Southpaw

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Antoine Fuqua/Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Rachel McAdams, Forest Whitaker, Oona Laurence, 50 Cent and Naomie Harris

Antoine Fuqua has never been a subtle director. Most of his movies run on high-octane emotions and can sometimes sacrifice nuance for the sake of sentiment. His new film Southpaw, which stars Jake Gyllenhaal as a Bronx boxing champion named Billy Hope (yeah, the name isn't exactly subtle either) is no less subtle but it atones for that shortcoming with conviction, terrific performances and inspired fight scenes.

It's difficult to avoid the classic cliches in boxing movies: the fighter who seeks redemption in the ring, or fights to save his family or to stay economic hardships; it seems most boxing films draw from one or several of these tired, familiar plots. The secondary characters are just as familiar; the ragged, boxing gym manager whose dreams of getting a shot at the title are curtailed for one reason or another and the wife or girlfriend who fears for her husband's mental health and would like nothing more than to see him hang up his gloves. It isn't surprising to find the cliches dusted off for another round (pun not intended) in Fuqua's film but what does come as a surprise is how he re-purposes them compellingly.

Billy Hope isn't a bottom of the boxing card chump but a successful light-heavyweight who, with his wife Maureen (Rachel McAdams) and his daughter Leila (Oona Laurence) live luxuriously in their New York home. When we first see Billy, he is deliberately taking brutal, repeated head-shots in the ring. His taut, obscenely chiseled frame is a menacing spectacle. But though Billy can mete out severe punishment, he almost relishes the pounding he takes, a la Jake LaMotta. Watching nervously from ringside is Maureen, who shouts encouraging words and the Don King-like Jordan Mains (50 Cent), who often sees Billy as a marketing tool. Just as defeat seems imminent, Billy unleashes a flurry of savage blows and in doing so, he manages to eke out a slim victory.

But in the post-fight media conference, as Billy and his opponent field questions, a prospective challenger, Miguel Escobar (Miguel Gomez), taunts Billy from the crowd; demanding a chance at the title. Billy ignores Miguel and his entourage's baiting. But a little later in the story, after a prestigious fundraiser, Billy, Maureen and their friends pass through the hotel lobby. Waiting for them is Escobar and his entourage, who taunt Billy again but also direct insults at Maureen. Billy retaliates by punching Escobar in the face, which ignites a brawl between the two parties. Gunfire breaks out and in the aftermath, Maureen lies bleeding on the floor. Billy tries desperately to keep Maureen conscious but to no avail.

Following his wife's death, Leila is placed in foster care after a judge decides the fracas casts a dubious light on Billy's fitness as a father. Before he can reclaim custody, he must prove he can be a responsible father. Meanwhile, Billy discovers his finances aren't what they seem. Soon all his home furnishings are sold off and his house goes into foreclosure.

As Billy agonizes over his daughter's situation, he finds his visits to her are supervised and very brief. Billy also finds Leila refuses to speak to him; her anger over her situation is quite palpable. The fact that Billy was a foster child himself growing up makes his emotional stress all the more acute.

Jordan presents Billy with a chance to recover from his economic woes by offering him a three-fight deal. Billy is reluctant to accept, given the danger it presents to his body, which has sustained excessive punishment over his career. The burden of having to prove he can provide financial stability and be a fit father leaves him with few alternatives. He signs the contract but his first fight proves to be a disaster. Still haunted by his wife's death, he finds he is unable to look over at her usual place at ringside for morale support. Billy fights but without his usual animalistic spirit. He loses the fight and the hope of prize money. Worse yet, Jordan informs him the lackluster fight is a breach of contract, which means adverse, legal fallout. The boxing commission decides to suspend Billy for a year; the financial implications of the decision are too much for him to bear.

Fuqua piles on a little too much adversity, which feels like a contrivance, but the narrative momentum remains intact and unaffected.

Still having to prove to the court he has a legitimate job, Billy visits a shabby-looking boxing gym where a trainer and manager named Tick Wills (Forest Whitaker, who almost steals the movie) acts as a guide for poor, disadvantaged kids whose home lives are decidedly bleak. Billy asks Tick for a job and a place to train. When Tick offers a job cleaning the gym, Billy recoils at thought of cleaning toilets. He leaves angrily but returns days later; having reconsidered the position.

Billy begins to annoy Tick by making a habit of showing up to join him at a local watering hole. In conversations, Billy learns about Tick's boxing past; his own pursuit of a top ranking and the unfortunate injury to his eye; administered by a bum fighter that left Tick with a glassy surrogate, whose color contrasts almost grotesquely with its twin.

As Billy proves he can hold down a job at the gym, he is granted more latitude in his visits with his daughter. His reformative behavior earns him the trust of the case worker and the judge.

After Billy fights in a boxing exhibition for a fund-raising event, Jordan approaches him to offer him the chance to fight Miguel Escobar, who reigns as the light-heavyweight champion. Jordan informs Billy he can use his influence to remove the suspension, which would allow him to fight again. Billy accepts but needing an ace trainer to help him defeat Escobar, he approaches Tick, though he is aware of the trainer's policy about not training professionals. In time, Tick relents. Billy's subsequent re-training mimics every regimen previously seen in nearly all the Rocky films, albeit without the signature theme music. And of course this is all prelude to the crux of the narrative and most boxing movies: the big fight.

