**Spoiler Alert**
Directed by Darren Aronofsky. Starring: Russell Crowe, Jennifer Connelly, Anthony Hopkins and Emma Watson
I'm not sure what drew Darren Aronofsky to the Old Testament but his career has been anything but predictable: from the cerebral Pi, to the grim and gritty Requiem for a Dream, and the dark melodrama of Black Swan, one is never sure where his imagination will take us. Noah isn't a film I would have ever expected Aronofsky to make but here it is in all its CGI glory.
I won't spend a lot of time with the plot; the story of Noah and his ark should be familiar enough though Aronofsky has taken artistic license with elements of the tale.
One such liberty is the addition of the Watchers; fallen angels from creation now stone-like behemoths who were once allied to Cain after he murdered his brother Abel. The Watcher's big, lumbering movements recall the Ents in Lord of the Rings. In fact, Noah seems more Peter Jackson than Darren Aronofsky in look and feel. The condemned masses, in marching on Noah and his ark bear a strange resemblance to the Orcs with their dark, faceless malevolence. Noah and his family's wardrobe also seem more Middle-earth than Old Testament.
Aronofsky's take on the story is very humanist: Noah and his family behave more like naturalists than biblical characters who practice animal sacrifice and slaughter. One could almost call them vegan in the high regard they show for animal-kind. Aronofsky's humanism is manifest in a series of evolutionary images that are wed with the biblical account of God making the heavens and earth--a very provocative act and my favorite part of the movie. Shots of the earth from a orbital perspective don't provide recognizable continents but one pangea-like super-continent--a sly and clever nod to geological history rather than biblical. It becomes abundantly clear Aronofsky wants Noah to be John Audubon rather than just the creator's handmaiden. The religious right has all but disowned the film for not rigidly adhering to the biblical account. I guess they prefer the traditional depiction of Noah as a 500-year-old submissive geriatric without a thought in his head.
Aronofsky says his film is "the least biblical, biblical movie ever made," which is confirmed by every scene and story development. I was hoping Aronofsky's Noah might offer something that might really upset the religious right, like a dialogue between Noah and his Holy Bigness concerning why an omniscient, omnipotent being would and could create an imperfect species he claims to love then destroy it wantonly when it doesn't behave. Maybe that's material for a more daring movie yet to be made.
I found the film to be mildly entertaining but not on par with Aronofsky's best in spite of its few inspired moments. And though a rainbow plays a role in the story of Noah, the final shot of spectral colors filling the screen was more My Little Pony than Old Testament. Maybe the pony was on the ark? Maybe that's the sequel.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Oswald Morris (1915-2014)
British cinematographer Oswald Morris passed away recently, having made his mark and significant contributions to cinema. Morris served as a cinematographer for director-legends Stanley Kubrick, John Huston, Tony Richardson, Sidney Lumet, Franco Zefferrili and Norman Jewison, for which he claimed was his most satisfying collaboration. Morris' august resume included 60 films and some innovations that revolutionized his art. For a more detailed account of his life and career, click on the NY Times link below.
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/27/arts/oswald-morris-artful-cinematographer-is-dead-at-98.html?rref=obituaries&_r=0
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/27/arts/oswald-morris-artful-cinematographer-is-dead-at-98.html?rref=obituaries&_r=0
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
In what famous film from the 1950s' will one hear the following line:
"I'd hate to take a bite out of you; you're a cookie full of arsenic."
Post your answer in the comment field. Every correct answer will receive my undying love and admiration; whatever that's worth.
What, no takers?? Okay, the answer was--The Sweet Smell of Success (1957). Burt Lancaster delivers the famous line to Tony Curtis.
Post your answer in the comment field. Every correct answer will receive my undying love and admiration; whatever that's worth.
What, no takers?? Okay, the answer was--The Sweet Smell of Success (1957). Burt Lancaster delivers the famous line to Tony Curtis.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
The Face of Love
**Spoiler Alert**
Dir. Arie Posin. Starring: Annette Bening, Ed Harris and Robin Williams
A film that could unfortunately vanish from American screens before it can be appreciated is Arie Posin's The Face of Love, for which he also shares a writing credit.
Annette Bening plays Nikki, the wife of an architect, played by Ed Harris. A happy marriage is disrupted by the untimely death of her husband in a drowning accident during a vacation in Mexico. The story picks up 5 years later as Nikki, with the help of a grieving widower played by Robin Williams, recovers from her loss.
Wandering through an outdoor market one day, Nikki sees a man who is a splitting image of her deceased husband (also played by Ed Harris). Entranced, she strikes up a conversation and after learning that he is an artist and an instructor at a local college, she convinces him to teach her privately. In doing so, her fascination and passion for her former husband is aroused and transferred to her new lover; which becomes increasingly problematic for all parties concerned.
Refusing to divulge to Tom his uncanny resemblance to her former husband Garrett, he is perplexed by her odd behaviour toward him as her conscience gets the better of her at moments.
Another wrinkle in her newfound romance is the problem of introducing Tom to her daughter, who has just asked her mother to allow her to return home after a failed romance. Like her daughter, Nikki's neighbor and partner in shared grief, Roger (Robin Williams) is also denied contact with Tom. If Nikki's deception isn't trouble enough, her life is further complicated by Roger declaration of love for her.
What follows is a slow unravelling of the knotty plot, which predictably leads to bewilderment, shock and dismay by all involved.
Posin's direction plays a key role in the story. Instead of broad, medium shots we might see on television, Posin employs tight close-ups of Bening's and Harris' faces to capture inner turmoil and latent, emotional wounds. Every line and facial groove in the actor's faces comes into sharp relief; an astonishing and admirable lack of vanity often seen in French cinema but seldom so on American movie screens. And those faces, which reveal so much loss and pain, propel the story; a risky move by Posin in this age of exaggerated emoting (remember August: Osage County?) and many Hollywood actors insistence on looking radiant and ravishing in every frame.
Bening and Harris' performances make The Face of Love a small wonder and it troubles me that such an understated and unassuming film might be lost in the Divergent and 300: Rise of an Empire current.
The Face of Love has its missteps; I'm not sure how I feel about the ending, which left me feeling a little dissatisfied, but even that doesn't diminish what comes before.
Dir. Arie Posin. Starring: Annette Bening, Ed Harris and Robin Williams
A film that could unfortunately vanish from American screens before it can be appreciated is Arie Posin's The Face of Love, for which he also shares a writing credit.
Annette Bening plays Nikki, the wife of an architect, played by Ed Harris. A happy marriage is disrupted by the untimely death of her husband in a drowning accident during a vacation in Mexico. The story picks up 5 years later as Nikki, with the help of a grieving widower played by Robin Williams, recovers from her loss.
Wandering through an outdoor market one day, Nikki sees a man who is a splitting image of her deceased husband (also played by Ed Harris). Entranced, she strikes up a conversation and after learning that he is an artist and an instructor at a local college, she convinces him to teach her privately. In doing so, her fascination and passion for her former husband is aroused and transferred to her new lover; which becomes increasingly problematic for all parties concerned.
Refusing to divulge to Tom his uncanny resemblance to her former husband Garrett, he is perplexed by her odd behaviour toward him as her conscience gets the better of her at moments.
Another wrinkle in her newfound romance is the problem of introducing Tom to her daughter, who has just asked her mother to allow her to return home after a failed romance. Like her daughter, Nikki's neighbor and partner in shared grief, Roger (Robin Williams) is also denied contact with Tom. If Nikki's deception isn't trouble enough, her life is further complicated by Roger declaration of love for her.
What follows is a slow unravelling of the knotty plot, which predictably leads to bewilderment, shock and dismay by all involved.
Posin's direction plays a key role in the story. Instead of broad, medium shots we might see on television, Posin employs tight close-ups of Bening's and Harris' faces to capture inner turmoil and latent, emotional wounds. Every line and facial groove in the actor's faces comes into sharp relief; an astonishing and admirable lack of vanity often seen in French cinema but seldom so on American movie screens. And those faces, which reveal so much loss and pain, propel the story; a risky move by Posin in this age of exaggerated emoting (remember August: Osage County?) and many Hollywood actors insistence on looking radiant and ravishing in every frame.
