It seems like an impossible feat but somehow Sacha Baron-Cohen managed
to make Brüno a funnier, and more shocking, film than
Borat. Even though his audience has been split down the middle—most
Baron-Cohen fans either love it or hate it—the one thing that everyone
can agree on about Brüno is how provocative it is. All of
the full-frontal nudity, blow-job jokes and penetrating sex toys aside,
Brüno is a satire that reveals just how homophobic most people (I
don’t want to just single out Americans here although we are the ones
depicted in the film) tend to be.
Yes, I recognize that being flaming gay is the big butt of Brüno’s joke,
no pun intended, but thanks to several incredibly uncomfortable set-ups
in the film, including one very violent cage fight, his gayness also
becomes a trigger for venomous hatred. Some of the funniest scenes in
the movie occur when Brüno decides to go “straight” in an attempt to
become a big star like Tom Cruise, John Travolta and Kevin Spacey, the
“straight” stars of Hollywood, and seeks the help of an ex-gay ministry,
a group of Evangelical Christians who help men become straight again.
The scenes are hysterical because of how silly the concept is but they
are also especially poignant. When one of their leaders, a Pastor and
ex-gay, unintentionally espouses all of the things he hates about women
in an attempt to relate to Brüno, it is both hilarious and incredibly
sad. The fact that this man believes that he has to deny who he is in
order to be loved by God and society is the realization at the end of
the scene…and it is, oddly enough, what makes Brüno, in all of his
ridiculous glory, a rare hero.
Speaking of heroes, has there ever been a greater one than our very own
Harry Potter? It is certainly hard to think of another protagonist who
has captured our hearts and minds as powerfully as the young wizard has.
The sixth film, the second directed by British director David Yates, is
fast-paced and thrilling, incredibly entertaining and enjoyable
throughout. The film is not without it’s flaws but they are the usual
complaints—such and such character didn’t get this due screen time, they
didn’t talk about this particular plot point, and my personal gripe,
there’s not enough Neville in this one—but Yates has once again managed
to make 2 ½ hours seem like half the time by capturing all of the things
that we love about Harry Potter and his world. Harry Potter and
the Half-Blood Prince is by far the funniest of the films thus
far, a fact that may be surprising to most readers as my recollection of
the source material is that it was rather gloomy, and it feels fantastic
to be laughing along with these beloved characters for a change. Things
only get hairier from here for Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione so it is a
real comfort to know that, with David Yates at the helm, the fact that
they are all in fact teenage wizards won’t be lost in the shadow
of He Who Shall Not Be Named’s dark magic.
There are many
reasons as to why an actor or actress first captures your
attention—their ability to convey emotion effortlessly, to inhabit a
particular character or in some cases, even the characters that they
consistently choose to portray—but more often than not, there is also an
attraction to said actor at play. It is usually instant, and comes from
the, um, loins, but it can also develop over time, thanks in part to a
particular role you see them in or as they age. It is hard to talk about
an attraction to an actor without sounding like a teenage girl, to talk
about their “sex” appeal without somehow diminishing their talent as
actors. Having said all that please don’t judge me too harshly when I
say the following cliché and trite remark: Joseph Gordon-Levitt has a
smile that lights up every scene of every single movie that he’s in...
or at least the ones that feature him smiling of course.
That smile was
what first drew me to Gordon-Levitt in his hit TV show “3rd
Rock from the Sun” but it wasn’t what kept me watching, that was all
thanks to his sharp wit and snappy, sarcastic comebacks. He was
incredibly smart as Tommy, the hormonal teenage alien, but his comic
timing was the real showstopper. Many actors say that if you can conquer
the world of comedy, you can conquer drama, and Gordon-Levitt showed he
could definitely do the latter with his turn as Neil in Gregg Araki’s
Mysterious Skin. Gordon-Levitt is mesmerizing in the film, equal
parts sexy teenage hustler, and vulnerable and fragile man-child. The
role is like no other that Gordon-Levitt had ever played and at the time
it was a risky move in an otherwise mainstream career. It heralded
Gordon-Levitt’s arrival as a leading man (not to mention sex symbol),
but more importantly, as a leading man in creative and remarkable
independent films, such as his next project, Brick.
Brick is writer-director Rian Johnson’s feature film
debut and it is an auspicious debut in the same vein of importance as
Kevin Smith’s Clerks, Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It and
Richard Linklater’s Slacker. The film is set in high school, but
high school as seen through the eyes of Dashiell Hammett. Gordon-Levitt
is fantastic as Brendan, Bogart-esque anti-hero who is trying his best
to unravel the details behind the disappearance of his ex-girlfriend.
Once again Gordon-Levitt takes command onscreen, filling every line of
dialogue with an intensity and precision that is riveting to watch. You
never know where Brick is going to take you and Joseph
Gordon-Levitt is right at the helm of the intrigue and mystery.
Gordon-Levitt’s
next film was also a feature film debut, this time for veteran
screenwriter Scott Frank (Out of Sight, Little Man Tate).
The Lookout marked Frank’s turn as a director but it also
featured a role that Gordon-Levitt regarded as the most difficult of his
career. Chris Pratt was the star of his high school—athletic, popular,
good looking—but that all changed with one fatal accident. After the
accident, Chris’ future looks pretty bleak thanks to major head trauma,
and he is resigned to work as a local bank’s janitor. The role is
complex and intricate; Chris Pratt has many layers and it would have
been very easy for Joseph Gordon-Levitt to play him as a less challenged
Sling Blade/Rain Man parody. Instead he ingests Pratt with a sadness
that is haunting; his performance in The Lookout rings so true
that what would have been an otherwise middle-of-the-road drama becomes
and intensely engaging crime thriller.
