He went from Norway's poet laureate to a despised, completely marginalized personality after the war. Yet he remains acknowledged as a major influence on writers such as Isaac Singer, Henry Miller, Hermann Hesse. "Hamsun" is about the man-- manifestly-- but also about marriage and family, and his maddening inability to provide his own children and wife with love and support. He met Hitler-- according to the movie, disastrously, when he insisted on Norway's preeminent role post war greater Germany, and objected to some of Terboven's harsh responses to resistance. His wife, Marie, however was a more enthusiastic, less reserved cheerleader for the Germans and toured Germany extensively reciting Hamsun's works. He didn't really repent of his views and famously wrote a fawning obituary for Hitler after he died.
Ingmar Bergman wrote this biography of the early years of his parents' marriage, their struggles against familial disapproval and class differences (Henrik was poor, Anna was from a rich family), and Anna's struggle to adapt the austere environment of a rural norther town where Henrik has been appointed pastor. Beautifully filmed and acted and heart-breaking-- August's sensitivity to delicate scenes of intense emotional weight is unparalleled. Conversations sometimes sear and then both sides draw back in the palpable fear of permanently destroyed relationships. Anna flatly tells her mother that she will never forgive her for reading a letter she secretly sent to Henrik, which had been intercepted by her father. Yet "Best Intentions" always steers within the plausible, the realistic contours of family relationships. We are always surprised--as in real life-- at the compromises people make to preserve relationships when it may be all they have, or, at least, the most important thing in their lives.
Maria Larsson is married to a brute, Sigfrid, a hard-working but hard-drinking man with traditional views of the family and a volatile temperament. Before they were married, she won a lottery, with a ticket purchased by Sigfrid, for a camera. She discovers, with the help of a sympathetic local professional-- who is immediately fond of her--, that she has a knack for photography, even developing her own prints. Later, with hard times, she discovers that she can eke out a bit of a living by photographing locals, store-owners, even the body of a young girl who committed suicide, partly because of an act of cruelty by Maria's daughter. Sigfrid joins a worker's union, becomes implicated in radical terrorism, serves in the army, and eventually serves time for his abuses of Maria, but, surprisingly, isn't all bad. There will be no comeuppance in this subtle, sensitive, beautifully crafted film-- a mature Jan Troell displaying his gifts with patience and generosity. What shines most brightly is the remarkable character of Maria Larsson, her determination, and endurance, and curiosity, in the face of discouraging prospects.
Starts out well, with a reasonably well-developed idea of a space ark carrying thousands of humans to a new world, and Jim's crisis when he discovers he has been awakened 81 years early. And then descends into absolute ridiculousness, reaching a moment that must have been inspired by the "I know Unix" line in Jurassic Park. We found the problem. We can fix it. We don't know anything about space ship technology or engineering, but we are going to fix it with an incredibly daring space walk that will solve the problem at the last possible second. And you throw all of the credibility of the characters' relationship out the window as well because they must affirm their love for each other-- wonderfully monogamous and traditional, in this scheme-- and live happily ever after, even though Jim essentially murdered Aurora. The first film in which I began to wonder if Jennifer Lawrence has been wasting her talents so steadily lately that she might not have any left. For $20 million would you do a turkey? Sure. As for Chris Pratt, he conveys all the emotional development of Peewee Herman on excessive doses of Librium. And Laurence Fishburne method acts himself into a quick exit for which he should be eternally grateful. Incidentally, an earlier draft had a far more interesting ending: the space ship, the Avalon, erroneously ejects all 5,000 passengers into space before it arrives at the new homeland, and the only people to exit the craft are the descendants of Jim and Aurora. But I think the producers began to believe their own press and got carried away with the romanticism of it all. Definite echoes of "The Shining", "Space Odyssey", and "Aliens". The real good twin of this movie is Wertmueller's "Swept Away", and "Passengers" would have been far more interesting if their positions, after Aurora discovers the deception, gradually reversed.
Over-rated Chinese anthology of four stories about various individuals "touched by sin", who are corrupted by the experience, alienated, and destroyed. The first is a man who is angered by local corruption involving government officials and the owner of a coal mine. The second, is a hired killer who returns to his family to visit his mother on her birthday: his family doesn't want him there, and his wife wishes he would stay. (We are shown the same man earlier killing three gangsters who try to rob a truck-driver). The third is about a woman having an affair with a married man who issues him an ultimatum and then is confronted by the aggrieved spouse. In the final story, a young boy works at a factory, takes a job in a high end bordello, falls in in hopeless love with a prostitute, and then returns to his factory job. All are marked by a sense of dreary fatalism, and the odd embrace of American cliches about violence and sexuality: the "good" prostitute appears reluctant to do her job, I assume because the directory doesn't want the audience to disapprove of her too much. Many of the sequences are unconvincing-- does nobody ever hear gunshots in China? There is value in this film: the stories are taken from the headlines in China (especially a suicide of a factory worker and the corruption of the local official) and it gives us a glimpse inside the dislocating Potemkin village of community that China has made into a national culture in it's desperate lust for American-style prosperity. These characters are all alone, wandering, unfettered, and disconnected. We are left with the haunting image of a man uselessly beating his horse because it won't pull a load that is too heavy, on wheels sunk in the dirt, echoed when a man at a salon uselessly beats the receptionist with wads of cash because she won't give him a hand-job. He almost speaks for the culture: why the hell not? What is it about this world we live in that allows you to refuse to do what I ask for money?
An echo film, of Linklater's "Dazed and Confused" (1993): Jake and the boys are Mitch and the boys headed for college. "Everybody Wants Some" takes us through the first three days as young freshman, Jake, a pitcher on a scholarship, meets his new room-mates and moves into a house reserved for baseball players, to the first moments of the first class-- during which the exhausted ball players fall asleep. They drink and chase women and party and talk about everything, but mostly baseball and girls. Each of them is a distinct, well-drawn character, portrayed with depth and conviction, from Jay, the demented, hyper-aggressive pitcher who thinks he is Nolan Ryan, to the quietly brilliant hitter, McReynolds, who humbles him at the first scrimmage, to the home-boy who thinks his girlfriend might be pregnant, to the over-aged hipster who cons his way onto the roster. Linklater's strength is his ability to create convincing characters and have them play out scenes so naturally and amusingly that we don't always mind the improbably luck they have (a disproportionate number of women are gorgeous and eager). Throw a few brilliant scenes into the mix, like the punk band playing the theme from Gilligan's Island, or the artsy girl who takes an interest in Jake. It's about male bonding (the way Jake insists his baseball mates are welcome to the Theatre Arts party he was invited to by the artsy fartsy girl), and, in Linklater's world, they take an interest in the artsy girls and the artsy girls take an interest in them, and Jake seals the deal with Beverly by telling her about an essay he wrote on the Myth of Sysyphus. These are not bad males. They are boorish and irresponsible but you also know they are going to end up married and with good jobs and this is a world they will always be nostalgic for.
