Movies Lily Saw:Body of Lies, Zack and Miri Make A Porno, Role Models
and Twilight.
When I first started seeing trailers for the new Ridley Scott/Russell
Crowe/Leonardo DiCaprio film Body of Lies I was
immediately onboard. I had absolutely no idea what the movie was
actually about—some sort of terrorist-spy flick—and although The Good
Year, the last Scott/Crowe collaboration, should have been a
deterrent, the combination of Crowe and DiCaprio was enough to draw me
in. (The fact that I had recently been having a series of “sex dreams”
featuring DiCaprio in the lead didn’t hurt either).
Sadly the trailer was not misleading: even after seeing the 2+hour movie
I still can’t really tell you what Body of Lies is about.
DiCaprio is a CIA covert operative working in the Middle East and Crowe,
looking like he’s starring in a sequel to The Insider, is his
rogue boss. Some terrorist shit goes down and DiCaprio is screwed over
by Crowe; nothing is ever really explained, which is particularly
disappointing considering that Body of Lies screenwriter William
Monahan also wrote the superb script for The Departed. In the
end, I spent the majority of the movie trying to piece together some
semblance of a narrative, fishing for clues in their secret agent-speak,
and the other half trying not to lose myself in DiCaprio’s penetrating
gaze.
Which is not too far from how I felt watching Kevin Smith’s latest film
Zack and Miri Make A Porno, except that there was sadly
nothing remotely penetrating about it. Watching Smith’s last
film, Clerks II, was a particularly painful experience for me,
über-Silent Bob-fan-girl, as I rarely laughed throughout the comedy, so
I figured that it really couldn’t get any worse with Zack and Miri.
I even went in with some semblance of expectation as the topic of this
film was porn and love, and who knows those two better than Kevin Smith?
I wasn’t too far off. The funniest moments of the film were the ones
involving porn (adult film star Katie Morgan and Jason Mewes were
especially great). The love story between Seth Rogen and Elizabeth
Banks, the Zack and Miri of the film, however, was not as entertaining.
Their “deep” connection was never fully developed, at least not enough
for me to root for their eventual coupling. The movie lacked the
sincerity that made the respective love stories in Chasing Amy
and, yes, Jersey Girl, genuinely moving let alone enthralling.
Kevin Smith movies were once synonymous with “funny” and “hilarious” not
to mention “original”—I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not better off
simply watching his Q&A’s and skipping the films from here on in. It
would definitely make it easier to be a fan again.
Although Zack and Miri was definitely not the laugh-riot I was
hoping for, David Wain’s Role Models was surprisingly
hysterical. Wain directed and co-wrote the classic Wet Hot American
Summer (and the terrible The Ten) and he is back to true
comedic form with Role Models. Much like Stepbrothers
earlier this summer, I expected the movie to be funny in a
one-long-sketch kind of way, and therefore was especially shocked to
discover that Role Models has an actual storyline holding it
together. Paul Rudd usually steals any film that he’s in (although
damn if that man did not look absolutely gorgeous dressed up like a
member of KISS) but this movie really belongs to Seann William Scott.
His delivery is impeccable and painfully funny; seeing him onscreen
again made me wonder where the hell he’s been recently, and more
importantly, why the hell isn’t he in more quality comedies? Who would
have thought that Seann William Scott would be so miscast and underused?
Speaking of unlikely comedies, Catherine Hardwicke's big-screen
adaptation of Stephenie Meyer's vampire saga Twilight was
so bad at times that stifling laughter became nearly impossible. About
four months or so ago, I too succumbed to the teenage girl vampire
novels and became a self-proclaimed member of "Team Edward." I went out
and bought tickets to the midnight screening of the movie as soon as
they went on sale and I stood in line for about two hours surrounded by
a slew of women (and the occasional boyfriend or creepy
Edward-look-alike) before even setting foot in the actual movie theater.
But even I, sighing-Forks-visitor-and-proud-owner-of-"I was bitten in
Forks-paraphernalia have to admit how terrible Twilight the movie
is. I didn't want to admit it, which is why I went to see it for a
second time in less than 24 hours (surrounded by gay men in Chelsea,
which made it sort of better), hoping that it would somehow magically
become what I had actually envisioned as a reader not-so-long-ago.
Ultimately I can gripe all day about the terrible special effects, the
ridiculous, completely unnecessary tree-jumping and the disappointing
meadow scene, but what killed the film for meeach time was the
essence of what made me fall for the Twilight story in the first
place: Edward and Bella.
In
the hopes of attracting a larger audience, the filmmakers (I am
especially baffled by how screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg, a writer for
the terrific "Dexter" and the formerly terrific "The O.C.", could have
forgotten this) forgot all about what made us fall in love with Meyer's
vampire drama—the love story. Meyer's books are filled almost entirely
with pages and pages of Edward and Bella talking—not fucking
flying, not solving some stupid Hardy Boys mystery—and yet the film
relies on action rather than dialogue to develop their relationship.
With
the exception of the movie's dead-on casting (Billy Burke as Charlie and
Taylor Lautner as Jacob especially standout, and who can forget the
orgasm-inducing—pre-teens were hyperventilating both times that I
watched the film—Robert Pattinson), watching Twilight briefly
made me reconsider why it was that I fell for this story and these
books. But then I picked up the first book again…and turned to that
meadow scene for the millionth time…and sighed wistfully, like a
love-smitten teenage girl.
Listening to a new album by one of
your favorite bands is hard work. Seriously. Listening to a new album by
[insert favorite artist here] for the first time is really daunting and
somewhat nerve wracking—you don’t want to be disappointed but more often
than not, you usually are on that first listen. Consequently, I’ve come
to understand that the only way to avoid said disappointment is by
playing that new album non-stop, repeatedly, for several hours. Trust
me, this works. By the end of the experiment you will know exactly where
you stand with both the band and their new work.
Case in point: I recently had about
six hours to kill on a bus ride from New York to D.C. and I took the
opportunity to play the new Killers album Day & Age for the
entire ride. Earlier this summer I saw the band on tour and they
performed several songs from the album, including “Joy Ride” and “Neon
Tiger,” so I had some idea of what to expect from Day & Age, and
that was mainly a harkening back to the days of Hot Fuss rather
than Sam’s Town. Meaning, more synthesizer and dance beats, less
storytelling and guitar riffs.
I wasn’t entirely wrong. Day & Age
is definitely filled with more dance tunes than anthemic rock ballads,
but it has anthems nonetheless. My favorite track right now is the
grandiose “The World We Live In”; the song completely envelops you
within its many layers of sound. And layered is definitely the best way
to describe this album. Day & Age is the next logical step for
The Killers: with Hot Fuss, they reminded everyone just how fun
the 80s (and synthesizers) were; with Sam’s Town they discovered
the art of jaw-dropping guitar-driven ballads and personal storytelling;
with Day & Age they fuse all that they’ve previously learned
while exploring the world of saxophones, calypso music, jazz and, of
course, dance.
“Human,” their first single off of the
album is the perfect example of the fun that there is to be had
here but it is merely a taste. “Spaceman” is pretty impossible to resist
dancing to and “Joy Ride,” with its Squeeze-esque saxophone solo, catchy
beats and Flowers’ Lou Reed-vocals, is equally as incredible. “Losing
Touch,” the first track off of the album, grabs you from the very
beginning of the kick-ass bass line (courtesy of Mark Stoermer), and
“Neon Tiger” seems poised to be the next big sing-along a la “All These
Things I’ve Done” at future concerts:
“I don't wanna be kept/I don't wanna
be caged/I don't wanna be damned/Oh hell/I don't wanna be broke/I don't
wanna be saved/I don't wanna be S.O.L./ Give me rolling hills so tonight
can be the night/that I send them up a thousand thrills/Mister, cut me
some slack/Cause I don't wanna go back/I want a new day and age./Come on
girls and boys/everyone make some noise!” (“Neon Tiger”)
Day & Age is not an album as accessible as Hot Fuss or as
immediately impressive as Sam’s Town—to put it plainly, it is a
grower, not a shower. I’ve probably listened to the album around 30 or
so times now and I have to say, each and every time I discover something
new—some new chorus that I had never really heard; a new Brandon Flowers
burst of screaming energy (which are such a treat!); a subtle tin drum
quietly banging in the background; or a new and impressive use of their
beloved synthesizer. With this new album, The Killers continue to prove
why they are truly a band worth listening to.
Starring: Michael Cera, Kat Dennings, Aaron Yoo, Rafi Gavron, Ari
Graynor, Alexis Dziena, Jonathan B. Wright, Jay Baruchel.
Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist
could have easily been titled “Nick and Norah’s Infinite Possibilities.”
That is what the film is essentially about—the infinite possibilities
that are seemingly everywhere when you’re 18 and your whole life is
ahead of you, brimming with promise. (This sense of infinite possibility
is also increased if you live in close proximity of New York City, of
course.) Like the popular John Hughes films of the 80s, Nick and
Norah is a love story for this generation, a kind of hipster Say
Anything with an equally great soundtrack.
The Say Anything comparison is
especially appropriate as the film is filled with moments that seem to
be lifted from the beloved romantic comedy: when Nick offers Norah his
wet-nap you are instantly reminded of Lloyd Dobbler pointing out the
shards of glass on the street to Diane Court. (Interestingly enough,
having recently attended a midnight showing of John Cusack’s 1985 cult
classic Better off Dead, I came to realize that the opening
scenes of Nick and Norah are nearly identical to the ones
featured in the Better off Dead.) Michael Cera’s Nick and Kat Dennings’
Norah are not quite Lloyd Dobbler and Diane Court, however. The two are
both lonely misfits who find comfort in great music and,
ultimately, in each other’s company. As you travel around NYC with Nick
and Nora, from the Bowery Ballroom to Union Pool, you are reminded of
how rare and special that first love can be, and how wonderfully
nostalgic it is to watch onscreen.
Cera has received some flack as of
late for playing slightly different versions of himself on film, but I
find his Nick to be far more hardened and mature than George Michael
Bluth. One of Cera’s favorite actors is comedian Bill Murray and like
Murray I think that he is best being himself, whatever and whoever that
might be. Regardless, Michael Cera’s charm lies in his simplicity—simple
gestures or awkward turn of phrases that never seem out of place. Kat
Dennings is equally as charming, not to mention—pardon my guy-ism here—smoking
hot in the film. With bit roles in the 40-year-old Virgin and
House Bunny, her face is familiar but this is the first time that
she has really had the opportunity to shine. Her Norah is a perfect
mixture of Some Kind of Wonderful’s Watts and Say Anything’s
Corey Flood, with a little bit of Reality Bites’ Lelaina Pierce
thrown in for good measure. She is edgy and sweet, beautiful and
innocent, and the perfect heroine for the tween girls of today.
