2009 - 2008 - 2006 - 2005

DECEMBER07

Photo Courtesy © Buena Vista Pictures

Enchanted

Directed by: Kevin Lima   

Written by: Bill Kelly

Starring: Amy Adams, Patrick Dempsey, James Marsden, Idina Menzel, Timothy Spall, Rachel Covey and Susan Sarandon.

I wasn’t exactly running to see Disney’s new hit film Enchanted—if it isn’t a Pixar film, I tend to not really make an effort to see their family films theatrically—but after maintaining the number one position at the box-office two weeks in a row (maybe more, after this is published), my interest in the re-imagined fairytale was piqued.

The movie stars the adorable Amy Adams as Giselle, a princess in every sense of the Disney-image—animals flock to her á la Cinderella, she is fair, patient, kind and beautiful, loved by all, etc.—who is waiting for her “true love’s kiss.” That kiss is supposed to come in the form of her beloved Prince Edward (James Marsden), but the Prince’s evil step-mother, Queen Narissa (Susan Sarandon), fears that she will be dethroned once they are married so she never actually allows them to meet. Until one day, purely by accident, as the story goes, they do and all hell breaks lose.

Narissa sends Giselle to “the real world” (via a New York City sewer) in the hopes of separating her from Prince Edward forever but her plan does not go accordingly and soon Giselle, Edward and her newfound love interest Robert, played by Patrick Dempsey, find themselves re-writing their own fairytale.

Everything up until Giselle’s entrance into Times Square is animated in the traditional Disney form; once she steps through the manhole, she comes to life in the form of the lovely Amy Adams. The animation works really well in setting up the obvious “this is a fairytale” intentions (I kept having to remind myself that this film was made for people, say, 15 years younger than me), but what makes the film worth seeing, and also makes for the funniest sequences, are the scenes set in “the real world.”

Director Kevin Lima is a pro at making Disney films having directed Tarzan, A Goofy Movie and 102 Dalmations, but it is screenwriter Bill Kelly who we have to thank for the story’s overall wit and charm. Kelly also wrote the extremely underrated Brendan Fraser-vehicle, Blast From the Past, and much like that film, which takes a cute premise and turns it on its head by incorporating genuine and likable characters, Enchanted ultimately works because we like and relate to its stars.

Amy Adams, who I will always picture as the adorable braces-wearing nurse in Steven Spielberg’s Catch Me If You Can, wins you over from the very first moment that she smiles on screen. She is the perfect embodiment of the princess that every little girl grew up believing in and yet her innocence and ingenuity at the “real world” that she suddenly finds herself in never feels forced or over-the-top. Her performance is helped largely in part by the adorable Dempsey as Robert the love-weary lawyer, not to mention James Marsden’s goofy Prince Edward, Timothy Spall’s (that’s Peter Pettigrew to you HP fans) insecure villain Nathaniel, Susan Sarandon’s spot on bitchy step-mother, and Rachel Covey’s Morgan, one of the most effortlessly cute little girls I’ve seen in a Disney film in a really long time.

Enchanted is sweet and well, enchanting, with just enough funny jokes and gross-out scenes (every New Yorker’s worst fear is on full-display in the Giselle-cleans-Robert’s-apartment scene) to entertain those of us way beyond the film’s intended PG-rated-audience. It is however, despite what the trailer might have you believe, still just a Disney fairytale—replete with a Princess, a Prince and an ending where everyone lives “happily ever after.”

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

NOVEMBER07

Photo Courtesy © Buena Vista Pictures

Dan in Real Life

Directed by: Peter Hedges

Written by: Pierce Gardner and Peter Hedges

Starring: Steve Carell, Juliette Binoche, Dane Cook, Norbert Leo Butz, Dianne Wiest, John Mahoney, Emily Blunt.

I have long been in love with Juliette Binoche. From the moment that I first saw her as Hannah in my beloved English Patient, I knew that I would follow that beautiful face with its sad, tender eyes anywhere. In high school, after my brother showed me Kieslowski’s Bleu for the very first time, I ran out and cut my hair exactly the same way that she wore it in the film. (I sadly remember taking the cover of the film’s soundtrack to the salon and telling the hairdresser, “Make me look like her.”) To this day, my haircuts tend to be variations on this same style, my unconscious homage of sorts to the French actress.

Like many actors who become exceedingly brilliant at playing one particular kind of character, Binoche is known mostly for her dramatic, borderline tragic roles. I have to admit that even though I have seen her in lighter romantic comedies such as Jet Lag and A Couch in New York, these are never the films that automatically come to mind when I think of her. Instead, there’s Michéle in Lovers on the Bridge, Tereza in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Julie in the Colors Trilogy, Alice in Alice et Martin and Pauline in The Widow of Saint-Pierre—all characters who share one thing in common: intense, gut-wrenching suffering.

As a result of her tendency towards the heartbreaking, I grew accustomed over the years to never seeing Binoche smile let alone laugh…and I have to admit that this rather strange fact never even dawned on me until I watched her in her most recent film (the first American production that she has done in years), Dan in Real Life.

In the film she plays Marie, a beautiful and interesting woman who falls in love with Steve Carell’s Dan while attending a family reunion of sorts with her boyfriend, who also happens to be Dan’s brother, Mitch (played by, yawn, Dane Cook).

The part of Marie is nothing remarkable (the only requirement the character seems to have is that she be “cultured” and interesting, meaning, foreign) and the same could really be said for the feel-good movie itself, which felt oddly reminiscent of 2005’s The Family Stone. It is the obvious chemistry between Binoche and Carell, however, which makes the film worthwhile and steals the show. The best parts of the film are the scenes where Carell makes Binoche laugh hysterically—after seeing her in crying scene after crying scene for so long, I had forgotten just how magical her smile could be, something that Carell, who is really great in the film and a terrific (handsome!) leading man, plays off of with ease.

This is director/co-writer Peter Hedges second film; the critically hyped though somewhat middle-of-the-road Pieces of April was his first. I’ve read several reviews of Dan in Real Life where viewers stated that they wished the romance had been its own separate film, without all of the annoying family drama in the background, and I can’t say that I disagree. None of the supporting characters really bring anything new to the story and ultimately take away from more Binoche-Carell interaction. Several times throughout the film I found myself wishing that I were watching the movie at home so that I could fast-forward through all of the background noise and get to the good parts—the scenes where Carell and Binoche just stand there, smiling goofily at one another and lighting up the screen.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

NOVEMBER07

Photo Courtesy © Focus Features

Reservation Road

Directed by: Terry George

Written by: Terry George and John Burnham Schwartz

Starring: Mark Ruffalo, Joaquin Phoenix, Jennifer Connelly, Mira Sorvino.

My first reaction when I saw the trailer for Terry George’s Reservation Road was: “Ugh, why would I want to put myself through that?” Just watching the trailer was painful—akin to visiting the dentist—something that you dread and fear doing but you know that you have to do regardless.

Now, I know what you’re thinking; watching a movie isn’t really something that you have to do but when you’re a movie fan and you see a film that a) is directed by the same man who brought you Hotel Rwanda (who also wrote the screenplay for the extremely underrated Daniel Day-Lewis film The Boxer); b) has Oscar-nomination written all over it; and c) stars Mark Ruffalo, Joaquin Phoenix and Jennifer Connelly, not to mention the rarely-seen as of late but always terrific Mira Sorvino, you really don’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Before I go any further with this review, however, in the interest of full disclosure (and, oddly enough, in keeping with the themes featured in the film), I feel that I should come clean about something: I missed the first 10 minutes of Reservation Road. Due to circumstances beyond my control i.e. thanks to the kind folks at the MTA, I was not at Lincoln Center Plaza at 9:25 and thus did not see what is, by and large, the driving force of the movie (or as my mom would say, “The most important five minutes of “Law & Order.”): the crime. As a result, by the time I rushed into the theater and grabbed a seat, Ethan (Joaquin Phoenix) and Grace Learner’s (Jennifer Connelly) son Josh was already dead, Dwight Arno (Mark Ruffalo) and his son had fled the scene, and the film was in a state of full-on, heightened emotions, feelings that I really couldn’t match having just walked in.

Even though it was only ten minutes that I missed, I felt like I was playing catch-up emotionally for the remainder of the movie. On the other hand, I do think that had I seen Reservation Road in its entirety, I would still be as confused about the movie as I am now. All of the elements that make a great and memorable film are there—well-told story, fantastic actors, and interesting, unforeseen arcs—and yet I walked away from the movie feeling like I had just watched something good on HBO. Although the dialogue in the film and the plot felt real enough, and the scenes featuring Phoenix and Ruffalo really do resonate powerfully, no substantive connection is made with any of the characters. Reservation Road is the kind of good film that proves just how hard it is to make a great film—there is no guaranteed formula and sometimes neither great actors nor a well-written script can prove otherwise.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

NOVEMBER07

Foo Fighters - Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace

The Foo Fighters have always been a band that is impossible to pin down musically. Go to most record stores and you’ll most likely find their albums filed under “Pop/Rock” and yet the fusion of these two genres don’t even begin to do the band’s intricate sound justice. Every one of their past albums, from the amazing The Colour and The Shape (which was actually re-released earlier this summer for its 10-year anniversary) to last year’s solid, hard-rock fueled In Your Honor, contains songs that range from sad, pensive ballads to romantic love songs to screaming rage-filled anthems…and yet nothing could have prepared me for their surprising new album, Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace.

The last time that I heard an album this diverse in the rock realm was in 1995 on The Smashing Pumpkins seminal double album, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. (In fact, “Once and For All,” a bonus track included on Patience has an opening guitar hook that is eerily reminiscent of Pumpkins signature guitar sound.) On Echoes, lead singer Dave Grohl goes to places vocally and in his songwriting that he has never been to before. Sure, the album contains the familiar guitar-rock oriented, radio-friendly Foo Fighter tunes—“The Pretender,” their first single off of the album is a blast to listen and rock out to, with a chorus that was created to be yelled loudly, as do songs such as “Cheer Up, Boys (Your Make Up Is Running),” “Erase/Replace” and “Long Road To Ruin,” the latter which will be their next single—but these are actually few and far in between on this album.

Instead we have introspective, lyric driven songs such as “Home,” “Statues,” the lovely, melodic “But, Honestly,” and my personal favorite, “Stranger Things Have Happened.” “Goddamn this dusty room/this hazy afternoon/I'm breathing in the silence like never before/this feeling that I get/ this one last cigarette as I lay awake and wait for you to come through that door/Oh maybe, maybe, maybe I can share it with you/I behave, I behave I behave so I can share it with you,” Grohl sings on the track, his voice brimming with emotion.

Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace is the Foo Fighters sixth album and it really is amazing to hear how this band has evolved. “Ballad of the Beaconsfield Miners” is a clear example of the new direction that the band seems to be going in. The guitar instrumental (which also features guitar goddess Kaki King) was written by Grohl for the miners involved in the Beaconsfield mine collapse in Tazmania. The story goes that two miners who survived the collapse were asked by rescue workers, who knew that it would take several days to get them out of the rubble, if they could get them anything to ease them through the wait. One of the miners requested an iPod with only one album on it—the Foo Fighters’ In Your Honor. Grohl was so touched that he penned the song for them and the result is a beautiful and moving tribute.

There isn’t really much more that I can say about this album except to say this: every track on it is a potential single, and every song is a joy to listen to, again and again. I have a feeling that Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace will be featured at the top of many a music critics year-end list—it will definitely be on mine.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

NOVEMBER07

Mark Ruffalo

“I became an actor so I didn’t have to be myself.”

At the risk of sounding too much like James Lipton, one of the joys of writing an article about an actor or actress is the research that goes into it; namely, it gives you an excuse to delve into all of their movies. Even if you have seen most of their films, going back and watching them over again or in turn watching those that you’ve never seen before, inevitably there will be surprises among them. In the case of Mark Ruffalo, the only surprising thing about his career thus far, is how it is that he has managed not to become a household name.

Born November 22^nd, 1967 in Kenosha, Wisconsin, Mark Alan Ruffalo grew up in Virginia Beach, the son of second-generation Italian-Americans. After graduating high school, Ruffalo moved to Los Angeles and enrolled at the Stella Adler Studio of Acting where he co-founded, with the help of some of his other classmates, the Orpheus Theatre Company, where he wrote, directed and starred in several plays, all the while bartending to pay the rent and going to audition after audition in the hopes of finally getting his big break.

After nine years of bartending and over 800 auditions, his break finally came in the form of playwright Kenneth Lonergan who, after getting to know Ruffalo, cast him in many of his plays, most famously “This Is Our Youth,” and ultimately handed him the role that would herald his arrival as an onscreen leading man: Terry Prescott in You Can Count On Me.

In many ways, the role of Terry Prescott was both beneficial and detrimental to Ruffalo’s career. On the one hand, casting agents that would have never looked twice at him for leading man roles actually knew his name; on the other hand, all of the roles that he was offered post-You Can Count On Me were near facsimiles of Prescott: lost, cynical, intelligent drifters with no direction home. Not wanting to be typecast, Ruffalo took smaller, more interesting supporting roles in big budget films such as Rod Lurie’s The Last Castle and John Woo’s Windtalkers, as well as leading man roles in forgettable indie films such as Apartment 12 and XX/YY, the latter which he also produced.

But it wasn’t until Ruffalo was diagnosed with a benign brain tumor in 2002 that things truly changed for him, both onscreen and off. "The whole experience of getting close to mortality changed my perspective on work. I wasn't enjoying acting before: I felt like I wasn't in charge of my career. I wasn't doing things that made me feel good. I was really bitter, I thought I deserved more, and I wasn't grateful for all the great shit that had happened to me. If you're not grateful, then it's very easy to be an asshole. After the brain tumor happened, I realized I love acting, I've always loved it, I may never get a chance to do it again," Ruffalo admitted in a 2005 interview with The Guardian. After the surgery, Ruffalo spent a long period of time dealing with partial facial paralysis and other side effects, which left him feeling vulnerable and insecure about his future as an actor.

It is odd to think that something so serious and even possibly deadly could result in a complete career transformation but Mark Ruffalo’s work can almost divided into two separate and distinct camps—before the brain tumor and after the brain tumor. Before the surgery Ruffalo was often miscast and underused; the first film that he did post-surgery, 2003’s My Life Without Me, proved to be a role that would allow Ruffalo to, once again, explore a whole new side of a leading man onscreen.

In the film Ruffalo plays Lee, a lonely and jaded guy who falls in love with Sarah Polley’s Ann, only to discover that she is dying. It sounds melodramatic, I know, but writer-director Isabel Coixet prevents the film from ever stooping to those levels, aided largely in part by Ruffalo’s tender and moving performance as Lee.

Many times in film criticism, you read a lot about an actor “embodying a role.” This phrase is often overused and therefore loses its meaning and weight, but as I have no other eloquent (non-vulgar) way to describe Ruffalo’s performance as Detective Malloy in Jane Campion’s In the Cut, embodiment will have to do. Sporting a mustache that would make any NYC Detective proud, Ruffalo is electrifying as Malloy, charging every scene that he shares with Meg Ryan, whether sexual or simply conversational, with an unbridled, very male, um, intensity, that I have not seen since Marlon Brando first graced the screen. The Brando comparison is nothing new—maybe it’s the eyes or the lips or the charisma—but Ruffalo’s Malloy is certainly worthy of the name drop.

In the Cut proved to be Ruffalo’s lucky charm as it was followed by such terrific films as We Don’t Live Here Anymore, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 13 Going on 30 (a personal favorite of mine) and Collateral, which marked the second time that Ruffalo played a cop onscreen (a third would come in the form of Inspector David Toschi in David Fincher’s brilliant Zodiac). That’s not to say that Ruffalo didn’t also make several duds in the wake of his mesmerizing In the Cut performance—Rumor Has It…, and All The King’s Men readily come to mind. Just Like Heaven, however, is one of those Lipton-esque surprises: the story is contrived and quite frankly, pretty dumb, but somehow Ruffalo’s performance as David Abbott in the film, yet another lonely and jaded guy, has been enough to compel one Netflix rental of said film and nearly 10 subsequent HBO viewings.

Somehow Mark Ruffalo has the ability to make any role compelling, even if the film itself is anything but. In his latest film, Terry George’s Reservation Road, he plays Dwight Arno, a lawyer who accidentally hits a young child with his car, flees the accident and leaves him for dead. The film itself fails to become anything truly memorable but Ruffalo as Dwight, a guilt-stricken father trying to do what’s best for his son, steals the show from such venerable dramatic actors as Joaquin Phoenix and Jennifer Connelly.

Often in his films, there are scenes where Mark Ruffalo is silent, offering one simple look in the place of a line of dialogue. There aren’t many actors who can do this—essentially carry the weight, power and success of a film on their face—and yet Ruffalo excels at it. His silences only serve to draw you in even closer; with every smirk, intense gaze or pleading brow, you are always left wanting more.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

SELECT FILMOGRAPHY

Blindness (2008)

The Brothers Bloom (2008)

Margaret (2007)

Reservation Road (2007)

Zodiac (2007)

Just Like Heaven (2005)

Collateral (2004)

13 Going on 30 (2004)

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

We Don't Live Here Anymore (2004)

In the Cut (2003)

My Life Without Me (2003)

The Last Castle (2001)

You Can Count on Me (2000)

Safe Men (1998)

OCTOBER07

Photo Courtesy © Revolution Studios

Across the Universe

Directed by: Julie Taymor

Written by: Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais

Starring: Evan Rachel Wood, Jim Sturgess, Joe Anderson, Dana Fuchs, Martin Luther and T.V. Carpio.

“All you need is love” is the familiar tagline for Julie Taymor’s new film, the experimental musical Across the Universe, which uses Beatles song lyrics and melodies as lines of dialogue and pivotal plot points, not to mention as the backdrop for telling the entire spectrum of stories of the 1960s. On paper this sounds, well, impossibly ridiculous, but if you’ve ever seen Taymor’s work on film or on Broadway (this was, after all, the same woman who made Titus) then you’re more than aware of her unique capability to make the impossible possible in extraordinarily beautiful ways. 

I would like to think that you would be able to enjoy this film without being a Beatles fan but I am just not sure that you could. Although the movie really is extraordinary to watch—vivid, trippy, unique and artistic in all the right ways—without the ability to accept that lyrics such as “I want to hold your hand,” “Dear Prudence, won’t you come out and play?” and “Is there anybody going to listen to my story, all about the girl who came to stay” can hold more depth than they appear to on paper, then this movie will seem pretty damn silly and superficial.

Musicals as a whole obviously rely on the music that each of their characters are singing—when Satine sang about the show going on in Moulin Rouge, she wasn’t just impersonating Freddie Mercury for kicks, she was telling the audience exactly how she felt by using a familiar song and making it her own. The same goes for Across the Universe, except unlike most musicals, this film doesn’t just happen to feature a couple of songs, it relies entirely on the songs featured in the film to give each of their characters, who are otherwise pretty one-dimensional, depth, emotion and importance, all qualities that probably should have been there on the page to begin with.

This is the main reason that the film has gotten lackluster reviews across the board. It is hard not to be impressed by the images, sets and costumes that Taymor envisions onscreen (not to mention the slew of colorful guest appearances by Bono, Joe Cocker, Salma Hayek and Eddie Izzard) and the endearing principal three actors in the film, Evan Rachel Wood, Jim Sturgess and Joe Anderson, Lucy, Jude (who looks uncannily like a doe-eyed Paul McCartney circa Let it Be) and Max (did they run out of obvious Beatles names to reference?) respectively, but take away the looks and the songs and you’re left with a pretty lackluster storyline and no powerful overriding message.

I’ve always counted myself as a die-hard Beatles fan but it wasn’t until I saw this film that I truly realized just how much they both defined and reflected an entire generation. Across the Universe succeeds in reminding us of this, but more importantly, it makes us long for a time when music served to propel social and political change.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

OCTOBER07

Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band – Magic

It is damn near impossible for me to write an objective review of any Bruce Springsteen album. Regardless, because of my known love for the man and his music, most of what I say will be taken with a grain of salt either way, even though I may have nearly every music critic of relevance and importance in the country supporting my declaration that the new album from Springsteen and the E-Street Band, Magic, is without a doubt the best album of this year.

Produced and mixed by Brendan O’Brien (who also produced 2002’s The Rising), Magic marks the first studio recording by Springsteen and the E-Street Band in five years. Their last album together, the 9/11 inspired The Rising, was all about the healing process and showcased slower and darker character-driven narratives more in the vein of Springsteen’s solo work on albums such as The Ghost of Tom Joad than on anything you would be apt to find on an E-Street album. That said, The Rising was still very much a collaboration and there are definitely songs on Magic that could have easily been on that album such as “You’ll be Comin’ Down” and “Livin’ in the Future.” But that’s splitting hairs—of course Magic and The Rising sound and seem similar, after all, the same band backs them both.