One of the best high school movies of the lot, Richard Linklater's fine sophomore film dissects the last day of school in May 1976, as seniors set out to paddle the next year's freshmen boys on the day they graduate, and the senior girls humiliate the freshman girls (we are given to understand that this is an annual ritual-- a hazing). The structure of the film seems free-wheeling and episodic but actually reflects a fine-tuned sensibility of graduated experiences, mainly seen through the eyes of Mitch, a freshman, who is unsuccessful at evading the punishment, but is then taken in by a few seniors, escorted around town in a car, taken to the local games emporium, and introduced to dope and beer with the in-crowd at a late night party. Linklater--we should all be grateful-- uses actors who are close to or at the age of the characters they play. They may not be as smooth as older professionals, but they are far more convincing: part of being that age is the awkwardness, the desperation to be cool, to fit in, and that comes through in spades, as when Tony and Sabrina stand next to each other, obviously interested, but silent. Mitch is a gem: a nice, decent kid, who handles his new social network with quiet grace, partly thanks to the kind, basic civility of Pink, who is refusing to sign a pledge to abstain from all drugs so he can play football next year (he's the star quarterback and his team-mates are not pleased at his reluctance). He makes allies of the seniors by buying a six-pack for one-- looking very cool for a 14-year-old-- and having the guts to show up at the party when some might still be hunting for hazing targets. You can see why a couple of girls take an interest in him. There is a striking honesty about drugs and beer, drinking and driving, dangerous stunts, fighting and bullying. None of it is approved or disapproved: this is not for your edification. It's a pretty authentic take on high school in the 70's, and the feeling of being on the brink of some new part of life without the conviction that there is any clear plan forward, or any meaning to it beyond having a good time and getting laid. A really remarkable, lovely film, even if the soundtrack consists mostly of exactly the kind of music most of these kids would been listening to: Kiss and Aerosmith and Sweet. (There is even one Dylan tune: Hurricane.) Draws comparison with the earlier "Fast Times at Ridgemont High", but "Dazed and Confused" is the real thing, a superior film. Incidentally, Linklater has stated that he wanted to make something the opposite of the John Hughes films.
Brilliantly written evocation of the tensions between Henry II and his three surviving sons, and his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, during Christmas, December 1183. Henry-- who is slippery and cunning-- appears to favor his younger son John as his heir, to the displeasure of Richard. Geoffrey makes an accommodation: he wants the Chancellorship if John becomes king. John is a weak, vacillating putz, while Richard is virile and decisive. Eleanor favors Richard and attempts to out-maneuver Henry on the issue. Indeed, the substance of the movie is the moves by all characters-- including King Phillip of France-- to get their way. They often openly acknowledge their plotting to each other, which is just another expression of their cleverness. At one point, Henry seems to sincerely promise his mistress, Alais, Countess of Vexin, (who is Philip's half sister!) to Richard, but later we realize he never intended to follow through. Alais had been promised to Richard earlier as part of a package including the region of Berry. In background: in 1173, Henry's first son, Young Henry, rebelled against his father and attempted to seize power, supported by Richard and Geoffrey. Eleanor supported Richard. Henry prevailed but was generous in victory and allowed his sons increased powers and tax revenue, including giving tax revenue from Aquitaine to Richard. In 1183, Young Henry tried again but was defeated by Henry with Richard and died of a fever. And so this fictional meeting at Chinon of the remaining male family members and Eleanor. Goldman compresses a number of historical events into a dramatic sequence taking place over few days. Most of the incidents and developments are based on fact-- at least, what we know of them-- and interpretation of the characters involved. For example, John did not betray Henry until much later than 1183. The relationship with Alais is founded on popular rumor and might well have been true. She was raised in Henry's household and betrothed to Richard but he never married her. The script is brilliant: witty, insightful, evocative. Most of the acting is superb, even the usually over-rated Katherine Hepburn appears to be fully committed to her role. Katherine Hepburn was the same age Eleanor of Aquitaine would have been during the events in the story.
Sheriff Hunt is competent, sensible, and rational, which immediately puts him outside the stereo-type of American Western heroes. He has pretty good judgement, knows when to give, and is willing to let stupid people insist on being stupid as long as it doesn't endanger others too much. So when the local wife is kidnapped, along with a miscreant who transgressed a strange tribe's burial ground, and a deputy, and the injured husband insists on joining the rescue party, he gives in. He also has the sense to allow a bigoted Indian-killer join: he's the most competent of the bunch. And he takes his rather dippy backup deputy along, because the deputy really, really wants to come. They get direction from a local Indian who refuses to lead them there-- this tribe (he calls them troglodytes) are too scary for him. And, he gives us to understand, they are not "really" Indians. And off they go to rescue the beautiful girl and the deputy and the miscreant. Yes, strikingly similar to "The Searchers", but far better, actually, except for one critical aspect: the troglodytes seem custom-rendered to mute the question of racism: had they been a recognizable Indian tribe-- and they could have been(read about the Iroquois raids)-- the film would have been accused of indulging in antiquarian racist stereotype. By making them this bizarre, unrecognizable, tribe of primitive cannibals, "Bone Tomahawk" sidesteps the issue. This is unfortunate because it removes the story from a meaningful narrative. Some Indian tribes did indeed commit horrible atrocities. So did white settlers. It's Samantha who observes that evil in the West is most often caused by idiots, not savages or nature. It is to the lavish credit of the film that I cared a lot about the girl. We meet her lecturing her husband about falling off a roof when she told him to be more careful; she tends to his injured leg, and then they make love even with the broken leg, to his conspicuous discomfort. It's terrific expansion of her character: she is kind but she's not prissy, and she can be hungry without being needy. And then she is called upon to act as a doctor and extract a bullet from the miscreant in jail, because the regular doctor is drunk, and she has a fair bit of medical knowledge (she works as the doctor's assistant). The relationship works on screen, and she emerges as an attractive, competent, physically engaged presence. You get why her husband is deeply alarmed, and insistently determined to get her back: she's a treasure. And Brooder is a lot more fun than John Wayne's Ethan Edwards in "The Searchers". He's witty and honest and knows more about himself than Ethan ever did. They set out on the rescue and encounter a few obstacles, including a couple of Mexicans who may or may not have been intending to rob them, and then someone unseen who steals their horses. Their final encounter with the troglodytes is disastrous. The outcome is not as satisfying as the rest of the film. Just a tiny quibble with the direction, which was, in most respect, exemplary: when Arthur catches up with the rest of the men and confronts a troglodyte and shoots him, he suddenly becomes totally focused on a particular task at hand and doesn't even look around to make sure any more of them are not closing on him-- after all, he fired his gun. I got anxious watching him-- "look around, dammit!" A small lapse, perhaps, and forgivable given the film got so many other things right. "Bone Tomahawk" is a superior character study, and always amusing, and very well-written. There is some shocking violence-- the troglodytes are savages-- and a suggestion that the only way to confront savage evil is with equally savage ruthlessness, but even that idea is undermined by the random luck that eventually results in some escape, and the timid determination to isolate the troglodytes from the narrative of the American Western.
Much has been made of the fact that Wonder Woman is directed by a woman-- Patty Jenkins-- and, allegedly, is a hit, proving that women can direct block-busters. If that is what women want to prove, so be it, but Wonder Woman is a boring, mediocre film that is poorly acted, poorly directed, and poorly written. Diana is raised on an Amazonian island of Themyscira somewhere in the Mediterranean; when World War I allied flyer lands on the island with Germans in hot pursuit, she is compelled to leave paradise and join the war effort. Why are the allies portrayed as righteous and noble and the Germans as -- well, Nazis? I have seen no explanation, but the movie clearly wants to suggest Nazis repeatedly (gas, buildings, barbed wire) as if the World War I Germans were just as evil and the allies just as righteous. It's not really very clear, either, what Wonder Woman's powers are: they just seem to materialize when convenient for the director. The fight scenes are awful: quick, short clips of initial action, followed by rapid fire cuts of crashing bodies, flashes, explosions, whatever-- I really didn't care after a few seconds. The fight scenes were cheap and boring. There were a few scenes that were a little charming, as Diana learned about human behavior-- but the sexual titillation of her sudden experience of male interest was muted by the gutlessness of the block-buster movie genre: something really distressing to mainstream America must be permitted on the screen.