The film establishes its engaging, dramatic momentum early on and builds on it. As the story charges to its inevitable boxing climax, Fuqua ensures we are deeply invested in the characters. To give cliches a new coat of paint, a storyteller must also give them a new color. Never for a moment do we doubt the story's direction and outcome but the care Fuqua shows for his characters makes it easy to overlook the chestnuts.

Gyllenhaal's impressive physique, which must have taken great effort to define and expand, would be a visual gimmick if his character were nothing but a savage brute. But Gyllenhaal is an actor who knows how to give intensity nuance and character, as he did in Nightcrawlers. His character squints for much of the movie, as if boxing injuries and a metaphorical inability to see his life clearly are debilitative.

Though Gyllenhaal is exceptional, the real delight in this film is Forest Whitaker, which hardly comes as a surprise. From the moment he utters his first lines of dialogue to his last, I wanted to see more of him and learn more about his past. His presence and performance are electrifying and he provides the film a higher gear in which to reach its exciting climax.

Fuqua demonstrates he can make a prize fight a pulse-quickening experience, which isn't easy. Though he is hardly an artist with the camera, he knows how to wield it visually for optimum effect. The blood is kept to a minimum; we hardly need any director to try to outdo Raging Bull.

I came to Southpaw expecting the usual boxing cliches and was hardly surprised to find them but Fuqua, who is very aware of boxing movie tropes, employs them with generous dollops of heart and soul. Is the film an eminent entry into the boxing movie pantheon? Hardly, but the film is as bracing as a real exchange of jabs and hay-makers. It remains that way until the final bell.

Irrational Man

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Woody Allen/Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Emma Stone, Parker Posey, Ethan Phillips and Jamie Blackley

A philosophy professor; newly arrived on campus, is having an existential crisis, which is compounded by writer's block. He has no wife, no family and has an unkempt, defeated look about him. A flask is never out of arm's reach and his need for it is almost reflexive. His arrival on campus creates something of a stir as students and faculty alike speculate about his past and his reasons for accepting a position at their school.
Other professors find he has little taste for the faculty's company and only a little more for his students, who he mostly regards as disappointments. A romance with a female chemistry professor, whose marriage is less than stable, begins desultorily and worse still, impotence makes an embarrassing incursion into his love-life. Uninspired and vaguely unhappy, the professor's life changes in dramatic fashion when he strikes up a friendship with a young, beautiful student who in time falls in love with him. The professor resists; aware of her serious relationship with a fellow student. Feeling threatened by the young student, the chemistry professor questions him constantly about his relationship with whom she regards as her competition and fails to be convinced the relationship is purely platonic.
Though the the professor resists the student declaration of love, he finds her charm, intelligence and beauty help abrade his objections to being with her.

During a lunch at a diner, the student and the professor overhear a conversation in an adjacent booth. The patrons talk about a mother who has been denied custody of her children and how her unjust situation is in part the fault of an unconscionable judge, who has consigned her to emotional and psychological torments. Hearing about the woman's sad story, the professor is galvanized into action. Fueled partly by existential philosophy and indirectly by Camus' The Stranger, the professor hatches a plot to murder the judge. Feeling the act to be a moral absolute, the professor's proactive agenda turns theory into action as he sets about plotting the murder.

The story is Woody Allen's new film Irrational Man and the characters are beautifully played by Joaquin Phoenix as the existentially-challenged professor named Abe, Parker Posey as the unfulfilled chemistry professor Rita, who is intent on running away with Abe and Emma Stone, who plays Jill; the student whose love for Abe ultimately assumes tragic proportions.

Murder plots are nothing new to Woody's films. The narrative device can be found in Crimes and Misdemeanors, Manhattan Murder Mystery and Match Point but though the murders in said films are mostly motivated by passion, Abe's is inspired by more abstract, philosophical concerns.

It isn't clear from the trailer if Woody's new film is comedy or drama or both but it seems clear that Irrational Man is serious business, though it hardly feels that way for most of the film. The film's tone is hardly comic, but is so devoid of gravitas I wondered if Woody were putting us on.

However one feels about a plot that stretches plausibility like chewing gum, Joaquin Phoenix, Emma Stone and Parker Posey bring their best to their respective roles and make a story more compelling than it has a right to be.

Abe's murder weapon of choice is cyanide. To secure the lethal chemical, he steals Rita's key to her chemical storage closet and when no one is around, he sneaks in and locates it on her shelf. It seems ludicrously convenient that Rita happens to be a chemistry teacher. While he is busy measuring out the cyanide, a student enters the office. Abe manages to explain his business in the closet, which satisfies the student's curiosity, though it may hardly satisfy the audience's. It was certainly eye-rolling to me. A philosophy professor helping himself to chemicals doesn't seem spectacularly peculiar to the student?

Abe's decision to kill the judge becomes a galvanizing agent in his life. He finds his impotence cured and a renewed interest in living life fully though it becomes complicated when he relents to Jill's amorous entreaties.