What is interesting to note, however, especially after taking into account Springsteen’s non-E-Street related albums of late, 2005’s Devils & Dust and last year’s Seeger Sessions, is just how different Springsteen sounds when he has his large group of friends backing him up. Songs such as “Gypsy Biker” and “Girls in Their Summer Clothes” just wouldn’t work without the unmistakable sound of Clarence Clemmons’ saxophone or Little Stevie’s guitar, and even more political fare such as “Your Own Worst Enemy,” “Radio Nowhere” and “Last to Die,” all of which could have easily been found on the more acoustic Devils & Dust, would not hold as much resonance without that full, powerful sound that the E-Street Band carries with them. 

And yet my favorite song off Magic thus far (ask me in a week and I might tell you different) is a song that is sparse and haunting, the album’s title track. “I got a shiny saw blade/All I need’s a volunteer/I’ll cut you in half/While your smilin’ at me/And the freedom that your songs/Drifting like a ghost amongst the trees/This is what we’ll be/This is what we’ll be,” Springsteen softly sings. Like every song on Magic, there is an underlying, deeper message to be found hidden within the lyrics, and it has little to do with magicians and more to do with the tricky leaders guiding this country. Magic is an album full of protest—of our government, of the music currently inhabiting our radios, of the war in the Middle East—but one that wows musically even as it enlightens. It is safe to say that Magic is just as good as every other Springsteen and the E-Street Band album, but because we need an album like this right now, because we need this band playing songs that are this important at just this moment, it feels like their best album yet.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

SEPTEMBER07

Photo Courtesy © ThinkFilm

The Ten

Directed by: David Wain

Written by: David Wain and Ken Marino

Starring: Paul Rudd, Adam Brody, Bobby Cannavale, Rob Corddry, Famke Janssen, Kerri Kenney, Ken Marino, A.D. Miles, Gretchen Mol, Oliver Platt, Winona Ryder, Liev Schreiber, Ron Silver and Jessica Alba.

In the world of the rabid cinephile, there is nothing more disappointing than a comedy that doesn't deliver. And when you have the team behind "The State," Wet Hot American Summer, Reno 911! at the helm, that disappointment quickly turns into sheer "What went wrong?" disbelief, as a trailer, cast and premise this funny seemed like a sure-fire laugh fest. But alas, the only laughter to be heard at the afternoon screening that I attended was of the nervous and uncomfortable variety.

The film tells 10 different stories (some of which cross-over into other stories and feature the same characters/actors), each of them dealing with one of the Ten Commandments, which was the same idea behind legendary Polish writer-director Krzysztof Kieslowski's The Decalogue, except his vision actually worked and is regarded as a masterpiece by the likes of Stanley Kubrick, whereas David Wain and Ken Marino's The Ten is anything but. Most of the story lines that make up each individual commandment are downright stupid and fall flat--"Thou Shalt Not Kill," which features Ken Marino as a surgeon who "goofs"; "Thou Shalt Not Steal," where Winona Ryder falls in love with a ventriloquist dummy; and the animated "Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness," where a gossiping rhinoceros (voiced by the wonderful H. Jon Benjamin, a.k.a. Coach McGuirk of "Home Movies") learns a hard lesson, are all painfully un-funny. As is the story that in some ways opens the film and is seen throughout, "Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery," where Paul Rudd, who serves as the movie's narrator (and also co-produced the film), cheats on his wife, played by Famke Janssen, with a younger, sillier woman, played by Jessica Alba. Rudd, who normally steals the show in every film that he's in, is uncharacteristically sedate and joyless in The Ten and as a result, his storyline is by far the most tedious of the bunch.

The only truly hilarious part of the film, and I don't think I'm really spoiling anything by mentioning it here, belongs to "Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Wife," where a prisoner, played by Rob Corddry, lusts after a fellow inmate, played by Ken Marino, and seeks to make him his "bitch." The dialogue that the two characters exchange in the prison yard is almost worth the price of admission, but the fact that it is only one out of ten acts in this film that is actually funny, I say you're better off saving The Ten for your NetFlix queue.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

SEPTEMBER07

David Thewlis

1963 -

The first time that I saw David Thewlis, I mean, really saw him, he was sporting a receding hairline and making out with Leonardo DiCaprio. The film was 1995’s Total Eclipse and Thewlis was playing one-half of one of the most famous and controversial literary couples of all-time: Paul Verlaine to DiCaprio’s Arthur Rimbaud. This wasn’t Thewlis’ first feature film, far from it—that honor belongs to Mike Leigh’s Life is Sweet—but the tenacity and passion that he imbued Verlaine with, the wrath and sadness that permeated from his performance…made me see Thewlis as if for the very first time.

David Thewlis was actually born David Wheeler in Blackpool, England, on March 20, 1963. He studied in the Guildhall School of Music and Drama, graduating in 1985, and a string of performances both onstage and on television quickly followed. His big break came in his second Mike Leigh collaboration, 1993’s Naked, which garnered both Thewlis and Leigh with a slew of awards including Best Actor and Director, respectively, at Cannes.  

In the film he plays the thoroughly unlikable character of Johnny, a young man who literally rapes, beats and pillages his way through the world (the first scene of the film shows him raping a woman in an alleyway), all the while talking and philosophizing about the reasons behind his unhappiness. Johnny is in a constant state of defense, he attacks before asking questions, and as such the role requires an actor with a frenzied energy to carry the film throughout…and ensure that as disgusting that the acts that Johnny commits are, we as an audience are able to see some semblance of humanity in him yet. A difficult task by all accounts but somehow Thewlis pulls it off, turning what would have been a real heartless prick in anyone else’s hands into a sad, lonely and misunderstood bastard.

After Total Eclipse, Thewlis took on a series of supporting roles in films such as Restoration (1995), James and the Giant Peach (1996), the incredibly longwinded Seven Years in Tibet (1997) and the Big Lebowski (1998), but it wasn’t until writer-director Bernardo Bertollucci’s Besieged, also in 1998, that Thewlis got an opportunity to shine in a leading man role once again. In the film, Thewlis is Jason Kinsky, an English pianist and composer who falls in love with his housekeeper, an African woman named Shandurai (played by the lovely Thandie Newton), who is living in exile in Italy after her husband’s imprisonment. The film is beautifully shot, with images that only serve to heighten the romantic and sexual tension that the two characters must endure, but it is largely due to Thewlis’ Kinsky that the film remains so unforgettable to this day. His character utters a total of maybe 12 sentences in the entire film, but his long silences and longing gazes speak volumes.

There is a quiet, tender beauty that Thewlis encompasses completely in Besieged, and it is something that, when analyzing his career and roles as a whole, is conveyed in nearly every character that he has played. (I admittedly chose to ignore the year 2006 which brought Thewlis roles in forgettable and unspeakable films such as Basic Instinct 2 and The Omen.) From his role as Wingfield in The New World to his role as Remus Lupin in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, when David Thewlis is onscreen one cannot help but be fully enthralled by his presence and the intensity of the words, looks and actions that he communicates in one single line of dialogue or scene. This September Thewlis will be playing the titular role in Paul Auster’s The Inner Life of Martin Frost and will also be releasing his first novel, The Late Hector Kipling, in the U.K. (November here in the U.S.). No matter what may come next for David Thewlis, both onscreen and off, we can be sure that it will be something worthwhile.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

David Thewlis Select Filmography

Angel Makers (2008)

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas (2008)

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007)

The Inner Life of Martin Frost (2007)

The New World (2005)

All the Invisible Children (2005)

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)

Gangster No. 1 (2000)

Besieged (1998)

The Big Lebowski (1998)

Seven Years in Tibet (1997)

James and the Giant Peach (1996)

Restoration (1995)

Total Eclipse (1995)

Naked (1993)

Life Is Sweet (1990)

AUGUST07

Photo Courtesy © Focus Features

Talk to Me

Directed by: Kasi Lemmons

Written by: Michael Genet and Rick Famuyiw

Starring: Don Cheadle, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Mike Epps, Cedric the Entertainer, Vondie Curtis-Hall, Elle Down, Taraji P. Henson and Martin Sheen.

Writer-director Kasi Lemmons has the singular achievement of being the first black woman to have made three films—three films that have played in theaters and have been released worldwide that is. The fact that this is fact in the year 2007 is a sad marker of how far the film industry still has to go, and yet, it is also a clear indication of just how remarkable (and talented) Lemmons is. Her three films to date, 1997’s Eve’s Bayou, 2001’s The Caveman’s Valentine, and most recently, Talk to Me, are all original and poetic films whose images stay forever engraved in your mind. Mention Eve’s Bayou and I see a beautiful close-up of a young Jurnee Smollett crying while Terence Blanchard’s moving score sweeps in; talk to me about The Caveman’s Valentine and I see a haggard Samuel Jackson walking through Bryant Park: just say the words Talk to Me and I automatically see Don Cheadle’s face as he confronts an audience of white people on live television…

Lemmons’ films leave a mark because she infuses every bit of herself into their stories, into getting them made and seen, and Talk to Me is no different. The movie tells the story of Petey Greene, played by Don Cheadle, an ex-con turned radio disc jockey in 1960s era Washington D.C., and his manager, Dewey Hughes, played by Chiwetel Ejiofor. The film focuses on their relationship and Greene’s rise to success from the penitentiary to one of the most popular and influential radio DJ’s of the time, all within the context of the tumultuous 60s, with the civil rights movement, riots and the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. all serving as emotional backdrops. The result is a movie that is both irreverent and political, offering social commentary (without judgment or preaching) that is as relevant today as it was then.

Don Cheadle has been churning out award-winning performances for over a decade now and his turn as Petey Greene will deservedly reward him with many a nomination in 2008. Cheadle’s Petey is brash, funny, smart and most of all, completely relatable, the latter which is the integral piece to your connecting with both the character and the story. The film’s success lies entirely on how convincing he portrays Greene and he succeeds in spades—by the end of the film you will find yourself longing for a man like Petey, a man who “tells it like it is,” to come in and lead a new revolution today. Chiwetel Ejiofor is just as terrific as Dewey, the “brains and numbers” behind Petey’s rise to fame. I first saw Ejiofor in Stephen Frear’s Dirty Pretty Things, a performance that was not easy to forget, and since then he has risen to become one of the more interesting young actors working today. With a cast that is pretty hard to beat, and a story as interesting and as relevant as Petey’s, Talk to Me is just another example of how good a film can be when Kasi Lemmons is at the helm—hopefully it will also serve as her first mainstream hit.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

AUGUST07

Travis – The Boy With No Name

First it was “Battleships.” Then it was “Closer” and the insanely catchy (if you haven’t seen the music video that accompanies the song click here: <a href=" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0sES3nzgsU ">Selfish Jean - Travis</a>) “Selfish Jean,” followed directly by “Colder.” The current non-stop, all-encompassing, sing-a-long favorite: “My eyes.”