Travelogue of Los Angeles, gorgeous steadicam cinematography, beautiful women (though only the unknown actresses are nude), striking music-- mostly classical-- and mind-numbing method whispering pompous over-laden narratives mark this disappointing entry by Malick. The dialogue is tediously and irredeemably sophomoric (it was mostly improvised by the actors): what is life? When I was a child... Where is love? Who am I? What does it mean? There are allusions to Malick's personal history (a brother committed suicide, a demanding father), but mostly incredibly rich, tediously contemplative, bored and boring actors wandering around incredibly lavish apartments and houses or distressingly vacant streets and warehouses, with the odd beach or rocky scene thrown in. Like "Song to Song", more of a sequence of images with music than a story. And rather bizarrely obsessed with the idle rich: no character in this movie ever does anything, like prepare a meal, cut grass, clean, organize, or any kind of work or task. They stand around or frolic while "thinking deep thoughts". And I was never more disappointed at the introduction of a character than I was with the introduction of Cate Blanchett's assiduously bland and blank character, as Rick's first wife, or with Natalie Portman's vacuous presence as another lover. There is a nominal suggestion in the film of a journey-- Pilgrim's Progress is read from at the beginning-- from purgatory to salvation, through suffering. Some scenes appear to have been shot in Joshua Tree Park, or nearby, and were definitely shot in Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens, including the Japanese gardens and the pogoda! So some people involved with the film assert that the actors are drawing on something deeper than script: real experiences. It's hard to credit Malick with this concept-- what does he think he is? Just why would he believe actors would be able to take real experience and translate it into drama or narrative or even poetry? Why did he give up on the idea of having an artist write his stories and dialogue? Did he really have no idea why "Thin Read Line" or "The New World" or "Days of Heaven" or "Badlands" were such good films? The Times A. O. Scott rightly observes that it's "hard to trust his (Rick's) anguish": he's wallowing in self pity, tormenting himself over the superficiality of the life he willingly leads. It's disingenuous and boring to watch a man wander these parties while acting as if it's all beneath him-- then why don't you leave? It's us who should be bored with you, and we are. Really interesting comparison to "The Great Beauty", a not dissimilar movie. "The Great Beauty" builds an idea using disparate scenes (the artist's events, the tour of the closed museum, the choir, the dancing, the austere nun) that ultimately connect through the artist's unending quest for authentic beauty. There no such discernible thread through "Knight of Cups" and what there is of one is infantile at best.
Praised film dramatizing the true story of teenager Sylvia Likens (Ellen Page, who was 20 at the time of filming) who, with her younger sister Jenny, was left by circus worker parents in the care of a stranger for a few months who monstrously abused and murdered her. It's the 1960's-- a different era. Her parents, Betty and Lester, didn't appear all that interested in the quality of care. Gertrude has her own health and marital problems: she was currently having an affair with a 18-year-old. Gritty and deeply disturbing but, perhaps, not always as the film-makers intended. Ellen Page is a talented actress but her performance is rather writ and schematic: all suffering and victimization without life. Scenes are shot with close-up, meandering camera work, perhaps to avoid a more shocking, graphic realization. Gertrude's other children, and children from the neighborhood, participated in the abuse. The most genuinely disturbing aspect of the story is the number of neighbors and acquaintances who were aware or should have been aware but did nothing, including the family pastor. Badly acted and directed, even by the over-rated Ellen Page. Nor does Keener bring much credibility to her performance as Gertrude. Where is the sadistic energy coming from? She tries-- mostly linking it to stress or frustration-- but never convinces. The most artistic moment is Sylvia's fantasy of escape back to her circus parents, who then return her to Gertrude's home where she discovers herself dead. It's clever but can't overcome the unsophisticated drama of the rest of the film. The most dramatic moment (and apparently true): when her younger sister Jenny told an investigating police officer that she would tell them everything if they would only get her out of there. The movie had to wait until the real Jenny was dead: she was violently opposed to any dramatization while she was alive.
Fascinating story about a seriously wounded civil war Yankee soldier who stumbles into the hands of Miss Martha's Seminary for Young Girls. They take him in and nurse him back to health but his presence is unsettling to the girls. Carol frankly lusts for him, Edwina is in love with him, Martha desires a man in her life again-- now that her brother is presumed dead-- and Doris wants to turn him in to nearby patrols by Confederates. "Beguiled" gives no quarter to feminism: these are a group of conniving, selfish girls, who are more than willing to mutilate or even murder if necessary to get what they want, or punish those who deny them. Nor is McBurney admirable in any respect: he will use whomever he wishes to get what he wants. Incidentally, in a shockingly politically incorrect opening, McBurney kisses Amy (played by Pamelyn Ferdin at 12 years old) full on the mouth. And yes, it is a sexual kiss, intended to shut her up as rebel soldiers pass by. She is suitably "beguiled" and tells everything to her turtle.
Anna and Erik, in their 40's by the looks of it, inherit Erik's father's beautiful, large old house. It's too big for them and Erik wants to sell it, but Anna wants to live in it and suggest inviting people to join them-- to form a "commune". Erik reluctantly agrees and they invite some old friends and strangers to move in. Then we step sideways: Erik strikes up a relationship with one of his students. When Erik and Anna's daughter, Freja, catches him with Emma, the student, he decides to tell Anna. They are an enlightened couple: no drama, no hysterics. Anna reluctantly accepts that her marriage has ended and even agrees to allow Emma to stay in the Commune for a time. And here the real movie begins as Anna tries to cope with the end of her relationship with Erik, with being displaced by a young, beautiful student, and with stresses from her job as a news anchor, all with the interventions and support of their Commune friends. Meanwhile, Freja, a kind of witness of events, starts up her own relationship with Peter. She, in the end, is the one takes decisive action to move her parents forward in life. This is an adult film in the best sense of the word, exploring adult situations and emotions intelligently and authentically. It's heart-breaking and sad and amazing. Superbly acted.
Anna and Erik, in their 40's by the looks of it, inherit Erik's father's beautiful, large old house. It's too big for them and Erik wants to sell it, but Anna wants to live in it and suggest inviting people to join them-- to form a "commune". Erik reluctantly agrees and they invite some old friends and strangers to move in. Then we step sideways: Erik strikes up a relationship with one of his students. When Erik and Anna's daughter, Freja, catches him with Emma, the student, he decides to tell Anna. They are an enlightened couple: no drama, no hysterics. Anna reluctantly accepts that her marriage has ended and even agrees to allow Emma to stay in the Commune for a time. And here the real movie begins as Anna tries to cope with the end of her relationship with Erik, with being displaced by a young, beautiful student, and with stresses from her job as a news anchor, all with the interventions and support of their Commune friends. Meanwhile, Freja, a kind of witness of events, starts up her own relationship with Peter. She, in the end, is the one takes decisive action to move her parents forward in life. This is an adult film in the best sense of the word, exploring adult situations and emotions intelligently and authentically. It's heart-breaking and sad and amazing. Superbly acted.
I suppose there is an argument to be made for "franchise" films that the basic ingredients can and should remain the same throughout each installment. That can make it difficult to sort out the repetitive, tired cliche's from the traditions. I'm tired of the heroic robot for which you are supposed to have affection, like the characters do, for no discernible psychological reason. But now you are supposed to feel some compassion for the giant insect-- that's really all the alien is-- and be moved by the tears shed for it's demise. Seriously. What is new-- but not fresh-- is Weaver as a producer, which seems to play itself out in the knuckleheaded idea that she would have some kind of maternal instincts for a giant, face-sucking, murderous insectoid. Or even incestuous feelings. Yeah, there is a point at which it's just plain stupid. Weaver herself insisted on some of the worst scenes, after agreeing to appear in the film only because they drove a "truckload of money" up to her door. Ryder wanted in so she could brag about it to her brothers. The rest of the film is largely rerun "Poseidon Adventure" escape tripe. William H. Macy auditioned for a part but found it so ridiculous he walked out. Ridiculous-- as when the bad guy takes the robot hostage and forces the others to drop their weapons. Because they didn't want the robot to get hurt. And because it didn't occur to any of them there was absolutely no advantage to dropping their weapons: there was no discernible reason why the soldier would have let them live.