Bening and Harris' performances make The Face of Love a small wonder and it troubles me that such an understated and unassuming film might be lost in the Divergent and 300: Rise of an Empire current.
The Face of Love has its missteps; I'm not sure how I feel about the ending, which left me feeling a little dissatisfied, but even that doesn't diminish what comes before.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Divergent
**Spoiler Alert** Dir. Neil Burger. Starring: Shailene Woodley, Kate Winslet and Ashley Judd.
Given the phenomenal box-office spoils of the Hunger Games films, Hollywood can't be blamed for attempts at reproducing the same success with an alternate franchise featuring a young, strong, female lead. What can't be countenanced is a doppleganger and a sometimes corny one at that. Divergent, based on the novel by Veronica Roth, tells the story of a future where one's role in society is determined by a specific virtue: Abnegation, Amity, Candor, Dauntless, and Erudite.
A young woman named Beatrice Prior, played by the lovely and burgeoning talent Shailene Woodley, belongs to a Abnegation family but may not be an Abnegate. A preliminary test to determine her virtue is inconclusive and therefore dangerous; a fact kept under wraps by a sympathetic woman conducting the test. Those who belong to none of the virtues are deemed social outcasts and thus Divergents
A more formal test performed before the various factions in a large hall reveals Beatrice to be a Dauntless; a caste of warriors assigned to protect the citizens from what menaces beyond the immense barrier surrounding the city.
Forced to leave her family, Beatrice, self-christened as Tris, undergoes the dangerous and rigorous Dauntless training with other recruits while trying to maintain her secret. The punishment for failing the spartan tests and games is a dismissal from the faction, and an ignoble, social reassignment to those living in the streets and who belong to no faction.
In the course of the story, a faction lead by an Erudite (Kate Winslet) will seize power by exploiting the Dauntless using mind control and in doing so, will attempt to kill all citizens deemed subversives, including all Abnegates; to which Tris' family belongs. One will already guess at this point that Tris plays a key role in the resistance, which leads eventually to the destruction of the Erudites behind the coup (sorry again for spoiling the story) and lays the groundwork for another installment, for we know not what lurks beyond the city defenses
After reading reviews savaging the movie, I expected little and was rewarded accordingly but Divergent isn't all bad, it just seems like a glossy knock-off coming too soon on the heels of Hunger Games 2 to establish its own identity.
Shailene Woodley is a credible action character and like her roles in The Spectacular Now and The Descendants, she brings a quirky charm to a character that is essentially Katniss Everdeen reconfigured and repurposed. Identical, self-empowering trials and struggles Katniss endured greet Tris at every corner.
I would have liked to see more of Kate Winslet, who is given only an outline of a character to work with while Ashley Judd is allowed more color and screentime to acquit herself well.
It doesn't take much brain power to plot the story once the characters are established. Because it is all predictable, little tension or suspense follows. It isn't dull but it's hard to wave away Hunger Games, which buzzes around one's head like a pesky fly during the movie. And like Hunger Games it's difficult to overcome the risible sci-fi-lite setting that would make the average science fiction fan cringe. And what of the allegory, which the film seems to wear on its sleeve; of erudite attempting to vanquish abnegation? Or the none-too-subtle message about the perils of conformity? Is it all silly or profound?
Whether a sequel or a trilogy can help the series forge its own identity has yet to be determined but in the meantime, I'm sure Hollywood will flood the mutliplexes with more Hunger Games clones, which again, given that movie's stellar success, isn't exactly unjustified. Monday morning follow-up: According to the New York Times, Divergent did exceptional box office over the weekend, which will now justify--in Hollywood anyway--a franchise.
Given the phenomenal box-office spoils of the Hunger Games films, Hollywood can't be blamed for attempts at reproducing the same success with an alternate franchise featuring a young, strong, female lead. What can't be countenanced is a doppleganger and a sometimes corny one at that. Divergent, based on the novel by Veronica Roth, tells the story of a future where one's role in society is determined by a specific virtue: Abnegation, Amity, Candor, Dauntless, and Erudite.
A young woman named Beatrice Prior, played by the lovely and burgeoning talent Shailene Woodley, belongs to a Abnegation family but may not be an Abnegate. A preliminary test to determine her virtue is inconclusive and therefore dangerous; a fact kept under wraps by a sympathetic woman conducting the test. Those who belong to none of the virtues are deemed social outcasts and thus Divergents
A more formal test performed before the various factions in a large hall reveals Beatrice to be a Dauntless; a caste of warriors assigned to protect the citizens from what menaces beyond the immense barrier surrounding the city.
Forced to leave her family, Beatrice, self-christened as Tris, undergoes the dangerous and rigorous Dauntless training with other recruits while trying to maintain her secret. The punishment for failing the spartan tests and games is a dismissal from the faction, and an ignoble, social reassignment to those living in the streets and who belong to no faction.
In the course of the story, a faction lead by an Erudite (Kate Winslet) will seize power by exploiting the Dauntless using mind control and in doing so, will attempt to kill all citizens deemed subversives, including all Abnegates; to which Tris' family belongs. One will already guess at this point that Tris plays a key role in the resistance, which leads eventually to the destruction of the Erudites behind the coup (sorry again for spoiling the story) and lays the groundwork for another installment, for we know not what lurks beyond the city defenses
After reading reviews savaging the movie, I expected little and was rewarded accordingly but Divergent isn't all bad, it just seems like a glossy knock-off coming too soon on the heels of Hunger Games 2 to establish its own identity.
Shailene Woodley is a credible action character and like her roles in The Spectacular Now and The Descendants, she brings a quirky charm to a character that is essentially Katniss Everdeen reconfigured and repurposed. Identical, self-empowering trials and struggles Katniss endured greet Tris at every corner.
I would have liked to see more of Kate Winslet, who is given only an outline of a character to work with while Ashley Judd is allowed more color and screentime to acquit herself well.
It doesn't take much brain power to plot the story once the characters are established. Because it is all predictable, little tension or suspense follows. It isn't dull but it's hard to wave away Hunger Games, which buzzes around one's head like a pesky fly during the movie. And like Hunger Games it's difficult to overcome the risible sci-fi-lite setting that would make the average science fiction fan cringe. And what of the allegory, which the film seems to wear on its sleeve; of erudite attempting to vanquish abnegation? Or the none-too-subtle message about the perils of conformity? Is it all silly or profound?
Whether a sequel or a trilogy can help the series forge its own identity has yet to be determined but in the meantime, I'm sure Hollywood will flood the mutliplexes with more Hunger Games clones, which again, given that movie's stellar success, isn't exactly unjustified. Monday morning follow-up: According to the New York Times, Divergent did exceptional box office over the weekend, which will now justify--in Hollywood anyway--a franchise.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Flick Down Under: Wake in Fright (1971)
Dir. Ted Kotcheff. Starring: Donald Pleasence and Gary Bond
I had the good fortune to be present at a recent screening of a forgotten gem by Canadian director Ted Kotcheff; Wake in Fright.
Kotcheff's most ambitious film, Wake in Fright tells the story of a teacher assigned to a remote, Australian outback town--town defined here as schoolhouse, bar, boarding establishment and railroad platform--who hopes to leave his desolate place of work and residence for the more civilized environs of Sydney.
Very few opening shots establishing setting are as bleak and isolating as Kotcheff's 360 degree long-shot pan of the outback. We see the aforementioned schoolhouse and bar with train tracks bisecting the "town." The hellish waste of searing heat and blanketing dust is a crucial backdrop to the drama that ominously unfolds before us.
The teacher, John Grant, played with wonderful, existential angst by British actor Gary Bond, dismisses his class for the Christmas holidays. He then hurries to the decaying and dilapidated boarding place he inhabits to catch the next train. Grant can't disguise his disgust and impatience with his backwater posting, which he explains later to be part of a bureaucratic bonding; a job assignment he feels imprisons him.
