Flickread: Keepers: The Greatest Films-and Personal Favorites-of a Moviegoing Lifetime

By Richard Schickel

Former film critic for the magazines Life and more recently Time, Richard Schickel is also a prolific author, film historian and documentarian. Having penned twenty-four books on film and film history, Schickel's new book: Keepers: The Greatest Films-and Personal Favorites-of a Moviegoing Lifetime is a stimulating tour of 20th Century cinema, which includes reminiscences and reflections on movies that have moved him in his life. In a decade by decade review of significant films, directors and actors, Schickel also touches upon personal, movie-going experiences. Supplementing his views on cinema are his brushes with some of movie history's greatest talents, as well as his friendship with many notables, like Clint Eastwood and Martin Scorsese.

But the main attraction is Schickel's perspective on films and his assessments and reassessments of bodies of work, including both directors and actors.

Why should we care what Schickel thinks about film? Answer: his passion for cinema and his 40 years as one of the printed media's premier critics. Does he need more bona fides?

Keepers is prefaced with Schickel's speculation about the number of films he may have seen in his 82 years on the planet. The sum he arrives at is quite astonishing: 22,000. That number should impress even the most seasoned cinephiles (it certainly impresses me). His estimate is prompted by the question he is often asked: how many films do you think you've seen?
Schickel shares biographical information about his formative years in Milwaukee and his first film experience--Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. His father feared the 5 year-old Richard might be frightened by the evil witch but Schickel assures us his dad need not have fretted; he found the experience intoxicating. It seems many elder critics developed a love for cinema by way of a first encounter with a classic Disney film. Schickel says it was common for his mother to send him off alone to the cinema for a long afternoon with money for candy and popcorn. What would seem unseemly today was actually a safe practice then. Schickel is quick to remind us the theaters then were well staffed with ushers.

Though his love for film remained constant, it wasn't until the 1960s' that Schickel secured a position as film critic with Life Magazine. An editor asked him one day if he might write a critique, which lead to a full-time position as a reviewer. When Life went belly-up in the early 1970s, Schickel was recruited for the staff at Time magazine; a position he held until 2009.

Keepers might have--should have--been a two volume book. His book is concise but given his decade-by-decade survey of film and film movements, its svelte 284 pages isn't enough to encompass the decades from the 1960s' to the present. After the 70s', Schickel only touches upon a few films and directors in each subsequent decade. One could almost say the book is really an ode to the first 70 years of cinema. But in spite of the book's lean chapters, ample page space is always reserved for Schickel's favorite films.

A critic is only as interesting as his/her hyperbolic claims about who and what is the best, greatest, most significant, etc. Though Schickel isn't one of those critics who is ever sharpening an axe; like Pauline Kael, he nevertheless harbors his own adamantine convictions. On re-assessing the Marx Brothers:

They seemed to me have slipped down history's page in recent decades. Chico is never really funny with his lame Italian accent. Harpo works his mime pretty well, but his innocence wears less well. Groucho is, of course, the wiseguy supreme... ...They managed some sublime bits, but somehow our (maybe I should say "my") affection for them is now muted. The three of them do not add up to one great comedian, try as they might, and God knows they tried.

The statement appears in a chapter on the comics of the films of the first decades of the talkies; a period he expresses a singular affection for.

In the chapters prior to the talkies, Schickel offers a bracing comparison/contrast of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. Though Schickel expresses his admiration for Keaton, he finds it difficult to include any one of his films in his book, for various reasons.

Leaving no cinematic stone unturned, Schickel is keen to devote time and attention to foreign films of the period; powerful convictions intact:

On Fritz Lang:

I think both Metropolis and M are overrated, movies that are running now on their reputations rather than on re-engagement with their merits.

And on early Russian Cinema:

We were taught to revere the Russian cinema, and justifiably so. There was, at least in the films exported to the United States, an epic quality--and a technical skill--that was largely unmatched in our native cinema. Yet I don't particularly want to see those movies again.

Agree or disagree, it is difficult to be indifferent to Schickel's comments. One expects; nay, demands a critic have strong opinions. Thank goodness Schickel isn't timid. Though I myself am hardly simpatico with all his opinions, I expect someone who loves film to be opinionated and stand by their likes and dislikes. Schickel is no shrinking daisy.

Incidental or serendipitous encounters with Hollywood luminaries make for indispensable reading. Schickel regales the reader with a story about the time he found himself at a New York dinner gathering where Greta Garbo was an attendee. Having heard about Garbo's alleged reclusiveness, Schickel finds, to his and our surprise, that she socializes with a circle of friends. Though he acknowledges her shyness, he also finds she is quite talkative at the dinner table.

Further along in the book, Schickel reassesses Welles work. His sobering view of Welles' contribution to cinema could easily spark an all-night debate among film lovers:

Not wishing to take anything away from Kane, I'm inclined to judge directors by all their work, where Welles comes up short. Hawks, Hitchcock, Renoir, Bergman, De Sica, Ford and so on--their contributions to film history are far larger than those of Welles.

...But at the end of the day, I think the contributions of someone like Hawks or Hitchcock are more important than Citizen Kane.

Quite exciting and provocative comments, for sure.

The book glides from one period to the next, never overlooking the major movements or major stars; German Expressionism, Humphrey Bogart, Marlon Brando, Italian Neo-realism, et al. Through it all, we have Schickel's incisive thoughts to keep us mentally and emotionally engaged.

As he mentions his friendships with actors and filmmakers, it is hard not to think that his hobnobbing with the likes of Clint Eastwood or Bette Davis is a huge conflict of interest. Having mentioned his friendly dinners with Eastwood and their warm, mutual regard, how can Schickel then write a book about his friend with any degree of objectivity? How can we expect an impartial film review of Outlaw Josey Wales or Unforgiven? Somehow Schickel is able to remain critically detached. In recounting his friendship with Martin Scorsese, he talks about how he expressed his dislike for Mean Streets. In subsequent time together, Schickel says he and Scorsese were unable to ever have a "meeting of the minds" on the film.

He does express his high regard for Scorsese's other works and believes Raging Bull and Taxi Driver to be the director's masterpieces but doesn't include Goodfellas in his canon. Very interesting.

The book does become thinner as we edge ever closer to the 21st century. The 70s' earn more page time than the 80s', whose films rate a passing mention. Babette's Feast, Wings of Desire and Blue Velvet all garner Schickel's high esteem.

Schickel's book reminds me of last year's Not to Be Missed, by L.A. Times film critic Kenneth Turan, which earns a mention in Keepers. And like Turan's terrific book, Schickel's refreshingly sidesteps the tiresome, amateurish lists we so often find on Amazon and IMDB. Instead, we have intelligent writing and informed opinions and maybe most importantly; a sense of the critic's love for cinema.

Nowhere in Schickel's book is his love for movies better articulated than in the final paragraph:

Where the movies are concerned, I'm obviously a lifer. They haunt my reveries. I never had a choice in this matter. Movies dominate more of our dream space than we care to admit. There is no phenomenon that does so in quite the way they do. There are people who are impervious to them, of course. I am clearly not one of them. I do not expect to become one of them. I expect, in fact, to be going to a movie the day before I die. Why not? They are a harmless addiction. Except when they are not; then they are instructive in ways that can be wondrous. I am grateful to them--let's leave it at that.

Yeah, let's leave it at that.

Keepers: The Greatest Films-and Personal Favorites-of a Moviegoing Lifetime

Ted 2

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Seth MacFarlane/Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Seth McFarlane (Voice), Amanda Seyfried, Jessica Barth, Morgan Freeman, Giovanni Ribisi and John Carroll Lynch

If you found the foul-mouthed, pot-smoking teddy bear from Ted amusing, Ted 2 will most likely be your creme brulee. I thought there was no way I would ever see a sequel after the gag response I had during the first movie. I really don't mind a bear who swears and tokes; the idea seems like fun but there was something revolting about Ted that I can't quite put my finger on. It isn't the crude, moronic humor--hell, most American movie comedies have that in common. At least this iteration was more gleeful in its pursuit of the obscene. I don't know if the sequel is better or I was better prepared to expect less, but Ted 2 seems less painful and bit more palatable than its predecessor. It's still imbecilic, mind you, but it manages to coax a few chuckles.