Filmed without a script-- and it shows-- a lot of the dialogue is sophomoric and schematic in the sense of relating big ideas in an obvious, pedestrian manner-- "Song to Song" is an impressionistic extravaganza of scenes and moments and ambiguous revelations about several characters involved in the music industry (though it is not evident that any of them really have any involvement in anything "musical"), moving from lover and relationship to lover and relationship, impetuously, without heed to consequence or emotional cost. And whispering it all to you in that self-conscious manner of an artist who really believes he or she is deeply interesting. The shifts in relationships-- between individuals who seems to have nothing else to do with their lives-- seem so unobtrusive and casual that I was shocked at one point to hear characters discuss infidelity as if it could be a tragic development. Why? These characters live lavish, privileged lives, in stunningly beautiful houses and apartments, flirting backstage at huge concerts, traveling by private jet, lounging in architectural marvels, contemplating themselves and their personal struggles while wallowing in narcissistic self-absorption. How odd for a film-maker of Malick's reputation to be so indulgent of this lifestyle, and to allow such weak dialogue into a film of such aesthetic beauty and unparalleled camera work. Yes, people walk out of a film like this: there is no narrative really, no story, no coherence to the experiences dramatized. Yes, it is a thing of beauty, and the cinematography, and the beautiful bodies, are marvels of cinematic charm, but the poetic intent is undermined by the feeling that these characters couldn't possibly put a piece of decent music together if their lives depended on it.
Filmed without a script-- and it shows-- a lot of the dialogue is sophomoric and schematic in the sense of relating big ideas in an obvious, pedestrian manner-- "Song to Song" is an impressionistic extravaganza of scenes and moments and ambiguous revelations about several characters involved in the music industry (though it is not evident that any of them really have any involvement in anything "musical"), moving from lover and relationship to lover and relationship, impetuously, without heed to consequence or emotional cost. And whispering it all to you in that self-conscious manner of an artist who really believes he or she is deeply interesting. The shifts in relationships-- between individuals who seems to have nothing else to do with their lives-- seem so unobtrusive and casual that I was shocked at one point to hear characters discuss infidelity as if it could be a tragic development. Why? These characters live lavish, privileged lives, in stunningly beautiful houses and apartments, flirting backstage at huge concerts, traveling by private jet, lounging in architectural marvels, contemplating themselves and their personal struggles while wallowing in narcissistic self-absorption. How odd for a film-maker of Malick's reputation to be so indulgent of this lifestyle, and to allow such weak dialogue into a film of such aesthetic beauty and unparalleled camera work. Yes, people walk out of a film like this: there is no narrative really, no story, no coherence to the experiences dramatized. Yes, it is a thing of beauty, and the cinematography, and the beautiful bodies, are marvels of cinematic charm, but the poetic intent is undermined by the feeling that these characters couldn't possibly put a piece of decent music together if their lives depended on it.
Why not talk to a philosophy professor and get an idea about what a philosophy professor would sound like? I doubt he would say that Kant was mostly bullshit, or "tomorrow, we study Edmund Husserl", or most of what Abe Lucas says. But Abe Lucas sounds familiar when he argues that killing a bad judge would be a noble, righteous act-- like Raskalnikov's murder of the old woman pawnbroker in "Crime and Punishment". If only "Irrational Man" was up to the argument. It's not a terrible film-- not even really a bad film. Just not challenging or intriguing or compelling. Just not fresh. And there is something more than a little creepy about the way Jill Pollard sucks up to this "fascinating" man. This is always a problem when the audience is likely to find the man tiresome and narcissistic and boring, like most drinkers. Even more of a problem when you think you hear Woody Allen dramatizing himself here, and forgiving himself for it because, after all, Abe turns out to be a murderer. Abe refuses Jill at first but, gosh, she just won't let him alone and eventually he gives in. Because the audience would believe it was unseemly if he didn't fight her off, at least at first. But then their relationship doesn't reveal much about their age difference: they argue and talk like two college sophomores. There is no hint that Abe has had a lot of experience with students, or that he's learned anything about talking philosophy in his years as a professor. And Jill becomes convinced that he could be a murderer because of some relatively trivial and ambiguous pieces of information: the audience knows he did it and the director forgets that the characters do not. This is basically a rehash of "Crimes and Misdemeanors" but the latter was a great film and this is lame.
I'm not buying this one. Three men, a guide (a "stalker"), and a writer and professor, travel into a forbidden zone to try to reach the "room" where your wildest imaginings can come true. The zone is in the middle of a desolate ruined industrial landscape of unimaginable bleakness. After sneaking past guards through a gate used for trains bringing supplies to the zone, they emerge into a green, radiant world, still full of decaying industrial rubbish. The dialogue is your worst nightmare of sophomoric philosophical musings about fate and art and truth. Worse, the men undergo this tense, "dangerous" mission, without once encountering anything particularly dangerous (other than the guards at the entrance). The stalker continually warns the other two about going the wrong way, taking a false step, and so on, but there is never any actual indication of any danger-- after a while, you find it hard to believe the men would believe it was dangerous. I has a suspicion that some reviewers, afraid of admitting they didn't get it, praised the film because it was so obtuse they could safely argue it was profound. I found it weak and pointless and dull: a failure.
There a reason why I think musicals are a ridiculous art form (and tap dancing a ridiculous form of dance): in spite of occasional flashes of wit in the dialogue and stylish dance sequences, "The Band Wagon" is inane, trivial, and mannered, and asserts the triumph of corn-pone comedy over serious "art". Tony Hunter is nearly washed up as a song and dance man but directory Jeffrey Cordova has a vision: musical version of Faust, starring Tony Hunter. Lily and Lester Marton (inspired by real life writers Betty Comden and Adolph Green) had something lighter and more amusing in mind but they play along until a disastrous preview in New Haven, when the entire troupe participates in renovating the program into something like "Hee Haw" with taste. There is something poignant about this sophisticated world of affluent artistes (no one ever talks about money, seriously) who drink and smoke and party and engage in witty, amusing dialogue: it's a wonderful fantasy of an ideal world as America saw itself in the progressive era, the same world inhabited by Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby and films like "Holiday Inn" and "White Christmas". This is not "Oklahoma", with it's artistically ambitious vision of integrated music and drama (which I never bought anyway). It's more like a review. There is one segment inspired by film noire, with stylized props and dance moves. Otherwise, really, really quite trivial and inconsequential. And yes, Cyd Charisse was dubbed, by India Adams.
Generally accurate depiction of the Deepwater Horizon disaster, with some notable story "enhancements" (there is no record of Mike Williams helping Andrea Fleytas escape the inferno). BP pressured staff on the Deepwater to accelerate the process of capping the well (Deepwater Horizon was an exploratory, not a delivery, platform) and they agreed to skip certain crucial procedures, but may well have been corporate office managers who approved the shortcuts. Americas prefer movies that blame bad individuals (even in "Schindler's List") and don't impugn the nature of capitalism or the systems that lead to environmental disaster after disaster. On the very day they received a safety award from BP for seven years accident-free, a number of safety systems failed and oil, gas, and slurry, under enormous pressure, gushed back up the pipes and out. The gas was sucked into vents over the large motors that positioned the platform and drove the drilling systems, causing them to accelerate (I didn't know this was possible) blowing electrical equipment and lights. Then the gas caught fire and 11 men were incinerated while the others scrambled to escape the violent explosions. Accurate, but not well-filmed: there is a lot of jittery hand-held work, fast cuts, and almost certainly some exaggeration of the amount of fire and debris raging around the platform (I was astonished to find that only 11 died, and some characters improbably charge into flaming walkways in order to heroically start backup generators). Oddly, a woman, Andrea Fleytas-- a licensed Third Mate and Dynamic Positioning officer at 23-- did not escape with the first two lifeboats: she ended up having to find her own path and joined the Captain on an inflatable. The movie couldn't resist having her jump from 10 stories with Mike Williams, who saved her life by being charmingly encouraging. I'm sure he didn't mind the portrait. There's a lot to admire in the film-- the relative accuracy, the naming of names, the over-all drama of men trying to escape a violent disaster-- even if flawed artistically.