If it seems like I’ve mentioned nearly
every great young adult romantic comedy of the 80s and 90s in this
review it is probably because Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist
rightfully belongs in their sacred cannon. Although I am a bit older
than the intended audience of the film, I cannot help but fall in love
with it anyway.
Starring: Diane Lane, Richard Gere, Christopher Meloni, Viola Davis, Mae
Whitman, James Franco.
Although it features quite possibly
the worst movie title of all time (not to mention unpronounceable—I
actually bought my ticket by saying, ‘One for the movie with Richard
Gere and Diane Lane, please’), Nights in Rodanthe is yet another
example of how much better Nicholas Spark’s film adaptations are
when compared to the actual source material. The Notebook, A
Walk to Remember (two of my favorites) and Rodanthe are all
romantic works of fiction that end in a weepy death, a trademark of the
Sparks-oeuvre. What makes these three films rise above their swoony-5th-grade-level
counterparts however lies in the execution of the stories and the
casting of superb actors such as Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling in
The Notebook and Diane Lane and Richard Gere in Nights in
Rodanthe.
I admit that I will pretty much watch
Diane Lane and Richard Gere in anything as long as they are together.
The two of them have an innate and comfortable chemistry onscreen, and
it is this kind of warmth that helps bring depth to what would have
otherwise been one-dimensional characters. Rodanthe is a love
story in every sense as it is about these two people falling in love,
but what I really found surprising is how it also speaks on purpose and
finding a love for life that runs just as deep as their love for one
another. I know that this all seems really hokey and I will readily
confess that it is. Rodanthe is nowhere near perfect (although
James Franco, in an uncredited role as Gere’s son, is) but it is a film
that satiates my appetite (and I don’t think that I’m alone here) for
both hopeful and tragic romance. Plus, it always beats having to read an
actual Nicholas Sparks novel.
“Paul Newman seemed to represent the best of what we could hope for. He
was handsome, yes. He had those blue eyes, yes. Helpful in making him a
star, but inconsequential to his ultimate achievement. What he expressed
above all was grace, and comfort within his own skin. If he had demons,
he had faced them and dealt with them. Is this my fantasy? Of course.
That's what movie stars represent, our fantasies.” – Roger Ebert, from
“Roger Ebert’s Journal.”
Although 1954’s absolutely dreadful The Silver Chalice was
technically the very first time that I saw Paul Newman act (courtesy of
my father, the horrible-Biblical-themed-movies lover), the first time
that I really laid eyes on Paul Newman was in 1958’s The Long,
Hot Summer acting alongside his wife, Joanne Woodward. When I think
of Newman I think of him in that film and in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof—his
innate manliness that somehow transformed the screen; those blue eyes
that seemed to always be ablaze; the intensity of his laughter, which
always came loudly and unexpectedly; the charm and sexuality that
brimmed beneath the surface. Before I discovered Cool Hand Luke,
Hud, The Hustler, Hombre, Somebody Up There
Likes Me, The Verdict, The Sting and Butch Cassidy
and the Sundance Kid, I fell in love with Paul Newman, romantic lead
and epitome of all my pre-pubescent desires.
But Newman was more than just a pretty face—or more, I should
say, than a face chiseled by the gods—as I would soon learn through the
films mentioned above. Like all of the great actors of his time—Marlon
Brando, James Dean, Montgomery Clift—and all of the actors who came a
generation before him—Gregory Peck, Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant—Newman had
the killer combination of talent and good looks, but he also had what
Steve McQueen would one day be defined by: graceful mystery. No matter
the role, Newman always seemed to have another card up his sleeve, a
card that he never revealed, not even once, in his long and fruitful
career. He always left me wanting more and yet always left me deeply
satisfied. Even though he was a hustler, a gambler, a conman and a
prisoner, I never failed to root for him and innately trusted him. There
was something about that face and that laugh that
immediately put you at ease, that let you know that you were watching
something magical and rare, a male actor unafraid.
The phrase “they don’t make them like they used to” was created, in my
mind at least, for Paul Newman. Tom Hanks may get the Jimmy Stewart
comparison; Brad Pitt the Robert Redford; George Clooney the Cary Grant.
But when it comes to Paul Newman, there is no present day match. Watch
any one of his films and you will clearly see the indelible mark that he
made.
Starring: Anna Faris, Colin Hanks, Emma Stone, Kat Dennings, Katharine
McPhee, Rumer Willis and Dana Goodman.
Anna Faris is probably best known for
her role in the Scary Movie series, but to me she will always be
Samantha James, the crazy ‘toothpaste eating’ pop singer in the
underrated comic gem Just Friends. Faris stole the show from Ryan
Reynolds in that film, not an easy feat I might add, and just like that,
a comic genius was born. In House Bunny, produced by Adam
Sandler’s Happy Madison production company, Faris is dazzling as the
Playboy-bunny-turned-sorority-house-mother. She manages to make what
would have been an otherwise formulaic and clichéd comedy into something
really fun and oddly genuine. The fact that the incredible Colin Hanks
plays her love interest doesn’t hurt matters either.
Starring: Alfre Woodard, Sanaa Lathan, Rockmond Dunbar, KaDee
Strickland, Cole Hauser, Taraji P. Henson, Robin Givens, Tyler Perry and
Kathy Bates.
I like Tyler Perry, I really do. Unlike most movie critics, I actually
believe that he has something unique to say and have therefore never
agreed with their perception of Perry’s work as being anything less than
original. Until now. The Family That Preys feels incredibly
forced and hackneyed, and resembles something that I would see on the
Lifetime network on a Sunday afternoon. Every plot twist and turn of
events in the film is completely predictable, as are all of the film’s
main characters, which never rise above their rather pathetic
stereotypes (corrupt rich white guy—check; angry black woman—check). As
a fan of Alfre Woodard, Kathy Bates and Cole Hauser, the latter who is
rarely used to his potential (eeek, Paparazzi!), and as a lover
of all things Sanaa Lathan, to say that I was disappointed by this film
truly pains me. Maybe it sounds ridiculous to say it aloud but…I
expected more from Tyler Perry.
Starring: Gerard Butler, Tom Hardy, Toby Kebbell, Ludacris, Jeremy Piven,
Jimi Mistry, Thandie Newton, Tom Wilkinson.
About five seconds into Guy Ritchie’s
latest film, RocknRolla, the fact that you are watching a Guy
Ritchie film becomes abundantly clear. Any fantasies that I may have had
about watching something directed by Ritchie that didn’t so closely
resemble Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Snatch or
Revolver were immediately thrown out the window the moment that the
loud rock n’ roll music began blaring. RocknRolla has the manly
hot men, interesting albeit shaky shots, violence, drugs, gangsters and
guns in spades, but what it lacks completely is any originality. If this
feels like every other Guy Ritchie film that’s because it is—with the
exception of the wholly underrated Swept Away—and while that
doesn’t mean that RocknRolla isn’t enjoyable on a completely
gratuitous level (did I mention the hot men? See picture of Tom Hardy
below), it does make me wonder if Ritchie hasn’t run out of bumbling
criminal stories to tell.
To be a woman in today’s society invariably means that, at one point or
another in your life, you will be criticized for being too fat, too
skinny, too pretty, too plain, too ugly, too slutty, the list goes on
and on. To be a female actress in today’s movie business is to be given
a direct guarantee that all of these things will come your way twofold
publicly—in print and even worse, on the gossip blogosphere. It doesn’t
matter if you’re Meryl Streep (even she is ridiculed)—your acting
ability is not what will be judged but rather, as in the case of Renée
Zellweger, how skinny your legs are and how squinty your eyes may be.
As a result, talent often falls by the wayside where actresses
are concerned, and especially where Zellweger is concerned. It is
odd to me that, short of her Best Supporting Actress Oscar-win for her
portrayal of Ruby Thewes in 2003’s Cold Mountain, Zellweger is
rarely praised as an actress. This is especially frustrating when you
look at the career that she has already had at such a young age—Bridget
Jones, Chicago, One True Thing, White Oleander,
Down With Love, Cold Mountain and Jerry Maguire,
the film that started it all.
Zellweger’s Dorothy Boyd is a character that I fall in love
with every single time that I watch Jerry Maguire (and having
seen the film, oh, say, at least 40 times, that’s a lot of falling in
love). Zellweger was 27 when she played the role and yet there is wisdom
in her performance, which is obviously key for the role of a single mom,
far beyond her years that permeates every scene that she’s in. Zellweger
has a face that writhes with emotion—if she is happy, you can tell; if
she is sad, you can tell. You know exactly what her character is
feeling because she emotes it so clearly and succinctly, and there is so
much beauty to be found in that. There is a scene in Jerry Maguire,
after Dorothy and Jerry have gotten married, where she stands in the
living room watching footage of the ceremony. In a matter of seconds we
see her go from blissful happiness to the sad realization that the man
that she just married may not love her in the way that she thought he
did—and all of this is expressed without a single spoken word.
This silent expressiveness carries on into her next role as
Ellen Guiden in One True Thing. Ellen is a successful
20-something-aspiring-writer whose world is turned upside down when her
mother, played by Meryl Streep, is diagnosed with cancer. If I had to
choose my favorite Renée Zellweger film (not to mention Meryl Streep
film) it would have to be this one. Although I loved her performance in
Jerry Maguire, Zellweger is astonishing in One True Thing.
I related to her character on so many levels; to this day the film is
one of the best commentaries on the complex mother-daughter dynamic that
I have ever seen. There is so much raw emotion that goes back and forth
between Zellweger and Streep that at times, watching them act alongside
one another, you lose track of the fact that you’re watching a movie,
and that what you’re witnessing is actually not real. When Ellen
realizes that her father has been unfaithful to her mother for years,
that her mother has known about it all along… the look on Zellweger’s
face once again says it all.
There is a rather psychotic theme forming here, all to do with
Renée Zellweger’s face. I can swear up and down that I am not in love
with the woman but I fear that it will do me no good when I talk about
her performance as Mae Braddock in Cinderella Man or as Claire
Richards in White Oleander. Both roles serve as supporting
characters to the integral male leads and yet they are memorable in the
strength and unabashed love that Zellweger allows us to see. She takes
what would have been minor possibly unforgettable “wife” roles and turns
them into standout performances. But enough about Renée Zellweger’s
face. Let’s talk about her other major asset: her impeccable comedic
timing.
I know that it will seem like a stretch to compare Renée
Zellweger to the great Katherine Hepburn but bear with me as I do
exactly that. Just as Hepburn was able to maneuver her career through
dramas and comedies with seemingly little effort, think Mary of
Scotland to Stage Door to Bringing Up Baby to
Philadelphia Story, Zellweger is the only actress that can pull off
roles as demanding as Chicago’s Roxie Hart, Cold Mountain’s
Ruby Thewes, Leatherheads’ Lexie Littleton, Down With Love’s
Barbara Novak and, the legendary icon known the world-over simply as
Bridget Jones.