In the years that
have followed The Lookout Joseph Gordon-Levitt has continued to
surprise in small roles in indies such as Stop Loss and
Killshot, and in big blockbusters such as this month’s G.I. Joe:
The Rise of Cobra. But it is his turn as Tom Hansen in (500) Days
of Summer, also released this summer that really stands out. The
movie itself is sweet and adorable in all the right ways, but it lacks
the hard-to-find oomph to really make it a classic. The same
cannot be said for Gordon-Levitt however. He seems to have been made to
be a big romantic leading man, cut from the same jib as Mr. Cary Grant,
something that I never before would have even guessed at. The film
proves, once again, that there really is nothing that Joseph
Gordon-Levitt cannot do—gay man, straight man, leading man, G.I. Joe,
Gordon-Levitt is primed to be the next great actor of our generation.
‘If it’s Pixar it’s got to be good’—this used to be my favorite refrain
whenever the beloved animation studio released another gem at the movie
theaters but lately that phrase has turned into, ‘If it’s Pixar, it’s
guaranteed to make me cry.’ Wall-E was a real tearjerker for me
all-throughout, so when my boss told me that she cried more in Up
than she ever did in Wall-E, I was on red alert. Sure enough, the
first 20-or-so minutes of the film had me sobbing—sobbing—in my
chair. Maybe it was the characters eerie resemblance to Hepburn and
Tracy, their dynamic chemistry or the way that their entire relationship
was summed up poetically in a series of images…either way, to borrow a
once-popular catch-phrase, Up had me at ‘hello.’ The film is
funny and smart in exactly the way that you expect it to be, but like
Wall-E, it is also incredibly human and sincere. I don’t know how
the folks at Pixar spin their magic time and time again but I cannot
imagine what films would be like today without their intricate weaving.
Although Year One was directed by Harold Ramis, of
Ghostbusters and Analyze This-fame, Year One could
very well have been directed by Mel Brooks. It felt like a Mel Brooks’
A History of the World Part I and in fact, it pretty much was
exactly like that film as Year One is a historical satire that
begins with cavemen, and takes us all the way through the Biblical
stories of Cain and Abel and Sodom and Gomorrah. The movie is not a
hysterical comic riot—go see The Hangover for that—but it is
pretty funny with some particularly well-written gags and lines, as well
as some great cameos by David Cross, Paul Rudd and Oliver Platt. Jack
Black and Michael Cera are also terrific in it but then again, they’re
essentially doing what they always do…thankfully, what they always do
is enough to carry a 1 ½ long comedy.
The Proposal
is a formulaic romantic comedy in every sense of the word—every joke and
plot line can be seen from a mile away and there are no surprises to be
held within it. Having said that, Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds know
better than most how to sell romantic comedies. Neither one is a
newcomer to the genre, unlike first time directors and writers Anne
Fletcher and Pete Chiarelli, respectively, and both make their roles in
The Proposal seem effortless to portray. Their well-honed comedic
timing is at play in this
first-they-loathe-each-other-then-they-love-each-other love story and
although everything about the film screams “Really? Again?
watching the two of them together onscreen is incredibly entertaining.
Not quite entertaining enough to make me not wish I hadn’t paid
$13 to see it in the movie theaters, but who am I kidding, definitely
entertaining enough that I’ll watch it at least 10 times when it airs on
HBO or Showtime later this year.
Movies Lily Saw: Anvil: The Story of
Anvil, Rudo y Cursi and The Hangover.
The summer movie season is off to a brilliant start, a surprising albeit
welcome treat considering it’s the summer and not the fall, which
usually means more popcorn blockbusters and less art house fare. And yet
the indies and comedies are in full force.
First up is Anvil: The Story of Anvil, a terrific documentary by
Sacha Gervasi (a die-hard Anvil fan himself) about the heavy-metal
Canadian rock band Anvil. The band had some success in the early 80s,
paving the way for bands like Metallica and Anthrax among many others,
and indeed the doc features Lars Ulrich and Slash waxing poetic on the
brilliance of the band. Outside of the uber-heavy metal fan however, no
one has heard of the band, and after record debacle after record
debacle, the documentary finds Anvil at a particularly difficult point
in their career, twenty-something years after their short-lived success.
The documentary is brilliant—tender and sincere and heartbreaking. You
really root for Anvil’s success and you especially fall in love with
lead singer Steve 'Lips' Kudlow, a guy so passionate, driven and
charismatic that he could charm the pants right off of you. Critics have
called Anvil: The Story of Anvil a kind of real-life Spinal
Tap but I think that’s unfair—Anvil is not a comedy, it is the
tragic and brutal reality of what it takes to be a rock band in today’s
music business.
Rudo y Cursi
is Cha Cha Cha’s first film for Universal. The production company was
formed by Alfonso Cuarón, Guillermo del Toro and Alejandro González
Iñárritu and the movie was written and directed by first-time filmmaker,
and Alfonso Cuarón’s brother, Carlos, who also wrote Y Tu Mama
Tambien in 2001. The movie stars Gael García Bernal and Diego Luna,
best friends in real life, as the brothers Rudo y Cursi, respectively.
The two become soccer stars overnight and the film is really a chance to
explore what fame and success means in Latin America, and for Bernal and
Luna to do what they do best—charm and bicker together onscreen. The
movie is funny and endearing, and especially well-directed considering
it is Carlos Cuarón’s first time out, but it lacks any of the depth or
emotion that many of his brother’s films so easily exhibit. Rudo y
Cursi is a fun movie to watch but it is fairly middle-of-the-road,
and that is something that you would never think to say about any of
Cuarón, del Toro or Iñárritu’s films.
The latest bromance comedy, The Hangover, had all of the
makings of a movie whose funniest and raunchiest punch lines were all
included in the trailer. (Think Stepbrothers.) But low and
behold, The Hangover is even funnier and raunchier than the
trailer makes it out to be. All of the pivotal plot points are revealed
in the trailer—four guys go to Vegas for a bachelor party only to wake
up the next morning with no memory of the previous night and no sign of
the groom—and let’s be honest, there’s not much of a plot to begin with,
but the gags and the zany adventures are all inspired ideas from the
director of Old School, and the writers of more predictable fair
such as Four Christmases and Ghosts of Girlfriends Past.