“As each day goes by, it makes way for another/We discover that we're not alone/And each day we try, the best we can to recover/All the feelings that we left below

Welcome in, welcome in/Shame about the weather/Welcome in, welcome in/

You will come/It's a sin, it's a sin/Where birds of a feather, are welcome to, land on you/

Ya Ya Ya/Ya Ya Ya/You've got my eyes/We can see, what you'll be, you can't disguise/And either way, I will pray, you will be wise/Pretty soon you will see the tears in my eyes…”

If you’re a Travis fan then you know the predicament that you can get into when trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about this Scottish foursome that works so well. Their music is both melancholy and hopeful, can comfort you when you feel like utter shit, and then lift you up to happiness levels that mirror those found in goofy Skittles commercials.

Travis released their first album, the Steve Lillywhite produced Good Feeling, in 1997, years before Coldplay, Keane and Snow Patrol and the slew of other British pop bands hit the mainstream airwaves. They released three albums after that, 1999’s terrific The Man Who, 2001’s unforgettable The Invisible Band and 2003’s equally memorable 12 Memories. Apart from a greatest hits collection entitled Singles released in 2005 (which featured the new track “Walking in the Sun”), The Boy With No Name marks their first full-length release of all new material in over four years…and it is well worth the wait.

In the four years since their last album members of the band have gotten married, had kids and turned into bonafide adults, all of which should in theory have placed their band and music on the backburner and yet The Boy With No Name is Travis best album to date. There is something for every kind of Travis fan on it—from the joyous dance-numbers like “Selfish Jean” and the thoughtful ballads such as “Under the Moonlight,” “Out in Space” and “Big Chair,” the album features a cornucopia of addictive melodies and brilliant choruses. Chris Martin once described himself as a “poor man’s Fran Healy,” and while I don’t think that the statement is necessarily true, it is clear just how much the Travis front man and principle songwriter has influenced Martin. Healy writes and sings about love, loneliness, relationships, death, bliss and simple fun in a way that feels so completely honest and true. The naysayers have always slighted Travis for this, for not being cool/serious/unconventional/(insert favored pretentious word here) enough, and yet that is precisely what endears them to so many. Their music fits every occasion, every moment that life throws your way…listening to Travis is like breathing in fresh air in a world filled entirely of smog—you feel more alive with every new song.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

JULY07

Photo Courtesy © Fox Searchlight Pictures

Once

Written and directed by: John Carney

Starring: Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová.

It is damn near impossible to talk about John Carney’s Once without discussing the music and the songs that are featured within it. The film is easily categorized as a musical as the songs are as integral to the storyline as the characters and dialogue themselves, and yet unlike your standard musical, when the characters in this film burst into song it feels absolutely natural—a logical extension of the thoughts and ideas that they were expressing just a minute ago in prose.

Shot entirely on digital film, with that wonderful grainy and low-budget look to prove it, and coming in at a little over an hour and a half, Once tells the story of a street musician and a lovely house-cleaner/street peddler of magazines and flowers who are drawn to one another through their songs. The story is simple and literally involves just a guy and a girl—their names are never revealed and thus they are even credited as such—who meet and fall in love with each other, but what transforms their story into a remarkable one is the music that they make together.

Glen Hansard, front man for Irish band The Frames, and Markéta Irglová, a singer-songwriter in her own right, play the guy and girl, respectively, and their chemistry on-screen is both completely sincere and beguiling. (The two of them are actually dating in real life and have also formed a band called The Swell Season which is currently touring.)

The songs that they sing through the course of the movie are equal parts heart-breaking, stunning and addictive and you’ll find yourself humming them unconsciously as soon as one ends and the other begins. (Landmark Sunshine, the theater where I saw the film, even goes so far as to sell its soundtrack in the lobby, which I, along with several others, purchased immediately after seeing the film.)

Had Once been released when I was 14 rather than 25, I would have seen it at least six times by now. As I write this article I have seen the film only twice, something that given the cost of movie tickets these days is almost unheard of and is a downright luxury. Yet I can’t help but want to see it again simply to lose myself in its beauty—to remember just how good a film can be (and feel) when it proudly wears its heart on its sleeve.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

JULY07

Photo Courtesy © Paramount Vantage

A Mighty Heart

Directed by: Michael Winterbottom

Written by: John Orloff

Starring: Angelina Jolie, Dan Futterman, Archie Panjabi, Will Patton and Irfan Khan.

I must be completely honest: I went into A Mighty Heart fully prepared to blithely tear apart Angelina Jolie’s performance, based almost entirely on what I thought I had witnessed in the trailer. Very few people in cinema can do what Meryl Streep does with grace and ease—inhabit a person and an accent so that you no longer see the American actor before you but rather are fully engrossed in the person that they say they are. When I saw the trailer for A Mighty Heart I quickly dismissed the hair, the accent, even the skin color, simply because it wasn’t the Jolie that I was used to seeing, meaning, she isn’t French, and I stupidly judged a performance without watching a single scene from the film. But after seeing the movie there is little doubt in my mind as to why Jolie was cast—even over other French actors—and I cannot imagine another actress in the role of journalist Mariane Pearl. With this performance, Jolie harkens back to a time in her career (namely Gia) when she was brimming with promise—a time when her ability to tap into emotions in a way that no other actress could made you tremble in anticipation for her next role. Suffice to say that the Oscar buzz is indeed well-deserved.

From 2006’s documentary Road to Guantanamo to chronicling the 80s Manchester music scene in 24 Hour Party People to his raw exploration of music and sex in 9 Songs, director Michael Winterbottom is known for tackling his subjects head on. A Mighty Heart is no exception. From the film’s opening scenes, Winterbottom throws you into the middle of a story that has already unfolded and you spend the rest of the film in complete disarray, trying to piece together the puzzle right along with Mariane, the FBI, the Pakistani police and the rest of the characters onscreen. The result is exhausting but effective and to deem the film, its subject matter and even Winterbottom himself as “socially conscious” seems trite and flippant and fails to fully do justice to the rare feat that he pulls off in telling a story of such disturbing proportions without resorting to hackneyed or manipulative techniques.

A Mighty Heart’s cast is pitch-perfect, and the research that the filmmakers put into capturing every detail of Mariane and Daniel’s story onscreen only serves to pull you further into the pain and despair that gradually unfolds. The Namesake’s Irfan Khan shines as the stalwart Pakistani Captain leading the search for Daniel Pearl, and Dan Futterman, whose talents are seemingly endless, not only eerily resembles the real Daniel Pearl physically, but brings emotional weight to a role that is the film’s most challenging by any standard. Where Jolie’s Mariane becomes a fully realized character with different sides and dimensions over the course of the movie, Futterman’s Daniel isn’t given the same opportunity—and yet somehow it is his performance that tethers the entire film.

The first thing that I did when I walked out of the theater after watching the film, oddly enough, was call my Dad. I dialed the number instinctively as I walked through the dimly lit square, hoping against all odds that somehow my father would know the answers to the questions that beat against my brain ceaselessly.

They were naïve questions, as was my childish notion that “Daddy” could fix this, that somehow he would have the solution and know what to do. But these are questions that cannot be answered with words or even with one film: How do you defeat an enemy that cannot be defeated? How do you fight a hatred that is seemingly insurmountable and that is built on a well of deeply-rooted emotions that outrun logic and humanity? The film’s answer (and Mariane Pearl’s): By continuing to live. In spite of the hatred, in spite of the violence, responding always with hope and love rather than fear.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

The. O.C. – The Complete Series

(“THE ESCAPE” – Season 1)

Summer: Come on. Get off the bed!

Seth: Nope.

Summer: Be, like, a gentleman?

Seth: Chivalry's dead, sugar.

Summer got onto the bed.

Summer: You make a move, I rip out your jugular.

Seth: Hey, pillow talk.

(“THE DISTANCE” – Season 2)

Ryan: How'd you make it all the way from Newport on that little catamaran?

Seth: Hm. Well, Ryan, sit down, my son. (Motions for him to sit down.) It was a long and torturous journey, and I'm not gonna, I'm not gonna sugar coat any details with you—

Ryan: Please don't.

Seth: —'cause we're friends. First, I sailed to Catalina. Then, I sailed to Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara, I ran out of snacks. Freaked out a little bit, pawned my boat for cash, took a Greyhound to Portland.

Ryan: You took a bus.

Seth: Yeah. But don't say it like that, cause it was a local. Okay, have you ever been in one of those? Okay, not for the faint of heart.

Ryan: I can't believe after all that you took a bus.

Seth: Yeah. I think we're definitely going to have to come up with a better story for school though, that'd be good.

Ryan: I don't know, I like the bus idea. It's cool.

Seth: Okay, what about maybe... boat sank, saved by whales? It's very Whale Rider.

Ryan: What else you' got?

Seth: I took a boat, boat sank, saved by a mermaid? Boat sank, stranded on a desert island...

(“THE ROAD WARRIOR” – Season 3)

Seth: Dude, where are you?

Ryan: Indio. How much trouble am I in?

Seth: Ah, none yet. Mom and Dad think you're helping inner city kids paint an overpass mural. I'm rolling around in your bed right now. So it looks slept in.

Ryan: You probably do that anyway.

(“THE SUMMER BUMMER” – Season 4)

Ryan: What are you doing paying your gay friend Roger to pretend he's in love with you?

Taylor: Well, what if I did? Hm? What if I did rent a homosexual for the evening and pay him with rare collectibles from Asian cinema? What difference does it make to you?

Ryan: Well, it's a little strange.

Taylor: Well, so am I. Which is why you ran away from me last night.

Ryan: No, it wasn't 'cause you're strange.

Taylor: What, you don't find me strange?

Ryan: No, I do. But it's not why I took off.

Hi. My name is Lily Percy. I am 25 years old and I love “The O.C.”

Much like every great addiction, with its prerequisite gateway drug and greasy foul-mouthed pusher, my obsession began after listening to an episode of “This American Life.” The pusher in question: Ira Glass. It was earlier this year when TAL was making the touring rounds, bringing their live show to cities all across the country. The aforementioned episode featured the following theme, “What I Learned from Television,” in which Sarah Vowell, Dan Savage, David Rakoff and Sir Glass himself spoke at length about what they learned/love most about T.V.