What makes all of these characters magical is the
golden-age-of-hollywood-esque wit, charm and electricity that Zellweger
brings to each of them. Roxie Hart would not be more than an ambitious
killer were she not also so ridiculously charming; the same could be
said for tough Ruby Thewes who serves as Cold Mountain’s sole
source of comedic relief. Zellweger is adorable and enchanting as
Barbara Novak, the feminist author in love with Ewan McGregor’s Catcher
Block in the delightful Down With Love. (Zellweger and McGregor’s
chemistry was so potent on-screen that they reunited again for 2006’s
Miss Potter.) And then of course, there’s Bridget Jones.
If I’ve seen Jerry Maguire 40 times then I have seen
Bridget Jones’ Diary at least 100. Unlike the character in Helen
Fielding’s book of the same name, which often straddles the line between
ditz and moron, Zellweger’s Bridget is a breath of rambling fresh air, a
relatable Holly Golightly for our generation. Zellweger is so incredibly
charming as Bridget Jones, and her English accent so impeccable, that it
is hard to imagine any English actress in her stead. Bridget Jones is a
character that I often find myself relating to in my every day life, but
oddly enough, it is never Fielding’s Jones but rather Zellweger’s that I
think of. Fielding may have written the character originally but Renée
Zellweger truly brought it to life.
Having grown up watching and admiring actresses such as Bette
Davis, Joan Crawford, Elizabeth Taylor, Katherine Hepburn, Meryl Streep
and Jodie Foster, it became quite easy to find fault in every new
actress that graced the screen after them. But now more than ever, when
I look at women such as Julianne Moore, Kate Winslet, Cate Blanchett,
Juliette Binoche and yes, Renée Zellweger, I find that a whole new
generation of amazing actresses currently inhabit our collective movie
psyches. In spite of the tabloid fodder, they’ve all managed to pave
their own way and have careers that didn’t begin or end with ‘starlet’.
And at the tender age of 39, Renée Zellweger has plenty of ‘face’ left
to share.
Documentaries are
not often known for being suspenseful, leaving you on the edge of your
seat (unless they’re directed by Errol Morris of course), but James
Marsh’s Man on Wire does exactly that. The ‘man on wire’ in
question is French tightrope walker Philippe Petit whose 1974 illegal
high-wire routine, performed between the World Trade Center’s twin
towers, became the stuff of legend. (I, in fact, always thought that it
was a legend even though I recall seeing a plaque years ago at the World
Trade Center that confirmed the act.)
The documentary
tells the story leading up to the death-defying routine: how Petit sat
in the dentist’s office one day, as a teenager, and read an article
about the building of the WTC and knew immediately that he would one day
walk between them; how Petit first walked the Notre Dame Cathedral and
then between the Sydney Harbour Bridge, aided by his group of
long-suffering friends and girlfriend; how Petit only ever dreamed of
being suspended in the air, dancing on a high-wire with nothing to hold
him back. The film ends with the climactic WTC act itself.
Petit himself is
interviewed in the documentary, along with his former girlfriend,
friends and co-conspirators. Petit is in many ways the perfect subject
for a film—he is likeable, intelligent and charming, three things that
come in handy when faced with the fact that he is also kind of a
selfish, self-involved prick. But what artist isn’t essentially? Time
and again, Petit “forced” his friends to participate in his criminal
acts not to mention watch him nearly die every single time, and
they faced all of it alone. For the WTC act for example, Petit became a
national hero and was let off with a mere penance (performing for a NYC
crowd) for his crime while his friends were severely punished, one
cohort even banned from entering the U.S. ever again.
The documentary
however makes no judgments on Petit nor asks us to; it simply revels in
the beauty that this man was able to accomplish with his wire walking. I
can’t remember the last time I watched scenes so beautiful and
awe-inspiring, where my mouth was literally left wide-open for minutes
at a time. Man on Wire is really about all that we can accomplish
as human beings, and truly encompasses the essence of the great Dana
Whitaker line from “Sports Night,” courtesy of Aaron Sorkin: “Look what
we can do.”
Starring: Seth
Rogen, James Franco, Danny McBride, Kevin Corrigan, Craig Robinson, Gary
Cole and Rosie Perez.
Over the years,
I’ve had a kind of love/hate relationship with writer/director David
Gordon Green. Well, it’s more like I love his films and I kind of hate
him, really. This is all based on a comment that he made many years ago
disparaging the work of fellow independent writer-director Kevin Smith
(a man whom I love and defend like a Jewish mother), referring to his
movies as "the Special Olympics of film." So you can see why I have a
hard time admitting that this guy is clearly a talented filmmaker,
regardless of how fantastic George Washington, All the Real
Girls and Undertow may actually be.
That said, when
the Pineapple Express line-up was initially announced and word
got out that he was at the helm, I can’t say that I wasn’t intrigued.
What was this self-proclaimed “independent auteur” doing directing a
Rogen/Apatow stoner comedy? Maybe he was “broadening his horizons” by
removing the obvious stick out of his ass? Whatever his reasons, the
experiment worked as I credit the beauty (yes, beauty!) of Pineapple
Express entirely to Green. There are shots in the film that feel as
if they were lifted straight out of a fantastic 70s action flick á la
French Connection, and I honestly can’t say that an Apatow
production has ever looked this good. Green turned this comedy
into more than just a movie but a film, all by simply following his own
aesthetic instincts.
If the look of
Pineapple Express is Green’s though, then the film itself is all
Seth Rogen and James Franco. Rogen as Dale Denton, a stoned yet
endearing process server, and Franco as Saul Silver, his
not-entirely-burnt drug dealer, are the best buddy duo since Riggs and
Murtaugh. Their chemistry is wonderful to watch, as is the obvious
affection that these two actors have for one another. Having previously
worked together in the cult TV show “Freaks and Geeks,” Rogen and Franco
have an immediate ease with one another, one that allows you to really
buy into the quick friendship that is formed between these two unlikely
heroes. For me this film really could have been about anything, could
have not even had much of a plot, and I would have still enjoyed
it—maybe not as much—simply because Rogen and Franco are truly a joy to
watch onscreen.
Starring: America
Ferrera, Alexis Bledel, Amber Tamblyn, Blake Lively, Shohreh Aghdashloo
and Blythe Danner.
Although I worked
as a bookseller in the children’s department of my local Barnes and
Noble all through college and had the habit of reading nearly every best
selling series aimed at children or teenagers, somehow the idea of
magical jeans that transformed the lives of four teenage girls never
quite drew me in. Which is probably what most people thought (and
continue to think) when they saw the trailers for Sisterhood of the
Traveling Pants in 2005, and its subsequent sequel, released this
past month. I myself would have continued to think them silly and
meaningless had Bradley Whitford not been featured as America Ferrera’s
father in the first film, thus forcing me, the huge Josh Lyman fan that
I am, to see Sisterhood in the theaters.
Suffice to say
that there is more to these films than just a pair of jeans. It is rare,
and this is nothing new, to find young, well-rounded female characters
in character-driven movies. Most films that feature all-female casts
tend to be stereotypical, with characters that can easily be tossed into
a certain category: the prude, the slut, the smart one, the tomboy, etc.
What I appreciate most about the Sisterhood films is their
complete disregard for this trend—several times during these movies I
find myself marveling at the unexpected journey’s that each character
takes, the incredibly intelligent and wise dialogue that they speak, and
especially, the realistic portrayal of their friendships.
The second
Sisterhood starts right after the girls first year of college and,
just as in the first film, all of the problems that arise in their lives
are true to each of the characters that they represent: Tibby (Amber
Tamblyn) is learning how to be in love; Lena (Alexis Bledel) is trying
to mend a broken heart; Carmen (America Ferrera) is trying to find
herself; and Bridget (Blake Lively) is finally facing her mother’s
death. All of their arcs genuinely make sense, something that is so
refreshing in a movie targeted at teens, and are touching and subtle, as
only a film bearing the names “Sanaa Hamri” and “Denise De Novi” could
be.
Hamri’s first
film Something New is a favorite of mine. Much like with this
film, she brought as a director a grace and genuine sense of what it
means to be a woman in today’s world, especially as a minority, which is
where Carmen, my favorite Sisterhood character fits in. Denise De
Novi produced both Sisterhood films and she is also responsible
for my two favorite movies as a young girl, Little Women and
Heathers. It is therefore of no surprise that she is behind this
film as well, nor is the introduction of Greta, Bridget’s estranged
grandmother, played by the wonderful Blythe Danner, or Professor Nasrin,
Bridget’s archeology mentor, played by mesmerizing Iranian actress
Shohreh Aghdashloo (of House of Sand and Fog fame). When these
two women were introduced in the film a huge smile spread across my face
as I reveled in the talent, beauty and intelligence that I was watching
onscreen. This may sound like every man’s worst “chick-flick” nightmare
but for me, it was a full-on feminist revelation.
As a fan of “The
O.C.” the fact that I didn’t jump on the “Gossip Girl” bandwagon from
the get-go was a bit of a shock to me. “O.C.” creator Josh Schwartz is
the executive producer (not to mention one of the main writers) on
“Gossip Girl” and helped to develop the self-proclaimed “sinful”
melodrama from the best-selling series of teen fiction books of the same
name. I tried watching the pilot episode when it aired last September
but was immediately put off by the snarky upper-class world of whiny
teenagers that the show portrayed. It is a world that I know very little
about and care even less about, but that is also what I initially said
about “The O.C.”
With that in
mind, and some extra time on my hands, I decided to give “Gossip Girl” a
second chance when the first season was recently released on DVD. Once I
got past the first episode and my own critical judgments, I was
predictably hooked. I found that I couldn’t wait to see where each
character led me, and even more to hear what new storylines made the
gossip girl blog. The show centers around a group of over-privileged
teenagers, led by the recently outcast Serena van der Woodsen (Blake
Lively), and their melodramatic forays into sex, drugs and, well, more
sex. The cast is rounded out by Blair Waldorf (Leighton Meester),
Serena’s best friend and head bitch, Dan Humphrey (Penn Badgley), the
scholarship kid from Williamsburg who Serena falls for, Nate Archibald (Chace
Crawford), the dreamboat that Blair is in love with, Jenny Humphrey
(Taylor Momsen), Dan’s younger social-climbing sister, and finally,
Chuck Bass (Ed Westwick) the evil (very effeminate looking) but oddly
entertaining man-whore of the crowd.