The movie actually gave me a laugh-headache and I was doubled over in
fits of laughter for most of the film. Zach Galifianakis is incredible
as the very ‘special’ Alan, as is Ed Helms in a surprising turn as Stu,
the more reserved member of the gang. But the real star of the film is
the film itself—just when you think it’s gone far enough it goes even
farther, making you cringe in both horror and delight at what you are
watching unfold before your eyes. I know that not everyone is a fan of
the raunchy male comedies of late but I for one can’t get enough of
them. If every bromance were as bravely absurd and vulgar as
The Hangover, I would finally be able to stop turning to bad action
movies to get my small much-needed dose of testosterone.
I don’t often delve into my personal life here at P&F but this
past month has been a pretty hard one for me. I only mention this
because of the following point that it makes—whenever I’m feeling sad or
depressed or am going through a particularly rough patch, the book that
I always turn to is John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany. No
matter how bad things may seem at the time, or how bad they may actually
be, this book always comforts me and somehow breaks me out of my stupor,
if only for a brief moment.
Since reading it in my English class senior year of high school I’d say
that I’ve read Owen Meany about twice a year, and every single
time I come to appreciate yet another layer in the novel. The story
seems pretty simple on the surface—Johnny Wheelwright shares stories of
the best friend, Owen Meany, who altered his life forever—but the real
story is in the incredible series of events that lead both boys into
their respective destinies. It is a story of faith and wonder, of
coincidence and fate, and it is one that cemented for me, once and for
all, the fact that we all have a role in this world and therefore we all
have a purpose. It also has one of the greatest intros paragraphs I have
ever read:
“I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice—not because of his
voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even
because he was the instrument of my mother’s death, but because he is
the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany.”
Whenever I see people on the train reading A Prayer for Owen Meany
I can’t help but smile to myself, content in the knowledge that they too
will soon be in on the secret, they too will soon have their lives
forever changed. I grew up in a pretty religious family, with parents
that definitely believe that the Bible is the instructional guide to
life that has all of the answers. And yet it is Owen Meany that
showed me that my life had true meaning, and it is Owen Meany
that continues to affirm my purpose, not The Bible or some book by Rick
Warren. Both of these books may be incredible best sellers, the top two
actually of all time, but it is Owen Meany, a best seller in it’s
own right, that I find myself turning to when I’m in closest to losing
my way.
A Tale of Two
Reynolds:
Adventureland and X-Men Origins:
Wolverine
I first fell for Ryan Reynolds’ comedic timing while watching an episode
of the terrifically bad “Two guys, a girl, and a pizza place.” Reynolds’
was the sarcastic and quick-witted Berg, the man-whore of the show who
always had a hilarious retort just waiting to be fired. It’s been many
years since that show and Reynolds has been cast as a leading man in
dramas, action flicks and romantic comedies, to some success if not
quite critical acclaim, and yet I still find that the Reynolds that I am
most taken with is the funny one, the Berg, which we seem to see less
and less of.
It seems that I am not the only one who misses funny-Reynolds as this
past month saw the release of two film’s which allowed him to shine,
albeit in two very small supporting roles. The first is in
Adventureland, a hilarious “Freaks and Geeks/Undeclared”-esque
comedy written and directed by Greg Mottola, who previously directed
Superbad as well as several episodes of “Arrested Development” and,
coincidently enough, “Undeclared.” The film has the same humor as the
Apatow TV shows (and it even stars the adorable Martin Starr)—it is raw
and honest and embarrassing in a way that is all too real. The movie
tells the story of James Brennan (played with boyish sincerity by Jesse
Eisenberg) and his summer after college spent working at “Adventureland,”
a local theme park in his hometown of Pittsburgh. James wants to be a
writer and is set on going to grad school in NYC but his middle class
background sets him apart from his Ivy League counterparts.
All of the goofy-ass hi-jinks that you have come to expect from Apatow
productions are in the film, thanks largely in part to the comedic
genius of Bill Hader and Kristin Wiig, the husband-and-wife theme park
owners who are a laugh riot all-throughout. The interesting thing about
Ryan Reynolds in this film, however, is how likeable he is for being,
well, a pretty big douchebag. He plays Mike Connell, the park’s resident
married hot guy/musician and his performance is the perfect blend of sad
hubris. This role doesn’t allow him to be quite as funny as he was in
say, Wolverine, but it does let him shine in a way that
Definitely, Maybe, his last big screen role, didn’t allow him to.
Speaking of the atrocity that is X-Men Origins: Wolverine—Ryan
Reynolds 15-minute cameo in the film is the only light in an otherwise
dark, dark sewer of clichéd comic book crap. Reynolds plays Deadpool, a
kind of mercenary who is known for his smart-ass retorts and commentary.
When I first saw the trailer for Wolverine, I have to say that I
was excited—I know relatively nothing about the X-men universe but I do
love Live Schreiber (who was pretty fantastic as Sabretooth, actually)
and Reynolds, and that was enough to get me onboard. The lack of an
actual interesting script (David Benioff—really? You’re so much better
than this!) let alone a cohesive film, guaranteed my disinterest all
through out, except when Reynolds was onscreen. His Deadpool was exactly
what you needed and it is truly a shame, and kind of a rip-off, that his
character is not onscreen for more than a blip. Instead we get the joy
of extended scenes with Will.I.Am from the Black Eyes Peas, who, as far
as I can tell, was cast for his exceptional “hologram” skills.
Wolverine is right up there with every terrible and disappointing
comic book movie to have been released in the past couple of years
(ahem, Punisher) except that it seems even worse because of the
potential that it had to actually be good. X-Men Origins:
Deadpool…now that I will see.
When you’re an immigrant, you often find yourself telling stories that
begin with, “When I first came to this country…” It is the universal
phrase that binds us all together, and in my case, having come here at
such a young age, most of my immigrant stories have to do exclusively
with TV. Meaning: “When I first came to this country, I learned English
by watching “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, “Sesame Street” and “Family
Ties.” This last one is an odd choice, I know, because it wasn’t
technically geared toward small children, but when my family first
arrived in Miami in 1986, it was in the middle of its run, and Back
to the Future had been released the year before to much acclaim.
