Ricki and the Flash

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Jonathan Demme/Starring: Meryl Streep, Kevin Kline, Mammie Gummer, Rick Springfield and Audra McDonald

Ricki and the Flash comes with a compliment of Oscar-celebrated talent: Director Jonathan Demme, Oscar-winner and oft-nominated Meryl Streep and Oscar-winning screenwriter Diablo Cody, so my question is: how can an assemblage of so much talent collaborate on what is essentially monumental, ghastly junk? I can understand Streep and Cody's significant contributions to this manure (see my diatribe on Streep in my blogpost; The Pantheon of the Overrated, Overexposed etc., and my forthcoming follow-up, in which Cody will figure prominently); both being honorary citizens of that unfortunate nation known as Mediocrystan, but Jonathan Demme? Demme, whose given us cinematic gold with Stop Making Sense, Something Wild and Silence of the Lambs, now smudges his impressive oeuvre with what is essentially a tepid, timid drama heated to scorching temperatures. Blame can almost be distributed evenly: Demme's sub-standard direction and Streep's tiresome hamming shoulder much of the blame but the biggest culprit may be Cody's script, which, like much of her other work, is uneven, sloppy and lazily conceived. What did Demme and Streep see in this story? A vanity project for Streep, who gets to sing and mimic a rock musician? An opportunity for Demme to make a musical narrative to bookend his numerous music docs? Let's leave the rhetorical questions and move on.

Streep plays Ricki Rendazzo, an aging, failed rock musician who, with her band The Flash, are the house-band at a shabby bar in a small town in California. Ricki's look is all rock star: long, partially-braided hair, heavy black eye-liner and funky, skinny jeans or tight black leather with black boots and towering heels. Her band is comprised of ragged-looking musicians (played by real-life rockers Joe Vitale, Rick Rosas and Rick Springfield) who look like they've played on one-too many roadhouse stages.

Her band is forced to pander to the bar crowd by belting out rock standards like Tom Petty's American Girl and more contemporary pop like Lady Gaga's Bad Romance. When not performing onstage, Ricki works in the check-out lane at the local health-food super market.

Ricki's quasi-romance with the lead guitarist of the Flash, Greg (Rick Springfield) is impeded by her reluctance to be in a relationship and a little of her self-loathing, which tries his patience.

Ricki receives grim news from her ex-husband Pete (Kevin Kline, in a dull, hyper-under-imagined role) in Indiana, who informs her that their daughter Julie's (Streep's real-life daughter, Mamie Gummer, in a role that is mostly extreme emoting) husband has left her. Though Ricki has been an absentee mother; having left the family when Julie was a child, Pete insists her presence might rescue their daughter from her steep, emotional decline.

Ricki gathers her guitar case and flies to Indianapolis. She shows up at Pete's home; a palatial spread that eloquently reflects his success. Ricki's rock musician appearance, which never changes, is a dramatic contrast to Pete's stiff, professional attire, which is matched by his demeanor. The script's shortcomings are immediately apparent. In no way can we imagine that Pete and Ricki were once a couple nor can we imagine--given her lifestyle and appearance--how she might have been attracted to such a straight-laced corpse, or he her. It seems like one of those Diablo Cody-esque touches that rings false from the get-go.

Pete is hardly surprised to find that Ricki doesn't have money for the taxi nor money for lodging, which makes it necessary for him to put her up. The fact that Pete's wife is away tending to her father is convenient for Ricki.

As Ricki marvels at the posh, comfortable surroundings, she learns more about her daughter's situation, which isn't good. Just as Ricki begins to settle in, Julie makes a noisy, dramatic entrance; essentially attacking her mother for her bad motherness. Seeing Julie in her wildly disheveled hair and bathrobe makes her an irritating rather than a sympathetic presence.

Over the course of a few days, Julie's combative behavior begins to subside when Ricki becomes a calming influence. Before that is accomplished, Ricki attends a dinner with Pete and Julie (who doesn't change out of her bathrobe and pajamas), where they meet up with Ricki's sons. One is engaged, with his fiance in attendance and the other is a young, gay man who is uncomfortable with sharing his personal life with his mother. Ricki's views on her son's preferences are decidedly reactionary but the given fact that she is an unabashed Bush supporter with a Don't Tread on Me tattoo on her back (ostensibly a symbol of her rebellion but really just dumb); we can acknowledge her consistence.

Julie blurts out inappropriately that her brother doesn't want Ricki to attend the wedding. The whole scene is meant to be awkward and a jarring reminder to Ricki how estranged she is from her children's lives but it mostly comes across as a mechanical contrivance that accomplishes little but to move an already flagging story forward. The family's noisy airing out of grievances attracts the unwanted attention of the upscale restaurant's patrons, who can't help but stare. Whether their stares are prompted by the family's momentary lack of social grace or their tediousness isn't immediately obvious.

Before Ricki returns to California, she makes a breakthrough with her daughter but Pete's wife Maureen (Audra McDonald) returns home; setting up what is supposed to be another awkward confrontation. Maureen has been the de facto parent of Ricki's kids, which of course is an incendiary bone of contention between the two.