Sarah Vowell spoke about thanksgiving and the pilgrims as seen through the eyes of “Happy Days;” Dan Savage spoke about the most disturbing Disney show he’d ever seen but most memorably, simply because he broke out into the show’s theme song, Ira Glass talked about a program that was very dear to his heart, “The O.C.” whose recent cancellation/series finale had really left him thinking about many interesting things, among them how much love he felt for his wife when they watched the show together. If you are familiar with Glass then you know that one of the reasons why he (and TAL) have gained so much success and rabid acclaim is that, unlike many public radio hosts, he is not afraid to let his emotions hang i.e. to occasionally sound like a passionate and obsessed teenage boy. So when I heard him gushing about Seth and Summer and this Fox T.V. show that I had always dismissed as vapid, I, being the loyal, easily-persuadable addict that I am, immediately put the first season at the very top of my Netflix queue. And man, I’ll be damned if I didn’t sing along to the theme song every single episode

The thing is—it is a soap opera. I have no qualms about admitting this. But isn’t nearly every show, no matter how well-written or witty, essentially this as well? What makes “The O.C.” rise about the tawdry genre conventions however is the show’s core heart and storyline: The Cohen family. The premise is this: D.A. Sandy Cohen, played brilliantly by Peter Gallagher in quite frankly, the best role that I’ve seen him in years, is assigned to the case of a young teenage boy named Ryan Atwood (Ben McKenzie). Originally from the Bronx and something of a misfit himself, Sandy sees something in Ryan that softens his heart and makes him reach out to him in the most unlikely of ways—by having him come live with him and his family, and ultimately, adopting Ryan.

On paper this sounds oddly like an all-white version of “Different Strokes” but I assure you that it’s not and their intentions come off as nothing but sincere, noble and, unlikely as it may seem, completely logical considering the circumstances. You never question why the Cohens would do this, nor why their relationship with Ryan is cemented so quickly, and that is due entirely to the strength of the characters as envisioned by creator and writer Josh Schwartz.

That’s not to say that every character works—case in point, Marissa Cooper as played by Mischa Barton. My favorite season of “the O.C.” was the last one and this was due largely in part to the fact that they killed off Marissa in the third season. It isn’t that Barton is that terrible an actress—she’s not that bad—but rather that the character of Marissa embodied all of the stupid drama and angst that made the show lean dangerously close to being branded a full-on soap. Whenever her character was featured onscreen I found myself sighing, longing for the moment when the show’s real stars, Adam Brody’s Seth and Rachel Bilson’s Summer, would come back to save the day with their His Girl Friday-esque relationship.

But the main reason why I love the last season of “the O.C.” above all others is the Ryan and Taylor dynamic. After Marissa’s death, Ryan goes through a series of “personal growths” which ultimately lead him to fall in love again, this time with his complete polar opposite—the eccentric, sassy intellectual dork Taylor Townsend (played by the adorable Autumn Reeser). This is your typical case of opposites attracting but these two are such polar extremes and such complete emotional wrecks, that their budding relationship is absolutely intoxicating to watch. It is as if, say, James Dean and Tina Fey had dated each other—crazy on paper and in theory, but entertaining as hell. Ultimately, that is what makes “the O.C.” worth watching—I can’t remember the last time a show aimed at teenagers defied so many stereotypes (not to mention introduced as many bands to the mainstream public—Death Cab for Cutie, The Killers, Bright Eyes, just to name a few) when it came to its characters, with the notable exception of “Veronica Mars.” There are no standard one-dimensional jocks, nerds or sluts to be found anywhere on the show but rather complicated and complex characters that are as likable, funny and smart as you would hope your friends and family to be were your life a Fox T.V. show based out of Orange County.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

JUNE07

Photo Courtesy © Universal Pictures

Knocked Up

Written and directed by: Judd Apatow

Starring: Seth Rogen, Katherine Heigl, Paul Rudd, Leslie Mann, Jason Segel, Jonah Hill, Martin Starr, Harold Ramis, Alan Tudyk and Jay Baruchel.

I loved The 40-Year-Old Virgin. I mean, I loved it. I have watched it every time that it airs on HBO—especially at three in the morning when it’s either that or The Break-Up—and each time is just as hilarious as the first. The film is more than just a series of brilliant jokes and gags—it is a sensitive and honest depiction of what it is like to have missed out on love, sex, and all of the wonderful relationship drama in between.

Judd Apatow is a whiz at finding beauty in the banal, often underappreciated moments of our lives. He is also a genius at making the most complicated aspects of said lives such as marriage, sex and having kids seem so incredibly simple. The fact that he can do both separately is no small feat—the fact that he does both in all of his films, including his latest effort, Knocked Up, is downright awe-inspiring.

Half of the charm of his movies and TV shows (run, and I mean run, out and rent both “Freaks and Geeks” and “Undeclared.” Now.) lies in not knowing what each character will do or say next so I won’t go into too much detail about what makes Knocked Up such a pleasure to watch—suffice to say that it involves terrific (and surprisingly moving) performances by Seth Rogen and Katherine Heigl, as well Apatow-universe regulars Paul Rudd, Jason Segal, Martin Starr, Leslie Mann and Jay Baruchel. There are cameos galore in the film but it is Paul Rudd who nearly steals the show, as usual. The man is pretty, smart and funny—a brutal onscreen combination.

I must admit however that I didn’t laugh as much in Knocked Up as I did in The 40-Year-Old Virgin. That said, I also feel like Knocked Up is, in many ways, a better film for it. The story and characters are far more well developed, and unlike the former, at the end of the film you come out of it feeling like you’ve learned some really deep life lessons. The kind of lessons that come wrapped in hallucinogenic drugs, infectious diseases and unprotected sex, of course.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

JUNE07

Photo Courtesy © Fox Searchlight Pictures

Waitress

Written and directed by: Adrienne Shelly

Starring: Keri Russell, Cheryl Hines, Jeremy Sisto, Andy Griffith and Adrienne Shelly.

The entire four seasons that “Felicity” was on TV I never missed an episode. I watched it religiously, taking notes, comparing her college experiences and her friends to mine, and wishing that her guy troubles (dude, choosing between Ben or Noel is like choosing between dark chocolate and chocolate) were indeed mine as well. I loved the characters, their dialogue, their arcs—which meant that I essentially loved the show for J.J. Abrams and all of the other wonderful writers that created this universe.

And yet, mid-way through Adrienne Shelly’s debut film, Waitress, a big, bright, searing light bulb went off in my head: I loved “Felicity” because of Keri Russell. How could I have missed this before, I wondered to myself silently. And why was it such a big deal? This realization came to me at a point in the film when Keri Russell is called upon to demonstrate, through one particular facial expression, how madly in love and happy she is. She plasters an ear-to-ear grin on her face and never lets it go. This would seem stupid, silly or just plain contrived were anyone else doing it, but when Russell does it—man, it actually lights up the screen.

Russell is a subtle actress, so subtle that even though she is playing the lead in a film or TV show, you’ll never really notice just how good she actually is until she is no longer in the scene. She has a presence and beauty that is part Audrey Hepburn and part Mary Tyler Moore—the kind that dazzles, endears and transcends even the restrictive frames of the screen. Waitress is a really nice film; it centers on likeable supporting characters and, for a “romantic comedy,” it features refreshingly pro-feminist undertones. But what truly makes the movie rise above its own flaws and imperfections is the sincerity and grace that Keri Russell brings to the role of Jenna. To paraphrase a familiar TV theme song, she takes a cute little film and somehow makes it all seem really worthwhile. 

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

JUNE07

Photo Courtesy © First Look

Paris Je T’aime

Directed by: Olivier Assayas, Frédéric Auburtin, Emmanuel Benbihy, Gurinder Chadha, Sylvain Chomet, Ethan Coen, Joel Coen, Isabel Coixet, Wes Craven, Alfonso Cuarón, Gérard Depardieu, Christopher Doyle, Richard LaGravenese, Vincenzo Natali, Alexander Payne, Bruno Podalydès, Walter Salles, Oliver Schmitz, Nobuhiro Suwa, Daniela Thomas, Tom Tykwer, Gus Van Sant

Written by: Tristan Carné, Emmanuel Benbihy, Bruno Podalydès, Paul Mayeda Berges, Gurinder Chadha, Gus Van Sant, Ethan Coen, Joel Coen, Walter Salles, Daniela Thomas, Christopher Doyle, Gabrielle Keng, Kathy Li, Isabel Coixet, Nobuhiro Suwa, Sylvain Chomet, Alfonso Cuarón, Olivier Assayas, Oliver Schmitz, Richard LaGravenese, Vincenzo Natali, Wes Craven, Tom Tykwer, Gena Rowlands, Alexander Payne

Starring: Florence Muller, Bruno Podalydès, Leïla Bekhti, Cyril Descours, Marianne Faithfull, Elias McConnell, Gaspard Ulliel, Julie Bataille, Steve Buscemi, Axel Kiener, Catalina Sandino Moreno, Barbet Schroeder, Li Xin, Javier Cámara, Sergio Castellitto, Miranda Richardson, Leonor Watling, Juliette Binoche, Martin Combes, Willem Dafoe,

Hippolyte Girardot, Yolande Moreau, Paul Putner, Sara Martins, Nick Nolte, Ludivine Sagnier, Lionel Dray, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Joana Preiss, Seydou Boro, Aïssa Maïga, Fanny Ardant, Bob Hoskins, Olga Kurylenko, Elijah Wood, Emily Mortimer, Alexander Payne, Rufus Sewell, Melchior Beslon, Natalie Portman, Gérard Depardieu, Ben Gazzara, Gena Rowlands, Margo Martindale

Although it hasn’t exactly been getting the ratings that Fox originally hoped for, I’ve been watching their “Who wants to be the next Spielberg?” reality TV show “On the Lot” ardently for the past couple of weeks. It isn’t exactly as guilty a pleasure as, say,  “American Idol” or “America’s Next Top Model,” but it is compelling to watch struggling filmmakers make short films in the hopes of making their dreams come true, and, well, struggle. This week the remaining 18 contestants made short comedic films—some of them were truly incredible (that special effects guy from Canada puts Lucas to shame), and others so wacky that they were actually painful to sit through (wacky taxi, wacky taxi! I can’t believe that guy made the cut). The one thing that definitely became abundantly clear at the end of the show was just how hard it really is to make a good short film.

I bring all of this up because I couldn’t help but think about all of this while watching Paris, Je T’aime, a filmic love letter to the city of lights, comprised of 18 different short films by 18 different directors. The film is an ambitious one, especially considering that these kind of things tend to feature three to four stories at the most (think Alejandro Gonzáles Iñáritu’s films, New York Stories or Beyond the Clouds), but overall the movie succeeds in tying together all of the different visions and paying homage to all of the things that make Paris unique. That doesn’t mean, however, that it doesn’t also feature its share of ‘wacky taxis.’