If someone tells you not to believe the negative reviews-- this really a kind of sci-fi "Office Space", don't believe them. "Idiocracy", despite the appealing conceit, is just plain stupid. Dull. Boring. Lifeless. In short, two soldiers, a woman and man, are testing out suspended animation for the military and are accidentally thrust 500 years into the future rather than one. The world has been dumbed down-- not dumb enough to enjoy this film-- over time and Joe Bauers, the male soldier, now has the highest IQ on the planet and is recruited by the idiot President to save the world. Yeah, I know.
If someone tells you not to believe the negative reviews-- this is really a kind of sci-fi "Office Space", don't believe them. "Idiocracy", despite the appealing conceit, is just plain stupid. Dull. Boring. Lifeless. In short, two soldiers, a woman and man, are testing out suspended animation for the military and are accidentally thrust 500 years into the future rather than one. The world has been dumbed down-- not dumb enough to enjoy this film-- over time and Joe Bauers, the male soldier, now has the highest IQ on the planet and is recruited by the idiot President to save the world. Yeah, I know.
Rarely does a film about an artist, poet, or musician lower your opinion of the subject. "A Quiet Passion" left me with a distaste for Emily Dickinson and her puritanical hypocrisy, her reclusive personality, her timid disengagement from the world. We know that that was not meant: Davies loves poetry, and believes Dickinson to be a genius. But his faithful portrait of the poet, who lived in Amherst, Massachusetts from 1830-1886, while powerful artistically, does not endear her to the viewer. The language sometimes sounds as if the entire film took place inside her poems: characters talk to each other like Victorian protagonists, with frequent references to fate and eternity, and reactions as if a language we all recognize as melodramatic is actually very direct and powerful. One reviewer called it "strangely mannered" and that captures part of it. "Stilted"? Oh, but the camera creeps along with such exacting gracefulness! Beautifully scanned, with details of the homestead and taffeta skirts and embroidered gowns and thick, dark outerwear, it becomes constricted-- like Emily's world-- into the mansion where Dickinson hid from society and the world. There is--as in every great film-- at least one truly extraordinary, transcendent moment: she writes about a haunting, a vision of a man ascending a stairs towards her bedroom. The camera movement and the music and Emily's wanton expression-- fearful and greedy at once-- build to an unforgettable peak of emotional risk, which, true to her character, dissipates.
Lively, fascinating presentation of James Baldwin's comments, writings and speeches, and debates, on the meaning of the deaths of Martin Luther King, Eldridge Cleaver, and Malcolm X, mostly read by Samuel L. Jackson. Baldwin lived in Paris for many years and eventually returned to New York because he missed his family. But he never forgot or forgave America for it's race problem and never ceased to address it head on. He was critical of those who would ask for respect, as if it was something that was theirs to give or not give, according to their disposition.
Frantz Hoffmeister, a German soldier, is killed at the front in 1919, and his parents and fiance grieve and put flowers on his empty grave (his body was never recovered but the family set a gravestone anyway). One day, the fiance, Anna, notices a strange man crying over the grave. It turns out to be Adrien Rivoire, a French soldier. Frantz had lived in Paris before the war while attending school, and Adrien was one of his best friends. Eventually, after some resistance, the Hoffmeisters and Anna bring him into their lives, as a kind of vicarious substitute for Frantz, and he brings healing to their souls. But all is not as it seems here and "Frantz" is allusive and deceptive and subtle-- what really was the nature of Frantz relationship to Adrien? Anna is forced to investigate and her discoveries lead to some indelicate secrets. Frantz raises the question of when is deception called for, or justified in order to spare feelings, and when does it merely lead to even more deception and more grief? A beautiful, measured production, exquisitely filmed and acted.
Swearing as a substitute for dialogue! I'm betting Rogen and company badly hope this movie will be dissed because of the foul language and transgressive humour. No, it sucks for many reasons: lame dialogue (at least, what's left after the word "fuck" is disqualified as dialogue), lame characters, lame story line, and lame animation. In particular, the character of Teresa is unbelievably callow and trite: like a sitcom mom from the 1950's. And why, in such a supposedly transgressive film, are Teresa and Frank so apparently monogamous? It's clear the film-makers don't wish to actually offend anybody, because the people they think they are offending are only the people who have the same trite threshold as they do.
Director Andrea Arnold recruited teens from the streets to form the cast of this film, and then obviously worked them into a tight, convincing unit that almost never hits a false note. The story is about Star, a young girl at loose ends, who is recruited by a sexually alluring young man into a troupe of magazine subscription salesmen. They roam from town to town-- America in profile-- hitting the streets, going door-to-door, and learning about themselves and others. Mostly we learn about Star dealing with a poverty of expectations of the American deal. She wants Jake but Jake is only using their relationship to keep her on the street-- he's sort of a pimp to her. She is picked up by three older, rich cowboys, and by a truck-driver, but-- thank God-- we don't get a cliche-ridden victimization story. The troupe ride together in a van, sing, shout, dance, set off fire-works, wrestle, and fuck, with conspicuous gusto, while Star sometimes seems along for the ride, waiting for something big to happen to her. Beautifully filmed and acted, and remarkably compelling for a very long film. Really an amazing work that defies categorization.
Slow-moving but satisfying tale about an older woman, Clara, living in an apartment in Recife, Brazil, whose life is turned upside-down when the other tenants all sell out to a large construction firm that wants to tear the building down. Off film that delves into her relationships with her children and friends, her memories of an Aunt Lucia, a free spirit, who died of cancer. Clara also has experienced cancer, of the breast. Her children urge her to move, but she stubbornly fights the construction company and asserts her rights against those of capitalist investors. But this is a low key movie with no obvious plot trajectory-- just an exploration of her life, in the present (though there are a few brief visits to her past). The men are a mixed bag-- as in real life, and she doesn't really need them, though she indulges in a brief sexual fling. In Brazil, the film generated controversy with some believing it should have been their official nominee for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film. Very well-acted and well-directed, if not as gripping, as, say "The Salesman" or the much earlier American film "An Unmarried Woman" with which it bears some similarities.
There is a joke near the end of the film: the a black man, having just defended himself from certain death, hovers over the woman who tried to kill him and a police car arrives. And the audience knows immediately what the joke is. That is the level of acute irony at work in Jordan Peele's update of "The Stepford Wives"-- and, maybe, "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner". Chris and Rose are visiting her parent's place for a weekend-- a lovely retreat deep in the woods-- but Chris is creeped out by the almost facetious pleasantries exuded by Rose's parents. When he engages the black "help", he finds them robotic and ambivalent-- Stepford servants. He contacts his friend, Walter, with his concerns, but Rose persuades him-- at first-- that it's all in his head. Was there ever a film with more racial overtones than this? You become aware of just how antiseptic many films featuring black leads are as you watch Rose and Chris cavort unself-consciously, and mingle with her family, all of whom are unfailingly solicitous. It's when you discover the reason for their attitudes that the politics of "Get Out" begin to become apparent. And very, very funny. That said, the film is a setting for this drama of race relations and not a venue for Peele's artistic vision: there's little wit or verve in the direction or the cinematography, or the music, once you get past the opening credits. The acting is decent, and Allison Williams is charismatic, charming, and amusing as Rose.