All of these
characters can easily be broken down into their similar “O.C.”
counterparts. Serena is very Marissa; Blair is clearly Summer; Dan a
hipper version of Seth; and Jenny resembles Marissa’s younger sister
Kaitlin. The only two that don’t fit the pattern precisely are the
characters of Nate and Chuck. The latter reminds me more of Sarah
Michelle Gellar’s Sydney from the 1992 soap “Swans Crossing” than anyone
else. But is it really all that strange that this teenage show resembles
pretty much every other teenage show made in recent years? Not really.
What makes this show so addictive however is just how much the writers
clearly relish the melodrama that they are scripting. The characters on
“Gossip Girl” do some insane shit and get caught up in even more insane
situations. I don’t know how accurate this is to the life of an
upper-class New York teenager, but, living in New York myself, I
certainly don’t doubt it. Nor do I, embarrassing as it is to admit,
really care. I have a predilection toward teenage melodrama (“Degrassi”
anyone?) and this show sadly had me at “she slept with her best friend’s
boyfriend.”
My friend Vince Anderson tells a great Tim Robbins story. In the late
90s Vince worked in an independent video store near Gramercy Park in New
York City. A video store that was situated between two Blockbusters and
who’s latest release on most days tended to be Weekend at Bernies 2.
Well, it just so happened that Tim Robbins and his partner Susan
Sarandon lived in the area, and rather than rent movies at the two
Blockbuster mega stores which certainly had a broader selection, Robbins
supported the indie Bernies video store exclusively. He was such
a loyal and frequent customer that they decided to make a “Tim Robbins
Wall” in honor of him, which, of course, consisted of a meager few
tapes. Robbins himself ended up donating the rest.
This may seem like a strange way to start a spotlight on an actor but
when Vince told me this story, I really felt that it captured perfectly
the way that I’ve come to view Tim Robbins, actor and activist, over the
years. As an activist, Robbins has been outspoken about the war in Iraq,
about the media’s role in society, and dozens upon dozens of other
social causes and issues. All of this has also seeped through into the
roles that he chooses as an actor, not to mention the stories that he
tells as a writer and a director. Because of his outspoken views,
through the years he has been grouped and often dismissed as a kind of
“left-wing nut,” his role as a social activist often outweighing his
understated brilliance as an actor.
Tim Robbins was born in West Covina, California on October 16th,
1958. Although he was born in California he was raised in New York
City’s Greenwich Village by his parents, folk singer Gil Robbins (The
Highwaymen) and actress Mary Robbins. Robbins went on to graduate with
honors from UCLA with a Drama degree and soon was seen on TV shows such
as “St. Elsewhere,” “Hill Street Blues” and “Moonlighting.” The roles on
these shows were minor, often limited to one episode, but they led to
small but memorable roles in films such as The Sure Thing,
Fraternity Vacation (the first time I remember seeing him), Top
Gun, Howard the Duck and Five Corners, the latter
featured him in a co-starring role alongside Jodie Foster. But it wasn’t
till 1988’s Bull Durham that Tim Robbins officially became a
household name.
Bull Durham
is one of my all-time favorite movies, and, as it turns out, it is also
Robbins’ favorite movie. To this day he cites it as such for many
reasons—it launched his career; it dealt with baseball, which, next to
hockey, is one of his life-long passions (he is a die-hard Rangers and
Mets fan); and it introduced him to the woman whom he would fall in love
and have children with, Susan Sarandon. In Bull Durham Robbins
plays Ebby Calvin 'Nuke' LaLoosh, an up-and-coming player with a
lightning-bolt arm but a “5 cent head.” Laloosh is all spitfire and
hormones, and to say that Robbins embodies the role is a real
understatement. He brings such joy and humor to Laloosh, but at the same
time he also inhabits him with great sensitivity and self-awareness,
turning what should be a throwaway, second-string asshole into a
first-rate rival for Kevin Costner’s leading man, Crash Davis.
The spirit of joy and youth that Robbins brings to Laloosh in Bull
Durham is one that he often carries with him. You can see it in Ed
Walters, his soft-spoken idiot savant in the romantic forgotten gem
I.Q. You can see it in Norville Barnes, his endearing inventor in
The Coen Bros. The Hudsucker Proxy. And you can clearly see that
joyful innocence in his most famous role, that of Andy Dufresne in
The Shawshank Redemption. Shawshank is the film that Robbins
is most notable for and yet his turn as Andy Dufresne was not nominated
for an Academy Award that year. This may come as a shock to some but
considering the fact that Robbins was overlooked in 1992 in The
Player, and then overlooked again the next year with Short Cuts,
calling Tim Robbins one of the most underappreciated actors of his
generation certainly seems fitting.
As a director, however, Robbins has been critically acclaimed and
appreciated. His directorial debut, 1992’s Bob Roberts, is an
incredible feat even by today’s standards. Robbins wrote, directed,
acted and co-wrote, with the help of his brother David, the score and
songs featured in the film. The tale of Bob Roberts, crude conservative
folk singer turned politician is one that was eerily omniscient in the
election year that it was released, but it somehow seems just as
relevant in 2008. The fact that Bob Roberts did not sweep the
Academy Awards that year is still a mystery to me.
Robbins was however nominated for an Oscar in 1995 as a writer and
director for his second film Dead Man Walking. Dead Man
Walking was a project that took many years for Robbins to develop.
It is based on Sister Helen Prejean’s book about her relationship with
death row inmate Matthew Poncelet and Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn,
respectively, turn in unforgettable performances in the two roles. The
film has been seen as a clear indictment of the death penalty, but for
me, it is far more about the complexity of human life and death and the
unexplainable intimacy of relationships than about a certain political
cause. Much like with Bob Roberts, Dead Man Walking can be
seen one way initially, but after several viewings, its multifaceted
themes begin to unravel.
Robbins next project as a writer-director, 1999’s Cradle Will Rock,
is yet another overlooked gem in Robbins film career. The movie tells
the true story of how Orson Welles, along with Diego Rivera, Nelson
Rockefeller and William Randolph Hearst, tried to stage a pro-union
musical during the Great Depression. The film is powerful and inspiring,
and is exactly the kind of material that you would expect Robbins to be
involved with. It was critically acclaimed but I find that it is,
unfortunately, one of many films of Robbins career that only film buffs
often seem to know about.
As is the case with Tim Robbins inspired performances in
independent films such as Code 46, The Secret Life of Words,
and Catch a Fire. All of these roles allow Robbins to shine in an
entirely new way as he demonstrates a stillness and emotional restraint
that is equal parts sad, romantic and inspiring. Robbins has the ability
to express what the character is feeling only with his eyes, which often
flare with the overwhelming emotion of the scene. One need only look to
his performance in Mystic River, the only acting Oscar he has
received to date, to witness exactly what Robbins is capable of. There
is a terrifying sadness that runs through his Dave Boyle that is truly
frightening to watch. Whenever Robbins is onscreen in the film I find
myself torn between turning away at the pain he is so deftly displaying,
and never allowing my eyes to leave his face.
It is this face that I often find myself thinking of when I
think of Tim Robbins. How sincere, sensitive and manly this 6’4 giant
seems to be whenever the camera is pointed on him, and how fortunate we
are when he points his camera at others. His latest film, Neal Burger’s
The Lucky Ones, which centers on three Iraq soldiers, will be
released later this month and I can say with near-absolute certainty
that Robbins performance will most likely be overlooked. It seems to be
the fate of a man whose contributions to cinema and life are far too
genuine and far too grand to ever really be seen by the Hollywood eye,
in this lifetime at least.
Starring: Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly, Mary Steenburgen, Richard
Jenkins, Adam Scott and Kathryn Hahn.
The good news is that Stepbrothers was directed, produced and
written by the same crew that brought us the hilarious Talladega
Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby and Anchorman: The Legend of
Ron Burgundy. The bad news is that unlike those two films, both of
which had some semblance of an actual storyline (although this one
technically does as well), Stepbrothers is just one long
often-hilarious skit. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially
when you have the comic team of Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly at the
center. The two of them are hysterical as the titular stepbrothers who
loathe each other at first and then become best friends. All of the gags
that are featured in the trailer (including the “let’s turn our beds
into bunk beds!” bit) are still surprisingly funny in the film, as are
the small cameos by Seth Rogen and (surprise-surprise) Horatio Sanz, but
that still doesn’t carry enough weight to make this film anywhere near
as good as the Apatow-helmed 40-Year-Old-Virgin, Knocked Up
or even Superbad, which he just produced. All of these films had
characters and a story that you cared about and related to on some level
making them instantly memorable and re-watchable; Stepbrothers
however is just funny.
Starring: Ron Perlman, Selma Blair, Doug Jones, Jeffrey Tambor, Anna
Walton, Luke Goss, Seth MacFarlane and John Hurt.
It is no secret that I love Guillermo Del Toro—I love his passion, his
intelligence, his dark sense of humor, and I especially love his ability
to scare the shit out of me with horrific looking creatures. Having said
all of this, the fact that I loved Hellboy II: The Golden Army so
much more than the first Hellboy did come as a surprise
considering how much I loved that film. From the very beginning of this
film I was enthralled—by the way the story unfolded, by the growth of
the characters, but most of all, by the incredible world that Del Toro
envisions. The scene where Hellboy and the rest of the Bureau for
Paranormal Research and Defense gang go into the underground troll world
reminded me of the Mos Eisley Cantina scene in Star Wars, except
sooo much cooler and filled with even creepier and freakier
creatures. Del Toro, with the help of “Hellboy” comic book creator Mike
Mignola, tells the story of Hellboy with such care and attention to
detail that it is truly awe-inspiring to watch. Add to the mix the
perfect casting of Ron Perlman, Selma Blair, Jeffrey Tambor and, my
personal favorite, Doug Jones as Abe Sapien (my heart flutters
especially for him!) and you have yet another fantastic comic
adaptation. Watching this film I couldn’t help but imagine the world
that Del Toro will create for his upcoming Hobbit films. “Oh the
places we’ll go…Oh the people we’ll see…”
Starring: Matthew Goode, Ben Whishaw, Hayley Atwell, Michael Gambon and
Emma Thompson.
There is nothing like a great British costume drama to make you long for
the days when Merchant and Ivory films where a semi-annual theatrical
occurrence rather than just a novelty on PBS or BBC America. Directed by
Julian Jarrold (Becoming Jane and Kinky Boots) and written
by the writers of such films as The Last King of Scotland,
Charlotte Gray, Mrs. Brown, Bridget Jones and the
beloved “Pride and Prejudice,” the film adaptation of Evelyn Waugh’s
Brideshead Revisited is exactly the kind of movie that would have
been at home in the 80s and early 90s. These are the kinds of films that
my father would rent frequently for us—where an English middle class
bloke falls in love with a higher-class family only to find himself
shamed—and I have to say that I have a soft spot for their melodrama
still. (Yes, they are very melodramatic, but in a very enjoyable,
delicious “lazy Sunday afternoon” sort of way.) What makes this
particular adaptation so interesting is the high-caliber cast that it
features. I never watched an episode of the original mini-series, which
featured Jeremy Irons as Captain Charles Ryder, the middle class bloke,
but Matthew Goode is certainly Irons equal in this adaptation. He is
sexy and smart and smoldering, in equal parts, and his acting talent,
apparent in films such as Matchpoint and The Lookout, is
really on display here. Michael Gambon, Hayley Atwell and Ben Whishaw
are also quite good in the film but the star of Brideshead is
without a doubt this month’s Spotlight focus, Emma Thompson. Thompson is
terrifying and, strangely enough, heartbreaking in every scene that she
is in and it is her performance that made this good English
costume drama truly great.