All you need to know about the story is that John (Mark Wahlberg) and his teddy bear chum Ted (Seth MacFarlane-voice) are still paling around, watching T.V. together and pulling sophomoric stunts, like pelting joggers and bicyclists with apples from a building rooftop. Their banter is often crude, as you might expect but they manage to be funny every so often.

Ted and his human wife Tami-Lynn (Jessica Barth) have set up a home in their modest apartment while earning a meager living as grocery store clerks. When the film begins, we see their marriage has hit a rough patch. Unsure of how to remedy marital strife, Ted seeks the counsel of a co-worker, who suggests the couple have a baby. Excited by the prospect of being parents, Ted and Tami-Lynn search for a sperm donor (Ted is unable to share procreative duties, for obvious reasons).

Ted hatches a hair-brained scheme to steal a sample of New England Patriots' quarterback Tom Brady's semen for his wife's fertilization. Ted and John break into Tom Brady's mansion, where they find the snoozing quarterback, only to be caught and literally thrown out. The scene is fairly amusing, as Brady's recent scandal also takes a satirical jab. Ted then approaches Sam Jones (he of Flash Gordon fame) to solicit his seed, only to be told his years of drug use have rendered him unable to comply. Further travails ensue when Ted learns Tami-Lynn's womb is overly stressed from years of drug use, which makes artificial insemination moot. Adoption becomes the logical alternative.

But Ted and Tami Lynn's problems only accrue when they learn the state refuses to recognize him as a human being, thus denying him the opportunity to adopt. Ted's diminished citizen status also means cancelled credit cards and terminated employment.

Undeterred, John and Ted hope to sue the state for his civil rights by seeking legal representation from a novice lawyer named Samantha L. Jackson (Amanda Seyfried); whose name becomes a source of merriment. Her woeful lack of pop culture knowledge also makes her a target for John and Ted's ridicule.

A trial by jury follows, which ends badly for Ted, as he is denied person status. Still determined to prove otherwise, Ted, John and Samantha seek out the legendary lawyer Patrick Meighan (Morgan Freeman) for more high-profile representation. Meighan's impassioned speech, which compares Ted's situation to the infamous Dred Scott case, tests the boundaries of good taste. Somehow it manages to not seem like a transgression in a film that often skirts the periphery of offensive, ethnic humor.
The film also comes close to being misogynistic but it manages to narrowly avoid that pitfall too.

While a smoldering romance between John and Samantha begins to blossom, Ted's fate hangs in the balance (not really, is it ever in doubt?).

The gags and jokes in the first half of the film wane in the second as the earnestness of Ted's civil rights case assumes center stage. As aforementioned, the jokes are mostly puerile but to quibble about that would be ridiculous. No one comes to a Ted movie expecting Moliere-like wit.

The numerous cameos are fun. One of my favorites involves an appearance by Liam Neeson as he queries Ted about buying a box of Trix cereal while standing in the checkout aisle.

Mark Wahlberg is a real sport for his willingness to muck about in a film that celebrates dumbness in all its incarnations. Ditto for Amanda Seyfried and Morgan Freeman, who manage to emerge with their dignity intact. Maybe I'm being too stodgy. Ted 2 is too harmless and inconsequential to be pilloried further.

It really isn't necessary for me to say more; the trailer says it all. Mr. MacFarlane, can we bury the teddy bear once and for all, please?

Inside Out

**Spoiler Alert**

Director(s): Pete Docter, Ronaldo Del Carmen/Voices: Amy Poehler, Bill Hader, Phyllis Smith, Richard Kind, Lewis Black, Mindy Kaling, Kaitlyn Dias, Diane Lane and Kyle MacLachlan

It isn't often I post my impressions of a Disney/Pixar animated film, which is mostly due to my impatience I feel for most of the stories. It's been some time since I blogged about any animated release (Peabody and Sherman may have have been the last) but then Pete Docter and Ronaldo Del Carmen's excellent Inside Out came along last weekend and not only entertained me but inspired me to post something about the movie.

Inside Out tells the story of a little girl named Riley (voice:Kaitlyn Dias), who, with her her mother and father (voices: Diane Lane and Kyle MacLachlan, respectively), are on a move from their home in Minnesota to San Francisco. A trying enough experience for any child, we literally get to know how her emotions shape her impressions, which are personified as five entities: Joy (Amy Poehler), Anger (Lewis Black), Fear (Bill Hader), Sadness (Phyllis Smith) and Disgust (Mindy Kaling). The group presides from a command center inside Riley's mind. The ever effervescent Joy serves as a kind of leader; always aggressively pushing her agenda of happiness while the participation of the other emotions is highly regulated and subject to her intense but buoyant scrutiny. Allegorized further, Riley's memories are connected to each emotion and preserved as small spheres assigned a correlative color: Joy (bright yellow), Sadness (blue), Anger (red), Fear (lavender) and Disgust (green). The vast number of spheres are stored in either long term and permanent memory storage, or short term.

The emotional command center is connected to theme-park-like villages that represent vital functions in Riley's life, such as Family, Goofy land (all the goofy moments shared with her parents) and her passions, like hockey. The park-like places are separated from the command center by very narrow bridges and are nourished by Riley's experiences and emotions. In time, we see the theme-villages are only as sturdy and upright as their importance in Riley's life.

The whole allegory is such an intelligent way of communicating to children how crucial our emotions are in forming memories and determining how strong or fragile our relationships with family will be. I thought the film might make the egregious misstep of pushing a joy-only message but the story wisely veered away from this conceit.

But as Riley faces the uncertainty and fear of a new home and school, Joy finds her task of keeping her happy and positive exceedingly difficult. We see the new home from Riley's point-of-view, which initially appears dark and dismal. Fear and Disgust share some responsibility for her perspective. Riley becomes apprehensive when her parents inform her their belongings won't arrive for another week. Joy manages to regain control when she taps into Riley's imagination; helping her to form a mental picture of her dreary-looking room as it might be with furnishings and decorations, thus restoring a lighter mood.

The characters in animated movies are only as engaging as the actors who lend their voices. Inside Out fields an exceptional voice cast. We know Amy Poehler can be funny, but here she is able to show her dramatic side as Riley finds herself in less-than-joyous situations. Mindy Kaling is quite amusing as Disgust, as are Lewis Black as Anger and Phyllis Smith, whose Sadness plays a crucial role in the story.

As school proves to be a lonely ordeal and her favorite extracurricular activity--hockey--proves to be a source of frustration, Riley begins to lash out at her parents, much to the consternation of Joy, whose influence begins to decline.

The story takes a troubling turn when Joy and Sadness are accidentally sucked into the pneumatic tube reserved for emo-spheres then jettisoned from the command center and into the world of Riley's psyche. The film becomes very suspenseful and takes on a maddening sense of urgency as Joy and Sadness seem to encounter every obstacle en route to the command center. They eventually become separated. Joy is accidentally plunged into the abyss where Riley's faded memories accumulate. Escape seems impossible.

Desperate to regain the happiness she and her family established in Minnesota, Riley in-advisably buys a bus ticket for her old home while Anger, Fear and Disgust do everything in their power to upset her plans, only to find they lack the appropriate emotional response to deal with her problem. In an attempt to rescue Riley from a possible monumental blunder, Sadness, rather than Joy, becomes the heroine we didn't anticipate.

Docter, who also co-wrote the script, shows a sure hand in sustaining a high level of suspense and urgency. I found myself squirming; wondering how Joy would extricate herself in time to help Riley in her darkest hour.