Ricki returns home and though it feels as if the second act has just played before our eyes, nothing one could call rich, real conflict has taken place. Ricki accomplishes her mission without much resistance from her daughter. One would think a lifetime of resentment and anger might take years to resolve or reconcile but in this story, it's accomplished in less than twenty minutes of screen-time.

When Ricki returns to her gigging and Greg, more screen-time is filled with an overly generous portion of performance footage. Of course part of the film's draw is the promise of hearing and seeing Streep and band perform but it also serves as time-filler.

Ricki and Greg seem to work out their relationship without much storm and stress. When Ricki receives an invitation to the wedding she didn't expect to attend (from Maureen; a gesture of reconciliation), she tells Greg she can't afford to go, which inspires in him a self-less sacrifice.

The film's third act is the wedding, where predictability becomes the watchword. Aside from a couple of character developments, it isn't difficult to determine if and how Ricki might make peace with her family.

I got what I expected from Ricki and the Flash, which wasn't much. The sad fact that it didn't make much of an effort to challenge my expectations is one of its glaring flaws. But I guess something can be said for the film not being a story about a rock musician's one-last-chance-at-stardom who is rescued from obscurity by a record company scout.

That Ricki sacrificed her life with a family for her music and lifestyle isn't as much a problem as her lack of remorse or regret for having done so.

I will give Diablo Cody credit for writing lead roles for woman. She tends to enjoy conceiving female train-wrecks who are their own worst enemy, which is fine, but other than her script for Young Adult, her characters and screenplays always seem half-written.

Demme, whose resume is filled with music-themed documentaries, can't seem to make the music in the film anything more than listenable.

Demme can't seem to tease out one decent performance from anyone in the cast. Even the Empress of Fine Acting (as she is regarded in the civilized world) can't do much more than affect an attitude. The Tea Party tattoo on her back is more fully nuanced than her character. We get to see Streep play a rock and roller and belt out a few rock classics but so what?

Ricki sacrifices so much in her life for her music but how does she feel about it? What is there about it that would make her essentially give up three children?

This is a movie where nothing much happens and the characters--one and all (save for the real-life musicians in the band)--are people I didn't care to know or want to know more. I can't think of one character I wouldn't want to push out of a plane, including Ricki.

In the final reckoning, the movie seems like an excuse for an aging actress to play an aging rock musician though here Streep plays one without much conviction or fiery spirit. Both Dakota Fanning and Kristen Stewart were better at playing rock and rollers in The Runaways. Stewart seemed more like Joan Jett than Joan Jett.

I'm glad the film is behind me. I hope to fully forget it before the onrush of better fall films. It shouldn't be too difficult. In fact, it may only take the weekend.

Heaven Adores You

Director: Nickolas Dylan Rossi

I'm ashamed to admit that I came to first-time director Nickolas Dylan Rossi's Heaven Adores You knowing little about his subject; the legendary singer/songwriter Elliott Smith (1969-2003), whose tragic suicide still haunts friends and family today. I was familiar with the name during his brief, incandescent career but hadn't heard much of his music. Even today, his songs don't get much airplay, which is unfortunate; because after seeing Rossi's film, one may feel compelled to go out and buy all of Smith's music.

But as we see early in the film, Elliot had a strange, brief moment on the national and international stage when he appeared on the 1997 Oscar telecast to sing his best song nominee Miss Misery, which appeared in Gus Van Sant's Good Will Hunting. I honestly can't recall his performance; not because the song or Smith's performance weren't memorable but because the Oscar stage, with its movie star imperatives, was an inappropriate venue with which to fully appreciate Smith's talent.
We hear in a recorded interview what his thoughts were about performing in the telecast, which weren't necessarily negative. He seemed to bear an amused regard for the appearance and later mentions how his moment on the red carpet was overshadowed by Madonna, who happened to be near him in queue.

We hear Smith, in his own words, talk about how fame and popularity were all wrong for him. Based on what we see and hear in footage, recordings and interviews from family, friends, band-mates and former managers, nothing could be closer to the truth.

We see photos of a smiling, young Smith in his childhood in Dallas, Texas. A younger half-sister tells of his troubled relationship with his stepfather. But we hear in Smith's own words about the musical atmosphere at home and his mother's encouragement. A childhood friend, who competed with Smith for class-clown status, ultimately formed a band with him in their early teen-years. Listening to his friend, we glean some insights into Smith's precocious approach to songwriting.

A startling development in Smith's life was his move from Dallas to Portland in his early teens. The fact that the move was undertaken without his family speaks volumes about a home-life he is reluctant to talk about when a viewer broaches the subject.

In Rossi's film, where Smith happens to be geographically is as vital to his story as his music.

Hearing his music, which often betrays a wisp of melancholy, the rainy gloom of Portland seems an ideal place for Smith's music to burgeon and bloom. How Smith made his way in Portland as a young teen and able to finish high school is unclear; details are sketchy. But Rossi focuses on the city's emerging music scene, which was helped along by Seattle's monumental grunge movement.