The train stops in a mining town--Bundanyabba--known affectionately to the inhabitants as "The Yabba." Looking for a drink in a crowded bar, he is approached by a friendly police officer who coerces him into several beers--all of which the officer downs in one gulp; forcing Grant to do the same. More drinks are foisted upon him until he rebuffs the officer's call for more. The officer directs him to a restaurant, where he is also introduced to a local gambling diversion where a room full of men bet on a heads or tails game. After witnessing a game or two, he sits down to enjoy a steak where he meets an odd man named Doc Tydon, played with rogueish mischief by Donald Pleasence. Grant behaves disdainfully; scoffing at the Doc's attempt to be amiable.
After an evening of drunkenness, gambling (Grant loses all his money) and hell-raising, he finds himself in the home of Doc Tydon the next day; hungover, sweaty and eager to resume his Sydney-agenda.
Grant's descent into drunkeness, mayhem and despair continues--Doc Tydon a willing enabler. He finally manages an escape from the town via hitch-hiking until, in a comic turn, he finds himself right back where he started--The Yabba!
His ruin nearly complete; filthy, without money, his trip aborted, Grant attempts to first lash out at Doc Tydon for his predicament but unable to find him at his place of residence, he attempts suicide, which fails. The act lands him in the hospital and back in the company of Doc Tydon.
Discharged from the hospital, the Doc helps Grant to the train station, which brings the teacher back to the deserty town from where he--and the film--started. The boarding house proprietor eyes Grant with a I-knew-you'd-be-back smirk; knowing the teacher wouldn't escape the place he most despises.
I've never seen alcohol consumed as compulsively and prodigiously as the characters in Waking Fright. It acts as catalyst for Grant's fall from the haughty disdain he holds for the people and his decline in character. The beer consumed in meaningless, seemingly endless, bacchanalian revelry in The Yabba is a false nepenthe; a truth both men recognize but only Grant resists. We learn Doc Tydon's alcoholism prevented him from practicing in the city but his mania for alcohol is more than welcome in The Yabba, with its accomodating, excessive approach to drinking. Unable and unwilling to free himself from the town, Doc Tydon embraces its hyper-macho culture of drinking, hunting and brawling while Grant remains a reluctant participant.
I'm not sure what to make of the ending; are we to believe Grant has come to terms with the local culture and landscape; a weary resignation or does he merely embrace his damnation; a sentence to a perdition the white man has visited upon himself in colonization and occupation? One could argue for both.
Like Nicolas Roeg's Walkabout, released the same year, the outback's unforgiving, indifferent starkness is a dramatic setting where modern man is at hysterical odds with a world he inhabits. And like Roeg's film, Wake in Fright's setting is a ominous presence, one with which the characters form an uneasy truce.
Kotcheff's film helped bring Australian cinema into the international fold and it remains a singular work. I'm proud to say I was able to see it on the big screen, where its sweeping vistas can be fully appreciated.
I had the good fortune to be present at a recent screening of a forgotten gem by Canadian director Ted Kotcheff; Wake in Fright.
Kotcheff's most ambitious film, Wake in Fright tells the story of a teacher assigned to a remote, Australian outback town--town defined here as schoolhouse, bar, boarding establishment and railroad platform--who hopes to leave his desolate place of work and residence for the more civilized environs of Sydney.
Very few opening shots establishing setting are as bleak and isolating as Kotcheff's 360 degree long-shot pan of the outback. We see the aforementioned schoolhouse and bar with train tracks bisecting the "town." The hellish waste of searing heat and blanketing dust is a crucial backdrop to the drama that ominously unfolds before us.
The teacher, John Grant, played with wonderful, existential angst by British actor Gary Bond, dismisses his class for the Christmas holidays. He then hurries to the decaying and dilapidated boarding place he inhabits to catch the next train. Grant can't disguise his disgust and impatience with his backwater posting, which he explains later to be part of a bureaucratic bonding; a job assignment he feels imprisons him.
The train stops in a mining town--Bundanyabba--known affectionately to the inhabitants as "The Yabba." Looking for a drink in a crowded bar, he is approached by a friendly police officer who coerces him into several beers--all of which the officer downs in one gulp; forcing Grant to do the same. More drinks are foisted upon him until he rebuffs the officer's call for more. The officer directs him to a restaurant, where he is also introduced to a local gambling diversion where a room full of men bet on a heads or tails game. After witnessing a game or two, he sits down to enjoy a steak where he meets an odd man named Doc Tydon, played with rogueish mischief by Donald Pleasence. Grant behaves disdainfully; scoffing at the Doc's attempt to be amiable.
After an evening of drunkenness, gambling (Grant loses all his money) and hell-raising, he finds himself in the home of Doc Tydon the next day; hungover, sweaty and eager to resume his Sydney-agenda.
Grant's descent into drunkeness, mayhem and despair continues--Doc Tydon a willing enabler. He finally manages an escape from the town via hitch-hiking until, in a comic turn, he finds himself right back where he started--The Yabba!
His ruin nearly complete; filthy, without money, his trip aborted, Grant attempts to first lash out at Doc Tydon for his predicament but unable to find him at his place of residence, he attempts suicide, which fails. The act lands him in the hospital and back in the company of Doc Tydon.
Discharged from the hospital, the Doc helps Grant to the train station, which brings the teacher back to the deserty town from where he--and the film--started. The boarding house proprietor eyes Grant with a I-knew-you'd-be-back smirk; knowing the teacher wouldn't escape the place he most despises.
I've never seen alcohol consumed as compulsively and prodigiously as the characters in Waking Fright. It acts as catalyst for Grant's fall from the haughty disdain he holds for the people and his decline in character. The beer consumed in meaningless, seemingly endless, bacchanalian revelry in The Yabba is a false nepenthe; a truth both men recognize but only Grant resists. We learn Doc Tydon's alcoholism prevented him from practicing in the city but his mania for alcohol is more than welcome in The Yabba, with its accomodating, excessive approach to drinking. Unable and unwilling to free himself from the town, Doc Tydon embraces its hyper-macho culture of drinking, hunting and brawling while Grant remains a reluctant participant.
I'm not sure what to make of the ending; are we to believe Grant has come to terms with the local culture and landscape; a weary resignation or does he merely embrace his damnation; a sentence to a perdition the white man has visited upon himself in colonization and occupation? One could argue for both.
Like Nicolas Roeg's Walkabout, released the same year, the outback's unforgiving, indifferent starkness is a dramatic setting where modern man is at hysterical odds with a world he inhabits. And like Roeg's film, Wake in Fright's setting is a ominous presence, one with which the characters form an uneasy truce.
Kotcheff's film helped bring Australian cinema into the international fold and it remains a singular work. I'm proud to say I was able to see it on the big screen, where its sweeping vistas can be fully appreciated.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Need For Speed
Dir. Scott Waugh. Starring: Aaron Paul and Imogen Poots.
I would include a spoiler alert here but will that be necessary for anyone having seen a preview to this hokum? Doesn't the trailer tell it all? And isn't this movie justly dismissed as a Fast and Furious rip-off? Answers: No. Yes. Yes.
Is this really what Aaron Paul (fresh from Breaking Bad), intended as a follow-up to the hit TV series in which he played a critical role? Maybe the money was too obscene to pass up or maybe he wanted to clear his acting palate with something bland and derivative before he moves up and away from Need for Speed.
Here is the synopsis; culled from the IMDB site because I'm too lazy at the moment to bother summing up this offal:
Make no mistake; the Fast and Furious series specializes in over-the-top, absurd and impossible action scenes too but the difference between that franchise and this franchise-hope-to-be-but-mercifully-won't is that the former makes it all entertaining and fun and stylish while the latter is just loud and fast and uninspired. What is particularly interesting about the F and F franchise--now heading into a seventh incarnation--is that it leaves the audience feeling the series has only just begun and a lot more won't be unwelcome.
Aaron Paul does his best in the lead and is a convincing car-stud but stock characters and a chick side-kick (Imogen Poots) with a British accent who shares not a modicum of chemistry with the leading man don't help. Who can blame them? It's almost as if the story and action were dreamed up by studio executives standing around a Coke machine in a company lounge. You know you're in a bad action movie when the scenes crafted to generate the most thrills actually lull a movie-goer to heavy slumber, which is what happened to me. Upon waking and seeing the action on screen, I said to myself "Oh, the movie is still playing." It's also alarming when upon being roused from a delightful snooze one finds one hasn't lost a thread in the storyline.