Christopher Doyle, who as a cinematographer is a visionary, is responsible for the worst segment in the film. "Porte de Choisy" stands out like a sore thumb and is pretty much indecipherable. When compared to his film, everyone else’s seems flawless and perfect, and their conventional narratives are a welcome change to his choppy story. With so many brilliant names attached to the project—Alfonso Cuáron, Gus Van Sant, The Coens, Walter Salles—you would think that more of the films would stand out, but the truly memorable ones are Gérard Depardieu’s "Quartier Latin," Tom Tykwer’s "Faubourg Saint-Denis" and Alexander Payne’s "14th arrondissement." The latter film is funny, sweet and poignant in all the right ways, and is also, I am sad to admit after years and years of French classes, the only film in which I didn’t have to read the subtitles.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

JUNE07

Rufus Wainwright – Release The Stars

Rufus Wainwright’s voice is like a drug—intoxicating, exciting and completely overwhelming. I look forward to his albums the way that addicts look forward to their next dirty fix—it is a want and craving that somehow transforms itself into a need.

Surprisingly, not everyone feels this way about Wainwright’s music. Much like Bjork, Tom Waits, Radiohead, etc., all of which are artists that many cannot be bothered to actually listen to, Wainwright has a rabid cult following that allows him to sell out concerts in San Francisco, New York and pretty much all over Europe, yet rarely, if ever, provides him with any semblance of mainstream success. Maybe it’s his voice, which is operatic and soars above even the most basic pop songs. Or maybe it is his unyielding bravado—performing “Gay Messiah” onstage (a song that features lyrics such as “baptized in come”) wearing a toga, a crown of thorns and a drag queen’s mask while two hunky Roman soldiers crucify him to a cross.

Either way, I admire Wainwright and his music for many of the same reasons that I admire and love Freddie Mercury: for his complete disregard for society’s conventions and views, and for his conviction to follow his own voice, no matter the cost. Release the Stars is Wainwright’s fifth release and he has said in various interviews that it is essentially a summation of his entire musical career to date. I agree. The album features many of the trademarks that fans have come to expect and love from Wainwright: melodies that sound both familiar and completely original; a backing orchestra filled with abundant strings that call to mind the powerful arrangements of many luminary composers; raw, sly and sincere lyrics that cut straight into your heart.

“Do I disappoint you/in just being lonely/and not one of the elements/that you can call your one and only,” Wainwright sings in the haunting album opener, “Do I disappoint you?” Wainwright can rest easy as his new album, with its beautiful, bittersweet love songs (“Slideshow,” “Not Ready to Love”), catchy pop tunes (“Between My Legs,” “Sanssouci”) and sweeping epics (“Tulsa,” “Going to a Town,” “Release the Stars”), is everything but disappointing. Elton John says that there is no better songwriter working today than Rufus Wainwright, and as much as I hate to agree with anything that catty man says, he’s completely right. I haven’t been able to stop listening nor singing any of the songs off of Release the Stars, and I don’t reckon that I will be able to anytime soon.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

May Movie Madness or: How I learned to Love the IRS and Stop Worrying About My 2006 Taxes.

By Lily Percy

MAY07

The Lookout

Written and directed by: Scott Frank

Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Matthew Goode, Jeff Daniels, Isla Fisher and Carla Gugino.

Scott Frank’s directorial debut is a memorable and moving one with incredible performances by Matthew Goode (sans English accent), Jeff Daniels (the chemistry between Daniels and Gordon-Levitt is wonderful) and one of the best actors of our generation, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, whose Chris Pratt is both completely original and heartbreaking.

Hot Fuzz

Directed by: Edgar Wright

Written by: Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright

Starring: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Martin Freeman, Bill Nighy, Timothy Dalton, Jim Broadbent and Paddy Considine.

As “Fresh Air’s” resident film critic David Edelstein noted in a recent review of Hot Fuzz, one of the greatest things about the film is the way that it lovingly pays tribute to the action movie genre rather than going the obvious route of American comedy mockery—you won’t find a funnier nor more satisfying movie currently playing at the theater.

The Lives of Others

Written and directed by: Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

Starring: Martina Gedeck, Ulrich Mühe and Sebastian Koch.

The Lives of Others won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film this year, beating out the seemingly-unbeatable (especially in my book) Pan’s Labyrinth; “seemingly” however truly is the operative word as you’d be hard pressed to argue with the Academy’s decision upon actually seeing the suspenseful and harrowing film (although why Mühe did not win the award for Best Actor is a mystery). Had I seen this film in 2006 it would have undoubtedly been at the very top of my list.

Reign Over Me

Written by and directed by: Mike Binder

Starring: Adam Sandler, Don Cheadle, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Liv Tyler, Saffron Burrows and Donald Sutherland

Despite the fact that I did find myself wondering several times while watching Reign Over Me what the film would have been like without Adam Sandler in the lead role, writer-director Mike Binder’s ode to sorrow, pain and survival (much like his terrific and completely underrated The Upside of Anger) makes its point clearly and sincerely, with terrific performances from Don Cheadle, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Safron Burrows, and yes, Adam Sandler.

The Year of the Dog

Written and directed by: Mike White

Starring: Molly Shannon, Regina King, Laura Dern, John C. Reilly, Josh Pais and Peter Sarsgaard.

The Year of the Dog’s tagline: “Has the world left you a stray?” could not have been more succinct. Don’t be fooled by the humorous and bittersweet trailer (or your preconceived notions about White’s storytelling tendencies), this is a film that speaks volumes about our inherent loneliness as human beings and our endless desire to be loved and love, whatever shape, form or breed that it may take. I could not shake Molly Shannon’s beautiful performance (nor her sad smile), even several days later.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

APRIL07

The Wind That Shakes the Barley (2006)

Directed by: Ken Loach

Written by: Paul Laverty

Starring: Cillian Murphy, Padraic Delaney, Liam Cunningham, Gerard Kearney, William Ruane and Orla Fitzgerald.

"A movie isn't a political movement, a party or even an article. It's just a film. At best it can add its voice to public outrage." – Ken Loach

When I first read this quote by English writer-director Ken Loach (who I swore was Irish all of these years), my immediate reaction was to disagree. After all, this is the same director who, throughout his long and celebrated career, has made the following films: 1990’s Riff-Raff, which explores the harsh realities of the British lower class and Hidden Agenda, which deals with the assassination of an American human rights lawyer in Belfast; 1995’s Land and Freedom, which tells the story of an Englishman, who also happens to be a communist, who leaves his country to join the Spanish civil war (this film also won Loach the Jury Prize at Cannes that year); 2000’s fantastic Bread and Roses, which deals with the plight of the Mexican immigrant in the U.S.; and 2002’s Sweet Sixteen, where once again Loach tackles the difficulties that poverty creates, this time using a 16-year-old teenage boy from Glasgow as his centerpiece.

His films have never been just films to me—the way that they make me feel when I watch them, and the heated conversations that ensue when they’re over serve as enough proof of their social and political nature. But it isn’t just the subject matter that is political in Loach’s films; politics and passion are engrained in every celluloid frame. As a result of this every accent seems to be even more authentic, every actor becomes his/her character and every well-placed historical marker becomes an indisputable fact.

Loach’s latest film, The Wind That Shakes the Barley, is yet another reminder of just how apolitical his films really are. Set in 1920s Ireland (and filmed in County Cork where the film’s star Cillian Murphy is from), the movie tells the story of the gory rebellion that pitted brother against brother in their struggle for freedom and independence from British rule. The movie is heartbreaking and tragic, but also serves to illuminate the price that Ireland and its people paid in order to become the country that they are today.

Many viewers have found Loach’s account of the Irish revolution to be a bit too one-sided: England is by no means painted in a positive light in the film (they torture women and children without batting an eye) and by the end of the movie you find yourself seriously questioning (if not downright loathing) the morality behind the “great” empire’s reign and power. (The fact that Loach also turned down the Order of the British Empire for his contribution to film in the 1970s doesn’t win him any points with the English public either.) However, when The Wind That Shakes the Barley won the Golden Palm at Cannes last year, Loach said the following as he accepted the award: "Our film is a little step in the British confronting their imperialist history. Maybe if we tell the truth about the past we can tell the truth about the present."

In this light I can finally begin to make sense of Loach’s definition of films in relation to politics and although I still don’t completely disregard my original thesis, The Wind That Shakes the Barley is indeed simply another protest song in a long line of protest songs sent to help us to remember the cause, and never forget the bloodshed.

Lily@picturesandframesmagazine.com

MARCH07

Breaking and Entering

Written and directed by: Anthony Minghella

Starring: Jude Law, Juliette Binoche, Robin Wright-Penn, Martin Freeman, Ray Winstone, Rafi Gavron and Vera Farmiga.

In the cinematic realm, there are five men who can never do any wrong as far as I’m concerned: Cameron Crowe, Steven Spielberg, Spike Lee, Pedro Almódovar and Anthony Minghella. There are and will always be some exceptions to the rule (see: Vanilla Sky), but for the most part each of these directors’ films hold a place in my ever-expanding film bible. I can remember exactly where I was, how old I was, who I was with and how I was feeling simply by name-checking select movies off of their respective filmographies—and yet no film is as permanently embedded in my brain as Minghella’s The English Patient.

I was 14 when the film came out in 1996. I would skip class to catch the bus to Kendall Town and Country to watch it over and over again (I saw it nine times in the theater that year); I would doodle quotes from the movie in my French notebook; and carry the book and screenplay with me wherever I went. Obviously, I was obsessed.

When the film was finally released on video a year later (this was before the DVD became the standard in the Percy household), I held a special screening at my house so that all of my friends, who had ignored my proclamations to go see it in the theater, could watch it and (in theory) be equally as enthralled…except they weren’t. They didn’t see what the big fuss was, didn’t understand why it moved me so, and over the years I have met numerous moviegoers and film critics alike who share these very same sentiments.

Anthony Minghella’s most recent film, Breaking and Entering, brought all of these thoughts back to my mind again. Early reviews were tepid at best (save for Esquire’s brilliant Mike D’Angelo). Critics couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and didn’t really seem to want to, as Minghella, for a large majority of them, has always been too sentimental or romantic a writer for their taste.

Unlike the literary adaptations that have built his career over the years, Breaking and Entering is based on an original screenplay and harkens back to 1991’s wonderful relationship drama Truly Madly Deeply (it even features Juliet Stevenson in a minor role). But unlike the latter film, Breaking and Entering is never light-hearted, and rather than dealing with a happily in love couple, it features a more weathered pair, played by Jude Law and Robin Wright-Penn. They have been together for over 10 years and, as tends to occur over time, they have fallen into their respective roles in one another’s lives without paying attention to the personal and emotional changes that the other is undergoing. It’s not that they do not love one another; it is just that they have let emotional distance build a seemingly insurmountable wall.