Somewhat mangled, sophomoric story about a man having a bad day who gets to take out his rage at society-- at the rich, at skinheads, at Koreans, at politicians-- through a series of incidents that happen on his way to work when he gets stuck in traffic, on a very hot day. He's not Clint Eastwood-- D-Fens's targets range from a Korean grocer to a neo-nazi, and there is palpable sympathy for a black man who becomes "not economically viable"-- but there is that rage, and there are guns, including a rocket-launcher. So it's hard to accept "Falling Man" as anything other than a confused expression accumulated dissatisfaction with the world that almost inevitably embraces the futility of tragic resistance rather than the nihilism of destructive violence. Prendergast wins in the end because he learns defiance from D-Fens. Michael Douglas loved this story and brought the financing for the film, but doesn't do justice to the role he asked himself to play.
"The Salesman" puts the viewer into a wringer and never releases him for the entire 2 hour running time. From the director of "A Separation", which was equally gripping, comes this bitter, tense story about a couple who work in the theatre (he is a teacher as well) and the strain put on their marriage when the wife is attacked. As in "A Separation", the couple are, on the surface of it, enlightened, progressive, intelligent, and rational, as is their social circle, their friends. When their apartment is damaged by construction, a theatre associate offers a place in his apartment building-- seemingly unaware that the previous tenant, a single woman, had a dubious reputation. This leads to a sequence of events and complications that end with a confrontation between Emad, and an elderly man with a bad heart. There is no doubt that everyone involved possesses some guilt for the manner in which things unfold, and there is some ambiguity about just who is at fault for certain developments: the viewer is never let off the hook, or offered a simple moralism or piety to resolve uncomfortable and distressing actions. Beautifully, convincingly acted and scripted-- deserves the Best Foreign Film Oscar it won.
Lovely but rather cliche-ridden story about a beautiful girl in a small, northern Chinese village who craves the new school-teacher and runs and runs through lovely meadows and down scenic paths in order to get his attention. In fact, a big chunk of this movie-- which is not longish-- consists of Ziyi Zhang as Zhao Di, running picturesquely through lovely scenery, or staring longingly at the schoolhouse. The teacher is called away for undisclosed reasons (one could reasonably assume that he is being investigated by the communist government) and Di waits and pines for him. He returns. They marry. That's about it. Most of the actors are amateurs and it shows. Ziyi Zhang is gorgeous, of course, and can reasonably act. The only other attraction is the relatively faithful recreation of rural village life in the 1960's-- no running water, no electricity. The meal preparation scenes are especially interesting.
Melanie Lynskey, Elijah Wood
Well-written-- except for two scenes near the end that breech the lines-- modern western that is more a comment on our social-political realities than anything else. Two brothers, facing the bank foreclosing on the mortgage on their recently-deceased mother's ranch, set out to steal just enough money to pay off the mortgage so that one brother, Toby, can leave the ranch "in trust" to his two sons (neither of whom look smart enough to do anything useful with it). Complicating things is the fact that oil has been discovered on the land and the two sons will never have to do anything for money for the rest of their lives-- if the plan succeeds. Jeff Bridges is the older curmudgeon of a Texas Ranger who investigates and whom, in one of the less believable developments of the story, we are to believe, has amazing insights into who is robbing these banks, and when. Not only that, but he is a miraculous shot with a rifle! Give the film extra points for trying to explain why a bank forecloses at a particular point, and how they are screwing working folk in the process. This is actually a fine film with a reasonably plausible plot, well-acted and written, if not particularly memorable. And marred by Pine's awful method acting.
After her son indulges in a weird adolescent ritual-- holding his breath while someone constricts his diaphragm causing him to pass out-- Dorothea asks two family friends, Julie and Abbie, to try to connect to her son Jamie and keep him from danger. There is no film like this, no template, except, in mild form, "Almost Famous", but "20th Century Women" is not as coy or pretentious, and the characters are more believable. Sort of. Abbie, a photographer, has cancer of the cervix and is deep into feminism and wants everyone to be open about menstruation. Julie is a rebel, two years older than Jamie, who is promiscuous and clueless and occasionally not clueless, and resists Jamie's advances because she loves him too much as a friend. A resident handyman, William, had lived in a commune and cycled through various sub-cultures before settling in Dorothea's orbit, renovating her house, and serving as an inadequate role model for Jamie. Not directed with any particular style or inspiration, but very well-acted and convincing, and touching at times, and where else would you see characters watch Jimmy Carter's 1979 "malaise" speech and have one of them call it "beautiful". In the three central female characters, we have a cross-section of past, present and future, as it relates to women's roles and expectations, and in one of the most brutally honest scenes, Jamie reads to his mother, Dorothea, a commentary on how older women are marginalized and told they are irrelevant, unattractive, and mindless by men. She does not react with warmth. The characters all seem based on real people (in fact, Mills has stated that Dorothea is inspired by his mother) and they are quirky, not in that horrible predictable Hollywood sense-- but in the sense of real people with diverse interests and personalities interacting with each other. This is no comforting fable: Dorothea admits, at one point, that she can never be part of the part of Jamie's life that is outside her orbit.
Intriguing documentary about the first nationally covered mass killing in U.S. history. In 1966, Charles Whitman, an ex-marine, climbed a tower on the Austin University campus and began shooting people with a high powered rifle. Keith Maitland, who attended the University of Texas in Austin, read an article about it in Texas Monthly and raised money through Indiegogo to fund it. He interviewed over 150 people who were involved. In some cases, victims met people who rescued or interacted with them at the time for the first time for the purpose of the film. Realizing he could not use the University Campus to re-enact the shootings, Maitland used animation to recreate the scene: with great success. He used young actors to recount the experiences of surviving victims, until later in the film when we hear the actual voices of them today. Strikingly, we never see any image of the sniper himself, Whitman, until the very end: the focus remains on the experiences of the victims. We spend a lot of time with Claire Wilson, who was in the late stages of a pregnancy on that day, and whose boyfriend was fatally wounded by the same bullet that pierced her stomach and killed her unborn son. Laying on the ground in the open, it was more than hour before a few men aroused the courage to run out and drag her off. Powerful and compelling.
Toni Erdmann is the name used by Winfried to intrude upon his daughter's very planned, calculated life. Maren Ade was apparently inspired by Andy Kaufman and his performance art personas to create Toni Erdmann, a strange, ridiculous older man who wears awful fake teeth and carries out a series of impersonations and charades in order to disrupt other people's unconscious lives. He claims to be the German ambassador, or a life coach, or a consultant, and his daughter, Ines, is flummoxed; sometimes she plays along-- because it seems to least catastrophic way to deal with him-- and other times she tries to evade him, but his impact on her life is unmistakable, as when she throws a birthday party for herself and greets the first guests with a shocking choice of wardrobe. "Toni Erdmann" was rehearsed, and rehearsed on location, and Ms. Maren retained complete control over the production process and it shows (particularly in the running time of over two and half hours). North American audiences will be as disturbed as Ines by Maren's choice of actors-- none of whom are as cosmetically beautiful as traditional Hollywood actors (except for Ingrid Bisu as Anca) and the indulgences she takes with Ines sex scene, and the awkward, very funny party scene. It's a gem of a movie, not for every taste, but provocative and rich and with an undertow of real emotion.