The plot always seemed vague to me while watching; the quest seemed too silly to be worth remembering or taken seriously. When it ended I was relieved to be leaving the theater; my fatigue not the product of a thrilling adventure but of unmitigated boredom. If I had only not bothered to wake up in the middle of the movie, I might have slept until the final credits but that would have been doing what the filmmakers intended.
I would include a spoiler alert here but will that be necessary for anyone having seen a preview to this hokum? Doesn't the trailer tell it all? And isn't this movie justly dismissed as a Fast and Furious rip-off? Answers: No. Yes. Yes.
Is this really what Aaron Paul (fresh from Breaking Bad), intended as a follow-up to the hit TV series in which he played a critical role? Maybe the money was too obscene to pass up or maybe he wanted to clear his acting palate with something bland and derivative before he moves up and away from Need for Speed.
Here is the synopsis; culled from the IMDB site because I'm too lazy at the moment to bother summing up this offal:
Hobbs has Dom and Brian reassemble their crew in order to take down a mastermind who commands an organization of mercenary drivers across 12 countries. Payment? Full pardons for them all.Did you get that? The movie is really one long chase scene with heaps of preposterousness thrown in to distract us from the dreary fact that this has all been done--and much better I might add--in the Fast and Furious series.
Make no mistake; the Fast and Furious series specializes in over-the-top, absurd and impossible action scenes too but the difference between that franchise and this franchise-hope-to-be-but-mercifully-won't is that the former makes it all entertaining and fun and stylish while the latter is just loud and fast and uninspired. What is particularly interesting about the F and F franchise--now heading into a seventh incarnation--is that it leaves the audience feeling the series has only just begun and a lot more won't be unwelcome.
Aaron Paul does his best in the lead and is a convincing car-stud but stock characters and a chick side-kick (Imogen Poots) with a British accent who shares not a modicum of chemistry with the leading man don't help. Who can blame them? It's almost as if the story and action were dreamed up by studio executives standing around a Coke machine in a company lounge. You know you're in a bad action movie when the scenes crafted to generate the most thrills actually lull a movie-goer to heavy slumber, which is what happened to me. Upon waking and seeing the action on screen, I said to myself "Oh, the movie is still playing." It's also alarming when upon being roused from a delightful snooze one finds one hasn't lost a thread in the storyline.
The plot always seemed vague to me while watching; the quest seemed too silly to be worth remembering or taken seriously. When it ended I was relieved to be leaving the theater; my fatigue not the product of a thrilling adventure but of unmitigated boredom. If I had only not bothered to wake up in the middle of the movie, I might have slept until the final credits but that would have been doing what the filmmakers intended.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
The Grand Budapest Hotel
**Spoiler Alert** Dir. Wes Anderson. Starring: Ralph Fiennes, et al.
It's difficult talking about my impression of Wes Anderson's new film because I want to celebrate his feverish imagination, which seems boundless. On the other hand, I tire of his stylistic tics and the whimsy that's come to typify his movies. I'm a huge fan of Rushmore; a film that announced a style and manner of storytelling that wasn't fantasy but wasn't reality either; a kind of universe only Anderson could craft and one that characterizes his work. Since Rushmore, Anderson has continued on this course; The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Darjeeling Limited, Moonrise Kingdom and now The Grand Budapest Hotel.
His latest has become a little more un-moored from reality (nothing wrong with that) but I wonder if Andersonian whimsy has become wearisome.
I always believed Van Gogh's work resembles no others. If one were asked to identify his work among a thousand other paintings, one could easily identify a Van Gogh; his style is that distinctive. The same can be said of Anderson's films. No other filmmaker's work matches Anderson's in look, tone and characterization and that is something to be commmended. But that uniqueness can sometimes get in the way of one being fully immersed in his stories. So many images and quirky camera movements often draw attention to themselves in a way that distracts the viewer from the story. The Grand Budapest Hotel is no exception.
There is so much to admire and like about his new film; the set designs, the rich, striking visual aesthetic and Ralph Fiennes' comic performance, around which everything in the film orbits. I also liked the hotel lobby; a vast interior often seen in a long, wide-shot; a visual that calls to mind the lobby in The Shining with its exaggerated dimensions, which reduces all human activity to insectile proportions. It is also interesting how the hotel's cake-like exterior is recalled in the pink confectioner's boxes later in the film and the pastry devoured by prisoners.
The story is a story within a story as Tom Wilkinson the author tells the story of the hotel's owner and former bellboy (F. Murray Abraham as an adult, Tony Revolori in the past), who in turn tells the story of the erstwhile concierge of the once grand hotel. It is a clever narrative approach, which Anderson handles deftly.
Ralph Fiennes plays the concierge; Gustav H, whose demanding attention to detail and client satisfaction makes him the consummate role model for the young lobby-boy he takes on as a protege. Gustav's habit of romancing elderly guests of the hotel takes a dangerous turn when he is accused of murdering Madame D.; an elderly customer Gustav has seduced for many seasons. Hi-jinks and mayhem ensue, involving many--an incredible cast Anderson assembled for the film. Gustav first avoids capture then is apprehended, subsequently serving time in prison.
I found some scenes amusing but as the film wore on, the fairy-tale setting and Anderson's odd-ball characters all wear out their welcome. A scene where soldiers billeted in the hotel shoot at one another from hotel room doors is something that should have been funny but falls flat as an old joke.
The preview promised much; I thought Anderson would finally bring me back into his fan-fold but half-way through the film, I realized I was in for another disappointment.
I've met many people who believe Anderson is a genius--a claim I can't entirely deny. Watching his film, one recognizes his fierce intelligence; a creative brilliance running through every scene. Unfortunately I believe him to be a genius without a masterpiece. He may reward my patience with something otherworldly and magnificent someday. The Grand Budapest Hotel offers intimations of greatness; a summit he has yet to reach. I'm sure he'll get there eventually.
It's difficult talking about my impression of Wes Anderson's new film because I want to celebrate his feverish imagination, which seems boundless. On the other hand, I tire of his stylistic tics and the whimsy that's come to typify his movies. I'm a huge fan of Rushmore; a film that announced a style and manner of storytelling that wasn't fantasy but wasn't reality either; a kind of universe only Anderson could craft and one that characterizes his work. Since Rushmore, Anderson has continued on this course; The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Darjeeling Limited, Moonrise Kingdom and now The Grand Budapest Hotel.
His latest has become a little more un-moored from reality (nothing wrong with that) but I wonder if Andersonian whimsy has become wearisome.
I always believed Van Gogh's work resembles no others. If one were asked to identify his work among a thousand other paintings, one could easily identify a Van Gogh; his style is that distinctive. The same can be said of Anderson's films. No other filmmaker's work matches Anderson's in look, tone and characterization and that is something to be commmended. But that uniqueness can sometimes get in the way of one being fully immersed in his stories. So many images and quirky camera movements often draw attention to themselves in a way that distracts the viewer from the story. The Grand Budapest Hotel is no exception.
There is so much to admire and like about his new film; the set designs, the rich, striking visual aesthetic and Ralph Fiennes' comic performance, around which everything in the film orbits. I also liked the hotel lobby; a vast interior often seen in a long, wide-shot; a visual that calls to mind the lobby in The Shining with its exaggerated dimensions, which reduces all human activity to insectile proportions. It is also interesting how the hotel's cake-like exterior is recalled in the pink confectioner's boxes later in the film and the pastry devoured by prisoners.
The story is a story within a story as Tom Wilkinson the author tells the story of the hotel's owner and former bellboy (F. Murray Abraham as an adult, Tony Revolori in the past), who in turn tells the story of the erstwhile concierge of the once grand hotel. It is a clever narrative approach, which Anderson handles deftly.