With careful planning, Abe is able to carry out the act but and days later, after hearing of the judges death, he also learns Rita has been floating a rumor (in jest) that he may be the killer. Jill and Abe speculate on the killer's identity and motives and in time, she begins to also suspect he may be the killer. An alibi he gives Jill fails to convince her and before long, he admits to the crime. Jill is repulsed by his act and threatens to turn him into the police after another man is charged with the crime. Abe begs Jill to refrain from turning him in, hoping the police will clear the innocent man of the crime. She reluctantly agrees. What occurs after is hardly surprising, given Abe's reluctance to go to jail and his philosophical justifications for the murder. During the film's climactic moment, a prize Abe had won for Jill earlier in the film at an amusement park takes on a larger, almost absurd significance.

Given Woody Allen's 21st Century output, I didn't expect much from his new film. His films now tend to miss more than hit but Irrational Man does both. The performances manage to (mostly) rescue the story from its unconvincing premise. It is all worth a gander but it won't encourage a second viewing. Everything about it seems lifeless, as if Woody's heart were on a sabbatical.

Maybe his next film will have the power of Blue Jasmine; a film that proved he can still summon the magic when inspired. Here it eluded him. Try again, Woody.

A Poem is a Naked Person

Director: Les Blank

The late great Les Blank (1935-2013), director of Burden of Dreams and Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe; was one of cinema's distinguished documentarians. Though his relatively recent passing is a significant loss to cinema, it is a distinct pleasure to discover a previously unreleased gem from his vault: the 1974 film A Poem is a Naked Person. The film nearly perished in obscurity until his son Harrod fought to clear the film's legal entanglements, thus paving the way for its 2015 release. I am extremely fortunate to have seen the film in its very limited theater circuit but I strongly urge docu-filiacs and Les Blank fans to make the effort to see it if it happens to be playing in a fifty mile radius of one's town. The film is not only one of year's best docs, but one of the year's best films.

Though the film's principal subject is rock legend Leon Russell, the documentary encompasses the Oklahoman rural and urban culture of the early 1970s. Russell, an Oklahoma native, is captured in live footage, in the recording studio and his everyday life, which was colorful in its own way.

It is strange to consider that a film made forty years ago by a respected documentarian is only being seen now for the first time. Though the connective tissue between every image in the film and Russell's music may not be obvious, both create a fascinating context of time and place. Like Russell's music, which is a rich composite of disparate influences; rock, country, blue-grass, the blues, etc., the film is also the sum total of disparate images of events and everyday people who are at times bewilderingly idiosyncratic.

In the opening shots we see homes along a narrow river in rural Oklahoma and some of the local culture. We also see Russell's river-side studio being constructed and later we're taken inside as the building nears completion. We see what will eventually become an indoor pool and an artist inside it, preparing to paint a mural. He walks along the pool bottom and at first it is difficult to ascertain his actions as he stoops to scoop objects into a container. As the camera edges closer, we see the artist is actually trapping small scorpions. One can appreciate the natural surrealism of the scene. More extraordinary are the following shots. We see the artist apply the first strokes of paint, leaving us to ponder its design. The subsequent wide-shot is of the completed mural, which reveals a dazzling array of color; a menagerie of marine life beautifully rendered. Unfortunately we never see the pool filled with water but the sequence tells us the film will be more than just footage of Leon Russell's performances.

But we expect to see and hear Russell perform and we do. Few people can sit at a piano and make magic like Russell or cover such expansive, sonic ground. We hear so many different influences and from a rich, American musical tapestry. In studio footage, Russell is seen recording with country-western star George Jones and later Willie Nelson but his music never seems to be fixed on one particular style or genre. Russell's performances are hardly relegated to the stage. We see him play the piano for a friend's wedding. He turns the wedding march into boogie-woogie in a moment of extemporaneous playfulness.

The live concerts are dynamic. A lively version of I'll Take You There is one among several covers of which Russell assumes proprietary control. Off the stage, in conversation, Russell seems like a thoughtful person who weighs his words before expressing them.

We meet more oddballs, including a sky-diver who toasts Les Blank by downing champagne before taking a bite out of the glass and chewing the shards. Elsewhere, we see men releasing geese into a crowd where eager hands grasp at the birds. We also watch a building in Tulsa being demolished as spectators look on. Blank's film is a poem in its own right; a happy marriage of music and seemingly unrelated images, captured almost haphazardly.

We can thank Harrod Blank for his efforts to have his father's film released. The thought that the film might have otherwise mouldered in oblivion in a warehouse or on a dusty shelf somewhere in the world is too much to bear.

The stunning mural in the swimming pool is a perfect metaphor for Blank's film; a collage of fascinating visuals though Blank's work has the added advantage of lovely sounds. His film is a poem and one for which we can be grateful.

I have to say that the audience at the screening I attended applauded the film enthusiastically. That doesn't happen often after movies but I also must say the it is deserving of its spirited response. We can thank the Blank family for this treasure; the father for making it and the son for ensuring the world could see it.

The Gallows

**Spoiler Alert**

Directors: Travis Cluff, Chris Lofing/Starring: Reese Mishler, Pfeifer Brown, Ryan Shoos and Cassidy Gifford

Ever since The Blair Witch Project introduced the found-footage concept to horror films, the genre has been unable to let the now-gimmicky narrative device die a a graceful death. Some films have actually used it to better effect--Chronicle and Paranormal Activity managed to transcend its gimmicky appropriation to tell more absorbing stories. Nowhere in the arts has imitation run amok more than film, particularly in the horror genre; where one original idea can be bled to bloody death. The found-footage gimmick has proven to be quite durable and may survive indefinitely.