Inside Out is rich in symbolism and psychological allegory. The story is an effective synthesis of light and dark and its lessons are quite compelling. I like the way the story stressed the importance of the less desirable emotions of Fear, Anger and Disgust and their role in Riley's self-preservation. Life can never be and will never be solely joyous. A healthy psyche integrates all the emotions in carefully calibrated proportions; or so the film seems to say.

The film isn't without humor. It is quite funny to see Riley's mother and father's own "control centers." The father's is especially amusing, which sometimes works hilariously at cross-purposes with the mother's.

The film also shows that some of what we carry around in youth warrants disposing, such as Riley's imaginary best friend, Bing Bong (Richard Kind). Useless but oblivion-resistant memories, like a chewing gum jingle, surface inappropriately but amusingly throughout the story.

The story seems so simple yet so much is at stake. A little girl coping with a move and a new school doesn't seem like a promising premise on which to build a story but any plot can be absorbing if the the director has the imagination to realize it. We can credit Docter being such a filmmaker. But he isn't only creative; he also asks that his young audience be alert and attentive to his mildly cerebral story.

One can gauge the failure or success of Disney or children's cinema by the restless energy of the audience. I was pleased to say the audience was mostly rapt; silence reigned supreme.

The film is at once a crowd-pleaser and a good animated film. But it will no doubt charm a more mature audience too. Thank goodness. Another afternoon of Tomorrowland would have been excruciating.

Inside Out should enjoy a healthy run at the multiplex. Give it a chance; you might find it enchanting.

Me and Earl and the Dying Girl

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Alfonso Gomez-Rejon/Starring: Thomas Mann, RJ Cyler, Olivia Cooke, Connie Britton, Nick Offerman, Molly Shannon and John Bernthal

Director Alfonso Gomez-Rejon's Me and Earl and the Dying Girl, based on a novel by the same name by screenwriter Jesse Andrews, is an uneven effort, unfortunately. Original in some moments, it is less so in others. When it goes right, it's very right and when it doesn't, it doesn't exactly stumble but it doesn't step gracefully either. Its poignance and power arrives late in the third act, while the first half of the film is a mosaic of hit and miss moments.

The story begins as any teen-angsty, independent film might, as Greg (Thomas Mann, in a career-elevating role), the film's unreliable narrator and main subject, tells us in voice-over about his senior year of high school, which was also the worst year of his life. But Greg isn't always a suspect narrator, for his self-assessments can be objective, as when he talks about where he fits in the high school social hierarchy. Belonging to none of the cliques we recognize from personal experience: jocks, drama geeks, etc., Greg informs us he has survived high school by gaining acceptance by all the various factions. But though he maintains some kind of detente with the myriad social groups, he is also is a loner; though partly by design.

Greg's mother (Connie Britton), informs him one day that his classmate, Rachel, has been diagnosed with Leukemia. She suggests (coerces is more like it) he visit her, hoping comfort by a classmate might do her some good. Greg protests, pleading mutual non-acquaintance, but he goes anyway.

The initial meeting is less than auspicious. Greg insensitively and callously tells a puzzled Rachel (Olivia Cooke) that his mother put him up to it, which only makes an already awkward situation unpleasant. But Greg's offbeat sense of humor and shaggy charm nevertheless rates him a visit to her room. Casual conversation leads them eventually to the subject of her illness. The two share a laugh about how best to respond to people who make platitudinous comments about her Leukemia. As the two begin to warm to one another, Greg tells us in voice-over narration that the audience should not expect the story to veer into a passionate romance, as it's "not that kind of story." And as Greg begins to visit Rachel on what seems like a daily basis, she meets his friend Earl (a very funny RJ Cyler). Since Earl has known him since childhood (seen in flashback), he tells Rachel that he is the closest thing Greg has to a friend. Earl tells Rachel that his quasi-friendship with Greg is mainly a collaboration. Greg explains how he and Earl make short movies that are essentially re-imaginings of classic films, which are also ridiculously retitled. One example is Midnight Cowboy, which in Greg and Earl's version is 2:48 Cowboy. The films are self-consciously silly and though they never let anyone view them, they make a special dispensation for Rachel.

In more voice-over, we learn that Earl lives in the more economically-stressed part of town, while Greg's neighborhood is decidedly middle-class.

Unable to sit in the school cafeteria for lunch, with its rigid, social caste system, Greg and Earl occupy their history teacher's office to watch movies. Their teacher; Mr. McCarthy (Jon Bernthal) is the kind of teacher who exists only in movies; heavily tattooed and hip, he is a source of wisdom and forbearance for the young men.

Though Greg tells us in his narration that Rachel will survive, we become more skeptical as the film progresses. Rachel's chemo-induced hair-loss and her protracted stay at home and the hospital provide ample doubt. As Greg's visits become regular, he begins to neglect his school studies, in spite of his acceptance to Penn State.

What does Rachel's condition mean to Greg, whose self and self-loathing seem to occupy his mind the most? Others begin to call him on his behavior, including Rachel, who sees Greg's visits and his application to Penn State as two instances where his actions are forced upon him by others rather than being self-determined. Earl takes him to task for treating Rachel like a burden while Greg's school crush Madison (Katherine C. Hughes), urges him forcefully to make a film for Rachel; a kind of tribute from family, friends and students.

As Earl and Greg interview people for the film, they find the responses are obliviously insensitive and appallingly trite.

After a brief period of not-seeing Rachel, Greg visits her at the hospital on prom-night, in a tux, where he sets up a projector for her to see the film he and Earl have made for her. Everything in the film builds to this moment, as Rachel's condition suddenly becomes dire as Greg's film plays on the hospital room wall. While the hospital staff react desperately to Rachel's physical emergency, she reacts powerfully to Greg's mesmerizing and beautiful film.

Based on the trailer, one might expect Gomez-Rejon's film to be an upbeat, offbeat comedy but the grave second half of the story attains a searing poignancy.

Though we're supposed to notice Greg's character arc, the film fails to show it. In the end, we hear Rachel in voice-over speak of Greg's self-sacrifice and his numerous virtues though I had a hard time accepting her word. He does show genuine compassion for Rachel at times but for the most part, his egoism shows a frightful consistency.

As mentioned earlier, Gomez-Rejon's camera work was quite imaginative. The hallways, Mr. McCarthy's office and the cafeteria are shot (and designed) to appear as very narrow, constricting spaces while a wide-angle lens gives Rachel's room almost exaggerated, expansive proportions.

I particularly enjoyed Olivia Cooke's and RJ Cyler's performances. Cooke didn't play Rachel as an object of pity or of graceful suffering but as someone who sees her terminal illness as an a kind of annoyance. Cyler says little but he is often quite funny and his scene where his confronted by Greg is quite moving. I would have liked to know more about their characters but like everyone else in the film; they were merely planetoids in the universe called Greg.

Why is Greg the main character in this story? Why don't we know more about Rachel, whose inner life makes an appearance late in the film, when Greg wanders among her possessions in her bedroom? In the end, it is she who shows a more selfless side and is everything Greg should be.

I found the endless movie references exhausting and the use of Les Blank's documentary on the making of Fitzcarraldo; The Burden of Dreams, a glaring affectation though Greg's impersonation of Werner Herzog writing an entrance essay to the college board is amusing.

Me and Earl and the Dying Girl is a difficult movie to write about because it can't be dismissed or assigned unconditional, fulsome praise. It is a film to see but is it a must see? It will no doubt elicit a stronger reaction from younger film-goers. Whether it impacts an older audience remains to be seen.