Ralph Fiennes plays the concierge; Gustav H, whose demanding attention to detail and client satisfaction makes him the consummate role model for the young lobby-boy he takes on as a protege. Gustav's habit of romancing elderly guests of the hotel takes a dangerous turn when he is accused of murdering Madame D.; an elderly customer Gustav has seduced for many seasons. Hi-jinks and mayhem ensue, involving many--an incredible cast Anderson assembled for the film. Gustav first avoids capture then is apprehended, subsequently serving time in prison.
I found some scenes amusing but as the film wore on, the fairy-tale setting and Anderson's odd-ball characters all wear out their welcome. A scene where soldiers billeted in the hotel shoot at one another from hotel room doors is something that should have been funny but falls flat as an old joke.
The preview promised much; I thought Anderson would finally bring me back into his fan-fold but half-way through the film, I realized I was in for another disappointment.
I've met many people who believe Anderson is a genius--a claim I can't entirely deny. Watching his film, one recognizes his fierce intelligence; a creative brilliance running through every scene. Unfortunately I believe him to be a genius without a masterpiece. He may reward my patience with something otherworldly and magnificent someday. The Grand Budapest Hotel offers intimations of greatness; a summit he has yet to reach. I'm sure he'll get there eventually.
Friday, March 14, 2014
Gone But Not Forgotten--Paolo Sorrentino's One Man Up (2001)
The Great Beauty, winner of the Best Foreign Film in the 2014 Oscar race, wasn't director Paolo Sorrentino's first fascinating effort but only one of several in his career. Il Divo(2008) was critically acclaimed and was another collaboration with the excellent Toni Servillo; star of the Oscar winner. Years before, both director and actor teamed for Sorrentino's One Man Up ("L'uomo in più"), Sorrentino's affecting and engaging story of fame and its unforgiving, fickle nature.
Two men, both named Antonio Pisapia, lead parallel lives; one a successful and famous singer, the other a star soccer player in a premier league. The former leads a decadent lifestyle; inhaling cocaine habitually, clubbing frequently, and bedding women at every opportunity while the soccer player devotes his time and energy exclusively to his sport, often at the risk to his marriage and social life.
The soccer player demonstrates his burgeoning coaching prowess during a break in a game in which the team is playing poorly. Later he suffers a career-ending injury to his knee, forcing him to give up his one and only passion. He petitions the club for a coaching opportunity, which they promptly rebuff while his attempts to coach elsewhere are unsuccessful.
The other Antonio beds a young fan, unaware the woman is under-age. The fallout is catastrophic, for he becomes an untouchable in the gig-booking circuit. A sparsely-attended gig in a Neapolitan street leads to soul-searching and a re-assessment of his life and career.
Sorrentino draws terrific performances from his actors as their respective characters spiral downward, professionally and personally. Loss of fame and influence leads both men to divergent paths. Antonio the singer eventually tries his hand as a restauranteur; acknowledging his demise as a singer while Antonio the former soccer star is less resilient; obsessively clinging to a career he can't shape into coaching. Ths singer and soccer player eventually become aware of one another. The singer becomes sympathetic to the soccer player's misfortune while watching him on a TV talk show; empathy which leads to violent retribution--an act that ultimately earns him a jail sentence. The soccer player, at the end of his tether, sees no solution but suicide. Where one finds acceptance and resignation in his diminished existence the other cannot overcome single-minded devotion to his passion.
At the screening I attended recently, the audience was silently rapt. Sorrentino's films have that hypnotic quality; we are drawn into his world and leave it in some sort of blissful stupor. One Man Up was Sorrentino's fascinating debut; a gem that is sure to shine in a future retrospective.
Two men, both named Antonio Pisapia, lead parallel lives; one a successful and famous singer, the other a star soccer player in a premier league. The former leads a decadent lifestyle; inhaling cocaine habitually, clubbing frequently, and bedding women at every opportunity while the soccer player devotes his time and energy exclusively to his sport, often at the risk to his marriage and social life.
The soccer player demonstrates his burgeoning coaching prowess during a break in a game in which the team is playing poorly. Later he suffers a career-ending injury to his knee, forcing him to give up his one and only passion. He petitions the club for a coaching opportunity, which they promptly rebuff while his attempts to coach elsewhere are unsuccessful.
The other Antonio beds a young fan, unaware the woman is under-age. The fallout is catastrophic, for he becomes an untouchable in the gig-booking circuit. A sparsely-attended gig in a Neapolitan street leads to soul-searching and a re-assessment of his life and career.
Sorrentino draws terrific performances from his actors as their respective characters spiral downward, professionally and personally. Loss of fame and influence leads both men to divergent paths. Antonio the singer eventually tries his hand as a restauranteur; acknowledging his demise as a singer while Antonio the former soccer star is less resilient; obsessively clinging to a career he can't shape into coaching. Ths singer and soccer player eventually become aware of one another. The singer becomes sympathetic to the soccer player's misfortune while watching him on a TV talk show; empathy which leads to violent retribution--an act that ultimately earns him a jail sentence. The soccer player, at the end of his tether, sees no solution but suicide. Where one finds acceptance and resignation in his diminished existence the other cannot overcome single-minded devotion to his passion.
At the screening I attended recently, the audience was silently rapt. Sorrentino's films have that hypnotic quality; we are drawn into his world and leave it in some sort of blissful stupor. One Man Up was Sorrentino's fascinating debut; a gem that is sure to shine in a future retrospective.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Omar
**Spoiler alert** Dir. Hany Abu-Assad. Starring: Adam Bakri.
Director of the acclaimed Paradise Now, Hany Abu-Assad helms another taut, powerful drama. Set in Palastine and Israel, Omar tells the story of a young, Palestinian man who belongs to a violent, anti-Israel group made up of two of his closest friends. Omar, the film's namesake, falls in love with his friend's--also a co-cospirator--sister; a passion frowned upon by said friend. In order to meet with his comrades-in-arms and to see the woman he loves, Omar scales the concrete barrier separating Israel from Palestine daily and sometimes risks a bullet in doing so. He is often wily enough to escape the Israeli troops who are hot on his heels.
The story takes a sinister turn when Omar and his two friends plan a shooting of an Israeli soldier. He is immediately tagged as a suspect and his harrassed by law enforcement. One such Israeli operative is a Palestinian turn-coat who betrays Omar while undercover in jail.
Enduring brutal torture, Omar refuses to expose his friend and instead leads the police on a wild goose chase,convincing them he will help deliver the killer. Omar also runs afoul of his countrymen as he is accused of being an informant for the enemy. Accessory to a murder, distrusted by countrymen, harrassed and hunted by Israeli law-enforcement, unable to marry his girlfriend and leave the country, Omar finds himself in an impossible imbroglio.
The film is never less than gripping and Abu-Assad's anti-hero is someone the viewer can be sympathetic to if his actions cannot be totally condoned. Adam Bakri shows us Omar's complicated colors and his fierce determination to resist Israeli oppression. A very physical performance as well as an emotional one, Bakri demonstrates his action-actor bona fides in a thrilling sequence involving a cat-and-mouse flight from Israeli authorities through narrow streets and over roof-tops. We're drawn into the story immediately and held fast with Abu-Assad's mastery of narrative and characters.
Omar was an Oscar contender for Best Foreign Film at this year's ceremony and it was a worthy competitor to excellent, fellow nominees like The Great Beauty and The Hunt. I'm sure we can expect more amazing efforts from Abu-Assad in the future.
Director of the acclaimed Paradise Now, Hany Abu-Assad helms another taut, powerful drama. Set in Palastine and Israel, Omar tells the story of a young, Palestinian man who belongs to a violent, anti-Israel group made up of two of his closest friends. Omar, the film's namesake, falls in love with his friend's--also a co-cospirator--sister; a passion frowned upon by said friend. In order to meet with his comrades-in-arms and to see the woman he loves, Omar scales the concrete barrier separating Israel from Palestine daily and sometimes risks a bullet in doing so. He is often wily enough to escape the Israeli troops who are hot on his heels.
The story takes a sinister turn when Omar and his two friends plan a shooting of an Israeli soldier. He is immediately tagged as a suspect and his harrassed by law enforcement. One such Israeli operative is a Palestinian turn-coat who betrays Omar while undercover in jail.