Starring: Ben
Burtt, Elissa Knight, Jeff Garlin, Fred Willard, John Ratzenberger,
Kathy Najimy, Sigourney Weaver.
It’s hard to
believe that it has been almost 13 years since Pixar’s animation team
first caught our attention and collective imaginations with the landmark
Toy Story. Since that film Pixar has become the standard in
animation—a brand name that is as recognizable (and successful) as, say,
Starbucks or even Apple (the latter is no coincidence considering Jobs’
still owns shares in Pixar). What is particularly remarkable about the
company is how they manage to raise the bar consistently with nearly
every film that they release (the underwhelming Cars not
included). When you saw Monsters. Inc. or Finding Nemo or
The Incredibles, you marveled at the moving story, at the
realistic characters, and at the level of animation technology being put
to use on the screen. Film after film, it was a given that Pixar would
deliver on all of these fronts, but with their latest release, WALL-E,
they have surpassed even my wildest expectations.
WALL-E is a joy to watch from beginning to end. From the
very first moments when you glimpse our beloved robot walking through
trash heaps, collecting knick-knacks for his private collection, and
squeaking and miming adoringly…well, let’s just say that WALL-E “had me
at hello.” Equal parts E.T. and Number 5 (“Number 5 is alive!), WALL-E
may just be the cutest Pixar creation ever. Every moment that he is
onscreen you are beguiled and enthralled by what he will do and discover
next. It is as if you are seeing the world for the very first time,
experiencing the joy of falling in love and being loved back, all
through the heart and eyes of a Charlie Chaplin-esque robot.
WALL-E features all of the wit and humor that we’ve come
to expect from Pixar—the sound of WALL-E powering up never got old—but
what steals your heart (and in my case, makes you sob) is the touching
story of one lonely robot’s search for someone’s hand to hold. (Yeah,
there’s also a whole underlining
we-human-beings-are-destroying-our-environment-thing, but that’s neither
here nor there.) It may seem ridiculous to some but WALL-E’s search is
THE universal search—I can’t even begin to tell you the number of days
that I’ve spent watching movies (not quite Hello Dolly! but…),
honing in on the love story and longing for it to mirror my own. The
sight of a trash-compressing robot like WALL-E finally finding love with
EVE is the animated-equivalent of Hanks and Ryan finally meeting each
other at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day in
Sleepless in Seattle.
Written by:
Andrew Adamson, Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely.
Starring: Ben
Barnes, Georgie Henley, Skandar Keynes, William Moseley, Anna Popplewell,
Peter Dinklage, Eddie Izzard and Liam Neeson.
For years many
talented filmmakers tried to bring C.S. Lewis’ famous fantasy series
The Chronicles of Narnia to the big screen. Although it already
existed in the form of a terrific four-part television mini-series
produced by the BBC in the late 1980s and early 90s, the true scope of
Lewis’ imagination and his Narnia had yet to really be seen. It wasn’t
until the success of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings film
adaptations that I think producers were finally able to envision, and
invest in, the beloved fantasy film, and with the success of 2005’s
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, it
seems that Disney and Walden Media are forging on with big-screen
adaptations of all seven novels.
The Chronicles
of Narnia: Prince Caspian is the second in the series and it does
not disappoint. It is moving and engrossing, with action sequences that
feature interesting hand held shots (pay close attention to a
particularly incredible sword-fight toward the end of the film) and
close-ups that were not only not seen in the first film, but
aren’t really characteristic of most children’s films (with the possible
of exception of the more recent Harry Potter films). Although Andrew
Adamson directed both films, Caspian feels so vibrant,
action-packed and yet equally gruesome and dark that you would swear
that an entirely different director was at the helm.
It is a given
that some children’s books translate to film better than others, and
while I enjoyed The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, as a reader
and as a 20-something year-old woman rather than a 7-year-old-girl, it
still felt like just a kid’s film. It lacked the depth that I so fondly
remembered of the Pevensie family’s stories. That is certainly not the
case with Prince Caspian. This film takes its time in developing
the many story arcs and plot points, and it also fleshes out the
character of Susan in particular (although they do odd and almost
hooker-esque things with her make-up throughout the film), a character
that I always loved growing up and one that serves as a really great
role-model for girls.
The battles
scenes are riveting, the special effects are flawless, and the
introduction of Peter Dinklage (if you haven’t seen the Station Agent go
out and buy it now!) as Trumpkin is absolutely delightful. Caspian is
also a lot funnier than it’s previous counterpart, thanks largely in
part to Trumpkin’s sarcastic wit, but also (intentionally or
unintentially, it remains to be seen) due to the rather Inigo Montoya-esque
accent that the English actor Ben Barnes purports throughout as the
title character. (The Telmarine’s were supposed to be descendents from
an area that I always assumed to be Spain so I guess it makes sense.) As
a second in a series, Prince Caspian defies the sophomore slump of
Indiana Jones and Back to the Future-fame and leaves me
hungrily anticipating my next trip through Narnia with 2010’s The
Voyage of the Dawn Treader.
“When I go to a movie now, I seem to be aware of so many more things:
the man a few rows over talking to his wife; someone finishing his
popcorn and throwing the bag into the aisle; I’m aware of editing and
bad-dialogue and second-rate actors. Sometimes I watch a scene with a
lot of extras and I wonder, Are they real actors, are they enjoying
being extras or are they unhappy not to be in the spotlight? There’s a
young girl, for example, in the communications center at the beginning
of Dr. No. She has one or two lines but you never see her on the screen
again. I wondered out loud to Jesse what happened to all those people in
the crowd shots, those party shots: How did their lives turn out? Did
they give up acting and go into other professions?
All these things interfere with the experience of a movie; in the old
days you could have fired off a pistol beside my head and it wouldn’t
have interrupted my concentration, my participation in the movie that
was unfolding on the screen in front of me. I return to old movies not
just to watch them again but in the hope that I’ll feel the same way
that I did when I first saw them. (Not just about movies, but about
everything.) – David Gilmour, The Film Club
Steven Spielberg once said: “the only
thing better than seeing movies is reading about them.” This is one of
my favorite movie-related quotes (you can find it plastered on our home
page) and not just because it was said by one of my favorite directors—I
love it simply because it is true. Reading about movies is almost as
thrilling as seeing movies themselves, especially when the writer shares
your passion intimately, as film critic/novelist David Gilmour clearly
does in his memoir, The Film Club.
TheFilm Club is about many things: it is about a father
coming to terms with his own self-worth and value; it is about a
struggling writer dealing with unemployment; it is about a teenage son
trying to find his own identity within the confines of adolescence; and
it is about the magical unexplainable thing that happens when two
people sit in front of a screen and watch a great movie together.
Jesse was a 15-year-old who hated high
school and was flunking out of all of his classes. He wasn’t a bad
kid—quite the opposite in fact—but his father, David Gilmour, saw in him
a restlessness and boredom that he didn’t quite know how to counter. So
rather than lose him entirely, he offered him the option to drop out of
school—as long as he attended another school of sorts, a film school,
that would be held three times a week in their own living room. The
first film that they watch? The apt Truffaut classic The 400 Blows.
From there Gilmour the professor ran through such varied coursework as
Beetlejuice to Notorious to To Have and Have Not to
Showgirls, all with a clear and concise lesson plan in mind. The
result is an education that is truly unique, inspired and worthwhile. As
a reader, you find yourself discovering (and revisiting) films right
alongside the Gilmour boys, as if you too were a part of their late
afternoon viewing sessions.
The Film Club
is a joy to read as a movie lover as David Gilmour imbues his film
descriptions with hypnotic nostalgia and passion (one of my personal
favorite scenes in the book is his explanation of the brilliance of
Robert Redford’s underrated The Quiz Show). But the book is also
a joy to read on a completely different level, one that is harder to put
into words. I remember very clearly being Jesse’s age and feeling the
way that he did in high school—lost, bored and skeptical. My outlet was
found at the movies—both at the theater and at home—and I still remember
the days when I would stay home from school to watch movies with my mom.
The films ranged from classics such as All About Eve to A
Place in the Sun to Overboard, but their significance didn’t
lie solely in the films themselves, but in that time that we spent
together and that magical thing that took place when the two of
us stared into that flickering screen. It still happens whenever we get
together to watch movies, and I still marvel at that unspoken exchange
that is somehow communicated during those brief moments of time.
David Gilmour does the impossible in
The Film Club by capturing these very moments with his own son.
His descriptions of Jesse will at times break your heart; there is a
sensitivity and femininity to the way that Gilmour writes that I rarely
find in male authors. He understands how precious and brief this time
spent with Jesse is, and he mourns for it even as he experiences it.
Jesse eventually outgrows their film club, graduates from high school
and goes to college (he is now studying to be a filmmaker). David
eventually finds work again and returns to writing. But those late
nights are never forgotten. These films and their shared experience
forever alter both men. And in a strange and magical way, they do the
same for us.
Starring: Ryan
Phillippe, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Channing Tatum, Timothy Olyphant, Mamie
Gummer, Linda Emond, Ciarán Hinds and Abbie Cornish.
Sitting through
Kimberly Peirce’s sophomore film, Stop-Loss, was a lot harder
than I expected. Not because it wasn’t a great film, which it is, or
because I didn’t enjoy it or find it engrossing, both of which I
thoroughly did. It was hard to watch the film because it was strikingly
real. Too real. There were moments in the film that I have heard
American soldiers and veterans of this Iraq war themselves describe.
There were lines of dialogue that were eerily reminiscent of testimonies
that I have read…and it all struck a painful chord.
Clearly Peirce
did her homework. Much like her debut film, Boys Don’t Cry, which
tells the story behind the life and tragic death of Brandon Teena,
Stop-Loss feels authentic because of the amount of time and effort
that obviously went into researching the film. Peirce spent years
talking to soldiers and veterans of this war and even her own brother,
himself a soldier who has done several tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.
The result is a film that many have likened to Deer Hunter, a
comparison that fits when you look at the importance of the subject
matter of both films and their relevancy at the time that they were
released.