3 1/2 Minutes, 10 Bullets

Director: Marc Silver

On the day after Thanksgiving 2012, a black teen named Jordan Davis and three friends pulled into a convenience store in Jacksonville, Florida for cigarettes and chewing gum. While one of the friends entered the store, the three other sat in the SUV, listening to blaring rap music. Meanwhile, a car pulled up next to the vehicle and shortly thereafter, the driver; a white man named Michael Dunn, became incensed with the loud music. He asked the black teens to turn down their music and after two of the boys complied, Davis defiantly turned the music back up. According to Dunn, Davis became abusive and eventually threatened to kill him. Dunn claimed he saw a gun barrel poking out from the rear passenger window, at which time he pulled a handgun from his glove compartment. He shot several times at the SUV as the driver, Tommie Stornes, desperately tried to pull away. Dunn said he continued firing until he no longer felt threatened. While Dunn waited for his wife to return, the young black boys in the SUV tended to Jordan, who they realized had sustained several gunshots to his body. As Jordan lay dying, Dunn was taken into custody. Invoking Florida's controversial Stand Your Ground Law, Dunn claimed he was threatened with violence and feared for his life. The teens who survived the encounter; Stornes, Tevin Thompson and Leland Brunson, don't deny Jordan was out of line and had a "big mouth," but they say Dunn's response was extreme and unnecessary and was motivated by racist sentiments.

The story and the case are the subject of Director Marc Silver's stirring new documentary 3 and 1/2 Minutes, 10 Bullets; a film that reaches for objectivity as it allows both sides its version of the events.

Silver's film isn't a talking head documentary, though we do hear commentary from Jordan's parents: Ron Davis and Lucia McBath, and the surviving members of the slain teen's group of friends. Dunn's version of events comes to us by way of his court testimony as well as recorded phone conversations with his fiancee, Rhonda Rouer. Silver also uses footage of Dunn in police custody to supplement his court testimony.

Though Dunn and his actions are subject to prosecution, it's clear the Stand Your Ground Law could just as easily be on the stand for its nebulous definition justifiable self-defense.

In the early part of the film, it's hard to square Dunn with the shooting. His timid, speaking voice is at odds with his violent act. This impression is further strengthened in trial testimony, when Dunn and his girlfriend both shed tears on the stand. What they might be sobbing about is anybody's guess because we never hear a word of remorse spill out of his or his fiancee's mouths.

In early trial testimony, Dunn's claims of self-defense seem reasonable and plausible but as the trial progresses, his version of events become shaky. Though he says a gun was pointed at him, none were found at the crime scene though his lawyer posits a theory that the weapon could have been flung from the vehicle as the boys fled from the scene in the SUV. It also becomes known that he never mentioned a gun of any kind to his fiancee.

Weakening Dunn's accusation that the four boys were thugs (we learn thugs is now a euphemism for "nigger") are Silver's conversations with Jordan's friends. Far from being products of broken homes and violent backgrounds, we see Stornes, Thompson and Brunson in their comfortable, suburban surroundings as they share memories of their friend. We also see they are anything but the hard-hearted killers Dunn would have the defense lawyer, the judge, the jury and his fiancee believe them to be. The audience is able to gather, from conversations with the teens and Jordan's father, that they are of one mind about Dunn's actions being related to his racist attitudes. In spite of Dunn's claims that he isn't racist, his biases slowly emerge in recorded conversations with his wife. The viewer might ask his or herself: would Dunn have pulled a gun on four white youths?

Ron Davis shares a disquieting exchange he had with the father of Trayvon Martin (another Stand Your Ground victim), who phoned Davis to tell him he is now a member of a club no one wants to belong to.

As the possibility of Dunn being set free becomes a distinct possibility, we hear the most powerful and damning testimony come not from Jordan's friends but from Dunn's fiancee Rhonda. When the prosecuting attorney asks her if Dunn ever mentioned any gun or weapon in Jordan or his friend's possession, she responds in the negative. Her honesty is astonishing, for she (and Dunn) are well aware that her answers will most likely help condemn her fiancee.

As everyone anxiously awaits the jury's verdict, the tension crescendos to some sort of dramatic climax. Given the appalling outcome of George Zimmerman's trial; of which he was acquitted of murder charges in the shooting of Trayvon Martin, Ron and Lucia's pessimism and anxieties seem warranted.

The jury eventually finds Dunn guilty of second degree murder on 4 of the 5 counts; not quite the outcome Jordan's parents had hoped for. The fifth count resulted in a hung jury and a mistrial. After the case was retried, Dunn was found guilty of first degree murder, which carries a mandatory life-sentence.

As a viewer, I understand Ron and Lucia's sense of relief, which is supposed to serve as a satisfying coda to the story and film, but I have to admit I felt the verdict, though just, was a defeat of sorts. Ron and Lucia's only child is gone and the horrific law that gave Dunn a sense of empowerment is still on the books. Both Jordan and Trayvon Martin are dead because a law mid-wived into existence by gun-lobbyists has only given gun-owners unreasonable latitude to interpret what is and what isn't a threat. I couldn't help but think that Jordan would be alive and Dunn would be free if the law didn't exist.

Silver tells this story compellingly; allowing the inherent drama to find full expression on the screen. I think the film could have actually done with fewer scenes of the grieving parents. Tears threaten to sentimentalize the documentary and detract from the honest, brutal reality of the story.

Though the ending feels like a victory for justice, the victorious feeling is tempered by the probability that more Stand Your Ground claimants will be on court dockets in the near future. Whether Dunn's life sentence will deter other gun owners from legally-sanctioned vigilantism remains to be seen.

3 1/2 Minutes, 10 Bullets is a compelling film. It's safe to say its audience will be left-leaning, which means it will play mostly to the lefty choir. But as the Fox News pro-Dunn response shows, consensus on gun-related issues is next to impossible anyway. I'm glad Silver made his film; it's trenchant indictment of a law makes for riveting cinema.

Gone But Not Forgotten: Hal Ashby's The Landlord (1970)

Director: Hal Ashby/Starring: Beau Bridges, Pearl Bailey, Lee Grant, Diana Sands, Louis Gossett, Jr., Marki Bey, Susan Anspach and Robert Klein

Director Hal Ashby (1929-1988) had a career so brief yet so rich. The main body and best of his work book-ended the 1970s'. An astonishing oeuvre that included films like Shampoo and Coming Home showed us Ashby's brand of biting social commentary while other films like Harold and Maude and Being There reminded us of his sublime, off-the-wall sense of humor. The Landlord, his directorial debut, was a generous serving of both.

The film is significant for its willingness to confront issues of racism the country was only beginning to acknowledge. To give the film historical context, it was released a mere two years after Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination.

Based on the novel by African-American writer Kristin Hunter, The Landlord has two settings; both crucial to the story it tells. It begins on a sprawling estate in Connecticut, where we see a young man named Elgar Enders (Beau Bridges) reclining on a chair on a vast lawn. A black butler approaches to serve him lemonade. The scene, mostly in long shot, effectively communicates everything we need to know about Elgar's life and his unabashed acceptance of its privileges.

In subsequent scenes, we see Elgar driving his VW convertible; overflowing with flowers, en route to the Park Slope tenement area of Brooklyn. When Elgar arrives, he sees the building in which he is to serve as landlord. He is quite naturally greeted, in a mix of hostility and mockery, by the mostly black residents of the building and the neighborhood. In a mildly amusing moment, he runs down the street with flowerpot in hand as a tenement resident gives chase. On his return to the building, he finds neighborhood kids looting his car of sundry items. Upon entering his building, he finds it dark, cavernous, run-down and full of suspicious tenants, who find his presence disconcerting and puzzling.

Elgar meets the matriarchal Marge (Pearl Bailey), who is informed she owes months of back-rent. He meets the sexy Fanny (Diana Sands); who wastes little time flirting him and makes the acquaintance of her kid, who subjects Elgar to various forms of mischief while also coaxing cigarettes out of him. He also meets Fanny's husband Copee (Louis Gossett, Jr.), who forcefully ejects Elgar from their apartment by threatening him with violence.

It doesn't take long for Elgar to make it known he intends to clear the tenement of the residents. He even asks Marge, uncaringly, how long the process might take. In spite of his callous agenda, the tenants remain unintimidated and regard Elgar with a weary patience they've probably reserved for most landlords.