Inspired by the true story of Father Ferreira, a 17th century Portuguese Jesuit priest who apostated after being tortured by the Japanese, who have come to suspect that the church is merely the advance guard of the imperialist European powers. Two young priests set out from Portugal to find him and determine if the story is true, and, if it is, urge him to recant. They endure untold hardships upon themselves and their followers as they circulate among the dwindling core of believers, and Father Rodrigues has a crisis of faith as he considers the suffering he causes them as a consequence of their faith. There is even a question about what they truly "believe" and whether they genuinely comprehend the religion they now subscribe to. The main problem is that Andrew McCarthy is simply incapable of conveying the gravitas of the struggle Rodrigues endures, or even the bearing and authority of a 17th century Jesuit. He sounds, often, more like a college sophomore debating socialism. He refers to "our church" as if it was one of many-- not likely the position of a priest in his day and time. He rather seamlessly abandons the ideal of martyrdom as it extends to the converts he encounters-- a core belief he seems to discard too readily. He engages with the Japanese not as the vessel of truth and salvation but as an agitator who is out of his depth. He and Father Garrpe are accompanied by a Japanese "guide" who reeks of Judas (and reminds me of the Mestizo in "The Power and the Glory"). He poses another spiritual problem for Rodrigues: how far does the obligation to forgive a penitent, personally, and institutionally? If the Judas, Kichijiro, is able to sin and casually repent, over and over again, why is Ferreira condemned forever for his moment of weakness? Beautifully, brutally filmed for the most part, but even Liam Neeson seems diminished and weak-- not as a character, but as an actor. The Japanese, and Adam Driver, are excellent. Disappointing take on a genuinely fascinating story. In real life, Ferreria was the focus of fascination in Europe for years; he lived out his life shamefully as a hack "authority" on Christianity, with a wife, possibly children. Every year he was required to publicly renew his apostasy, while the Jesuits openly wished for him to recant and endure martyrdom, for the glories of the faith.
Messy, raw documentary of Leonard Cohen's 1972 European tour, which was plagued by technical problems, and Cohen's own unsteady performances (which, audiences, nevertheless, seemed to adore), and ending in Israel, in Jerusalem, where he has a kind of nervous breakdown, walking off state, returning to sing "So Long Marianne", and then walking off again in tears. Cohen is so charismatic that his failures on the tour turn into a charm offensive, and audiences continue to adore him. It is obvious that a lot of footage was lost or simply wasn't good enough to use in the film, so there are cutaways to CBC's "Ladies and Gentleman, Mr. Leonard Cohen" and family film of Cohen as a child.
Surprise: "Jackie" is a terrific movie. With just one damaging flaw-- Portman's weasily insistence on method-mumble acting. Which should have been a bigger problem than it was. But "Jackie" is beautifully directed and paced and wonderfully edited and delightfully snarky about the esteemed former First Lady and her narcissistic devotion to the image of the tragic beautiful emblem of broken Camelot. I have personally never found her as "fascinating" as the tabloids have, except in the way "Jackie" finds her fascinating, as a vain, smart, self-centered, self-doubting symbol of a nation obsessed with image and style and drama, who confronts a real tragedy with the resources of a cultured and well-educated and determined snob.
Highly over-rated drama about a miscreant janitor named Lee Chandler dealing with a haunted past who is suddenly left with custody of his 16-year-old nephew, after the death of his brother. The nephew is the best thing in the movie: he's strangely indifferent to the death of his father, doesn't want to move to Boston, is sleeping with two different girlfriends, and expects to take over the fishing boat that his uncle wants to sell. His mother was an alcoholic: we are as surprised as the cast when she suddenly re-enters his life as a born-again Madge-like character, whom the lawyer handling the estate apparently couldn't be bothered to consult. And that is emblematic of the problems with this film, familiar to anyone who has seen "Good Will Hunting", another vastly over-rated film that imagines that we want to know and love a weak person because, dang, aint he beautiful, and aren't I adorable for being so compassionate! I don't think anybody really thought through any of the scenes. Bottom line: every character's agenda, when they enter a scene, is to make Casey Affleck look deep and haunted while h mumbles his lines. Nobody talks as if they spent any time thinking about their character's position or aspirations. On the plus side, the plot is fairly original and interesting and the characters... no. Can't do it. It's a mediocre film at best and the insistence that many reviewers have made that this Casey Affleck's breakthrough, Oscar-worth performance-- is absurd.
Frontline's usual excellent research and perspective on the polarization in U.S. politics in 2016 and the election of Donald Trump.
Sook-Hee is a petty thief recruited by Count Fujiwara for a delicate purpose. She is to infiltrate the household of Lady Hideko, a Japanese heiress, who is controller by her Uncle Kouzuki. Kouzuki had forced Hideko's aunt to conduct readings of erotica to gatherings of aristocratic men who then bid on the books. From the position of trust, Sook-Hee is to facilitate a relationship with Count Fujiwara, who plans to elope with Lady Hideko and then lock her up in a madhouse and obtain her fabulous fortune. Things go awry, of course, in unexpected ways. We are invited to believe in relationships only to see them undermined, but it's done cleverly and credibly enough to keep your disbelief suitably suspended. Exquisitely filmed in Japan and Korea with the usual extraordinary Japanese sensibilities about composition and camera movements, and superbly well-acted.
Hank Deerfield's son served in Iraq. While stationed in Fort Rudd, New Mexico, he disappears from his base and is reported AWOL. Hank sets out to find out what happened, and find his son. In so-doing, through contacting his friends and fellow soldiers, he uncovers more and more difficult emotional truths about war, about the war in Iraq, and about his son's experiences there, and the effects on his behavior at home. He also encounters the calculated indifference of the authorities, local police who believe it was nothing more than a bad drug deal, and the army that doesn't want the bad publicity. Tommy Lee Jones is exceptionally good in this role-- restrained and compelling. The message is traditional: war is hell, but it has an acute relevance given recent history and Valley of Elah is an superb expression of it. Possibly it's greatest virtue is its restraint and verisimilitude: no rote explanations are offered where none are likely, in real life, to be found. One of the more useful comments on IMDB about this film observed that the effects of war on a soldier's psychology can be profoundly affected by the perceived rightness of the cause. Everyone now knows that the tragedy of Iraq was unnecessary and counter-productive.
Michele is raped by an intruder in her own home one night. She doesn't report it to the police but she is haunted by the experience and quickly realizes it was someone she knew. She is determined to find out who it was, but her motivations are unclear. In this twisted, psychologically absurd drama, she seems to obtain a perverse satisfaction from the experience, though she takes steps to protect herself. She also carries on an affair with Robert, the husband of her best friend, and Verhoeven doesn't dodge the moral ambiguity. The upside of Verhoeven's politically incorrect vision is the quirky behaviors that are plausible on one level-- real life is so strange, sometimes-- but you would never ever see in a Hollywood movie which would try to turn this story in a revenge thriller. (In fact, Verhoeven had to make the film in France-- he preferred to make it in the U.S.-- because no major American actresses would take the role!) There are moments-- as when she sees her attacker getting into his car one morning and they make eye contact-- that are almost magical in an odd, disquieting way. Someone commented to me that Michele was not behaving the way a rape victim would behave-- but I believe what she really said was, "that's not the way a Hollywood movie rape victim" would behave. In real life, we know that some victims of rape have behaved even more strangely than Michele, even having breakfast with the perpetrator. I give some points to Verhoeven for tipping his hat to those kind of oddities.