I wish I could say the new horror film The Gallows makes its own statement in this horror sub-genre. Unfortunately the film arrives stillborn; its flaws are so numerous and glaring though it does claim one attribute: it's only eighty-two minutes.

Subtitles preceding the film inform us that what we will see comes from--what else--video-footage discovered by police. Uh-huh, I didn't see that coming.

Soon after, we see video from a 1993 high school play called The Gallows, which is shot from an audience member's POV. Based on costumes and dialogue, we see the story is set in the early American Colonial era. During the play, a teen boy climbs a wooden platform where gallows rest. What happens next is mind-bogglingly dumb; a simulation of a hanging instead becomes the genuine article as the floor beneath the actor gives way, leading to his accidental death. Questions abound: why would a high school drama production pursue realism to an absurd degree? Why would any drama teacher place a student at risk and court a charge of manslaughter? This ridiculous lapse in logic cripples the film right out of the gates. I was hoping this preposterous plot point might be a narrative aberration but it had company and lots of it.

The story continues in the present as an obnoxious, high school jerk named Ryan Shoos (played by Ryan Shoos) films a rehearsal of The Gallows revival. Would a community and the school administration permit the play's resurrection after the original production was marred by a grisly tragedy? It is strange that no one seems to think the revival shows poor judgement and even poorer taste.

As Ryan films the rehearsal, we hear his snarky commentary about his best friend Reese's performance. Reese (Reese Mishler); a former teammate of Ryan's on the school football team, makes himself the object of ridicule by taking on a part in the school play. He endures Ryan's taunts and resists his pleas to quit the production. Ryan believes Reese will embarrass himself and ruin the play with his very modest acting ability. Why would he care as much as he does about his friend's participation in the school play? Quien sabe.

Why Ryan would follow his best friend and everyone else around with his intrusive camera when iPhones and every other variety of cell devices have all but rendered video cameras superfluous can be added to the film's endless list of nonsensicalities. Add to said list the superhuman patience everyone exhibits for Ryan's incessant videotaping.

It is apparent Reese has been hopelessly miscast in the play and based on his performance in the rehearsals, it is also apparent he couldn't act his way out of a box of bandages (ditto for Reese Mishler's performance in the film), which Ryan mercilessly chides him about. Ryan discovers Reese is smitten with the play's female lead; Pfeifer Ross (Pfeifer Brown), which provides him further pretext for poking fun at his friend.

Ryan's concern for his friend's participation in the school play reaches a feverish pitch, prompting him to hatch a hair-brain scheme involving a school break-in. Ryan hopes to wreck the stage set, thus sabotaging the play and sparing Reese ridicule.

As Reese, Ryan and his girlfriend Cassidy (Cassidy Gifford)--who is every bit the irritant her boyfriend is--enter the school theater side door (we learn earlier that the door can't lock. The school administrators and maintenance personnel wouldn't be troubled by this?) they find the darkened stage a little creepy.

The rumor of the theater's haunting is on the group's minds though the subject is treated with disdain and derision by Ryan, who continually makes jokes about the former tragedy.

As the three friends ransack the stage props (their vandalism is really feeble), Ryan pulls down the noose from the gallows while Reese dismantles the wooden steps leading up to the platform. In the midst of their destruction, they begin to hear loud, jarring sounds, which they believe to be security. They step out into the lobby, only to be spooked by Pfeifer Ross, whose reasons for being at the school are flimsy at best. While Reese and Pfeifer are left alone to fan the flames of romance (Ryan's camera is left running, which conveniently captures their exchange), we see Ryan and Cassidy inside the theater, which is made possible by his cellphone camera (very clever). The two desperately re-assemble the stage before Pfeifer learns their true motives for being in the theater. As Ryan and Cassidy approach the stage, they find the noose has returned to its original place; as have the wooden steps, which have become mysteriously re-attached. As the four become spooked by loud noises, they head to the side door exit, only to find it locked. The search for an alternate exit proves fruitless, as every door is either locked or incapable of being forced open.

The film actually attains a respectable level of creepiness as the teens find themselves in the school basement, hoping to find a way out. Creepy occurrences abound. Cassidy suddenly finds she is being strangled by something unseen. The others find a mysterious rash on her neck, as if caused by a rope.

Unfortunately the characters and the story are soon beset by that age-old horror-film malady: dumb-ass disease. The characters do stupid things, like separate and venture places no sane person would. This comes after the group determines the rumored hauntings may be based in fact and an angry ghost is roaming the premises. Ryan's frequent ghost-taunting also doesn't help their cause.

When Ryan climbs a ladder to access a vent covering, hoping for another means of escape, he is blown off and plummets to the floor. While Ryan nurses his injuries, the others end up outside the theater and before they can return, the door locks behind them, trapping their friend inside. While Reese, Cassidy and Pfeifer try desperately to gain entrance to the theater, a specter appears before Ryan inside, causing him to scream. Unable to escape, he becomes the entity's first victim. He is pulled up forcefully to the rafters by a rope; his symbolic death a parody of the tragedy that befell The Gallows actor.

Of course someone has to assume camera duties, otherwise we have no found-footage, which the others manage without a second thought. It always seems strange that people in found-footage movies are always game to record one another, even when their lives are endangered by some malevolent, supernatural force. So it goes.