None of us had actually seen Back to the Future at that
point—Colombia was still on Beta so god only knows when we would have
seen it—as I recall, the first time that we saw it was on someone else’s
VCR, but we certainly knew what it was and recognized Alex P. Keaton as
Marty McFly.
I’m sure that the reason that I initially watched “Family Ties” was my
attraction to the very cute Michael J. Fox, but once our family got
around to inheriting a VCR (my father is very proud to say that he has
never purchased any technology related to Television or movie-watching),
and our obsession with the Back to the Future series began, my
love of the character of Marty McFly secured my affection for Alex
Keaton. I only had eyes for Alex and in fact, the episodes that I
remember the most revolve solely around him (oh my God, when Alex gets a
girlfriend!). It is only in recent viewings that I discovered and
appreciated the other characters on the show, let alone the terrific
writing that Gary David Goldberg was responsible for during its run.
Although he was a Republican and dreamed of working on Wall Street, a
shock to my fairly liberal sensibilities, Michael J. Fox imbued Alex
with a genuine goodness that somehow always seeped through the
sliminess.
Fox wasn’t NBC’s initial choice to play Alex however (Matthew Broderick,
the network’s first choice, turned it down). As Fox recounts in his
memoir, Lucky Man, Brandon Tartikoff, one of the show's
producers, felt that Fox was too short to belong to the Keaton family
and that ‘his is not the kind of face you'll ever find on a lunchbox.’
After the show became a huge hit and Fox himself skyrocketed to fame, he
presented Tartikoff with a custom-made lunchbox with the inscription "To
Brandon, this is for you to put your crow in. Love and Kisses, Michael
J.Fox."
Michael J. Fox has always been underestimated as an actor, largely due
to his height (a fact that I can definitely relate to) and youthful
looks, but his physical energy and enthusiasm have always allowed him to
fill up and take over any scene that he is in. Eric Stoltz was
originally cast as Marty McFly, but director Robert Zemeckis felt that
he lacked the “energy” needed for the high school teenager and replaced
him with Fox. You often hear of casting changes in a film and remark on
what it would have been like had the other actor been cast, but in the
case of Back to the Future, I cannot even imagine this. In my
mind, without Fox there is no Back to the Future; there is no
Johnny B. Goode, no awkward front seat Oedipal action; no emotional
screaming of the words “Doc!” Michael J. Fox embodies the character so
completely that for most people, myself included, he is that person; for
all intents and purposes, Fox is Marty McFly…just as he is
Mike Flaherty and Frank Bannister and Nick Lang or Dr. Benjamin Stone.
Fox is often cast in comedies, pretty formulaic ones at that, such as
Teen Wolf, The Secret of My Success, Life with Mikey
and Doc Hollywood. I can say that I love all of these movies
without hesitation not because they are particularly great, but simply
because Michael J. Fox is a joy to watch in them—his comedic timing is
effortless and completely engaging. But it is the more dramatic fare,
his performances in films such as Bright Lights, Big City,
Casualties of War and even, to a lesser degree if only because it is
not an all-out serious drama, Peter Jackson’s The Frighteners,
that remain particularly etched in my mind. It is so rare that we as an
audience are allowed to see that other side of Michael J. Fox, the side
that broods and cries and is laced with pain, and he is so good
at the other side that it just makes you appreciate what he does as a
comedian all the more.
It is hard to cry onscreen, but it is damn near impossible to be truly
funny onscreen, and somehow Fox has managed to do both exceptionally
well throughout his career. In writing this article on Fox, I attempted
to try and pinpoint exactly what it is about him that I love so much—I
began by re-watching his films, by reading both of his terrific books,
Lucky Man and the recently released Always Looking Up: The
Adventures of an Incurable Optimist, and, lastly, by talking about
him to as many different people as I could. Ultimately, and quite
fittingly considering his latest book and TV special, no one summed
Fox’s appeal better than my brother: optimism. I don’t think that Fox
set out to be the “optimistic actor” but somehow that is exactly what he
is—all of his characters work so well and engage you in a way that is
intimate and very personal because they all, at the very core of them,
contain Fox’s infectious optimism. You don’t know exactly where they
will take you but you trust them… and somehow believe that wherever you
end up, you will be the better for it.
Michael J. Fox was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 1991—he was
only 30 at the time, just halfway into his career as an actor. When I
first learned of this, along with everyone else in 1998, and then also
learned that Fox would be leaving “Spin City,” a show that, at the time,
was one of a handful of half-hour sitcoms with incredible characters,
storylines and dialogue, I mourned the loss of the actor that I had
loved for all of those years. I thought of all of the roles that I would
no longer see him in, all the movies he would no longer be in…I never
once imagined that the role he would take on as a human being, as a
Parkinson’s patient and as an activist, would come to outshine every
single film and TV role that he had ever played. But it has. The years
since leaving “Spin City” have continued to bring numerous great film
and TV roles, but more importantly, they’ve allowed me to see yet
another side of Michael J. Fox, a side that I would have probably never
known had it not been for Parkinson’s. It is not easy to view the
effects that the disease has had on Fox, and yet it is truly remarkable
how much of that intense physical energy and exuberance still remains.
I may have learned English by watching Alex. P. Keaton but I have
learned to be a better person by watching Michael J. Fox.
Movies Lily saw: I Love You, Man, He’s
Just Not That Into You, The Class and The Reader.
Paul Rudd can do no wrong. Sort of. He’s been in his fair share of bad
movies—good god, Over Her Dead Body!?—but regardless of the
craptastic film that he may be featured in, somehow he always
manages to shine. In the past couple of years especially, Rudd has been
on a comedic roll with parts in nearly all of the Judd Apatow comedies—Anchorman,
40-year-old Virgin, Walk Hard, Knocked Up, and
Forgetting Sarah Marshall—and he has stolen the show every single
time. It is hard to pinpoint why exactly—he is good looking and
charming, yes, but so are a lot of other actors. What stands out about
him for me however is the sincerity with which he acts.