As the film progresses, we see Elgar contend not only with defiant tenants who all owe him back-rent, but his parents, who see his landlording venture as frivolous.

Mingling with his disdain for his parent's anti-tenement attitude is Elgar's shame for living under his parent's roof. During a meal with his family, we see his bigoted father (Walter Brooke); whose intolerance for anyone black is undisguised. We see that his mother (Lee Grant) acts as a diplomatic intermediary between Elgar and her husband but harbors a few bigoted ideas of her own. His dizzy sister Susan (Susan Anspach) is to marry Peter (Robert Klein), who is easily intimidated by his father-in-law-to-be while his brother, William Jr., is little more than the elder Enders' doppelganger in all matters relating to race.

Ashby contrasts Elgar's family's life sharply with life in the tenement. The legendary Gordon Willis, who would become Coppola's cinematographer on The Godfather trilogy and some of Woody Allen's films, assigns light and shade to the respective interiors of the tenements and the Enders' lush home. Nearly every visible space in the tenements are shot in a murky gloom while the Enders' estate and home are never wanting of sunny effulgence.

As time passes, Elgar becomes more sensitive to the culture that surrounds his tenement and neighborhood. He falls in love with a dancer he meets in a Brooklyn night club named Lanie (the lovely Marki Bey); a black woman whose light-skinned complexion enables her to move among the white and black cultures with relative ease but invites resentment among her dancing peers and the Park Slope inhabitants. It is particularly amusing to see Lanie attend Elgar's mother's costume fund-raiser while her blackness goes undetected by his parents.

Elgar's life becomes complicated when he can no longer resist Fanny's coquettish advances. A lovemaking interlude results in a pregnancy that nearly costs him his life when Copee discovers his transgression. Left with a baby Fanny can't and won't raise, Elgar agrees to put him up for adoption until the final shot of the film suggests he will do otherwise. Elgar's impregnation of Fanny serves as a metaphor for the systematic white exploitation of blacks.

Elgar Enders is quite at home as the kind of anti-hero that was to become commonplace in 70s' American cinema. Though he becomes sympathetic to the culture he chooses to live among, leaving Fanny with child shows a less-appealing side to his otherwise reasonable nature. He does atone for his sins in a magnanimous way but his gesture comes at a price; he becomes persona non grata in his building and the community, which prompts his inevitable departure.

I couldn't help but think about how the film makes an unintended statement about the paucity of blacks in cinema. Then, as now, a film featuring black actors that wasn't Black Exploitation Cinema must have seemed rather unusual. It is sad to think how little progress has been made.

As intriguing as Ashby's film is, I don't know that I would include it among his best. But the film is fascinating as a time capsule and shows an emerging, more progressive perspective in cinema.

Ashby's debut was the beginning of a career that was anything but predictable. And it was hardly the last time Ashby would make a film with a sociopolitical statement. Shampoo would be another example of Ashby's ability to address political issues in a highly entertaining way.

I was lucky enough to be able to see The Landlord in a theater recently and am glad I did. To see a film by a director whose career was relatively short and incandescent is quite a treat.

Note: The film isn't available on Netflix but if one is curios enough, a copy can be had via Amazon.

Jurassic World

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Colin Trevorrow/Starring: Chris Pratt, Bryce Dallas Howard, Vincent D'Onofrio, Irrfan Khan, Ty Simpkins, Jake Johnson, Nick Robinson, Judy Greer, BD Wong, Omar Sy

Colin Trevorrow, director of the amusing, off-the-wall Safety Not Guaranteed, takes on the dinosaur-sized production Jurassic World. Watching the film, I couldn't remember if Spielberg was in the director's chair because much of it bears his stamp. I suppose that's inevitable when he himself co-produced the film.

Though Trevorrow makes the film reasonably entertaining, his can't hope to match Jurassic Park for its originality or Spielberg's thrill-making ability. Jurassic World borrows so from the original the film seems almost like a reboot.

Isla Nublar is now home to Jurassic World; a mega-theme park sprawled across the Costa Rican island. Rather than the park-in-progress seen in the first film, Jurassic World is a fully-functional tourist destination.

When the film begins, we see the brothers Zach and Gray preparing to leave their parents outside their snow-covered home. Zach, a broody, discontented teen, is given a romantic send-off by his girlfriend, while his precocious, younger, Asperger-ish brother concerns himself with other distractions. The dark cloud hanging over the household is the divorce their mother Karen (Judy Greer) and father are headed precipitously toward. While the parents say their goodbyes to Zach and Gray at the airport, the older brother acts peevish, put-upon and unhappy about leaving his girlfriend.

The story cuts to a sleek transport boat as it approaches the impressive Jurassic World. An aerial long shot captures the crowded, vast complex; situated on the lush shoreline of Isla Nublar. Negotiating the crush of people who wander about the shops and tourist attractions inside the park, the brothers find their Aunt Claire; a park executive, who receives her nephews rather coolly. From the first exchange, the boys see their aunt is emotionally detached and totally absorbed in the business of running Jurassic World. After Claire makes a tepid promise to spend time with them the next day, the boys run off while an appointed guardian struggles to keep up.

Meanwhile, we see Claire at work, leading a group of potential investors on a tour of the park and the private labs. We learn something about the park's growth initiatives, which includes scarier, genetically designed dinosaurs with bigger teeth to wow and dazzle the patrons who grow increasingly bored with tyrannosaurs, triceratops and apatosauruses.

As in the first film, the unholy marriage of science and commerce alerts us to the folly of hubris and tampering with nature.

While the boys wander through the park, Claire's administrative concerns lead her to the park's newest exhibit; a genetically engineered creation called Indominus Rex; which is essentially a larger, smarter and nastier T-Rex. Safety concerns about the Indominus' paddock have arisen, which necessitates a meeting between Claire and a former naval engineer named Owen (Chris Pratt), whose expertise on structural integrity makes him an ideal consultant. When we first see Owen, he is standing on a walkway above a pen of velociraptors. As the raptors hiss and screech below, Owen busies himself training the raptors to follow orders. He even assigns them names.
When an unscrupulous military contractor named Hoskins (Vincent D'Onofrio) shows up to observe Owen's raptor-training, we learn the raptors are to be trained for deployment in combat.

I'm glad the screenwriters kept one foot in the real world; showing us how different parties with different agendas might actually exploit dinosaurs for profit and militaristic purposes. Of course the audience knows both means of exploitation will prove to be short-sighted and foolish.

In a scene where Claire approaches Owen about inspecting the Indominus' paddock, we see his shabby-looking, riverside home. We soon discover they once shared an extremely brief romance, which shows signs of rekindling.

Later, at the park complex, Claire and Owen find claw marks on the walls of the paddock, which suggest the dinosaur has taken flight. Thinking the Indominus Rex gone, they discover the dinosaur has tricked them into believing it escaped. As they find the towering hulk bearing down on them, Owen manages to elude the beast but an unfortunate staff person is gobbled whole. In spite of Owen's efforts to contain it, the Indominus effects an escape, and when he does, he goes on a park-wide, lethal rampage; feeding on other dinosaurs and hapless park employees. Later, the Indominus' love for bloodsport comes to light when Claire and Owen happen upon a herd of dead apatosaurs; their claw-streaked bodies providing grisly evidence.

And like the first film, we know the two youngsters will eventually find themselves stranded and trapped somewhere in the park. While taking a tour of the park in glassy, gyroscopic pods (really cool) Zach decides to drive off road into prohibited areas. Gee, what do you think will happen next?

And you might guess too that the thought of her endangered nephews will cure Claire of her seeming indifference and awaken a warm, familial compassion.

As the Indominus Rex stalks and skulks about, the park closes while the tourists are herded into a makeshift shelter in a warehouse.