As is the case with all human beings, Law and Wright-Penn’s characters, Will and Liv, never realize how much they love and need one another until they face the reality of losing each other. The slap-in-the-face comes in the form of Amira, played by Juliette Binoche, a Serbian widow who enters Will’s life after a series of robberies hit his workplace and he proceeds to investigate her son, a petty thief. The ensuing relationship between Will and Amira is a complicated and often painful one, but it serves its purpose in awakening both of them to the possibility of love once again.  

Anthony Minghella excels at writing relationship dramas; he is innately aware of the complicated intricacies that are involved when love is concerned, and his dialogue is always nakedly honest. Breaking and Entering marks his third on-screen collaboration with Jude Law (his second with Binoche) and it is clear that because of their own intimate relationship with one another that he knows how to bring out the best in him. Unlike the past few roles that Law has recently taken on, he really connects with Will and gives him an emotional intensity that is palpable and refreshing. Binoche is moving as Amira—she can add this to the long list of wonderfully tortured women that she has played over the years—and her beauty and grace bowl you over from the very first frame that she is in.

Much like Cold Mountain, The Talented Mr. Ripley and The English Patient, Breaking and Entering still haunts me, even though it has been nearly a month since my initial first viewing. It may not be entirely groundbreaking or perfect in every way, but Minghella’s film deals with the nature of love in such a masterful way that it feels as if it really were.

Lily Percy - Editor

Reno 911!: Miami

Directed by: Robert Ben Garant

Written by: Robert Ben Garant, Thomas Lennon and Kerri Kenney-Silver.

Starring: Robert Ben Garant, Niecy Nash, Mary Birdsong, Kerri Kenney-Silver, Wendi McLendon-Covey, Carlos Alazraqui, Cedric Yarbrough, Thomas Lennon and Paul Rudd.

Much like last year’s film version of Strangers With Candy, the feature length film version of Comedy Central’s hit TV show Reno 911! is exactly what you would expect and hope for…unless you were hoping for something more than an hour-long episode that you get to watch in the comfort of your local theater and pay $11.00 for.

Reno 911!: Miami finds our beloved law enforcement officers traveling cross-country to the annual Police Convention held in, you guessed it, Miami. With this kind of film, where the plot twists are inherently also gags, it’s best not to reveal too much more. Suffice to say that there are guest stars galore, including pretty much all of the missing cast of “The State” that wasn’t already in the show such as Michael Ian Black and Ken Marino, comedian Patton Oswalt, Danny DeVito and Paul Rudd, who nearly steals the movie with his ode to Tony Montana as Ethan the Drug Dealer.

If you happen to be from sunny South Florida, the “only-in-Miami” jokes, incidents and locations will be an added bonus to the hilarity that ensues on-screen. Watching the Reno gang deal with alligators, beached whales, drug lords and naked beach bunnies is almost enough to make you forget the fact that you just paid $11.00 for what is essentially an extended episode of the television show. But I’m not bitter—I got to see Paul Rudd’s chest hair, Michael Ian Black’s forearms and Thomas Lennon’s cute butt, and that’s more than enough entertainment for me.

Lily Percy - Editor

MARCH07

Soul Survivor: How Thirteen Unlikely Mentors Helped My Faith Survive the Church

By Philip Yancey

“I have had to forgive the church, much as a person from a dysfunctional family forgives mistakes made by parents and siblings. An irrepressible optimist, G.K. Chesterton proved helpful in that process too. “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried,” he said. The real question is not “Why is Christianity so bad when it claims to be so good?” but rather “Why are all human things so bad when they claim to be so good?” Chesterton readily admitted that the church had badly failed the gospel. In fact, he said, one of the strongest arguments in favor of Christianity is the failure of Christians, who thereby prove what the Bible teaches about the fall and original sin. As the world goes wrong, it proves that the church is right in this basic doctrine.

When the London Times asked a number of writers for essays on the topic “What’s Wrong with the World?” Chesterton sent in the reply shortest and most to the point:

Dear Sirs:

I am.

Sincerely yours,

G.K. Chesterton

For this reason, when people tell me their horror stories of growing up in a repressive church environment, I feel no need to defend the actions of the church. The church of my own childhood, as well as that of my present and future, comprises deeply flawed human beings struggling toward an unattainable ideal. We admit that we will never reach our ideal in this life, a distinctive the church claims that most other human institutions try to deny. Along with Chesterton, I’ve had to take my place among those who acknowledge that we are what is wrong with the world. What is my snobbishness toward my childhood church, for instance, but an inverted form of the harsh judgment it showed me? Whenever faith seems an entitlement, or a measuring rod, we cast our lots with the Pharisees and grace softly slips away.”

- An excerpt from Soul Survivor by Philip Yancey.

I was very wary at first of writing a review of the last book that I read, Philip Yancey’s Soul Survivor. The book deals with the church and Christianity among other things (two topics that aren’t often discussed here at P&F), and after watching Jesus Camp recently, reviewing a book by a “Christian” writer didn’t seem all that appealing.

Jesus Camp deals with a lot of the issues that I have always had with the church—its preoccupation with perfection and with losing God’s love and favor when you sin; its love of rules and laws above principles and ideals; and its quick-tempered judgment of all who do not fit its mold. The documentary made me cringe in embarrassment during several scenes, but more than anything else it made me realize yet again just how wrong the Christian church often is.

Philip Yancey is in many ways responsible for my not giving up on the church (and Christianity). His book What’s So Amazing About Grace (which I picked up only after Bono recommended it in a Rolling Stone article) literally changed not only my faith but also my life and perception of the world around me. I have always had a prejudice against “Christian” writers—the few poorly written books that I’ve managed to read immediately illustrate the lack of emphasis on the second word in that phrase—and had Bono not been the one to talk about Yancey and his book, chances are I never would have read it.

As a result of Grace however, I am now a full-fledged Yancey fan and supporter. When it comes to writing, he is a writer first and a Christian second, and largely because of this his perspective on life, faith and the church is always refreshing and challenging. Soul Survivor is an especially rewarding read because in it Yancey writes about the 13 people who saved his faith and, as the title conveys, helped him survive the church: Martin Luther King; Jr., G.K. Chesterton; Dr. Paul Brand; Dr. Robert Coles; Leo Tolstoy and Fyodor Dostoevsky; Mahatma Gandhi; Dr. C. Everett Coop; John Donne; Annie Dillard; Frederick Buechner; Shusaku Endo; and Henri Nouwen.

From activists to religious leaders to philosophers to doctors to writers, several of whom, coincidentally, happen to not be Christian, Yancey talks at length about how each of these people—their lives, their mistakes and flaws (such as King and Tolstoy’s philandering ways, Dostoevsky’s gambling addiction and Ghandi’s own sexual indiscretions), their personal beliefs—helped him understand that while the church (and religion as a whole) may make many mistakes, as do the people who represent it, their failure should hold no weight or bearing on one’s own personal faith. It’s a lot easier to use the failings of the church as a crutch for dismissing Christianity and spirituality as a whole than to look at the mistakes for what they are, but Yancey challenges us to do precisely this. It is not an easy task, let alone a popular one, but Yancey makes an argument for undeserved forgiveness that is pretty impossible to disregard (and you don’t have to be Christian to understand).

Lily Percy - Editor

MARCH07

Joshua Bell – Voice of the Violin

Writing a review of a classical music CD is like talking about why I love chocolate: I know why I love it; I just lack the vernacular needed to fully express my feelings. So for those of you who drop words like timbre and pitch at the drop of a hat, I suggest you stop reading because this isn’t going to be that kind of a review. Chances are you’ll think it was written by a third-grader because, quite frankly, that’s about as advanced as my knowledge of classical music is.

This I do know however: I love Joshua Bell. I’ve loved him from the first moment that I saw him play on Bravo’s “Profiles,” a terrific hour-long show (from the Bravo of yesteryear) that showcased the talents of artists ranging from Bjork to The Fiennes’ family, and I have tried my best to keep up with his latest releases (which is somewhat difficult considering the man puts out like six in a year).

Voice of the Violin is Bell’s most recent CD and it is by far my favorite. Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14” is the opening track and it is hard to get past it and on to other songs, as it is so enchanting and painfully moving. There is so much emotion in Bell’s playing, and the images that he conjures are truly stirring. Having had the pleasure of seeing him play live I can attest to the fact that Bell is an artist who gives himself over to his instrument entirely—the result nothing short of perfection—and he has clearly given himself over to the voice of his violin on this record, as Mendelssohn’s “May Breezes” and Orff’s “In Trutina” also prove. You don’t have to be a classical music scholar to appreciate his playing: just put on this CD, close your eyes and let its remarkable beauty wash over you.

Lily Percy - Editor

FEBRUARY07

Children of Men

Directed by: Alfonso Cuarón

Written by: Alfonso Cuarón, Timothy J. Sexton, David Arata, Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby.

Starring: Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, Michael Caine, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Claire-Hope Ashitey, Pam Ferris, Danny Huston and Peter Mullen.

During a recent Charlie Rose roundtable interview with fellow directors (and friends) Guillermo del Toro and Alejandro González Iñárritu, writer-director Alfonso Cuarón spoke at length about the common themes that these three members of the “new wave” of Mexican cinema share. He talked primarily about their fascination with children: the relationships that they have with adults, with one another, and how they view the world.

If you’ve ever seen a Guillermo del Toro film this theory should come as no surprise to you but with Iñárritu and Cuarón, the theme is not as obvious. Yes, Cuarón directed A Little Princess and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, undoubtedly still the best in the series thus far, but he also directed Great Expectations and Y tu mama tambien, two films that were definitely not intended for children. Yet when you delve a little deeper into each of these films, the thread begins to slowly unravel and reveal itself in the characters of Finn, Tenoch and Julio—in their naiveté, in their rare, tender friendships and points of view.

Cuarón’s latest film, the masterful Children of Men, is an astonishing vision from beginning to end. From the first opening scenes you are thrust into a world where all hope has been lost and mankind has been uprooted by the threat of extinction. Since women can no longer have children, and the youngest person, a teenager by all accounts, has just died, the joy of a child’s smile and laughter has been replaced by the sound of car bombs, sirens, bullets and immigration raids (a topic that is clearly on Cuarón’s mind).

The strangest thing about Children of Men is that although it is supposed to represent a distant apocalyptic future, it feels very much rooted in today’s world (a reality that haunted me for days after watching the film). That is due largely in part to the emotional performances by Chiwetel Ejiofor, Michael Caine, Claire-Hope Ashitey and Clive Owen. Owen truly carries the film on his shoulders (although I would argue that he actually carries it on his face) and, as George Clooney commented on recently in an interview with GQ, his masculinity on-screen is palpable. The fact that Owen and Cuarón were completely ignored at this year’s Academy Awards comes as no surprise to me, but the absence of thunderous acclaim and success for the film does. Cuarón is truly a visionary artist in any language and Children of Men is his latest work of art.