That was true in last year’s hilarious comedy Role Models, but it
is especially apparent in last month’s I
Love You, Man alongside Jason Segal. The movie tells the
story of the ultimate bro-mance as Rudd’s Pete is in desperate need of
finding a best friend and best man before his wedding. The film itself
is pretty funny, although not as funny as any of the Apatow comedies,
but the real reason to watch it is Rudd. He is so endearing as Pistol
Pete, the name that Segal’s Sydney grants him during their early
courtship, and his performance is really memorable in a film that has
more heart (and plot, thankfully) than comedic chops.
He’s Just Not That Into Youhas neither sadly. The only laughs that the film
garnered from me were from embarrassment—at the film’s poorly written
script, sound editing (during one scene, a song actually drowns out the
dialogue for about five minutes), and characters. The movie suffers from
too many movie stars playing too many characters with too many sub par
storylines; I can’t remember the last time an ensemble piece like this
actually worked out. The best part of the film, and it should come to no
surprise to those who know me, are Ben Affleck and Jennifer Aniston.
Their characters are the only ones that seem like actual people rather
than caricatures, and their performances are equally real and moving.
I’m a huge supporter of all things Affleck but I am especially a fan of
his romantic comedy skills, which are so rarely seen. He is equal parts
charming, intelligent and funny, and although his screen time added up
to about 15 minutes, sitting through He’s Just Not That Into You
was worth it just for him.
The Class
won the Palme D’Or at last year’s Cannes film festival and deservedly
so. It did not win this year’s Oscar for Best Foreign Film and it is
hard to understand why. The film feels like a documentary and is shot
like one, telling the story of a young high school teacher and the
struggles he faces in teaching difficult students, many of which are not
native French speakers. The movie is based on François Bégaudeau’s book,
and he wrote the screenplay and stars as himself in it as well.
Bégaudeau is by no means Robin Williams in Dead Poet Society. He
is a real teacher with real issues and problems, and a temper that
flares itself in one of the film’s most uncomfortable moments. The
Class is engrossing all-throughout it’s 2+ hours, and leaves you
wishing that it were the first of a series of films about the teachers
and students at Bégaudeau’s school.
The Reader
is probably the most under-hyped movie to be nominated for a Best
Picture Oscar this year. Yes, I am aware that it was well-reviewed, but
unlike Slumdog Millionaire, which seemed to be everywhere,
The Reader was this quiet little film touted solely as a vehicle
for Kate Winslet’s award-winning performance. I honestly never heard or
read anyone speak of the qualities of the film itself, or of any of the
other actors in it for that matter, and after seeing it I find that
surprising.
The Reader
is a film that sneaks up on you—it is a mystery when you expect a drama,
a love story in ways that you least expect and a drama when you are
entirely enthralled by the thrilling storyline. Directed by Stephen
Daldry and written by David Hare (who previously worked with Daldry on
The Hours), The Reader is an incredibly well-made film.
The acting, the cinematography, the score, the story, all are spot-on
and remarkable, harkening back to another revered drama, at least in my
book, The English Patient. (This should come as no surprise
considering that the late, great Anthony Minghella, and the powerhouse
Weinstein brothers produced both.) Winslet is fantastic as Hannah, a
complex and very difficult character to portray, and one that she
embodies perfectly. But I knew that (and expected that) coming into the
film.
What I didn’t expect however was to be completely swept away by Ralph
Fiennes and David Kross, the latter a young German actor (the crew of
The Reader had to wait for Kross to turn 18 in order to film some of
the movie’s more risqué scenes) and the former a man whose range seems
to only get better with age. Fiennes makes his performance in this film
look so easy, so effortless, as he often does in his roles, that its
heartbreaking tenderness is very nearly taken for granted. Kross,
playing the younger version of Fiennes in the film, lights up the screen
with his exuberant youth and intensity. Winslet is definitely the star
of The Reader, but remarkably—and believe me, I never thought I would
say this—I found myself counting the minutes, and often holding my
breath, till Kross and Fiennes appeared onscreen once more.
When U2’s past two albums, 2000’s All That You Can’t Leave Behind
and 2004’s How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, were released, nearly
every review remarked that the band was going back to their roots, back
to the Joshua Tree-sound that made them a household name. In a
way this is understandable—the last album that the band had released
(excluding the two greatest hits) was 1997’s Pop, a landmark
dance album that was, by their standards, a flop here in the U.S. It was
unlike anything the band had ever done before, dark and moody,
alternating between dance and techno rythms, pop, soul and guitar-rock.
Music critics were astounded by it to a certain degree but most fans
took it in stride—up until that point, there was no such thing as a U2
album that didn’t break the mold of the previous one upon release. Until
HTDAAB, which resembled ATYCLB to a very large degree, but
still didn’t necessarily harken back to the so-called U2 “roots.”
No Line On The Horizon
doesn’t have that problem. It does sound like early U2 (there are
elements of Pop, Achtung Baby and even Passengers
all over the record) and yet it also sounds like nothing you’ve ever
heard the band do before. “No Line On The Horizon,” the album’s title
track, has a chorus that gets under your skin, with Larry Mullen’s
signature drumbeat permeating in the background. The song is infectious
and begs to be chanted—I can already see it playing out like “City of
Blinding Lights” did in the “Vertigo” tour. “Cedars of Lebanon” is
haunting and so reminiscent of a Passengers track that it is
eerie and “Unknown Caller” sounds like a B-side from Zooropa,
down to the very Lemon-esque falsetto vocals. All of these songs are
pretty incredible, but for every great song on NLOTH, there are
also absolute misses. “Get On Your Boots,” the first single off of the
album is the worst song by far, but “Magnificent” is not too far behind.
Both tracks try too hard to be innovative and creative and yet fail
entirely. In these songs, Bono’s voice sounds distant and effect-ridden.
I miss hearing the richness of his voice, the rise and fall of its
timbres, the depth of emotion that it can tap into with one single note.