Hoskins sees the Indominus' escape as an opportunity to test the velociraptors hunting and seeking skills. Though contemptuous of Hoskins, Owen decides to lead his trained pack on the hunt. Meanwhile, Hoskins' heavily armed, para-military personnel join the pursuit.

One of the parks biggest investors, Simon Masrani (Irrfan Khan), takes to the air in his helicopter in hopes of locating the Indominus, only to find the beast has smashed into the park aviary, where pterodactyls are kept. The flying dinos escape, unleashing their own mayhem on the tourists and park personnel.

It's pretty clear where the story will go. As previously mentioned, if you know the first film, this one won't offer many narrative surprises.

I don't know what is more frightening; predatory dinosaurs loose in a theme park or the very realistic throngs of tourists milling about. Though the idea of the park seemed like a fun idea in the first film, Trevarrow is quick to reinforce the impression that such a place would actually be inhumane and maybe immoral. One might have thought that after all the mayhem and destruction visited upon the world in the first few films, the authorities might keep a place like Jurassic World from ever getting off the ground. Implausible as the park might be, the human capacity for stupidity can never be too implausibly rendered onscreen.

Trevarrow does a respectable job keeping the story and action moving, but the film lacks the original's sense of wonder. Or maybe we've become the jaded park patrons Claire derides. Are T-rexs' and velociraptors no longer enough?

The Claire/Owen romance seems like a throwback to a 1940s' B-film; the damsel in high-heels being led about by the rugged, shotgun-toting tough. Bryce Dallas Howard's and Chris Pratt's chemistry manages to distract us from this crumbly, boy-leads-girl movie convention of old.

I liked the shot of the park's tourist area reduced to rubble and ruin to reinforce the film's message that nature isn't something to be commodified. Man proposes, nature disposes; to rework a famous quote.

Like the investors in the film who never seem to learn, the filmmakers may be on a course to create more of these films. Certain developments in the story suggest as much. Jurassic World is mostly fun and mostly painless. One could see a helluva lot worse at the local multiplex these days. Speaking of, is that Woman in Gold I still see on the marquee?

Spy

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Paul Feig/Starring: Melissa McCarthy, Jason Statham, Jude Law, Rose Byrne, Allison Janney and Bobby Cannavale

Paul Feig, director of Bridesmaids, adds to his comedy credentials with his new flick Spy, which stars Melissa McCarthy; his muse and leading lady. The film is Feig and McCarthy's third collaboration and it's safe to assume their working relationship will continue into the future.

Spy is a James Bond-spoof but rather than casting a glamorous 007, we have McCarthy, who exploits her unglamorousness for laughs. But Feig understands the value of ensemble comedy and he has recruited a supporting cast who are often funny on their own. Allison Janney, Jason Statham, British comedienne Miranda Hart, Jude Law and Bobby Cannavale lend their various talents to the movie and serve as effective comedic support.

Spy-spoofs always work best if the story or plot takes a back seat to the lampoonery. Feig's film mostly succeeds in that respect. The plot imperatives are fairly undemanding, which leaves more room for McCarthy and company to do their funny things.

McCarthy plays Susan Cooper, a desk-bound CIA agent who dreams of being assigned dangerous and glamorous fieldwork rather than providing intel for agency operatives. One such operative is the James Bondish Bradley Fine (Jude Law), whose exotic and dangerous missions leave the sedentary Susan feeling envious. After Susan guides the tux-clad Fine through an operation via her computer, he vanishes mysteriously. Her boss, the humorless and no-nonsense Elaine Crocker (amusingly played by the ever-welcome Allison Janney) receives a video transmission from a Rayna Boyanov (the always fun Rose Byrne); a criminal on the international scene. Boyanov informs Crocker, in her haughty manner, that the identities of several CIA agents have been compromised.
We also learn Boyanov is also involved in the sale of nuclear weapons to terrorists.

As Crocker devises a plan to surveil Boyanov, she meets with one of the CIA's top agents; Rick Ford (a very funny Jason Statham). Though Ford is eager to go after Boyanov, he is reminded that his identity is no longer secret. When Crocker suggests they send an agent unknown to the international criminal community, Susan offers her services as a field-ready operative. Her suggestion draws mocking scorn from Ford, who refers to her as a "lunch lady." Though Crocker expresses her own reservations, she decides to give Susan a try. She makes it clear to Susan that she is only to observe and report and not engage the target.

It's a pity Jason Statham isn't offered more comedic roles because he is often very funny in his scenes. He is especially amusing when Ford details to Susan the injuries he's sustained while performing dangerous spy-work. Among the many physical traumas he mentions is an arm torn from its socket, which he claims to have reattached himself.

As Ford defies Crocker's orders not to pursue Boyanov, Susan dons her disguises for her surveillance. Hoping for glamor, she is disappointed to find her disguise is that of a dowdy middle-age woman who is humorously asexual.

Showing initiative and her willingness to also defy orders, Susan comes into contact with Boyanov at a formal gathering. Seeing her drink has been lethally-spiked, she stops her from ingesting it. Her cover almost blown, Susan explains to the prickly Boyanov that she has been hired to be her bodyguard by the she-criminal's father. Because of quick-thinking, Susan is able to stay close to Boyanov and report on her activities. In the meantime, Susan and Boyanov exchange some amusing insults and before long, a bond begins to form between the two.

As Susan's undercover spy-work begins to empower and embolden her, she also begins to earn Ford's respect. She also begins to shed her timid, mild-mannered personality for a more assertive, confidant one.

Susan realizes in time that Boyanov is merely a pawn in a larger plan to acquire weapons of mass destruction, which involves another criminal named Sergio De Luca (an under-utilized Bobby Cannavale). A kind of showdown makes up the last half-hour of the film, which is really the obligatory plot wrap-up we see in every action comedy.

Having worked with McCarthy on several films, Feig understands her comic appeal and wrings every laugh and giggle he can from it. McCarthy manages to be funny in spite of the fact that her character settles into what is fast becoming her trademark: the foul-mouthed tough with a hostile streak. I'm not really complaining, mind you; she does it well but she may want to be careful the character doesn't become shopworn. Nevertheless, she is a fun and funny heroine and can play off her co-stars without overpowering them with her presence. Rose Byrne has already proven to be a gifted, comedic actress and she is no less here. The real surprise is Jason Statham, who almost steals the show with his macho action character send-up. The film's energy always bumps up a notch whenever Statham shows up.

Is Spy worth the time? I think so but only if your expectations are modest. It is entertaining and good for some chuckles. You'd be crazy to expect more.

Love and Mercy

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Bill Pohlad/Starring: Paul Dano, John Cusack, Elizabeth Banks and Paul Giamatti

Most rock biopics tend to dwell on musicians' reckless flights of Dionysian excess rather than the music itself. We see nothing of the former but learn much about the latter in director Bill Pohlad's excellent Love and Mercy . The film makes us witness to Beach Boy Brian Wilson's painstaking creative process, though it doesn't ignore the darker episodes of his life. Few narrative films about musicians take the time to detail how masterworks come into being. Though the film dramatizes much of the physical and mental dissolution in Wilson's life, we also come away with a sense of his musical brilliance and his need for creative growth; two qualities that have ensured his artistic viability.

Pohlad's imaginative camera work is buttressed by screenwriters Oren Moverman and Michael A. Lerner's terrific script. The story moves fluidly between Wilson's early years and the near past; between Wilson's formative musical life in the early 1960s' and his struggles with a malevolent and manipulative Svengali in the early 1990s'; a charlatan doctor who needlessly prescribed drugs to Wilson to essentially enslave the musician.