Enduring brutal torture, Omar refuses to expose his friend and instead leads the police on a wild goose chase,convincing them he will help deliver the killer. Omar also runs afoul of his countrymen as he is accused of being an informant for the enemy. Accessory to a murder, distrusted by countrymen, harrassed and hunted by Israeli law-enforcement, unable to marry his girlfriend and leave the country, Omar finds himself in an impossible imbroglio.
The film is never less than gripping and Abu-Assad's anti-hero is someone the viewer can be sympathetic to if his actions cannot be totally condoned. Adam Bakri shows us Omar's complicated colors and his fierce determination to resist Israeli oppression. A very physical performance as well as an emotional one, Bakri demonstrates his action-actor bona fides in a thrilling sequence involving a cat-and-mouse flight from Israeli authorities through narrow streets and over roof-tops. We're drawn into the story immediately and held fast with Abu-Assad's mastery of narrative and characters.
Omar was an Oscar contender for Best Foreign Film at this year's ceremony and it was a worthy competitor to excellent, fellow nominees like The Great Beauty and The Hunt. I'm sure we can expect more amazing efforts from Abu-Assad in the future.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
300: Rise of an Empire
**Spoiler Alert**Dir. Noam Murro. Starring: Sullivan Stapleton, Eva Green, Lena Headey and Rodrigo Santoro
The 300 saga continues as the Persian empire tries to even the score with the Greeks after 300 Spartan warriors, lead by King Leonidas, slaughtered gobs of Persians at Thermopylae.
Leading the Persian invasion is Artemisia (Eva Green), a Greek-born Persian who is hell-bent on destroying Athens and subjugating all Greeks. Fueling her rage is her bitter memory of the rape of her mother and murder of her family at the hands of Greek hoplites.
Commanding the out-numbered and over-whelmed Athenians and their scarce allies is Themistokles (Sullivan Stapleton), who pleads with the mourning Spartans for their support but is initially rebuffed by their queen: Queen Gorgo (Lena Headey).
Thermopylae figures prominently in the first film, while the imminent and famous naval battle of Salamis is the focus in Rise. The Greek's feeble navy stands little chance against 1000 Persian ships but Themistokles remains determined to defend the homeland at all costs.
Like the first film, blood and battle are depicted graphically and with zeal by director Murro, who takes the helm from Zach Snyder, director of 300. And as in the first film, democracy and freedom are the watch-words, which are threatened by the belligerent Persians.
The naval battle, which the film builds to, is represented mostly as the battle of wills between Artemisia and Themistokles. Artemisia's aggression finds expression in a steamy sex interlude; a violent exchange that foreshadows the pair's duel later in the film.
How the story unfolds isn't a mystery; we know how events played out but Murro keeps it all lively and bloody and sexy. As with the first movie, a certain subtle silliness pervades though I imagine most viewers are well aware of it. I am able to overlook it, as I did with the first one; settling into the action and story knowing historical accuracy is far from the point.
With all of Eva Green's glaring in the film, one wonders why the Persians didn't just send the Greeks her angry facial expressions, which seemed more potent than their navy. She has little time to bear any other emotion in the film. Males and females will appreciate her topless scenes, which seem generously provided as are her sexy costumes. Her counterpart, the Australian actor Sullivan Stapleton, is hardly given more opportunites to emote but acquits himself well, given the limits of the character's depth. The movie's conclusion is open-ended; leaving room for a conclusive final installment or at least one more film in a franchise. I liked the movie or maybe I liked looking at Eva Green for two hours. Who can blame me; the movie could easily have been called 300: Rise of Artemisia's breasts.
The 300 saga continues as the Persian empire tries to even the score with the Greeks after 300 Spartan warriors, lead by King Leonidas, slaughtered gobs of Persians at Thermopylae.
Leading the Persian invasion is Artemisia (Eva Green), a Greek-born Persian who is hell-bent on destroying Athens and subjugating all Greeks. Fueling her rage is her bitter memory of the rape of her mother and murder of her family at the hands of Greek hoplites.
Commanding the out-numbered and over-whelmed Athenians and their scarce allies is Themistokles (Sullivan Stapleton), who pleads with the mourning Spartans for their support but is initially rebuffed by their queen: Queen Gorgo (Lena Headey).
Thermopylae figures prominently in the first film, while the imminent and famous naval battle of Salamis is the focus in Rise. The Greek's feeble navy stands little chance against 1000 Persian ships but Themistokles remains determined to defend the homeland at all costs.
Like the first film, blood and battle are depicted graphically and with zeal by director Murro, who takes the helm from Zach Snyder, director of 300. And as in the first film, democracy and freedom are the watch-words, which are threatened by the belligerent Persians.
The naval battle, which the film builds to, is represented mostly as the battle of wills between Artemisia and Themistokles. Artemisia's aggression finds expression in a steamy sex interlude; a violent exchange that foreshadows the pair's duel later in the film.
How the story unfolds isn't a mystery; we know how events played out but Murro keeps it all lively and bloody and sexy. As with the first movie, a certain subtle silliness pervades though I imagine most viewers are well aware of it. I am able to overlook it, as I did with the first one; settling into the action and story knowing historical accuracy is far from the point.
With all of Eva Green's glaring in the film, one wonders why the Persians didn't just send the Greeks her angry facial expressions, which seemed more potent than their navy. She has little time to bear any other emotion in the film. Males and females will appreciate her topless scenes, which seem generously provided as are her sexy costumes. Her counterpart, the Australian actor Sullivan Stapleton, is hardly given more opportunites to emote but acquits himself well, given the limits of the character's depth. The movie's conclusion is open-ended; leaving room for a conclusive final installment or at least one more film in a franchise. I liked the movie or maybe I liked looking at Eva Green for two hours. Who can blame me; the movie could easily have been called 300: Rise of Artemisia's breasts.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Enemy
**Spoiler Alert**Dir. Denis Villeneuve, Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Melanie Laurent and Isabella Rossellini. Based on a novel by Jose Saramago
Denis Villeneuve's Prisoners was sadly overlooked in 2013, in my opinion, for end-of-the-year honors but the subject matter and movie may have been too dark for the Academy's and the Golden Globes' tastes. It was certainly more interesting, in my opinion, than Gravity and August: Osage County but so it goes.
Enemy is another dark offering, heavy with dread and anxiety and a challenge to parse. Jake Gyllenhaal plays a history professor who discovers he bears more than a passing resemblance to an actor in a dvd rental. This causes much angst, which prompts a search for said actor. In doing so, the two eventually meet, causing mutual distrust and fear.
The premise sounds simple, right? With Villeneuve, nothing is ever so. Strange imagery, a spider metaphor and an unconventional, David Lynchian "story" make for a near-opaque mystery. Accompanying the viewer in this creepfest are Stygian interiors and a soundtrack fraught with ominousness and unrelenting dread.
Both men, played expertly by Gyllenhaal, have blonde, significant others who figure prominently in the drama. The actor is married to an expectant, young woman, to whom he seems indifferent most of the time while the history teacher is in a relationship with a woman to whom he also seems aloof.
A key to fathoming the story involves the riddle of the spider motif, a symbol inspiring many interpretations. The climax involves the actor's weekend with the history professor's girlfriend; an act accomplished with intimidation and the teacher's reluctant consent. The film's final scene is frighening and jarring. The audience with whom I saw the film jumped and gasped, as did I. It was apt, consistent and a perfect conclusion to a film that was sure to reach an ambiguous and nightmarish end.
I enjoy films that resist interpretation and challenge the viewer's capacity to fathom the seeming unfathomable. Enemy is just that kind of film and one I enjoyed.
Jake Gyllenhaal has taken to playing dark characters or characters in dark films: Donnie Darko, Zodiac, Prisoners and now Enemy. His roles reflect a determination to challenge himself as an actor and his performances have responded in kind. I would have liked to see more of Isabella Rossellini, whose appears more in a cameo role than as a fully-realized character. Villeneuve offers us another fascinating, psychological drama; one sure to stimulate the mind and make the audience simmer in anxiety and unease.