But then there’s “Moment of Surrender,” a song that makes me want to
retract every single thing that I’ve just said. “At the moment of
surrender/I'm falling to my knees/I did not notice the passers by/And
they did not notice me.” The song encompasses everything that I love
about U2—the way that they are able to express the impossible, all of
the intangible, spiritual things that the best music always calls
to mind. It took me three full-length, very patient listens to
get into NLOTH but ultimately it was worth it. It’s an album that
makes me miss driving, as there is truly nothing as spectacular as
listening to a U2 album as it blasts through your car speakers.
Written by: Greg DePaul, Casey Wilson and June Diane Raphael
Starring: Kate Hudson, Anne Hathaway, Bryan Greenberg, Chris Pratt,
Steve Howey, Candice Bergen and Kristen Johnston
I need to learn to follow my own
rules: If more than two people write a romantic comedy, take it as a
sign and stay the hell away. The problem is that when it comes to chick
flicks, I am always compelled to give in to the part of me that is,
well, let’s just say less rational. Although I pride myself on
being fiercely independent—a schiksa version of Barbara Streisand in
The Way We Were if you will—I am extremely dependant on romantic
comedies to make me feel better about myself. I look to them for hope,
and grasp at anything that inspires me to believe that someday too I
will be the star of my own romantic comedy rather than just a weepy
chick watching onscreen relationships progress in dimmed lights.
That said, I’ve never really
understood the obsession that women have with weddings. I completely
understand the desire to get married, but the idea of freaking out over
a dress or an engagement ring or a reception at the Plaza is totally
foreign to me. This would initially explain why I thought Gary Winick’s
Bride Wars was completely devoid of importance, but it doesn’t
really fully capture what an empty shell of celluloid the movie actually
is. Every action that Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson’s characters embark
upon is stupid and makes no sense—why would two supposed best friends
freak out over having the same wedding date when, I don’t know, they
could just change the fucking date—but what is even more offensive is
how superficial their roles (and the film’s plot) are. We don’t root for
either character because neither one is fleshed out let alone
likeable—to be perfectly honest, I barely noticed half of the shit that
went on in the film, that’s how bored I was. The only things that kept
me from falling asleep were the hotness of Chris Pratt and Bryan
Greenwood (how many times did I watch “Everwood” and Prime solely
for these two), both of which were completely underused. It is a sad day
in chick-flick-dom when you have to rely on hot guys to get you through
a film, but let’s be honest, there are and will be worse films
(especially starring Kate Hudson).
Starring: Emma Thompson, Dustin Hoffman, Eileen Atkins, Kathy Baker,
James Brolin, Liane Balaban, Richard Schiff.
There are very few movies that I turn
to consistently when I am feeling lonely. Loneliness is such an
ambiguous emotion—it often sneaks up on you, completely unannounced, and
getting rid of it can prove just as difficult as determining the root of
its cause. Bridget Jones Diary, “Pride and Prejudice,” Sense
and Sensibility, these three are definitely touchstones for me, and
now with the release of Joel Hopkins’ Last Chance Harvey, a new
classic can be added to the list.
Dustin Hoffman is 71; Emma Thompson is
49. I make a point of referencing these two venerable actors’ ages
because I think it is relevant to the films current box office success,
or should I say, lack there of. A love story involving two actors over
the age of 30 that doesn’t involve Brad Pitt or George Clooney is hard
to sell to today’s audience. Add to that the fact that Last Chance
Harvey is also a pretty hard sell in that it is far from your
traditional love story and you have quite a gamble on your hands.
Hoffman and Thompson play two people who have pretty much settled for
what they’ve been given in life, and even sadder, think that they
deserve it. They meet as all romantic leads meet, by chance, and through
a series of seemingly-random coincidences, they discover that they are
two lonely people who need each other and love each other, as Mark Darcy
would say, “just as they are.”
Hoffman and Thompson reportedly
improvised many of their scenes and it is to their credit that their
chemistry is so enchanting. Hoffman is genuinely touching as Harvey, a
frustrated musician who’s past mistakes weigh heavily on his shoulders.
Watching him onscreen in this film, I was truly shamed for the many
times that I dismissed him recently (although, to be fair, his roles
have left a lot to be desired) and it made me want to embark on a
“Hoffman Renaissance” immediately. And yet he was still no match for the
great Emma Thompson (but really, who is?) Thompson’s Kate is
heartbreakingly real—there was not one false note in her performance and
every smile, grimace and sob rang so painfully true to the single
woman’s experience. When I think of Thompson I always think of that
scene in Sense and Sensibility when she learns that Hugh Grant’s
character is not in fact married…when she lets out this guttural sob
that comes pouring out unexpectedly. Now when I think of Emma Thompson I
think of her as Kate in this film, sitting in a park in London
explaining to Hoffman’s Harvey that she can’t love him because she can’t
let him take her disappointment…because it is all that she has had for
so long. Her fear and insecurity is written all of her face in that
scene, and the emotions that are conveyed are so real that it is
actually pretty painful to watch her. It is astounding to me that she
was not nominated for an Oscar for her performance in Last Chance
Harvey. As far as I’m concerned, she already won.
It’s hard for me to write about a new
Bruce Springsteen album without writing about every Springsteen
album. When you write about an artist that you love, that is home for
you, distancing yourself from this admiration becomes crucial in
evaluating any new material that they release. This is really, really
hard but it is with this in mind that I listened to Springsteen’s latest
CD, his 24th album to date, Working on a Dream.