When the film begins, we see the elder Wilson (a very fine John Cusack) inside a Cadillac showroom. As he walks among the cars, a lovely saleswoman, Melinda Ledbetter (an equally fine Elizabeth Banks) approaches him. Finding Wilson a little odd, she is nevertheless intrigued. When she asks why an imposing man standing nearby is watching, Wilson identifies him as his bodyguard. In spite of Wilson's salient eccentricities, Melinda is drawn to him. While Wilson and Melinda chat inside a Cadillac, two other men arrive. One of the men is Dr. Eugene Landy (the always terrific Paul Giamatti); Wilson's shrink and self-assigned guardian. As the group exits the dealership, Melinda finds a note left behind by Wilson with three ominous words, which read as a kind of cry for help. The scene effectively and economically constructs a picture of Wilson's life in the 80s' and early 90s' and also introduces two pivotal people in his life; one who changes his life for the better and one who nearly drives him to insanity and financial ruin.

The film cuts to a montage of the Beach Boys in the early 1960s' as Brian, his brothers Carl and Dennis, cousin Mike Love and Beach Boys co-founder Al Jardin pose for promotional photos, perform onstage to screaming teenagers and record some of the band's biggest hits. We see the younger Brian Wilson (exceptionally played by Paul Dano) excitedly sharing his ideas for a new album; mentioning the many and varied instruments he intends to use. In discussing his expansive vision, he refers to The Beatles' music as a gauntlet the band must take up. While Carl, Dennis and Al Jardin show a willingness to share Brian's vision, lead singer Mike Love (Jake Abel) shows a stubborn resistance. Love's reactionary attachment to the Beach Boys' earlier songs grates on Brian, who would like nothing more than to move beyond surfing and car songs. As the story progresses, we see Love and Wilson continue to lock horns over the bands creative direction. But Love is only one of Brian's antagonists. Looming over the band and the lives of the Wilson brothers is their father Murray (Bill Camp); who, like Dr. Eugene Landy, is a brutal, controlling presence the Wilson boys fear and maybe loathe. Though a force behind the band's success, the father is of a mind with Love in his dismissal of Brian's new, more sophisticated approach to the Beach Boys sound. A scene where Murray expresses a strong dislike of one of Brian's new songs not only reveals his backward thinking but also his nature as a fatherly malcontent his son can never appease.

As the film swings between Wilson's later life and his early career, the story becomes a diptych of a man fighting two controlling forces in his life; his father and an unscrupulous man so domineering he thinks nothing of pulling a hamburger out of Brian's hand during a friendly get-together to teach him a lesson about restraint. The story parallels Wilson's two struggles: Wilson's self-extrication from his father's toxic presence and his fight to free himself from the sinister clutches of a man hellbent on destroying his mind and life.

Pohlad maintains dramatic tension in both chapters of Wilson's life. The barrier between past and present is often dissolved in nimble editing; scenes seamlessly drift from Wilson's early life to those of latter times.

The film would still be an affective drama if the story dealt mainly with Wilson's relationships but it offers something more. What sets Pohlad's film apart from lesser musical biopics are the scenes detailing Wilson's creative process in the studio. Seeing no need to continue touring with the band, Wilson devotes his time exclusively to writing and recording new music. Hiring some of the most respected musicians in the business, Wilson sets about creating a new album. His brilliance shines through as we see him direct the musicians with creative precision; requesting odd beats, melodic counterpoints, etc. Though many music biopics treat the subject's genius as a given, Pohlad's film troubles itself to show it.

During a break in recording, after the studio drummer rattles off names of the prominent musical talents he and the other musicians have worked with, he tells Wilson that his music stands tall among the best; an extraordinary compliment, to be sure.

The madness that Wilson was often prey to isn't ignored but shown as integral part of his psychological makeup. We begin to see bizarre behavior, such as Wilson holding a studio full of musicians captive while he gauges the vibes. Dissatisfied with what he finds, Wilson cancels a recording, in spite of the $5,000 cost. When Melinda asks the elder Wilson if he really did spend two years in bed, he tells her that it was actually three. In yet another scene, we see the younger Wilson sitting at a dinner gathering. Sensitive to ambient sounds that he might otherwise incorporate into his music, the collective din of cutlery becomes maddening cacophony until he screams for it to stop, which startles his guests.

In the film's final half-hour, we see Melinda's efforts to free Wilson from Dr. Landy's manic control become an ordeal. Wilson's housemaid uncovers a copy of his will in which the Doctor has made himself sole beneficiary of the estate, which makes it necessary for Carl Wilson to intervene on his brother's behalf. With Melinda's help, the Doctor's terrible machinations are brought to a definitive end.

I really liked Pohlad's film and for many reasons: superlative editing, imaginative visual compositions, top-notch script, et al. But a significant share of the credit for the film's artistic success goes to Paul Dano and John Cusack, whose compelling performances give us a sense of who Brian Wilson was and is. But the supporting cast is no less brilliant. Elizabeth Banks shows us Melinda's compassionate insight while Paul Giamatti conveys Dr. Landy's manipulative self-interest.

I can say I came away from Love and Mercy feeling I got more than just a docudrama about a rock star with his or her head in the music and a foot in the abyss. Pohlad (and the screenwriters) take the time to tell us why Wilson belongs in such rarefied company as Lennon and McCartney, Jagger and Richards or Bruce Springsteen.

As Paul McCartney himself once said, without The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, there would be no Sgt. Pepper. Though we see the recordings of a few tracks from the Beach Boys' landmark album in the film, we never hear it mentioned nor are we told anything about its impact on rock music.

There is also much more to be said about Wilson's erratic behavior in the period between the late 60s' and the decade thereafter but we can credit the screenwriters for exercising restraint. What we need to know we see. Anything more might be excess.

I think Love and Mercy is one of the better music biopics I've seen in sometime. How easy it would have been for the film to become a tawdry tale of drugs and hyperbolic behavior in the manner of Oliver Stones' The Doors. Pohlad's film may become one of summer's cinematic highlights.

The Wolfpack

Director: Crystal Moselle

Crystal Moselle makes a directorial splash with her documentary The Wolfpack; an often disturbing portrait of a family fettered, detained and all but imprisoned by a father/husband whose hypocritical quest to find freedom for himself, his wife and children imparts a touch of tragic irony to their lives. That Moselle had free access to the family's home is nothing short of astonishing.

In her film, we meet the Angulo family. In the opening scenes, the 6 Angulo brothers are reenacting one of their favorite films; Reservoir Dogs. With extreme fidelity to the dialogue--painstakingly transcribed from the DVD, the brothers film their own version utilizing homemade props and costumes. Though cinephilia is not an unusual passion in America, the degree to which the Angulo brothers express their passion for movies might exceed that of most film-lovers.

Why do the brothers spend an inordinate amount of time watching and making movies? They serve as the boy's lone, cultural outlet in an apartment in which they are denied egress. In their father Oscar's determination to shield his family from the drugs and violence of the outside world, he literally incarcerates the family; leaving the apartment is not an option. His wife, a born and bred American mid-westerner who met Oscar in South America many years before, is also subject to her husband's incarcerative measures. We learn of the father's practice of locking the front door behind him when he leaves the apartment; the only key on his person. In his mission to keep the outside world far from his door, Oscar also forbids his family access to a computer, thereby ensuring their isolation. Incapable of interacting with the world they see from their apartment window and cut-off from social media, the brothers have little else to stimulate their minds and creativity but movies on DVD. I was pleased to learn the brothers recognize the boundaries between movies and reality.

Though Oscar is a presence in the film, the documentary focuses mainly on the Angulo brothers and their young sister. Their thoughts and feelings about their predicament are slowly teased out by Moselle over the course of the eighty-minute film and what we hear and see is surprising. One might expect resentment, which seems to be the emotional default setting but the viewer might not anticipate the fealty shown to a father who exerts tyrannical authority with an iron fist. As the film progresses, we begin to notice rebellion in the brotherly ranks and the Angulo brother's willingness to test their father's authority. One brother manages to escape though not without donning a mask he hopes will prevent his father from recognizing him should he encounter him in the New York City streets. With the impaired judgment of someone who has little experience with the outside world and an overexposure to films, an Angulo boy ventures out into the city wearing a home-crafted version of a mask worn by the Michael Myers character in the horror classic Halloween. Though the choice to conceal his identity is ill-advised, he wanders in and out of stores and various establishments until he is eventually arrested and forced to undergo therapy. One might hope the authorities would finally intervene in the Angulo family's affairs but as Oscar has broken no discernible laws, their problems persist. Therapy proves to be of little value, as the boy (teen, really) demonstrates a fierce loyalty to his mother by divulging nothing that would allow child services to take action.