As the three remaining friends search in vain for an exit, the film follows a predictable course. And as the audience follows along, silliness begins to erode what little tension and horror remain. Even the spirit himself becomes a kind of joke. In a scene that stimulates ferocious face-palming, the ghost appears on stage with Pfeifer for a curtain call (I wish I were making this up) after Reese sacrifices himself on the gallows. The two actually bow to the empty seats, as if receiving applause.We learn soon after why Pfeifer is spared the ghost's murderous wrath.

The acting, which is crucial to found-footage movies, is so bad the flaccid performances in the school drama seem Shakespearean in comparison. One can hardly begrudge the ghost his hostilities; who wouldn't want to punish bad acting? Part of Paranormal Activity's power rests in the performances, which are natural and convincing. When awful things happen to the characters in that movie, it is quite frightening and upsetting. When bad things happened to the characters in The Gallows, I found myself thinking "good, only a few more characters to go." If your reaction to the movie is like mine, you might regard the ghost's lethal rampage as altruism.

Mild scares give way to chuckles, which is a sure sign a horror film has failed in its creative mission. Oh well; it happens, why should this crappy horror film be any different?

If the film has a message, it might be: don't build a working scaffold for a high school play, unless the production is Annie. Too bad The Gallows wasn't about the ghosts of Annie and Daddy Warbucks seeking retribution for their accidental deaths by hanging. Yeah, that might have been more fun. Unfortunately that version of the movie wasn't on the multiplex bill the night I saw this sorry mess. Sigh.

The Third Man: Restored and Resurrected

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Carol Reed/Starring: Joseph Cotten, Orson Welles, Alida Valli and Trevor Howard

Carol Reed's masterwork The Third Man returns to the big screen for a summer sojourn in select theaters; fully restored and ever stunning to behold. Time hasn't marred its beauty nor dulled its sharp edges. Reed's superlative camera work, Robert Krasker's gorgeous cinematography and Anton Karas' score, which is fascinatingly idiosyncratic and just plain odd are also intact and have been preserved for posterity. But the cast is no less exceptional and are as memorable as the myriad images that are forever scorched in my mind. But of course an assemblage of talent would be only that if not for Graham Greene's exquisite screenplay, which is as extraordinary (in my opinion) as any of his novels.

The re-release of The Third Man, in the middle of the summer corporation-cinema season, seems wildly incongruous but thank goodness it has arrived. Nothing I've seen this summer at the multiplex (and little at the art-houses) is fit to share screen-time with Reed's film, but then again, little else could.

It seems needless to synopsize the film, since the story is familiar to cinephiles and more casual movie-goers so I'll try to be concise.

The story takes place immediately after the close of World War II. As Europe is being temporarily zoned by the allies, the city of Vienna is also subject to post-war balkanization. Rubble-strewn streets are hardly uncommon, as is the brisk black market, where much contraband changes hands undetected.

Into this milieu comes American pulp-western novelist Holly Martins (Joseph Cotten); broke and in need of work promised to him by an enterprising friend of his in Vienna; one Harry Lime. After Martins arrives, he learns his friend has been killed in a traffic accident though accounts of the tragedy disturbingly contradict one another. An officer for the British sector, Major Calloway (Trevor Howard), bears some disturbing news about Lime, of which Martins is unprepared to hear. Though Martins is saddened by his friend's death, Calloway is hardly so. He explains to Martins that Lime was a black marketeer; wanted by all the allied governing bodies for selling diluted penicillin.

Martins, naive and unconvinced that his friend could be capable of what Calloway accuses him of, conducts his own investigation into the "accident." Learning of a mysterious third man who was present at the time of Lime's death, Martins pursues his investigation, much to the impatience and annoyance of Calloway, who would like nothing more than to see the American writer on a plane home.

Martins meets someone else affected by Lime's death; an actress named Anna Schmidt (Alida Valli); an erstwhile lover of the black marketeer, who remains haunted by his death. As Martins uncovers and discovers more about his friend, he falls in love with Anna, though her indifference hardly dissuades him.

As Martins frays every last nerve of Calloway's, a fortuitous encounter during a dark, Viennese evening reveals Lime's presence in a doorway as it suddenly becomes bathed in light. Lime's impish grin is a prelude to his flight from Martins, who desperately chases his friend through the moody and shadowy streets. Lime manages to elude his friend; virtually disappearing into thin air.

When Calloway and the authorities learn that Lime is still alive, a manhunt commences through Viennese sewers--an impressive sequence in the film.

The 1940s' more or less began with Casablanca; an iconic film set just before World War II and ended with The Third Man; a film about the war's aftermath that is every bit as powerful (though not as highly esteemed in the public's estimation) as Michael Curtiz's film. I'll always prefer Reed's film to Casblanca's more romanticized nature. Curtiz's film ultimately ends in self-less heroism, while Reed's ends with the death of character who was anything but a war hero. Blaine and Lime could be the same character in parallel universes, who view the war differently. For one it is something unpleasant but inevitable and something to be won by self-sacrifice while the other sees war and conflict as indispensable catalysts for progress and achievement--and something to be exploited.

Reed's film is chock full of quirks. The zither music that dominates the score will forever be a bone of contention among film score enthusiasts. What would possess a director to commission such highly eccentric music for a film that seems to demand a darker score with orchestral arrangements? In spite of Reed's unorthodox approach, I've always felt the score worked.