The first thing that struck me about
the album is just how pop-oriented it was. Much like Magic, his
last album, Working on a Dream is full of heartfelt rock ballads,
precise hooks and choruses that are just begging to be sung. It makes
sense considering that both albums were recorded within the same time
frame, and almost the same recording session. But it is surprising to me
nonetheless because the fact is that I never know what to expect from a
new Springsteen album (and none of us fans could have known that he’d
release two albums within a year of each other). The one thing that I
can usually count on is to not go head-over-heels for the album’s first
single. “Radio Nowhere,” the single off of Magic, was one of my
least favorite songs on that record, and at first, “Working on a Dream”
seemed to be following that trajectory. And then I paid attention to the
song’s opening lines:
“Out here the nights are long the days
are lonely
I think of you and I'm working on a
dream
I'm working on a dream
The cards I've drawn's a rough hand
darlin'
I straighten my back and I'm working
on a dream
I'm working on a dream
I'm working on a dream
Though sometimes it feels so far away
I'm working on a dream
And how it will be mine someday”
This song really sets the trend for the rest of the album and offers a
glimpse of Springsteen’s current mindset. There is no doubt that he was
thinking of the landmark presidential election when he wrote it, but
even songs like “Outlaw Pete,” with its haunting folkish refrain, “What
Love Can Do” and “This Life,” both classic complicated love songs, “The
Wrestler,” his superb ode to the lonely and downtrodden, and “The Last
Carnival,” written for beloved friend and original E-Street member Danny
Federici, who passed away in the spring of last year, all of these songs
are filled with a sense of hope that lingers long after the songs are
over. It is a testament to Springsteen and his band that they have made
an album that is both extremely accessible to new fans, and yet as
thoughtful and comforting to the rest of us who have been following the
Jersey natives for years. I for one thought that with Federici’s
passing, that I had seen the last of a new E-Street band record let
alone tour; I was wrong on both counts…but being wrong has never felt
this good.
The Unlikely
Christmas Trilogy:Nothing Like the Holidays, Four Christmases,
A Christmas Tale
What would the Christmas season be like without the appropriate
holiday-themed family movies? Granted, we have Oscar-contenders to
distract us from the lighter-often-crappier-fare, but overall I tend to
stay away from the movies selling “Christmas spirit.” And yet, thanks to
the irresistible combo of Freddy Rodríguez, Reese Witherspoon and
Mathieu Amalric, I found myself watching not one but three holiday
movies at the theater this year.
Surprisingly enough, I enjoyed watching all three. Nothing Like the
Holidays shares a lot in common with The Family Stone and
pretty much every family drama set during Christmas, but what it
uniquely has is a predominately Latino cast, something that I've never
seen in a mainstream movie released at Christmas time. This would
normally cause me to jerkily-roll my eyes, but in Nothing Like the
Holidays, the authentic Puerto Rican-ness of the story and the
characters are actually incredibly refreshing and endearing. I walked
away from the film filled with joy, having watched a movie that actually
told a story about a community without using generalizations. Plus,
Freddy Rodríguez is always reason enough to watch a movie.
Which is
pretty much the way that I feel about Reese Witherspoon. I had my
"Witherspoon Renaissance" a couple of years back while watching a TBS
marathon of Legally Blonde. 'Genius!' I shouted, and it was
feminista love between Witherspoon and I ever since. But even I have
to admit that when I first saw the trailers for Four Christmases
I shook my head in horror: It didn't really look funny let alone
plot-worthy. It was written by four (yikes!) unknown writers, although
it was directed by Seth Gordon, who's King of Kong was pretty
damn entertaining. Gordon and his writers did something right because
the movie is also oddly entertaining. Nothing particularly memorable
happens in the film but it was an enjoyable hour and a half spent with
Witherspoon, Vaughn, a hilarious Jon Favreau, Sissy Spacek and Kristen
Chenoweth (a completely unrecognizable Tim McGraw also co-stars). Not
all movies have to be works of art and considering the Christmas-induced
coma that I found myself in when I saw this film, no-brainer comedies
often fit the bill.
Mathieu
Amalric was the main reason that I went to see A Christmas Tale.
Sure, Catherine Deneuve, Chiara Mastroianni and the sexy Melvil Poupaud
also star in this film about a French family reunited after many years
at Christmastime, but ever since I first laid eyes on Amalric in
Munich I was hooked. Then came Diving Bell and the Butterfly
and he soon became my current reincarnation of Daniel Auteuil. There's
something oddly intriguing and sexual about Amalric that I can never
quite place and it certainly served him well for his role here as Henri,
the black sheep of the family.
The performances in A Christmas Tale are top-notch—especially by
Jean-Paul Roussillon as the father—but the direction and story leave
something to be desired. This is the first film that I watch from
writer-director Arnaud Desplechin and the best that I can say about that
is that I find him to be very French. I don’t mean that to come off as
harsh or uncultured as it does but really, with incestuous and
adulteress pairings, random narratives that go nowhere and diatribes
that are clearly meant to be deeper than they actually are, I haven’t
seen a more typically French film since I saw Christophe Honoré’s Ma
Mere recently. No one does sex and suffering like the French but
when there is no substantial story to back either up, emptiness is all
that you’re left feeling.
That said, A Christmas Tale was the most un-Christmas-esque film
of the bunch, and yet its odd and often idiosyncratic family members are
genuine enough onscreen to make it a film worth viewing.
Starring: Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, Taraji P. Henson, Julia Ormond,
Jason Flemyng and Elias Koteas.
With all of the hype surrounding The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,
and with the intriguing trailer that surfaced a couple of months back, I
definitely had high expectations for David Fincher’s latest film.
Fincher’s last film, Zodiac, is remarkable and continues to be
one of the best films that I’ve seen in years, and that is something
that I often find myself remarking about his work in general: from
Se7ven to The Game to Fight Club to Panic Room
to the aforementioned Zodiac, David Fincher makes movies that are
saturated in the mood of their story, are visually stimulating and often
groundbreaking. At the core of all of these films, all of them
thrillers, is a central purpose that drives both the story and the
audience through the arc of the film. The Curious Case of Benjamin
Button took Fincher years to make and develop, but watching his end
result makes me wonder exactly what it was that drove him to tell this
fairy tale in the first place? His purpose does not translate clearly to
the film.
Nor does the story’s. Much has been made about the movie’s 2 hour and 45
minute length, but that didn’t bother me nearly half as much as the
film’s plot. There were so many odd elements to the film—from the
present-day-Katrina setting juxtaposed with Daisy’s (the luminous Cate
Blanchett) flashbacks (a technique that I hated in Titanic and
once again fails here) to the completely useless, except as a narrative
tool, underused existence of her daughter as played by Julia Ormond
(crazy that she was once the love interest of Brad Pitt in Legends of
the Fall)—but all of these elements could have worked had there been
more at play in the film other than a cute and odd fairly tale.