Unless you read
the paper or watch the news frequently, chances are you don’t know too
much about the term “stop-loss.” The stop-loss policy was created
shortly after the Vietnam War and it states that the military can
involuntarily extend the service of an active duty officer under the
guise of their initial enlistment contract. What that means is that a
soldier who signed up to serve eight years in the army (which is what
the standard contracts state)—2 to 4 of which he actually serves in the
war, the other four which he is supposed to serve at home on a reserve
base—can (and, considering our current predicament, most likely will) be
called to serve those remaining four years fighting an indefinite war.
As a result of this policy, over 12,000 soldiers have been stop-loss
since the Iraq War first began.
This is a very
hard concept to wrap your head around and Peirce does an incredible job
in the film of not only explaining the inane bureaucracy of the military
but also captures the essence of what is at stake with this issue: the
lives of American soldiers. Stop-loss is moving and profound,
with moments that will drive straight into your heart, and that is due
almost entirely to Peirce’s direction, her terrific screenplay,
co-written with Mark Richard, and the tenacity of the cast. Being a big
fan of Joseph Gordon-Levitt (I do believe that he is the best actor of
my generation) I was a little disappointed as to how small his role
ultimately is in the film, but it is still a pivotal one and Gordon-Levitt
delivers an emotionally graceful and mature performance. His sadness as
the haunted Tommy is not easy to shake off.
The big surprise
in Stop-Loss, however, is Ryan Phillippe. Having seen him in
Gosford Park and Breach, I knew that he was capable of
dramatic acting (and, I have to admit, he was pretty enjoyable in
Cruel Intentions), but I had no idea that he could carry a film.
There is so much that is required of Phillippe as Staff Sergeant Brandon
King—physically, emotionally and mentally—and he pulls it all off
tenderly and effortlessly. So many of the moments that stayed with me
days after having watched Stop-Loss were due to Phillippe’s
performance, and that is something that, with all due respect, I never
thought I would say.
I won’t be
shocked if Stop-Loss is all but ignored come next year’s awards
season. Regardless of what you may have read or how much money the film
brought in at the box office, this is this year’s first truly “required
viewing.”
“No journey that
you enter into with a fairly open heart isn’t rewarded in some way.” –
Anthony Minghella, Minghella on Minghella
It won’t surprise those who know me well to learn that the first thing
that I did when I learned that Anthony Minghella died was cry. I was at
my internship and had just returned from lunch when I checked my Gmail
only to see the following subject line: “Director Anthony Minghella
dies.” I was shocked and, although it may seem insane to most, felt like
I had lost a member of my family. My first instinct was to call my
brother, an actual blood relative, which I did immediately only to
encounter the same kind of bewilderment on the other end of the phone
line that I myself felt. Like Cameron Crowe, Spike Lee, Steven Spielberg
and a handful of filmmakers who have shaped my life, Anthony Minghella
was a writer and director that I always turned to, film after film… In
many ways, he was the writer/director of my life, having lit a
spark in me in 1996—with a little Oscar-winning film called The
English Patient—that was largely responsible for my love of film.
Born on Ryde, Isle of Wight to Italian immigrants, Minghella always felt
like an outsider in his own country, a theme that would often come up in
many of his films, including The Talented Mr. Ripley. Minghella
graduated from the University of Hull with a theater degree, one that he
immediately put to use—first as a successful playwright in London, and
then as a scriptwriter on such popular British TV series as “Inspector
Morse.” In 1984, the London Theatre Critics named Minghella “Most
Promising Playwright of the Year,” and two years later, his drama “Made
in Bangkok” won the London Theatre Critics' award for best play.
1990 saw Minghella leave the stage for the big screen with his
feature-film directorial debut, the romantic comedy Truly Madly
Deeply. The movie stars Alan Rickman as a ghost who returns to be
with his true love, played by Juliet Stevenson. Minghella wrote the role
of Nina specifically for Stevenson as the two of them had worked
together previously on the stage and she would work with the director
once again in 2006’s Breaking and Entering.
Truly, Madly, Deeply
was a big success for Minghella—both in his native Britain and here in
the States—which prompted Warner Brothers to offer him his very own ‘big
studio film’ in the form of 1993’s romantic comedy Mr. Wonderful.
Although not a terrible film by any means, when compared to the other
films in his oeuvre it is easy to pinpoint it as the most lackluster and
out of character of the bunch. It lacks the warmth and intimacy that
Minghella’s movies are usually brimming with, and as a result, it feels
generic, a word that I would never use to describe Minghella’s work. The
film would be a sore point for Minghella for years to come—it was the
only film that he did not write the screenplay for himself—and it would
also serve as a lesson for him when choosing future projects: never make
a film that you do not connect with on a personal level.
“I feel like such
an amateur filmmaker, but not an amateur writer. I will always feel like
a writer who directs and not the other way around.” – Anthony
Minghella, Minghella on Minghella
Minghella waited nearly three years after Mr. Wonderful before
embarking on another film. The time paid off as the film in question,
The English Patient, not only won nine Oscars, including Best
Picture and Best Director, but it also became by and large the most
successful film of Minghella’s career. Minghella read the book of the
same name by Michael Ondaatje as an unpublished novel and immediately
fell in love with it—so much so that he decided to adapt it. Working
alongside famed producer Saul Zaentz, who owned the rights to the book,
Minghella spent over a year adapting the novel for the screen in a most
unorthodox fashion—by never turning to the source material again. This
is a technique that he would fashion again when adapting Patricia
Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley as well as Charles Frazier’s
Cold Mountain.
Minghella believed that he could never truly provide a faithful screen
adaptation of The English Patient—that it was impossible—and
therefore he decided early on in the process that he would instead write
his own version of the novel, including in it what he loved most about
it, the scenes and characters that stayed with him on that initial first
reading. This is a technique that very few screenwriters employ today
and yet I think that it is probably the best way to make a successful
let along great film rather than simply a faithful word-for-word
adaptation.
I saw The English Patient nine times in the theater the year that
it was released. I skipped several days of high school in order to see
repeat viewings of it at Kendall Town & Country and the AMC in Coconut
Grove. I would doodle dialogue from the film on my French notebook and
at night I would listen to the film (all 2 ½ hours of it! Which spanned
four tapes!) on my recorder, which I had snuck in to the theater on one
of my many screenings. I had a bad case of English Patient-itis,
a syndrome that affected many women across the world at the time.
Watching the film today, it still moves me, although not in the same way
that it did at the age of 14, obviously. I am no longer the
heaving-bosom-romantic that I once was and therefore the love story
between Almásy and Katherine or Kip and Hana, does not leave me sobbing
for days as it once did. What still strikes me today, however, is how
well the story is told. I read the novel after seeing the film and I
appreciated then just how heady a task the adaptation was—the story
spans decades, countries and characters in every chapter—but this is
something that still amazes me as a writer. The fact that Minghella was
able to make a film that stands on its own and yet represents all of the
themes that the original novel references is amazing—and he does all of
this with his own distinct flair and attention for detail. All of the
things that I love about the film—the sweeping landscapes, the moments
of beautiful silence and the hypnotic score—, all of which are unique to
the film, are all the direct result of Minghella’s incredible vision and
unique taste. (In fact, Marta Sebestyen, the Hungarian folk singer whose
haunting “Szerelem, Szerelem” serves as the film’s theme, was a
discovery of his as well.)
“I think the
camera is of no interest whatsoever to me, as indeed dialogue is of no
interest to me whatsoever in that I’m not looking to get wonderful
dialogue. I’m looking to get something which feels like you’re a
witness. That you’re there and you’re experiencing the intensity of pain
or pleasure that some other people are experiencing, and you’re given
the privilege of understanding how it’s happening. You’re allowed to get
a vantage point on a process which you’re so rarely allowed to have in
your own life.” – Anthony
Minghella, Minghella on Minghella
1999’s The Talented Mr. Ripley, 2003’s Cold Mountain and
2006’s Breaking and Entering are, at first glance, entirely
different films and yet, looking back on them today, they are almost
like a trilogy in the study of man—man on a journey to finally find and
accept himself; man on a journey through war and back again to his one
true love; man on a journey to discover love again. (These all,
curiously enough, also feature actor Jude Law, a personal friend of
Minghella’s, and in many ways, the Jimmy Stewart to his Hitchcock.) All
three films feature characters who are outsiders in every sense of the
word and yet, thanks to Minghella’s superb writing, they feel more like
intimate acquaintances and counterparts than distant wallflowers.
These three films were neither commercial successes (like Patient)
nor across-the-board critical successes (also like Patient), but
they all cemented Minghella’s reputation as one of the most important
filmmakers working in Britain today, a fact that his own country
recognizes as he served as the Chairman of the Board of Governors at the
British Film Institute from 2003 – 2007.
In 2000, Minghella joined Mirage Enterprises, the production company
that Sydney Pollack founded in 1985, and alongside Pollock (who produced
The Talented Mr. Ripley and all of his subsequent films), he
produced such memorable films as Iris, Heaven (a big-time
Kieslowski fan, Minghella counted Blue as one of his favorite
films), The Quiet American, Michael Clayton, The Reader
and the upcoming Kenneth Lonergan film Margaret. Minghella even
added “actor” to his list of accomplishments in 2007 when he appeared
onscreen in the role of the interviewer in last year’s Best Picture
nominee Atonement.
Anthony Minghella died of a hemorrhage on the morning of March 18, 2008
at Charing Cross Hospital in London, England at the age of 54. Minghella
had undergone an operation to remove a growth on his neck the previous
week and was expected to recover without consequence. He had just
finished shooting the pilot for “The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency,”
which he co-wrote with Richard Curtis, and was preparing to work on his
segment for New York, I love You, the American follow-up to
Paris, je t’aime. He is survived by his wife, Carolyn Choa, a
choreographer, his son Max, an up-and-coming actor, and his daughter
Hannah.
There are many reasons to mourn for the loss of such an amazing man—with
his death, a husband, a father, a director, a writer, a friend, the list
goes on and on, have all been taken. Even though I never knew Anthony
Minghella personally, I felt like I did. He put so much passion and so
much of himself into his films. He was a fan of the art form—of writing,
of film, of music and of literature, among many others—and of simply
being a fan. His enthusiasm both on and off the set rivaled that of the
more notable Scorsese and Tarantino, but it was his kindness that was
cited time after time in the wake of his death by those who knew him
best, a kindness and simplicity that seeped into every frame. I will
miss the experience of seeing an Anthony Minghella film because it was
an experience exclusive only to his work. But I will forever mourn the
loss of this man because he let me into his world and into his
characters and because, for several brief moments, when everything else
around me failed, he gave me a home to escape and belong to.
“It is hubris of
an extraordinary kind to make the world similar to your dream of it. I
read that Bertolucci hopes every night to dream the next scene, to dream
what it feels, smells and tastes like so it has a kind of inevitability.