Denis Villeneuve's Prisoners was sadly overlooked in 2013, in my opinion, for end-of-the-year honors but the subject matter and movie may have been too dark for the Academy's and the Golden Globes' tastes. It was certainly more interesting, in my opinion, than Gravity and August: Osage County but so it goes.
Enemy is another dark offering, heavy with dread and anxiety and a challenge to parse. Jake Gyllenhaal plays a history professor who discovers he bears more than a passing resemblance to an actor in a dvd rental. This causes much angst, which prompts a search for said actor. In doing so, the two eventually meet, causing mutual distrust and fear.
The premise sounds simple, right? With Villeneuve, nothing is ever so. Strange imagery, a spider metaphor and an unconventional, David Lynchian "story" make for a near-opaque mystery. Accompanying the viewer in this creepfest are Stygian interiors and a soundtrack fraught with ominousness and unrelenting dread.
Both men, played expertly by Gyllenhaal, have blonde, significant others who figure prominently in the drama. The actor is married to an expectant, young woman, to whom he seems indifferent most of the time while the history teacher is in a relationship with a woman to whom he also seems aloof.
A key to fathoming the story involves the riddle of the spider motif, a symbol inspiring many interpretations. The climax involves the actor's weekend with the history professor's girlfriend; an act accomplished with intimidation and the teacher's reluctant consent. The film's final scene is frighening and jarring. The audience with whom I saw the film jumped and gasped, as did I. It was apt, consistent and a perfect conclusion to a film that was sure to reach an ambiguous and nightmarish end.
I enjoy films that resist interpretation and challenge the viewer's capacity to fathom the seeming unfathomable. Enemy is just that kind of film and one I enjoyed.
Jake Gyllenhaal has taken to playing dark characters or characters in dark films: Donnie Darko, Zodiac, Prisoners and now Enemy. His roles reflect a determination to challenge himself as an actor and his performances have responded in kind. I would have liked to see more of Isabella Rossellini, whose appears more in a cameo role than as a fully-realized character. Villeneuve offers us another fascinating, psychological drama; one sure to stimulate the mind and make the audience simmer in anxiety and unease.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Frozen Women--Omniflick Commentary
Tne New York Times op-ed page today features a piece by Maureen Dowd called Frozen in a Niche? which decries the woeful scarcity of women in front and behind the camera in Hollywood. Dowd cites an alarming statistic by the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film, which states the number of women in producing, directing, editing and writing roles has decreased since 1998. Data was collected by analyzing the top 250 films of 2013. Dowd cites other statistics; women make up 52 percent of movie-going audiences, filled only 15 percent of protagonist roles, and 30 percent of speaking roles in top-grossing films of last year, etc.
Reading the article, I was overcome by a sense of deja-vu; I seem to read an article on this subject at least once a year yet outrage by the film industry is non-existent and any change now seems to be reactionary and retrograde. None of the statistics or quotes by industry insiders surprised me. One would think that the appalling numbers would be more representatitive of the 20th century. That they reflect the current state in Hollywood is indicative of the male-liberal hypocrisy gripping the movie industry.
Years ago, in accepting an Oscar for his performance in Syriana George Clooney proudly exclaimed the following:
I'm not trying to single out Clooney for criticism but his curious acceptance speech represents what seems to be the prevailing Hollywood ethos. We are proudly liberal in this industry, Clooney seems to be saying but the unspoken and common practice is we'll only cast you if your white and male and if you're female, you'll be relegated to a role as the token babe.
Kathryn Bigelow's directorial Oscar for The Hurt Locker is often held-up as confirmation that female directors are just as capable as their male counterparts and it is compelling proof. But one wonders if the movie was only green-lit because the subject matter was male-dominated and set in a war-milieu.
Lake Bell had a minor success with her 2013 film In A World ; a funny and charming comedy in which she wrote, directed and starred. I can only hope the industry rewards her with a multi-film deal but she may find herself struggling to cobble together a budget for future projects while available dollars for superhero swill like Thor are plentiful and balloon uncontrollably.
The problem isn't going to go away anytime soon. Somehow I may be reading an article like Dowd's a year from now and I won't bat an eye. If the stat is true--52 percent of movie-going audiences are female--then it would seem glaringly obvious the demographic could be better served with more films featuring strong, central, female characters; directed, edited, and written also by women. Does the lead female character from Frozen, for whom the story revolves around, have to be animated to be a significant character in a Hollywood production? I hope not.
Reading the article, I was overcome by a sense of deja-vu; I seem to read an article on this subject at least once a year yet outrage by the film industry is non-existent and any change now seems to be reactionary and retrograde. None of the statistics or quotes by industry insiders surprised me. One would think that the appalling numbers would be more representatitive of the 20th century. That they reflect the current state in Hollywood is indicative of the male-liberal hypocrisy gripping the movie industry.
Years ago, in accepting an Oscar for his performance in Syriana George Clooney proudly exclaimed the following:
And finally, I would say that, you know, we are a little bit out of touch in -- in Hollywood every once in a while, I think. It's probably a good thing. We're the ones who talk about AIDS when it was just being whispered, and we talked about civil rights when it wasn't really popular. And we, you know, we -- we bring up subjects....This Academy, this group of people, gave Hattie McDaniel an Oscar in 1939 when blacks were still sitting in the backs of theaters. I'm proud to be a part of this Academy. Proud to be part of this community, and proud to be out of touch.What is particularly interesting in Clooney's speech is that not only is this embarrassing lip-service (how many blacks have you seen in Clooney's films?) but it also applies to Dowd's lament about women. We have a white-liberal industry figure singing the praises of a supposedly progressive industry though this same individual assigns the best roles to white men in his own films. Sure, Renee Zelweger is the love interest in Leatherheads but she is mostly a kewpie-doll with little if any dimension.
I'm not trying to single out Clooney for criticism but his curious acceptance speech represents what seems to be the prevailing Hollywood ethos. We are proudly liberal in this industry, Clooney seems to be saying but the unspoken and common practice is we'll only cast you if your white and male and if you're female, you'll be relegated to a role as the token babe.
Kathryn Bigelow's directorial Oscar for The Hurt Locker is often held-up as confirmation that female directors are just as capable as their male counterparts and it is compelling proof. But one wonders if the movie was only green-lit because the subject matter was male-dominated and set in a war-milieu.
Lake Bell had a minor success with her 2013 film In A World ; a funny and charming comedy in which she wrote, directed and starred. I can only hope the industry rewards her with a multi-film deal but she may find herself struggling to cobble together a budget for future projects while available dollars for superhero swill like Thor are plentiful and balloon uncontrollably.
The problem isn't going to go away anytime soon. Somehow I may be reading an article like Dowd's a year from now and I won't bat an eye. If the stat is true--52 percent of movie-going audiences are female--then it would seem glaringly obvious the demographic could be better served with more films featuring strong, central, female characters; directed, edited, and written also by women. Does the lead female character from Frozen, for whom the story revolves around, have to be animated to be a significant character in a Hollywood production? I hope not.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Peabody and Sherman
Dir. Rob Minkoff. Voices: Ty Burrell, Max Charles, Ariel Winter. **Spoiler alert**
I was a little leery of the idea of a screen adaptation of a cartoon I enjoyed as a child; after all, how many kids today have heard of Peabody and Sherman? Could the irreverence and loopiness that characterized the original animated T.V. series make the transition to the big screen and maybe more importantly, enchant 21st century children?
After a crash course on the nature of the original show, my 8 year old and I sat in a local theater for a special advanced 3-D screening. I have to admit I expected little; feeling the movie little more than a baby-boomer executive's lazy attempt to market a product appealing directly to a middle-age demographic rather than something to titillate kids. I'm pleased to say my reservations evaporated in the next 90 minutes. Not that Peabody and Sherman is stunning children's fare, but it doesn't displease and it often pleases, which isn't exactly a ringing endorsement. It's fun, and that's enough.
I was hoping the one quality of the original series would remain: the smart-alecky, anachronistic behaviour of historical figures Mr. Peabody and Sherman meet. After Sherman foolishly mentions Mr. Peabody's Way-Back machine to an obnoxious school-yard nemesis named Penny Peterson, dog and boy are forced to travel to the past to rescue her. In doing so, they find themselves face to face with historic notables like King Tut, DaVinci, and Marie Antoinette as well as an encounter with mythical Greek warrior Agamemnon.