There are very few shots in the film that aren't cockeyed. In most every shot, the floor seems to be tilted, as if the occupants and furniture might slide off the screen. Many of said compositions are also shot from the perspective of the floor. The effect creates a sense of imbalance; as if the war robbed the world of its sense of order. And of course there is Lime himself. Everything we need to know about Lime and his cynical opportunism is summarized in the now famous Coo-Coo Clock speech, which was conceived and written by Welles himself. What is slightly disturbing about said speech is that it actually makes sense and may contain more truths about humanity and the world than we--or Martins--may care to admit.

And then there are the performances, which make the movie hum. Cotten is terrific as the wet-behind-the-ears Martin with his child-like innocence, which is slowly eroded by the world's harsh realities. Alida Valli, in the finest role of her career, is perfect in the role of Anna Schmidt. Her dark, lovely features are often disturbed by melancholy, longing and loss. Trevor Howard is quite excellent as Major Calloway, who serves as the film's heavy early on. Calloway has seen his share of brutality and death yet retains some semblance of humanity in his pursuit of Lime, who he is quite right to hate. Welles' Harry Lime is one of the most fascinating criminals in film history. Lime inhabits a moral world of his own design that he justifies with the coldest logic. Where did he go wrong? How did he become such an unconscionable scoundrel? In spite of his crimes, why is it impossible to loathe him? Is his death and not his crimes the real tragedy in the film?

In the end, Martins' joins the hunt for Lime, an act Anna feels is an unforgivable betrayal, in spite of what she knows about her former lover. She remains fiercely loyal to Lime and brooks no compromise on the subject.

The film ends where it began: at Lime's funeral, which suggests the villain's fate was inescapable. Very few film endings are as bleak as Reed's final shot. There is no happy ending for any of the characters; even Calloway, who derives no pleasure or sense of victory from the tragedy. There is much loss and disappointment to go around and it does. In the final scene, as Anna approaches the screen from the distance, she is flanked by trees that have been severely pruned. The sight of nearly branchless, leafless trees lends something to the moribund atmosphere and serves as appropriate metaphor for all the death and despair the war visited on the world.

Much more could be said of Reed's masterpiece. I can't imagine the subject could be exhausted.

I think the film's restoration was a moral and artistic imperative. I'm very grateful that it returned to the screen. I hope every avid film-goer has a chance to see it in a theater and savor its greatness, which remains blissfully undiminished.

Ant-Man

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Peyton Reed/Starring: Paul Rudd, Michael Douglas, Bobby Cannavale, Evangeline Lilly, Michael Pena, Judy Greer, Corey Stoll, Abby Ryder Fortson and Martin Donovan

If you thought you had seen the last of the summer superhero flicks after The Avengers: Age of Ultron, you might disappointed/delighted to find another offering from Marvel Studios in the theaters this week: Ant-Man. I find myself a member of the delighted camp (with reservations) and must say I mostly liked the movie. Much of that has to do with the more humorous approach of director Peyton Reed's story and the very welcome refrain from apocalyptic destruction other Marvel adaptations visit upon movie-going audiences. Meaningless, mindless carnage is kept to a bare minimum and sometimes, as in the case of a battle on a toy train-set, the action can be funny.

And who better to play the title character than Paul Rudd, the funny-man doofus who seems cast against type. But in a movie that prides itself on being cheeky, Rudd is the ideal choice to keep the story and action from becoming self-serious and earnest.

Paul Rudd plays Scott Lang; a parolee who has just served a sentence for robbing a corporate giant in an attempt to compensate everyone who was bilked by the company. Educated as a mechanical engineer, Lang's smarts can't protect him from a post-parol job at Baskin Robbins, where he is summarily dismissed when his boss learns of his criminal past. Unable to earn a living, Lang decides to commit another robbery with help of sketchy associates, who provide even sketchier information about a safe supposedly loaded with treasure.

Lang is reluctant to commit another crime, given the fact he has been unable to see his daughter Cassie (Abbie Ryder Fortson), from whom he is denied contact by his ex-wife Maggie (Judy Greer, in a role that barely registers as a blip), and her new husband Paxton (Bobby Cannavale, a more substantial character), who is a less than accommodating.

Faced with destitution and eager to earn money to maintain a lifestyle that would enable him to see his daughter, Lang agrees to the robbery plan hatched by he and his three friends; Luis (Michael Pena), Kurt (David Dastmalchian) and Dave (T.I.). Unfortunately, Lang finds the robbery is part of an elaborate plan by the scientist Dr. Hank Pym (Michael Douglas) to allow an amazing suit of his own design to be stolen by the ex-convict, for reasons that become clearer later. The suit allows the wearer to shrink to the size of an ant but still retain his/her full-sized strength.

When the film begins, we see Pym twenty years earlier, when his corporation still bore his name. Faced with an unscrupulous executive board who want to sell his suit technology to the military, Pym refuses to share his plans lest the suit falls into enemy hands. As a result, Pym is dismissed from his position but buries the plans, though the board carries on the research, hoping to find or discover the key component of the suit.

Back in the present and unbeknownst to Lang, Pym wants the ex-convict to use his burgling expertise to steal the suit his former corporation has developed from his original plans. The new suit also enables the wearer to shrink to the size of an insect (in this case, a yellow jacket) but unlike Lang's, the yellow jacket suit comes equipped with weaponry.