Lily Percy - Editor

The Painted Veil

Directed by: John Curran

Written by: Ron Nyswaner

Starring: Edward Norton, Naomi Watts, Live Schreiber and Toby Jones.

The Painted Veil was made by the director and writer of We Don’t Live Here Anymore and Soldier’s Girl, John Curran and Ron Nyswaner, respectively, two films that I love and respect dearly (particularly the latter). Throw in Edward Norton and Live Schreiber, two men that I can never say no to, and you’ve got yourself one enthusiastic audience member.

The film is based on the novel by W. Somerset Maugham, which tells the story of Walter Fane, a doctor who is sent to Shanghai to a government lab that is studying infectious diseases. Before leaving for China he falls in love with Kitty, a wealthy young woman who marries Walter out of disdain and boredom for her current life. Upon arriving in Shanghai Kitty soon realizes what she has actually gotten herself into: a loveless marriage in a completely foreign country. What follows is the stuff that Merchant/Ivory films are made of: she has an affair with an American diplomat (played by the gorgeous Liev Schreiber); soon thereafter the affair is exposed and Walter grows disgusted with Kitty; he is called to move to a remote area of the country where a cholera epidemic is quickly spreading and Kitty is forced to go with him.

The story does not end there, of course, but half the fun of watching a classic romance is watching it unfold surprisingly on-screen. Suffice to say that the film does not disappoint and in fact lives up to the expectations of the genre. I haven’t felt my bosom heave or had such a strong desire to swoon since 1999’s Mansfield Park.

Edward Norton, an acting chameleon in the very best sense of the phrase, and Naomi Watts are terrific as Mr. and Mrs. Fane (they also, coincidentally, served as the film’s producers). Their relationship focused so much on what was never said, on restrained silence, and yet even with that heady task Norton and Watts light up the screen with their intense chemistry.

Making a sweeping romantic film in these times is no small feat but with Oscar season in full force, The Painted Veil slipped into theaters almost entirely unnoticed. In a sea of contenders many equally great films often get lost in the shuffle—hopefully this film will find its audience on DVD.

Lily Percy - Editor

FEBRUARY07

The Illusionist

Written and directed by: Neil Burger

Starring: Edward Norton, Paul Giamatti, Jessica Biel and Rufus Sewell.

Edward Norton had quite a stellar year in 2006. Down in the Valley, The Illusionist and The Painted Veil all featured incredible performances by the man who I believe is the best actor of his generation. Yet although each film was noted and praised by critics for the most part, they came and went (all three were limited releases), quietly unnoticed by mass audiences.

The Illusionist had the unfortunate luck of earning a reputation as “that other magician movie.” Although Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige was released several month’s after The Illusionist opened in theaters, it still somehow managed to out-shine Neil Burger’s equally great film. It is a common occurrence in the movie world—whenever two movies that feature the same subject matter are released within the same year (or a year later as was the case with Infamous) one of them inevitably suffers.

If you’ve had the fortune of seeing both films however, then you know that they are completely different. The Prestige is action-packed and aims to thrill at every corner whereas The Illusionist allows its secrets to be revealed slowly, with patience and suspense. The Prestige is about the nature of competition and how far it can drive a man to go; The Illusionist is essentially a love story—a love story shrouded by magic and, well, illusions. Forcing yourself to choose between the two films is like choosing which band is better—the Beatles or Zeppelin. Stop comparing and rejoice at the wealth of your options; after all, it isn’t every year that two really great films about the complexity of magic grace the multiplex.

Lily Percy - Editor

JANUARY07

The History Boys

Lily Percy - Editor

Shortbus (2006)

Written and directed by: John Cameron Mitchell

Starring: Sook-Yin Lee, Paul Dawson, Lindsay Beamish, PJ DeBoy, Raphael Barker, Peter Stickles, Jay Brannan and Justin Bond.

John Cameron Mitchell’s Shortbus is a film years in the making. Since the iconic success of his wonderful rock opera Hedwig and the Angry Inch in 2001 (whose soundtrack is still perfectly embedded in my mind), Mitchell talked at length about having his next movie tackle the popular subject of sex and relationships, with a slight twist: all of the couples featured in his film would actually have sex on-screen. There would be no nude pasties to cover the actors’ privates, no simulated sexual acts, moans or motions…it would all be real and completely naked, emotionally as well as physically.

Suffice to say, casting Shortbus was a bit of a challenge. Mitchell put out ads in several magazines and newspapers and thousands of actors answered the casting call. Casting is always a priority in any film, that is an obvious no-brainer, but in a film as personal and raw as this one, just one off-kilter actor cast could easily break the impenetrable hypnotic mood that the film is clearly planted upon. Shortbus succeeds because of the actors’ brave performances—you never doubt that what they are experiencing on-screen is real, even for a second. Because you never doubt them or their actions, everything that they experience, you experience as well, and although that may seem entirely voyeuristic, the truth is slightly more complicated.   

Because the sex that occurs on-screen is “real,” because there is *gasp* gay sex and penises galore (and an extremely funny and endearing rendition of the national anthem to boot), it is easy to dismiss Shortbus itself as a pornographic gimmick (as many film critics and naysayers did) if you fail to keep in mind the context that these scenes appear in. Shortbus isn’t really about sex—sex is simply a tool that Mitchell uses to connect all of us together. The desire to be wanted and to want, to be touched, to be accepted, to feel and to love, these are the central themes at the very core of the film. John Cameron Mitchell explored these same themes to a certain degree in Hedwig but he truly breaks new ground with Shortbus. Mitchell is one of the few writer-directors who clearly understand how lonely and beautiful the human experience can really be, and how living in New York City heightens the intensity of both emotions to alarming extremes. Ultimately, Shortbus is a film that seeks to unite and succeeds, and its message is clear, if you are brave enough to see it. It is by far one of the best films of 2006.

Lily Percy - Editor

JANUARY07

Cash: The Autobiography by Johnny Cash, with Patrick Carr

“June said she knew me—knew the kernel of me, deep inside, beneath the drugs and deceit and despair and anger and selfishness, and knew my loneliness. She said she could help me. She said we were soul mates, she and I, and that she would fight for me with all her might, however she could. She did that by being my companion, friend, and lover, and by praying for me (June is a prayer warrior like none I’ve none), but also by waging total war on my drug habit. If she found my pills, she flushed them down the toilet. And find them if she did; she searched for them, relentlessly. If I didn’t like that and said so, I had a fight on my hands. If I disappeared on her, she’d get Marshall or Fluke or someone else in the crew to go find me in the wee hours of the morning and coax me back to bed. If I’d been up for days until I’d finally had the sense to take a handful of sleeping pills and crash—there was always an instinct telling me when to do that, pointing to the line between “almost” “fatal”—I’d wake up from a sleep like death to find that my drugs, all my drugs, no matter how ingeniously I’d hidden them, were gone.

She gave up only once, in the mid-‘60s in the Four Seasons Hotel in Toronto. By that time I was totally reduced—I hate the term “wasted”—and it’s incomprehensible to me how I kept walking around, how my brain continued to function. I was nothing but leather and bone; there was nothing in my heart but loneliness; there was nothing between me and my God but distance. 

I don’t know what exactly brought her to the point of leaving me. I’d been up for three or four days and I’d been giving her a really hard time, but that wasn’t unusual. I guess there’d just been too much of it for her. She had set out to save me and she thought she’d failed. We had adjoining rooms; she came into mine and said, “I’m going. I can’t handle this anymore. I’m going to tell Saul that I can’t work with you anymore. It’s over.”

I knew immediately that she wasn’t kidding. I really didn’t want her to go, so I went straight out of my room and into hers, gathered up her suitcase and all her clothes—everything, her shoes included (she was barefoot)—and took them back into my room. Then I pushed her out and locked my door. That should do it, I thought. All she had on was a towel.

I could hear her crying in her room for a long time, but eventually she came knocking on my door. She promised not to leave if I gave back her clothes, and I believed her, so I did. And through all the trials to come, before and after she became my wife, she never tried to leave again.”

- An excerpt from Cash: The Autobiography by Johnny Cash, with Patrick Carr

All of my life I have been a collector of quotes—I would write them in my journals, on my walls, on my school notebooks, and there were particular phrases that would always remain at the forefront of my brain, ready to serve their purpose at a later date. One of my oft used and chewed upon quotes comes from the Coen Bros. 1990 film Miller’s Crossing: “Nobody knows anybody. Not that well.” It is a line that has crossed my mind many times throughout the years, and it is the first thing that I thought of when I began reading Johnny Cash’s second autobiography, written in the late ‘90s, Cash.

A deep layer of mystery veiled so much of what made Johnny Cash famous—his on-stage persona, his addictions, his rage, his music, his voice, his faith, his love affair with June Carter and his predilection toward the color black. No matter how many times you thought you had him figured out, he’d turn around and surprise you once again. There have been so many stories written about him, some true but most of them false, that it is hard to know where the persona “Cash,” as June famously called it, ended and where Johnny or J.R. really began.

I can’t say that after reading this book that I felt like I knew the real Johnny Cash; only those who actually had the privilege to do so can claim that honor. But I can say that this is one of the rare autobiographies that is impossible to put down. James Mangold’s Walk the Line only briefly touched upon the story of Johnny Cash; the film is the Cliffs notes equivalent to the real thing, and Cash is as good a storyteller as there has ever been.

In 1975, Cash released his first autobiography, Man in Black: His Own Story in His Own Words, and in this second volume Cash recounts the events following that year. He shares intimate details about his family, his relationship with June and the battles that they faced together, and the plethora of friendships that have shaped his life. With sincerity, honesty and grace, Cash talks at length about his addiction to painkillers and amphetamines (the man relapsed many times in his life, something that isn’t widely known), his love of music both old and new (who knew that he liked Metallica?), and his joyous and constant faith in God and humanity. There are many interesting and bizarre anecdotes peppered throughout the book, especially when he recounts the time when he was nearly killed by an ostrich, but what is most memorable is the naked truth that every word is propelled by.

Whether Cash is talking about his friendship with Billy Graham, working with Rick Rubin or describing the lives of all of his grandchildren, godchildren and extended family members, there is an unbridled passion that somehow always seeps through. I knew going into this book that Johnny Cash was a man like no other, but I never knew just how admirable a man he really was. He never tried to be anything but himself, both on-stage and off—and that in itself is an incredible feat when you consider what he did for a living. He really was a paradox—always a sinner and a saint—but more importantly, he was a man, flesh and bone, who never forgot where he came from or why he was here…and neither will we.

Lily Percy - Editor

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