The movie, I'm pleased to say, does retain the spirit of the original, mixing irreverence and humor while maintaining an adventurous spirit. My favorite character was Agamemnon, who sounds more like a tough, surfer-dude than the fearsome Greek soldier of myth.
I was relieved to find my daughter enjoyed it, which is good news for the filmmakers, who I'm sure are salivating with a franchise agenda. It remains to be seen how other young movie-goers will receive the flick but as I said before, it's fun and it pleased my daughter, so I can't complain.
I was a little leery of the idea of a screen adaptation of a cartoon I enjoyed as a child; after all, how many kids today have heard of Peabody and Sherman? Could the irreverence and loopiness that characterized the original animated T.V. series make the transition to the big screen and maybe more importantly, enchant 21st century children?
After a crash course on the nature of the original show, my 8 year old and I sat in a local theater for a special advanced 3-D screening. I have to admit I expected little; feeling the movie little more than a baby-boomer executive's lazy attempt to market a product appealing directly to a middle-age demographic rather than something to titillate kids. I'm pleased to say my reservations evaporated in the next 90 minutes. Not that Peabody and Sherman is stunning children's fare, but it doesn't displease and it often pleases, which isn't exactly a ringing endorsement. It's fun, and that's enough.
I was hoping the one quality of the original series would remain: the smart-alecky, anachronistic behaviour of historical figures Mr. Peabody and Sherman meet. After Sherman foolishly mentions Mr. Peabody's Way-Back machine to an obnoxious school-yard nemesis named Penny Peterson, dog and boy are forced to travel to the past to rescue her. In doing so, they find themselves face to face with historic notables like King Tut, DaVinci, and Marie Antoinette as well as an encounter with mythical Greek warrior Agamemnon.
The movie, I'm pleased to say, does retain the spirit of the original, mixing irreverence and humor while maintaining an adventurous spirit. My favorite character was Agamemnon, who sounds more like a tough, surfer-dude than the fearsome Greek soldier of myth.
I was relieved to find my daughter enjoyed it, which is good news for the filmmakers, who I'm sure are salivating with a franchise agenda. It remains to be seen how other young movie-goers will receive the flick but as I said before, it's fun and it pleased my daughter, so I can't complain.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Some Oscar Thoughts
The 2014 Oscar telecast didn't offer many surprises. I expected Gravity and 12 Years a Slave to walk away with the lion's share of awards though I was hoping the former's accolades would be relegated to the purely technical. Who cares who wins, really, when noone is naive enough to believe artistic merit has anything to do with the nomination and election processes.
I enjoyed Ellen Degeneres as hostess though the overly-frequent mingling with the audience wore out its welcome. Ordering pizza for crowd bordered on the anarchic; something the Oscar telecasts need in bundles, while the attempt to have Ellen wander the aisles, making comments and addressing actors seemed something better-suited for her daytime show.
The presentations and acceptance speeches were mostly painless. Jared Leto's acceptance speech addressed too many political issues but it was heartfelt. It makes me wince whenever an acceptance speech cites god as the reason for everything in the recipient's life. Matthew McConaughey's speech was just that. I couldn't help but roll my eyes, hoping the nod to the divine would morph into familial praise. I couldn't remember a time when I actually enjoyed all the performances and the nominated songs. U2 was particularly good, as was Idina Menzel and Pharrell Williams.
Everyone bitches about the Oscars being too long but noone ever tries to seriously remedy the problem. I myself have never minded; the Oscar telecast comes but once a year so sitting through the camp and the few inspired moments seems like a mandatory rite. The tribute to Wizard of Oz was fun but I wish the Oscars would have celebrated more classic films. At least we didn't get tacky dance and song numbers.
I'm glad 12 Years a Slave came away with the Best Picture award though I still think Inside Llewyn Davis should have nominated in some top awards, including Best Picture. I found it artistically superior to Gravity, which in my mind was a technical achievement but an insipid space drama. Noone will ever be totally satisfied with the winning selections but what fun would the Oscars be if one didn't come away a little disgruntled? I have to say I wasn't really looking forward to the awards this year as I have been in years past. There was something inevitable about the nominations; as if the media had decided in November who the contenders would be. Nothing surprised and so nothing really seemed at stake. In years past I could count on personal hostility to certain pictures or actors nominations but this year, with the exception of Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock's acting nods, I felt too tired or bored with everything leading up to the broadcast to truly care. I can say that one Oscar achievenent this year was the ubiquity of African-descent nominees. Chewetel Ojiofor, Lupita Nyong'o, Steve McQueen, and Barkhad Abdi all make up what must be record nominations for blacks in acting and directorial roles. I hope this becomes a trend. But other than this singular development, everything just seemed to be on auto-pilot. Not that any of it matters; for who can name the winners after a fortnight?
Tim's Vermeer
Dir. Penn Jillette and Teller
Tim's Vermeer documents inventor Tim Jenison's obsessive attempt to recreate a Vermeer using optics he believes the master may have employed to capture unbelievable lighting and shading effects in his paintings. An untrained and amateur painter, Jenison first demonstrates his technique by painting a photographic portrait, which he accomplishes to an astonishing degree, then applies the same technique to a Vermeer. To achieve this, Jenison uses considerable wealth to recreate a room seen in a Vermeer painting, sparing no expense to decorate and to simulate period lighting. Furniture and windows, carpets and paintings and even mannequins with period-appropriate clothing help capture a Vermeer-like interior. The room itself is amazing but Jenison's work has only begun, as he learns how painstaking details are to render. It is widely known that Vermeer used a camera obscura in his work, but we learn he may have had more optical devices at his disposal. The process is illuminating, not only for Jenison but for the viewer and even renowned artist David Hockney, who is shown the final product.
Jenison's project wasn't conceived to demonstrate the ease in painting like Vermeer, but to show the master could have and most likely did use advanced (for the time) optics to capture what the ordinary eye cannot. Even Vermeer's contemporaries were unable to record the hyper-accurate lighting effects achieved in the Delft artist's canvasses. Penn and Teller's film captures the physical and emotional strain of the process and it's enlightening and riveting. We even see Jenison looking at the final product, succumbing to tears in the process; no doubt appreciating the effort necessary to paint like the Master. Penn and Teller's choice for a documentary subject is logical; the inventive sleight of hand involved in Vermeer's works and Jenison's reproduction seem like magic acts. It is fairly certain, as Jenison would agree, that Vermeer was a kind of inventor too; wedding art and technology to create otherworldly masterpieces.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Non-Stop
**Spoiler Alert**
Dir. Jaume Collet-Serra, Starring: Liam Neeson and Julianne Moore
Liam Neeson plays Air-Marshal Bill Marks, a former alcoholic and NYPD cop who boards a cross-Atlantic flight, only to be challenged by someone on board who threatens to kill passengers every twenty minutes unless a $150 million ransom is paid. Many suspects and red-herrings create a mystery for Neeson and viewer alike. Moore is a mysterious suspect--at least to the viewer--but is one of many. As dead bodies began to appear, Neeson is implicated in the crime when a passenger forwards a video taken of the air-marshal roughing-up a passenger. Before long, Neeson is branded the hijacker, prompting a miltary response in the form of fighter jets. A ticking bomb is discovered--previously disguised as cocaine contraband; one more complication the air-marshal must address.
Collet-Serra employs the ticking-clock, passenger-mutiny and the air-marshal's seeming guilt to create a taut, thrilling situation. Neeson delivers a convincing, exceptional performance while Moore makes her motivations seem plausible even as the audience may see them as anything but. Michelle Dockery from Downton Abbey is a flight attendant trying to maintain order in a combustible situation while oscar-nominee Lupita Nyong'o is unfortunately seldom seen and heard.
Non-Stop will most likely be a hit and deservedly so, in spite of some missteps. I left the theater wondering if Hollywood might try to squeeze a sequel or franchise out of it. Stay tuned.
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