Pym's daughter Hope (Evangeline Lilly) becomes a willing participant in the imminent theft of the yellow jacket, though her involvement represents a conflict of interest, due to her employment with Pym's former company. Hope was part of the voting majority that helped dismiss her father from Pym Industries. For Hope, the theft not only means stopping the sale of the suit to the military, but the plan also serves as means to reestablish relations with her father.

It is great fun watching Lang learn to use the ant suit. In an exercise where Lang is expected to run at full speed then pass through a keyhole and re-materialize in normal proportions, Lang crashes into the door repeatedly. Lang also learns that Pym has also developed a communications device that allows him to issue commands to ants, who will play key roles in the robbery attempt. Hope teaches Lang about the different varieties of ants he is to work with and how to command them to perform certain tasks.It is not uncommon for Lang to accidentally revert to normal size in the ant tunnels; an amusing development that allows us to chuckle at the sight of Lang's upper body suddenly sprouting up from the ground.

Another highly entertaining sequence involves a task Dr. Pym devises to further test Lang's skills in the ant suit. He assigns him a mission to steal an item from Stark Industries; a piece of technology he designed that is now in the hands of Tony Stark. Lang is dismayed to discover the complex he is asked to break into has been converted into Avengers' headquarters. The subsequent scenes where Black Falcon tries to prevent Ant-Man (Lang) from breaking into the complex demonstrates the ant suit's effectiveness. Black Falcon finds Ant-Man's constant shrinking and ability to punch a exasperating, in spite of his own technologically-sophisticated suit.

Pym's and Lang's nemesis is current CEO of what was formerly Pym Industries; Darren Cross (Corey Stoll), who has few qualms about exploiting the technology Dr. Pym developed.

The latter half of the story is the elaborate plan to steal back the suit Cross keeps securely inside corporate headquarters. Ant-Man leads an assault of ants as they ride a wave of water into the complex to locate the suit, only to find Cross has donned it himself. A showdown between Ant-Man and Yellow-Jacket follows soon after, which carries on beyond corporation property and ultimately into his former wife's home, where Cross hopes to kidnap Lang's daughter. A fierce battle ensues, which takes partly on a train set; an action sequence that comes with its own humorous moments.

Of course the film couldn't end without what has become a staple in Marvel adaptations; the sequel set-up. I will say no more.

As previously stated, the idea to make the movie action/comedy was a sound idea. The world doesn't need one more comic book movie with gravitas (though more are to come, I'm sure). It's nice to see a lighter superhero movie; one that doesn't leave one's ears ringing and head splitting with auditory aggression.

And unlike most superhero movies, performances are more the centerpiece of this film. Paul Rudd has to be one of the most likeable screen presences in the movie industry today but also one of the funniest. I'm glad we'll see more of him in Ant-Man films to come. Michael Douglas isn't an actor one usually finds Marvel adaptations but he proves to be as entertaining as Rudd. It was very pleasing to see Martin Donovan (always a welcome presence. I always thought him to be underrated and under-appreciated actor), who plays Mitchell Carson; another unscrupulous board member who is a collusive agent of Darren Cross' evil designs. Evangeline Lilly is charming and shares some nice chemistry with Rudd. We also learn we can expect to see more of her in future iterations.

One of the most inspired scenes in the movie shows Lang shrinking to the quantum level, after Pym warns him that entering such a realm may mean an eternity in sub-atomica. The sequence is visually imaginative and abstractly arresting while also providing sustained suspense.

I won't tell you Ant-Man is brilliant popcorn cinema but it is fun and diverting and a good excuse to seek refuge from angry summer weather. It appears we may see Scott Lang and Tony Stark together in the near future. It could be fun to watch Scott Lang and Tony Stark--the other funny Marvel superhero--engage in some amusing repartee. We'll wait and see. For now, I'll savor Reed's flick.

Amy

Director: Asif Kapadia

Asif Kapadia, the director who brought us Senna, offers us another stirring biopic with Amy; his much anticipated documentary on the legendary Amy Winehouse; the limitlessly talented singer whose life was tragically cut short by substance abuse and her struggle with bulimia.

Though we've seen snippets of Winehouse's life and career in film before, none have such a comprehensive take as Kapadia's two-hour film. Film-goers may learn, as I did, that there is still much to uncover and discover about her life and as Kapadia's examination of his subject proves to be quite thorough, he may well have created the definitive Amy Winehouse documentary.

Blending voice-over commentary from family, friends and music industry personalities, video from family and friends and footage from televised appearances and concerts, Kapadia expertly threads a seamless narrative into a staggeringly powerful story that bristles with life and dark tragedy.

The film begins with concert footage from Winehouse's peak years as we hear her discuss her musical influences; Dinah Washington, Sarah Vaughn and Tony Bennett; seemingly anachronistic touchstones who loomed large in Winehouse's career. But Winehouse herself seemed very much like an anachronism herself; a fascinating throwback to those times when lady jazz singers ruled the Earth.

In following scenes, we see Winehouse on video in her early years, a Jewish teen clowning around with friends while sometimes singing to amuse herself and others. Mugging for the camera, the girl who would one day captivate the world with her voice and dismay it with her dissolute behavior appears physically striking, cheeky, and smart.