If you ever feel like you’re pretending, the minute that you’re
conscious of your own artifice, the scene immediately loses its sense of
reality. In the end what you’re creating is something which is a mixture
of invention, necessity and their own historical references. Partly
you’re leading and partly you’re being led. That, in a miniature, is the
way that I would wish to work all the time—witnessing something as
opposed to being the engineer of it.” – Anthony
Minghella, Minghella on Minghella
Starring:
Anamaria Marinca, Laura Vasiliu, Vlad Ivanov, Alexandru Potocean
I had a film
teacher in college who believed that the only good films ever made were
either independent or foreign, arguing, essentially, that only art films
were worth watching. Holding The Back to the Future and the Indiana
Jones trilogies on my list of favorite films, I would try and counter
this point incessantly having—even with only 20-or-so-years under my
belt—seen plenty of mediocre not to mention terrible “art films.” But I
knew what she was getting at, and I also knew that she wasn’t alone in
her opinion let alone wrong. Independent and foreign films tend
to be better than most Hollywood films simply because they put stories
and characters at the forefront rather than snazzy action sequences or
special effects—a film like Linklater’s Slacker or Jim Jarmusch’s
Night on Earth or even Erick Zonca’s The Dreamlife of Angels
could never have been made within the Hollywood studio system.
These were the
thoughts that kept running through my head after I saw Cristian Mungiu’s
4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days. This shocking, grim and
unforgettable Romanian film about an illegal abortion that changes two
college friends’ lives could never have been made in the U.S. When it
comes to abortion, we make films that shy away from actually discussing
the topic, that only skim the surface. Ex: The Cider House Rules,
Citizen Ruth, and, although not American, even Mike Leigh’s
Vera Drake. Which is just one of the things that makes 4 Months,
3 Weeks and 2 Days so shocking—you see the abortion take place; you
see the dead fetus once it is removed. And once all of this has taken
place, you see the repercussions that this act has on the two women
involved.
Mungiu’s film is
so painfully direct and bare that it chances are you will find yourself
cringing at several scenes in the film, and not just the ones that I
mentioned above. The suspense that this writer-director builds from the
very beginning of the movie is remarkable—all throughout the film you
fear for what lies ahead at the next turn and for what will happen to
our two female leads, Gabita and Otilia, played beautifully by Laura
Vasiliu and Anamaria Marinca, respectively. The film is in many ways
what I believe a Hitchcock movie about abortion would have been like,
had he ever touched upon such social issues so directly in his films
(although he would have never shown us the dead fetus).
The film won the
Golden Palm at the 2007 Cannes Film Festival, the festival’s most
prestigious honor and was on many a film critic’s Top 10 List last year.
It is not difficult to see why, just as it is not hard to see why the
Academy ignored it entirely when it came time to nominate foreign films
this year. It is not an easy film to watch, but it is definitely and
amazing one…one that serves as yet another example of what foreign films
often do right.
Starring: Adrian
Alonso, Kate del Castillo, Eugenio Derbez
At the end of
2005’s Devils & Dust tour, Bruce Springsteen would always close
the night by playing a solo-organ version of Suicide’s “Dream Baby
Dream.” It would usually last anywhere from 7 to 8 minutes, with
Springsteen repeating the words, “C’mon on baby dry your eyes, Yeah, I
just want to see you smile, Now, I just want to see you smile, C’mon
keep on dreaming, C’mon keep on dreaming, C’mon dream baby dream, C’mon
on baby dream baby dream…” over and over again. It was hypnotic, moving
and unforgettable, a moment so poignant and brimming with emotion and
intensity that it knocked the breath right out of you. (Thanks to fandom
and YouTube, you can actually see him perform it here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4EzcBL1yDY&feature=related)
This song, and
Springsteen’s cover in particular, kept coming to mind as I watched
first-time feature director Patricia Riggen’s La misma luna/Under
the Same Moon. The film tells the story of a young boy named
Carlitos, played gracefully by Adrian Alonso, a veteran Mexican soap
actor, and his quest to be reunited with his mother, Rosario, played by
Kate del Castillo, yet another Mexican soap star. The problem is that
Carlitos is in Mexico and his mother is in East L.A., working as a
housekeeper to try and better her family’s life in the hope that one day
she will bring her son over to the States. Rosario dreams of a better
life for herself and Carlitos, and Carlitos dreams only of being with
his mother. These two different dreams are at the very core of the film
and serve as the key to understand it’s not-so-subtle message: the
American dream of success and prosperity is useless if it means being
separated from your family.
I am full aware
of how cheesy this sounds and sadly, the film often ventures into
soap-opera-Lifetime-drama territory. I think this has more to do with
the script itself than the fact that it is cast almost entirely with
Mexican soap opera actors (although I do think that certainly helped),
but in spite of it’s “heart warming” intentions, the movie is still
really moving, and I would argue, important. There are not nearly
enough films being made about the tortuous journey that many Mexican
immigrants endure in crossing over to the States, and it speaks volumes
about the immigrant experience overall with its honest depiction of
their daily U.S. lives and dreams in contrast with their Mexican ones.
It is in the moments where Carlito’s makes his journey over the border,
the moments when Rosario loses one of her jobs and is forced to
literally go from house to house begging for work, that the film really
shines about it’s own sentimentality. Much like Ken Loach’s superb 2000
film Bread and Roses, Under the Same Moon is at its best
when it sticks to the realities of the immigrant experience in this
country (something that makes sense when you consider Riggen’s previous
films, all documentaries). Living in this country, we often forget that
we are all immigrants, and that we all made it over on the backs of our
families’ dreams.
Written and
directed by: Vincent Paronnaud and Marjane Satrapi
Featuring the
voices of: Chiara
Mastroianni, Catherine Deneuve, Danielle Darrieux, Simon Abkarian,
Gabrielle Lopes Benites, Gabrielle Lopes, François Jerosme, Arié Elmaleh,
Mathias Mlekuz, Jean-François Gallotte, Stéphane Foenkinos and Tilly
Mandelbrot.
I first read
Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novels Persepolis while visiting my
best friend one weekend in D.C. It was one of those standard chilly thus
lazy afternoons when rather than go off and explore the world with said
friend, I chose to stay in, surrounded by her comforter, and watch TV.
But, as usual, there was nothing on. So I ventured into her roommates
room and asked if she had anything good to read—she thrust Persepolis:
The Story of a Childhood into my hands and, about an hour and a half
later, I was borrowing Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return.
Reading them I
found myself laughing out loud—something that I did not expect to do
with a story about a young girl growing up in Iran during the Islamic
Revolution—crying and relating sincerely to Marjane’s dreams, stories
and pain. Satrapi’s illustrations leapt off the page and brought to life
her words in ways that only a movie can usually do…which explains why
turning Persepolis into a film seemed like a no-brainer.
And yet, and
yet…I hesitate in writing this because I did actually enjoy the film. I
thought that both Vincent Paronnaud, in conjunction with Satrapi, did
the seemingly impossibly in capturing the beautiful and unique imagery
that made the graphic novels such a wonderful read (I was especially
thrilled to see that Marjane’s impromptu dancing was included in the
movie). But somehow the emotion, sincerity and sadness that abounded in
the novels was, in my view, missing from its big-screen counterpart.
I’ve thought long
and hard about why this is and I have to say, I still don’t have an
answer. The film is in French, and as we all know, no one does pain as
convincingly as the French, and yet, as a viewer, I felt a continuous
wall throughout the movie that prevented me from ever truly connecting
with Marjane or her family’s complicated story. But maybe I’m suffering
from the standard literary-snob’s disease (which also, along with a
general disdain for the director at the helm, prevented me from jumping
on the Atonement bandwagon) where having connected and loved the
book I find the film to be sub par. Either way, one thing is clear—Persepolis,
and Satrapi’s story, is worth knowing, watching and reading, regardless
of the package that it is wrapped in.
Starring:
Bono, Adam Clayton, The Edge and Larry Mullen, Jr.
As a band, U2 has
gotten more collective shit, coupled with semi-equal amounts of praise,
over the past few years than any other band currently still releasing
albums. Bono alone is on many a “worst douche-bag” list, and yet it is
undeniable that no band has taken bigger risks by been at the forefront
of new technology before it is cool, hip or approved by the general
mass.
In the 80s they
made wearing your heart on your sleeve, both politically and
spiritually, successful. In the 90s they took rock stadium tours to new
heights with their massive stage and light productions, and even bigger
remote-controlled satellites and TV screens. In 2004, U2 were the first
to collaborate with Apple on their own signature iPod (you could NOT
escape their ad campaign if you tried) and now, with their latest
venture, U2: 3D, the first live-action movie shot, produced and
exhibited solely in digital 3-D, they’re making history once again.
U2: 3D is made up of nine different concerts shot in
various parts of South America during their Vertigo tour, where the
filmmakers took over 100 hours of footage and dwindled it down to a
concert that lasts a little over an hour and a half. The result is
astounding. Remember that first time that you rode the Back to
the Future Ride at Universal? Remember how insanely thrilling and
surreal it felt? Take that same feeling, multiply it by a million, then
throw in the thumping of Adam Clayton’s bass (who, for my money, is the
star of the show here), the pounding of Larry Mullen Jr’s drum kit, the
electricity of Edge’s guitar and the nothing-short-of-theatrical
performance by Bono himself and you will begin to get a general idea of
just how fucking incredible U2: 3D really is.
Catherine Owens
and Mark Pellington, longtime U2 collaborators, along with the hundred
or so cameramen that worked with them in each city, shot scene after
scene and song after song in a variety of angles that has never before
been seen with 3-D technology. From the very beginning you as a viewer
are a part of the crowd at the concert—there is no distinction between
the theater that you are sitting in and the stadium that they are
standing in—and when Bono stretches out his hand toward his audience, he
is reaching out to you as well. At times being that close to Bono and
the gang was actually somewhat frightening (something that I never
thought I would say), but all of this was masked by what has to be one
of the best audio experiences (not being as skilled an audio geek as I’d
like this is the best I can do) that I have ever had in a concert film.
The music is crisp and clear and sounds so unlike anytime that
I’ve ever seen U2 in concert—where mass screaming or massive, blaring
speakers tend to often ruin the clarity of the music being played
onstage. If you’ve never had the privilege of seeing them in concert
(which definitely should be on your list of “Things to Do Before I
Die”), U2: 3D is truly the next best thing.
U2: 3D is being distributed by, believe it or not,
National Geographic, and although its currently playing in limited
release in select cities, it will go wide to an IMAX theater near you
February 15th.
Starring: John C. Reilly, Jenna Fischer, Tim Meadows, Kristen Wiig,
Chris Parnell and Matt Besser.