Seeing work as yet another form of imprisonment, Oscar refuses to earn a living. How does the family survive? We learn the state subsidizes the mother's homeschooling, which serves as a form of income. The family is further served by low-rent.

If lack of contact with the outside world isn't bad enough, we learn from the Angulo brothers that the father is sometimes physically abusive. His violent and erratic behavior is often fueled by excessive drinking, which the family bears with superhuman patience.

One might expect 6 brothers to occasionally interact with one another in physically or verbally aggressive ways but remarkably, the brothers share a mostly peaceful and loving co-existence. If any mutual, latent hostilities exist, it is safe to assume it is all sublimated by the brothers' passionate, cinematic recreations. We see the very powerful bond the brothers share--probably the only positive byproduct of a sheltered existence.

In the latter half of the film, we begin to see Oscar loosen his vise-like hold on the boys, which is also abetted by the older brothers very natural desire to defy their father. It might bring great relief to the viewer to see the brothers finally venturing out into the city as a group; taking the subway and visiting Coney Island. It seems only fitting that their reactions to the world would be peppered with allusions to movies. On seeing the sandy beach at Coney Island, one brother likens the view to something out of Lawrence of Arabia.

In time, the brothers--and their mother--find greater freedom. One brother eventually moves into his own modest apartment; another finds a job as a production assistant while we see the mother taking liberating jogs around the city. To see the family free themselves from Oscar's grip is almost exhilarating.

Whether Oscar feels any guilt for his actions is an issue briefly addressed in the film though his responses to the subject prove to be mostly elusive. And of course many questions abound, such as: how can a father intent on protecting his children from the violence and unpleasantness of the world allow them to consume violent action and horror films? Why don't we see books in the apartment? How can any parent expect their children to survive in a world they know only from films? How did the brothers, given their unusually unhealthy upbringing, become mostly well-adjusted and personable? How Moselle gained access to the family's home and how Oscar agreed to be filmed are two questions the film also doesn't answer. Maybe it's all better left to mystery.

When we see the brothers actually attend a movie in the city, it is shocking to learn it is their first visit to an actual cinema!

We come away from Moselle's film with some sense of hope, which is very welcome. It would be interesting to see what impact freedom has on the respective family members. A follow-up film in five years might make for an affective documentary.

Albert Maysles' influence is being mentioned in the media and it's easy to see why. Moselle manages to capture the family au naturale and with little directorial intrusion. The film won the Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival and has nominated at several others around the world. It certainly deserves the accolades.

A film that began as something mildly disturbing ends as something more life-affirming. I hope Moselle's auspicious debut means the documentary world has a new talent. Her film is sure to find a place on many year-end best lists.

The Connection (La French)

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Cedric Jimenez/Starring: Jean Dujardin, Gilles Lellouche, Celine Sallette, Melanie Doutey, and Benoit Magimel

Cedric Jimenez's The Connection could easily be deemed the French perspective of William Friedkin's The French Connection. In Friedkin's film, we see the pervasive impact of the french heroin trade on America, specifically New York. In Jimenez's film, the story and action takes place in Marseilles, which served as a kind of hub for the international drug trafficking scene in the 70s' and 80s'.

Loosely based on real events, the film tells the story of Magistrate Pierre Michel's (Jean Dujardin; best known for The Artist) mission to combat the French mob's drug-trafficking efforts in Marseilles. Having been promoted from a position where contact with junkies was an integral part of his job description, Michel's first-hand knowledge of heroin's deleterious effects on the population made his appointment a sound and logical move.

Gaëtan 'Tany' Zampa (a terrific Gilles Lellouche); a cunning, ruthless and very dangerous crime overlord, manages the heroin trade whose most lucrative market is New York. Targeted by the DEA and the French government, Zampa proves to be elusive prey. With scant evidence with which to convict him, Zampa is able to operate with near impunity. Michel's task force's intensive and exhaustive surveillance and wiretapping efforts yield few results as they discover just how wily Zampa can be.

We see the fiendishly clever methods by which Zampa's organization operates. In cans usually reserved for perishable food items, heroin is sealed therein; the label bearing mundane information about the content it purportedly carries. The deception is but one of many.

Michel's obsessive pursuit leaves his wife Jacqueline (Celine Sallette) impatient and apprehensive.
But Zampa is prone to anxieties of his own. As Michel is keen to point out to his adversary during a rare, face to face encounter; many within his organization covet the drug lord's crown. His assertion is validated when one of Zampa's trusted subordinates, Le Fou (Benoit Magimel) decides to appropriate protection money, which earns him his boss' wrath and a bullet-ridden body. But he survives the near-lethal encounter and shortly thereafter, he goes on retributive rampage, which sparks a war with his former clan. During a hit on one of Zampa's strongholds, two of Zampa's most trusted associates are gunned down, which causes an escalation in hostilities.

In the midst of an arranged meeting between the warlords at a local restaurant heavily surveilled by Michel's men, Le Fou's attempted assassination of Zampa is preempted by plainclothes police. Though Le Fou is arrested, Zampa avoids handcuffs when his gun is quickly concealed by the sympathetic bartender. As Michel arrives on the scene to arrest Zampa, he is humiliated when he learns the mob boss has again avoided self-incrimination. To further humiliate Michel, Zampa walks arrogantly past him; knowing the Magistrate has again come up empty-handed.

In time, Michel's zealous pursuit begins to abrade his relationships with the police commissioner and high-ranking officials in the local government. As a result, he is removed from the case.

But opportunities to arrest Zampa re-emerge and Michel is offered a chance to have himself reinstated in the case. As part of his new campaign to apprehend Zampa, Michel travels to Washington to meet with DEA officials. Michel finds he is highly esteemed by his American colleagues for his courageous pursuit of Zampa.

Michel finds he must contend with his wife's renewed angst but she realizes Michel's resolve is an irresistible force she can't impede.

As the film nears an explosive climax, we see Michel must not only contend with Zampa but the newly-discovered corruption in his department. Knowing he can trust few of his colleagues, he forms a new task force. But, in spite of his courage, Michel is naively unaware of the forces marshaled against him.

The ending is rather downer; a triumphant victory eludes Michel and a case against Zampa is made for reasons having nothing to do with his drug-trafficking.

The film's greatest strength lay in its performances. Lellouche, the hero of Fred Cavaye's terrific film Point Blank, plays a markedly different character in Zampa. He gives us a venom and menace mobster who is greatly troubled by those who would usurp him as well as the loss of his influence. Dujardin continues to build on an excellent body of work. His Magistrate Michel isn't a stiff, morally upright do-gooder but a determined lawman who occasionally compromises his ethics and sacrifices domestic bliss to apprehend Zampa. Dujardin plays him exceptionally well.

The film maintains a steady pace though it could have used more of what Friedkin's movie had in surplus; intensity. I also found myself trying to keep character names and faces straight. But the film is highly entertaining, if not gripping, and if kept me wondering how long a seemingly beleaguered Michel would hold out against Zampa's mob and those supposedly on his side.

The film draws some interesting parallels between Zampa and Michel. Both are family men, though it is odd to think Zampa is more devoted to his wife and children. Both contend with betrayal from within their ranks. It is also interesting to note that neither is the agent of his nemesis' fate.

The Connection is certainly worth a gander, but I think it could have been much better. It certainly isn't a failure but like many good movies, it's few flaws were significant enough to deny it greatness. It is still welcome relief from multiplex muck.