Weak and careless tribute to the black women who served as NASA's "computers" during the early days of the first space missions. Not terribly inaccurate except for the absurd penultimate moment when Katherine provides last minute confirmation of the figures for John Glenn (as he makes his way to the space capsule) but not particularly compelling in any real respect. Starts out with an emblematic scene of the car carrying the three young negro women to NASA broken down on the road. Firstly, the starter motor is identified as the problem even though they were obviously driving when it broke down (they are not in a parking lot), secondly, Dorothy starts the car by tapping a screwdriver on the battery, not on the poles of the starter motor. Thirdly, when they leave work that night, the starter magically works again. Do we care? The film-makers think we don't. Nor do they care about the way Katherine is shown at the center of all the activity in the NASA complex though she was merely one of dozens of staff. Kevin Costner stays out of the way as Katherine's boss-- not too solicitous nor condescending. And, yes, Glenn was friendly to all the staff, and self-promoting. But the personal lives of the women are rote and schematic and surely more complicated than this film makes it look. Not a terrible film-- interesting from a historical point of view-- but disappointing prosaic, and unremarkable.
Narcissistic production dominated by Dev Patel's and Nicole Kidman's method acting shticks: they spend a lot of time solemnly whispering to each other across the room. Fits that Nicole Kidman was chosen by real life adoptive mother Sue Brierley to play her: well, who wouldn't? The true story of Saroo Brierly is utterly compelling and deserves a movie treatment; but "Lion" is all about Dev Patel and Nicole Kidman trying to convince you that they have deep, deep emotions that are somehow connected to the real-life experiences of Saroo and Sue, and can be be communicated to the viewer by mumbling away in front of a camera. None of the really interesting parts of the story are present here: they couldn't be bothered. Saroo, when he finally tracks down his village in India-- God knows how, the movie muddies the issue-- walks up to his mother who is escorted by a group of village women, and they both immediately recognize each other and hug. That caters to a segment of the market that believes that all mothers love their children and have magical abilities, but it isn't likely what happened, or the most interesting part of what happened-- how and when does the mother first hear that man claiming to be her long lost son has appeared in the village looking for her? (One immediately imagines a few minutes afterwards-- they realize they have the wrong person!) Dev Patel immersed himself in preparation for the role but he merely exhibits the desperation of an actor with the earnest determination but not the talent for the role. I'm guessing that most of the blather about his struggle for identify and depression is exaggerated for the purposes of the film, in order to puff up the "significance" of the ending because they didn't trust the audience to get it. Kidman is surprisingly bland and blank as Sue, all inner empathy and anguish, but missing a personality. We never learn about the terrible issues Mantosh, Saroo's adopted brother, brings to the family-- only that they are terrible. Sunny Pawar is wonderful as the young Saroo and surprisingly underplays his role to great effect. He's charming and lively and charismatic. And Rooney Mara didn't buy into the method acting shtick: she is alive and as interesting as she can be given the limitations of the script and director. American Production companies wanted this film but insisted it be move to an American setting (instead of Australia) and the developers of the property rightly refused.
Troy Maxson played baseball in the Negro Leagues and never forgave the world for denying him the chance to play in the majors. Now he's a sanitation worker in Pittsburgh, with two sons, Lyons, and aspiring jazz guitarist whom he regards as a needy failure, and Cory, an athlete, who is being scouted by some colleges. Troy was too old to make the transition to the Major Leagues by the time Jackie Robinson had broken the color barrier and he harbours a lot of bitterness, and he believes Cory is in for the same kind of disappointment and forbids him from trying out. Words are Maxon's defense against a world that baits him and teases him with promises that are never kept, but he himself is responsible for the most bitter disappointments in this drama. Brilliantly acted (Denzel Washington performed the play over 100 times on Broadway) by all of the principles but especially Washington and Davis and Henderson), and beautifully rendered (you can tell this was a very wordy play but Washington nicely adapts-- and doesn't over-adapt-- the production to film), and intense. An unforgettable portrait of an African-American family at a crossroads, in the full depth of their experiences.
Eastwood has never been a good director of actors but, even for him, "Sully" is an unabridged, meandering mess that is so unfocused and aimless that I'm not even sure of what Eastwood had in mind. The story is familiar to everyone: a United Airlines Airbus 320 hits geese as it takes off from LaGuardia in New York losing both engines. Chelsey LaGuardia, the pilot, made a quick decision to ditch into the Hudson River and brought the aircraft in so delicately that not a soul was lost. It was a remarkable achievement and would be better appreciated without the fake conflict introduced by Eastwood. The NTSB never seriously considered the idea that Sullenberger should have returned to LaGuardia and Eastwood's characterization of the safety board-- which has saved countless lives through it's studies of airplane crashes-- as a group of spineless, mindless bureaucrats who needed to be lectured by Sullenberger on the basics of airline safety-- is ridiculous and misguided. But why are Hanks and Eckhart whispering to each other? Pilots mumbling to each other during an air crisis? Even the CGI is amateurish and unconvincing. This features the worst performance by Tom Hanks-- who is not a great actor anyway-- in a long time, and remarkably bad performances from Linney, Gunn, and Eckhart.
The most obvious thing about "Birth of a Nation" is it's pedigree: it is "Twelve Years a Slave" blended with "Inglorious Basterds". And it suffers mightily from unfunny anachronistic attitudes and style: Nat Turner never seems to express the embedded belief that he is a member of a slave class and vulnerable, at all times, to the capricious will of his masters. He chitters with Samuel Turner as if they are old pals at times. Parker gives him a lovely wife and their relationship is 20th century suburban Connecticut, all consideration and adoration and mutual respect which, lovely as it might have been, could not have existed in early 19th century Virginia: the real Nat Turner did not have a wife. Here's the essential equation of "Birth of a Nation": Nate Parker gives us Nat Turner's adoring wife and her rape by white slave owners, so we can feel good about Nat Turner murdering the same slave owners, and few others, later. We don't find out that Turner killed women and babies as well. That would not fit with the program. And that's what, fundamentally, makes this a mediocre film.
The Commune is facing a crisis: it's performance space is going to be shut down and they can't afford most alternatives. They are a tight-knit family, but the stress of dealing with the end of their careers in live improv begins to wear on them, especially when one member gets an audition with "Weekend Live" (an obvious allusion to SNL). Entertaining, especially since the improv pieces are basically real improv pieces performed live by the cast, and are believable enough to sustain the credibility of the film. No single aspect of "Don't Think Twice" is outstanding, but every part is pretty good, and the cast is likable and charming and extremely collaborative-- as they should be.
The Commune is facing a crisis: it's performance space is going to be shut down and they can't afford most alternatives. They are a tight- knit family, but the stress of dealing with the end of their careers in live improv begins to wear on them, especially when one member gets an audition with "Weekend Live" (an obvious allusion to SNL). Entertaining, especially since the improv pieces are basically real improv pieces performed live by the cast, and are believable enough to sustain the credibility of the film. No single aspect of "Don't Think Twice" is outstanding, but every part is pretty good, and the cast is likable and charming and extremely collaborative-- as they should be.
Meticulously directed and edited, well-acted, scrupulously adult in the best sense of the term. I was as surprised as anyone to find that I not only liked it, but I think it might be one of the finest films of the year. This in spite of the most obvious disadvantages: Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone can neither sing nor dance, really. But "La La Land"carefully weaves it's story around those shortcomings to the point where you neither notice nor care-- a lot-- about the fact. Sebastian is a jazz pianist (shorthand for "deep" and "authentic" and Mia is an actress, both frustrated and discouraged when they meet. She is stunned by a piece of (his own) music he is playing. He doesn't even notice her. Eventually they do meet and converse and tease and then encourage each other forward. The film never pretends that if she gets a role, it will be a great role, the fulfillment of dreams, success, or that anyone will ever appreciate Sebastian's brave jazz compositions (judging from the film, he's actually pretty mainstream) and neither does their relationship fall into broad strokes. The most touching moment is when she thinks he thinks she wants him to fail, to think better of herself. And when someone intrudes on their relationship, he's not a villain-- he's just someone else. And when Sebastian has to compromise for a while to make a living, he's complicit in his own sell-out. A really terrific film.
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