Growing up, about the most lewd comedies that my father ever allowed us
to watch were the Mel Brooks films—Blazing Saddles, High
Anxiety, The Producers, Young Frankenstein, A
History of the World: Part I, and then later, Spaceballs,
Robin Hood: Men in Tights and Dracula: Dead and Loving It—and
I like to think to this day that it is there where I first discovered my
love of all things wacky, mocking and filled with sexual innuendo.
Walk Hard
is a parody film very much in the vein of Brooks’ High Anxiety
and Spaceballs, and even this year’s action tribute film Hot
Fuzz. Jake Kasdan, who directed the brilliant and totally underrated
Orange County, is at the helm once more with Walk Hard (he
also co-wrote the screenplay with producer Judd Apatow) and John C.
Reilly finally gets his due as a leading man as Dewey Cox, the film’s
Johnny Cash-esque protaganist.
The film is not as hilarious as this year’s other Apatow releases
Knocked Up and Superbad, but it is on another playing field
altogether, one that requires the viewer to be familiar with the
standard biopic conventions and plot points in order to really
laugh out loud. And if you are, you will—take one of the movie’s running
gags via Tim Meadow (so good to see him back on the big screen):
remember the scene in Ray (there were similar scenes in El
Cantante and Walk the Line) where he catches one of his band
members doing drugs and the guy goes, “You don’t want no part of this,
Ray”? In Walk Hard, this line becomes a standard refrain and one
that never fails to deliver a laugh, as is Dewey’s pension for ripping
out sinks right off the wall and the random extended close-up shots of
groupie dick (Brooks never went that far but I think he secretly wanted
to).
The movie also features cameos galore—everyone from “Office” cast
members to Paul Rudd, Jason Schwartzman, Jack Black, Jack White and
Justin Long—and best of all, really terrific songs, courtesy of the
amazing Dan Bern, that you will find yourself singing out loud long
after the movie ends. Kasdan and company set out to mock everything it
is that they both love and hate about rock n’ roll biopics and they
succeeded, but in the process they also created a rare comedy classic.
Starring: Tom Hanks, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Julia Roberts, Amy Adams
Ask any Aaron Sorkin fan why they’re Aaron Sorkin fans and
chances are that they will cite his writing—his tendency to write
strong, intelligent characters, spitfire dialogue and subtle sexual
tensions set him apart from all modern day writers working on television
and in Hollywood. For the past couple of years however, Sorkin fans have
had to get their fix strictly on TV as 1995’s The American President
(which served as a kind of preview for what would ultimately become “The
West Wing”) was his last foray into writing for the big screen until
Mike Nichols’ latest film, the Tom Hanks-fronted Charlie Wilson’s War.
When Charlie Wilson’s War was first announced, with Sorkin as the
writer, Nichols as director and Hanks, Julia Roberts and Philip Seymour
Hoffman (this month’s P&F Spotlight) as the film’s leads, the
Oscar buzz was palpable, even six months before the movie’s December
release. Which meant of course that about three months before it even
hit theaters, the backlash started and the entertainment media began to
write about the film as one that failed to deliver the caliber
originally expected of it. As usual, they were wrong.
Charlie Wilson’s War
is exactly the kind of film that Howard Hawks, Billy Wilder and Frank
Capra would have made had they been making films today, in the wake of
terrorism and with the threat of nuclear war constantly looming
overhead. Hanks’ Charlie Wilson is a breath of fresh air and dazzling to
watch—he is a womanizer, a boozer and a user, but one whose heart is
even bigger than his many vices and habits, and as such, he sets out on
a mission to single handedly take down the Soviet Union, with the help
of religious nut and sometimes lover, beauty queen Joanne Herring
(played by a perfectly cast Roberts) and genius CIA operative Gust
Avrakotos played by Philip Seymour Hoffman.
The film has many high points—the story unravels so perfectly that, much
like with the best “West Wing” episodes, you find yourself hanging on
every word that is spoken just in case you missed anything, and
visually, the grainy 80s war sequences serve as a really interesting
parallel to the scenes taking place on Capitol Hill—but the most
exciting moments in the movie undoubtedly belong to Hanks and Hoffman.
Watching these two riff off of each other is tantamount to watching
Newman and Redford, their chemistry and mutual bravado is unmatched.
Their relationship carries the film’s ultimate message—look what we
accomplished, but also, look how much we fucked up—and serves as a
reminder of just what is possible when people work together, regardless
of party affiliation, race, creed or patriotism.
As a movie fan, it pains me to be this transparent but I feel that I
should as (I think) it serves the purpose of the review: although I
Netflixed Edward Zwick’s Blood Diamond in September of this year,
it is only now, nearly four months later (I am ashamed to admit), that I
finally got around to watching it.
There are two main reasons as to why it took me four months to actually
watch this film: A) being a pretty big Edward Zwick fan (love his work
on TV—“My So-Called Life,” “Once & Again”—and most of his film work,
particularly Glory) I was disappointed with his last film, The
Last Samurai, and therefore was hesitant about watching this one; B)
it was hard to come home at the end of the day and get excited about a
film that I knew would tear me apart and make me cry—especially one that
dealt with the murderous diamond trade in Sierra Leone. Both of these
reasons are pretty dumb, I know, and I feel especially stupid
having now seen and loved Blood Diamond.
It is strange and almost ridiculous to get excited about a film that was
nominated for Oscars almost a year later, when everyone has either seen
it or has moved on from it, but that is where I find myself now, basking
in its subtle glory and uncharacteristically un-preachy message, and in
the brilliance of Leonardo DiCaprio, Djimon Hounsou and Jennifer
Connelly, the film’s three leads.
Djimon Hounsou and Leonardo DiCaprio were both nominated for Best
Supporting Actor and Best Actor Oscars, respectively, for Blood
Diamond and looking back, it is pretty amazing that neither won.
Hounsou delivers a performance that is both tender and yet full of
blinding rage, and DiCaprio, who also turned in a mesmerizing
performance this same year in The Departed, steals every scene
that he is in (which is pretty hard to do with Hounsou as a co-star). He
is quickly becoming one of the most interesting actors to watch and
follow on screen, disappearing into one terrific and challenging role
after another, and he is still only in his early 30s.
Jennifer Connelly was the real surprise to me here however—the past
couple of years she has become an expert at playing the role of “the
wife and mother,” first in A Beautiful Mind, most recently in
Little Children and Reservation Road, and although she has
been great in all of these films, it is a welcome change to see her
fiery independence in the role of journalist Maddy Bowen. Connelly has
long been one of my favorite actresses over the years and I am always
amazed by the beauty, that goes beyond simply just the physical, that
she commands onscreen.
Blood Diamond
ultimately, succeeds where, I feel, The Last Samurai fails. Zwick
has long been an expert at narrowing down the emotions and actions that
drive the human heart in his stories and has tackled subjects on film
that have tried both, but unlike Samurai, which felt cold and
oddly far-removed, Zwick clearly connects with the story behind Blood
Diamond and that is apparent in every frame of the film. The movie
is gripping and heartbreaking and increasingly difficult to watch
because of its harrowing subject matter, but somehow Zwick draws us in
slowly, daring us not to look away. With Blood Diamond, as with
Glory, he has made a message film, one that looks to educate even
as it entertains, but its message is one of hope and possibility, where
the actions of one man still hold meaning… not at all the grim sermon
that I long avoided or feared.
“Indie Rock and Roll is what I want/It’s in my soul /It’s what I
need/It’s Indie Rock and Roll for me…”
So bellows Brandon Flowers on “Glamorous Indie Rock And Roll,” a new
track off of The Killers’ latest release, the B-side and cover
songs-driven Sawdust. The song is a fun sing-along ballad but it
is also clear that Flowers takes what he is saying very seriously—it
really is all about Indie Rock and Roll for him, and that is
especially thrilling to listen to as a music fan let alone a rock fan.
Over the past year, The Killers have quickly become one of my favorite
bands—not just of the moment but ever. Listening to them,
especially to their sophomore album Sam’s Town, I feel like there
is hope for the future of rock, that all the naysayers are wrong and
deaf, and that hope lies in the earnest fucking phenomenal music
being made by these four lads from Vegas—frontman Brandon Flowers,
guitarist Dave Keuning, bassist Mark Stoermer and drummer Ronnie
Vannucci.
When I heard that they were releasing Sawdust this year, a
B-sides compilation nonetheless, after only having two albums under
their belt, my first thought was, ‘They sure do have some balls on
them.’ Singles and B-sides have gone the way of the cassette tape thanks
to the cheap and accessible formula devised by iTunes, and it is even
more rare to hear of a popular band (outside of home-grown favorites
such as Pearl Jam or Dave Matthews Band, both of whom have years and
years behind their respective names) releasing an album entirely
comprised of rare tracks and cover songs. And then I remembered the last
band that I love that did this, also having only previously released two
full-length albums, the Smashing Pumpkins, whose B-sides CD Pisces
Iscariot contains some of my favorite Pumpkins’ songs including “Starla,”
“Plume” and the wonderful cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.”
This is exactly what I love about The Killers—their seemingly-brazen
career aspirations which includes emulating the path that their own rock
gods paved for them. Time and again, their instincts serve them well,
and Sawdust is no exception. Featuring songs that are stamped
with either the Hot Fuzz new wave sound, such as “The Ballad of
Michael Valentine,” or the more guitar-rock oriented Sam’s Town,
on songs such as “All the Pretty Faces,” “Where the White Boys Dance,”
which was actually included on the UK version of Sam’s Town and
“Daddy’s Eyes,” a B-side for the “Bones” single and features the
beginnings of what would eventually become Keuning’s singular Sam’s
Town guitar sound.
Some of the other highlights on the album are “Show You How” which
begins with Flowers singing the song’s opening lines onto a cell phone,
Jacques Lu Cont's Thin White Duke Mix of "Mr. Brightside," that turns
what was always a dance song into an actual dance song, and the
Lou Reed duet “Tranquilize,” a song that took me several listens to
really warm up to but ultimately pays off in the coupling of Reed and
Flowers’ voices.
Sawdust
really shines however on the covers—First Edition’s “Ruby, Don’t Take
Your Love To Town,” which features a terrific country-western guitar
hook, Dire Straits’ “Romeo And Juliet,” taken from their “Live from
Abbey Road” sessions and “Shadowplay,” the Joy Division cover that
transports you back in time to a packed 80’s era dancefloor somewhere in
Manchester. When Flowers yells “Woo!” in the middle of the song it only
serves to echo the intensity and joy of the music, and the fun that can
be had when it is blasting on your stereo. Although not originally their
own, every one of these songs becomes an instant Killers classic by the
sheer infectious and original passion that they instill in them, and by
default, in playing tribute to these bands via Sawdust, they
further cement their own place in rock and roll history.