Grasping at a deeper meaning or a
commentary on wisdom and age in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
is really hard to do. I know that was probably Fincher’s as well as
Pitt’s intention but I find it to be reaching. Fincher accomplished a
technical feat by casting Pitt in the role of Benjamin, and watching him
age and regress to youth again is truly fascinating, but Pitt doesn’t
bring a lot of warmth or depth to Benjamin. His performance is oddly
reminiscent of his take on death in the awful drama Meet Joe Black,
with a little more charm thrown in for fairy tale’s sake. The Curious
Case of Benjamin Button shares a lot in common with Tim Burton’s
Big Fish, but unlike that film which managed to both develop a
story, a moral and a fairy tale all while wowing us with special
effects, Benjamin Button is just, well, disappointingly nice.
Which is an adjective that I never thought I would use to describe a
David Fincher film.
There are three
things that I realized in the span of researching the life and work of
writer-director Gus Van Sant: 1) He is an artist in the Warholian-sense
of the word; 2) He is neither a mainstream nor an independent film
director; 3) And no one explores the intricacies of male relationships
better than Van Sant. All of these things have pretty much determined
the course of his work as a director and have made Van Sant the only
openly gay director, save for Bryan Singer, to have a viable, critically
successful (ahem, Joel Schumacher) career.
Gus Van Sant was
born in Louisville, Kentucky but due to his traveling salesman father,
he lived in many different states throughout his childhood, finally
settling in Portland, Oregon where he still lives and shoots most of his
films to this day. Van Sant attended the Rhode Island School of Design
(Talking Heads’ David Byrne was a classmate) where he pursued his
painting and eventually discovered a love for avant-garde filmmaking.
Learning that Van Sant attended RISD was like a wheel clicking into
place in my head—all of a sudden, all of the shots in his films—the
especially arty ones—came barreling through, finally making complete
sense.
Although Van Sant
experimented with documentary film for many years, 1985’s Mala Noche
was his first feature. The movie tells the story of a young gay
Quickstop-esque clerk in love with a straight Mexican immigrant. What is
incredible about this film is how much it closely resembles Van Sant’s
later films, especially when it comes to the topic of unrequited love, a
theme that he revisited time and again. But all of the shots are also
there—the extreme facial close-ups of his lead male actors (My Own
Private Idaho, Drugstore Cowboy, Good Will Hunting,
Milk), the interesting photographic sex scenes (my god, My Own
Private Idaho), and the sweeping panoramic shots of the open sky and
road (Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, Idaho, Gerry,
Last Days, Paranoid Park). Mala Noche was a critical
success and played heavily on the festival circuit, and led to the
financing of his second film, the equally successful, Drugstore
Cowboy.
Drugstore Cowboy
dealt with drugs and addiction in a way that had never really been seen
before at the time. Films such as Trainspotting and Requiem
for a Dream were clearly influenced by it and the graphic and frank
nature with which it presents the four junkies is pretty astounding for
1989. (Also astounding is the substantial cameo by William S.
Burroughs.) The film not only revived Matt Dillon’s career, offering his
first serious, non-heartthrob role, but it also launched Van Sant into
another level as a filmmaker, one that allowed him to tell the stories
that he’d always wanted to share on film.
Case in point:
My Own Private Idaho. My Own Private Idaho was the first film
that I ever saw by Gus Van Sant and it was pretty shocking to watch as
an 11-year-old. For most of my childhood I was hugely obsessed with
River Phoenix and up until that point all of the movies that Phoenix had
been in had gained my parents seal of approval (read: PG). Until
Idaho. I don’t remember how I managed to see the film but I know
that when it was released on video I somehow got a copy of it and I was
entranced by the film’s mood, by the Shakespearean dialogue, but most of
all, by the blatant homoeroticism that underscored nearly every scene
between Phoenix and Keanu Reeves.
Van Sant has a
way of doing this, of taking whatever preconceptions you may have about
a certain actor, and turning them on their head. He does it brilliantly
in Idaho with Phoenix and Reeves, did it with Dillon in
Drugstore Cowboy, Nicole Kidman in To Die For, Matt Damon in
Gerry and even Sean Connery in Finding Forrester. Idaho
was the first time that I had ever seen love between two men explored
onscreen, and the scene between Phoenix and Reeves in front of a
campfire, where he declares his love for him, is still incredibly moving
to this day.
But for every
My Own Private Idaho, which rings so very true, there are also
missteps, albeit interesting ones, in Van Sant’s career. Even
Cowgirls Get The Blues, Psycho, Gerry, Finding
Forrester (this film in particular is especially middle of the road
for Van Sant), Last Days, Elephant and Paranoid Park
are all worth watching, but none have the gravitas that Van Sant’s
earlier work so effortlessly carried. Even his most successful films,
To Die For and Good Will Hunting, both of which I love by the
way, never feel as personal as Mala Noche or My Own Private
Idaho or Milk do.
It is incredibly
shady of me to point this out, and I hesitate to do so for fear of what
it may actually say about me…as if to say that I prefer when Van Sant,
who has been openly gay throughout all of his career, sticks to telling
stories that deal with gay relationships…That is not what I’m saying at
all. But in looking at his films again, I can’t help but notice the
disconnect that occurs when Van Sant is not dealing with men in these
very specific ways. He is able to explore the subtle intimacy that
exists in male relationships in ways that few directors have ever been
able to do (I can’t think of a single one right now actually…maybe Eytan
Fox?). There are scenes in Milk, between James Franco and Sean
Penn, that are eerily reminiscent of scenes in My Own Private Idaho,
and I cannot help but feel that it is not a coincidence, that there is a
connection to be made there. It is almost as if all of Van Sant’s films
have been leading up to this point, which only leaves me to wonder what
it is that Gus Van Sant is trying to tell us, the viewer, and where he
will choose to go next.