Over images of her teen years, we hear Nick Shymansky; Winehouse's friend and first manager in voice-over, discussing the origins of her career. We also hear Winehouse herself talk about how a singing career wasn't something she necessarily considered or thought about, in spite of her obvious talent.

As the idea of becoming a performer takes hold, Shymansky assumes the managerial role and in his own words, he admits to being over his head; his inexperience quite conspicuous.

Footage from gigs mingle with narration about her drive to be an authentic performer, as she decries the ubiquity of voice-enhanced technology and simulated instrument sounds on recordings.

The film reverses course to show us Winehouse's early life and her upbringing, which was anything but sunny. We hear about how her father Mitch left her mother Janis for another woman, while her mom's subsequent, desultory parenting is touched upon. From Janis we hear about the impact her father's departure had on Amy and her rebellious streak, which carried on into her teen years and adulthood.

In another clip, we see how Winehouse charms music company execs with a riveting, impromptu performance on guitar, which enchants all who are present.

Kapadia's film doesn't stint on performance footage. Early gig video is abundant, as are Winehouse's songs, which are always accompanied by lyrics. The lyrics are a nice and maybe necessary directorial touch as they allow us a glimpse into Winehouse's mind and preoccupations. Most songs describe hopeless, intense relationships and tempestuous affairs.

Like her songs, Winehouse's relationships were hardly casual, as her romance with Blake Fielder attests. Having met in a club, Winehouse and Fielder began an affair (both were involved with other people) that would make an indelibly grave impact on her life. Footage of the couple give us a sense of the relationship's intensity. As we hear later in the film, Winehouse was more than willing to mimic Fielder's behavior, which included doing hard drugs, most notably crack. Her cravings for alcohol in prodigious proportions, supplemented by serious drugs, became a catalyst for her physical and mental decline, which footage eloquently and cogently conveys.

But Fielder was hardly the only pernicious influence in her life. Winehouse's reverence for her father, who re-entered her life as her fame achieved ascendance, was significantly insidious. With fame came substance abuse, which necessitated professional intervention. Mitch Winehouse's refusal to accept his daughter's need for rehab is one instance of her father's unreliable counsel. In Kapadia's film, Mitch comes across as a callous opportunist; one always eager to exploit his daughter's fame for his own gain.
One of the film's major themes is Winehouse's misguided faith in men, who are unable or unwilling to keep her best interests at heart.

Bulimia, another affliction in her life that many viewers (including myself) may be unaware of, may have contributed to her death. Eyewitness testimonials tell of episodes of Winehouse disappearing from meals, only to be discovered vomiting into a toilet.

Winehouse's landmark album Back to Black assured her great success but we see that the higher she seemed to climb, the more drugs and alcohol became the focal point in her life. A particularly compelling moment, when we learn just how substance-dependent she became comes during a concert, where Winehouse and audience watch a Grammy telecast. As Tony Bennett announces her the winner of Album of the Year, a stunned Winehouse, her father and the audience rejoice. But in the voice-over by one of her close friends, Juliette Ashby, Winehouse purportedly said to her friend, "without drugs, this is really boring."

Blake Fielder's drug habit eventually lead to his arrest and incarceration though her habit hardly abated. In the film's grim, disturbing, second half, Winehouse's physical and mental atrophy become sadly self-evident. Dazed, sometimes staggering, the video images are almost unbearable. Predictably and inevitably, musicians and friends recall how alcohol and drugs began to affect her music. In what could conceivably be called the culmination of her self-destructive behavior, we see Winehouse walking onstage for a concert in Belgrade, Serbia, only to sit passively while a restless audience begins to boo and exhort her to sing. It is heartbreaking to hear her one of her band-members remember the evening as "the first time he realized she didn't care."

It is agony to watch the film, knowing what becomes of Winehouse but worse still to watch as her lifeless body is carried out of her home. A doctor chillingly recalls her alcohol levels in her blood, which was 5 times over the legal drink/drive limit which translates to acute alcohol poisoning. Of course her death may have been facilitated by her bulimic tendencies.

I don't know that I've seen a more viscerally tragic biopic than Amy. Even knowing her death is imminent doesn't prepare one for the jolt of seeing her covered body on a stretcher.

I credit Kapadia for not offering an inane psychological profile on Winehouse. Watching the film, we can easily ascertain what killed her; the culprits are legion and both concrete and abstract. We could resort to hoary causal fallback and say fame hastened her demise her but that assessment would be incomplete. The cause or causes may be immaterial; the fact that the world lost someone obscenely talented; a musician whose creative expression never realized its full potential, is the real tragedy.

I found Kapadia's film quite absorbing and very painful to watch. To use footage not his own (or mostly so) and skillfully edit it to tell his own story is quite a feat. The arc of her life and career comes through in Kapadia's mostly linear story. To see Winehouse's healthy, youthful glow morph into a ghostly pallor in later images says everything about her short, grim life. We see her incandescent brilliance and incomparable artistry--all decay before our eyes.

It seems appropriate that films of Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse would play in the same year. One can see so many parallels in their respective lives, particularly the age in which they left the world. Though Winehouse bequeathed some beautiful music to posterity and an extraordinary voice at which to marvel, the haunting question what if? will forever hover over her legacy.

After seeing Kapadia's film, I can't imagine the world will need another biopic on Amy Winehouse. His film is painfully honest and is devastating in more ways than one. I guess the same could be said of Winehouse herself.