Interviews with friends who became Smith's band-mates tell of Portland's vibrant, local musical community, which, like Austin, was sympathetic to itinerant musicians.
Smith and a few friends formed a band called Heatmiser; a loud punkish band that made a name for itself in the local music scene. But though the band garnered acclaim from Portland fans, Smith longed to move beyond the band's loud, raucous, musical sound. He found the songs he wrote for the band to be a modest approximation of what he intended them to be. Before long, Smith ventured out on his own. Record deals with small labels ultimately lead to signing with Dreamworks.

Smith's popularity in Portland reached a fever pitch. He caused a bit of an uproar when he decided to leave his adopted home for New York City. Though the motivations are vague, the film suggests the relocation was inspired by a personal need to move on and a failed relationship.

Musically, Smith also moved on; breaking ground with the solo releases; Roman Candle in 1994 and Either/Or in 1995. Both were received well by critics.
With Smith's Oscar appearance came a larger audience; one that expanded internationally.

Later we see footage of Smith in L.A.; his new home of choice. We learn that Smith hardly slowed down in his new digs. Members of Smith's band mention his prolific, musical output.

The subject of drug addiction begins to creep into the story. How it begins to take a toll on his life and career seems like a development we've seen in countless rock biographies. We hear from band-mates about erratic performances, Smith's acute paranoia and the declining standards of his shows. His former manager's painful recollection of the times includes an account of her quitting after Smith became hostile.

Near the end of the film, subtitles tell us of Smith's suicide; a brutal act accomplished by two knife-thrusts to his chest.

The film's upbeat epilogue, which contains footage of a musical celebration of Smith's music in 2013, reminds us of his musical legacy and the undiminished love and respect for his life and work.

Heaven Adores You is Rossi's first film as a director. The hypnotic imagery we see in the film betray the cinematographer's craft, which Rossi practiced extensively before making his own film.

Rossi lets Smith tell some of his own story in recorded interviews, which are complimented with terrific recollections and reminiscences. Though the film is his inaugural, directorial effort, his storytelling instincts are assured and robust.

If the film has a weakness, its in its inability to fill in vital details where needed. We can appreciate Rossi's efforts to focus on the music rather than tabloidy, narrative inessentials. But details such as Smith's move from Dallas to Portland are fuzzy, as are his relationships with women. We learn nothing about his relationship with Jennifer Chiba, who was with Smith at the time of his death.

But my quibbles are minor. Rossi communicates Elliott Smith's artistry beautifully. The uninitiated, like myself, are left wanting more. Seeing Heaven Adores You, it's sad to realize Smith's career didn't span even a decade. Thank goodness we have a film like Rossi's; one that reminds us of what modern music lost. But the film also inspires us to learn more and maybe more importantly; hear more.

Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Christopher McQuarrie/Starring: Tom Cruise, Simon Pegg, Rebecca Ferguson, Jeremy Renner, Ving Rhames, Sean Harris, Simon McBurney, Alec Baldwin and Tom Hollander

One might expect a movie franchise like Mission Impossible to be staggering about and sputtering after its many iterations over a twenty-year span. Every installment has taken its sweet time making its way to the silver screen. Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation is only the fifth incarnation in what's become a very durable and very dependable action series. Like The Fast and the Furious films, which simply refuse to become dull and formulaic, Mission Impossible has remained a thrilling heart-thumper and shows no signs of slowing down (or coming to any foreseeable end). Director Christopher McQuarrie, the helmsman of the very unfortunate Jack Reacher, redeems himself with this latest MI film, which is aided considerably by a tight script and of course, the considerable charms of the IMF, or the Impossible Missions Force, as it is commonly known in the films.

Tom Cruise reprises his role as IMF's super operative Ethan Hunt, who, when the story begins, is knee-deep in a mission. As a cargo plane loaded with chemical weapons makes its way down a runway, Hunt manages to run onto the wing before hanging from the side door. IMF's computer whiz, Benji Dunn (the highly entertaining Simon Pegg) tries desperately to hack the plane's computer to open the side door before Hunt is undone by altitude and ferocious wind-currents. That the sequence was accomplished without CGI and a stunt double is truly amazing. Whether one feels Tom Cruise has taken leave of his senses for attempting a dangerous stunt for the sake of authenticity or dedicated professionalism, the fact remains; the scene is truly spectacular.

Meanwhile, the CIA director Alan Hunley (Alec Baldwin), appeals vigorously to a government committee for the IMF's dismantling; believing the covert group has gone rogue. The IMF's subsequent outlaw status makes Hunt a fugitive, which prompts a CIA, seize and capture operation. While Hunt is on the run, his key colleagues in the IMF; Dunn and William Brandt (Jeremy Renner) lay low as CIA employees; providing their colleague valuable intelligence. Luther Stickell (Ving Rhames), the other member of Hunt's group is virtually incommunicado; keeping his whereabouts secret.

While the CIA searches for Hunt, he is captured by a shadowy organization known as The Syndicate; a network of spies responsible for terrorist acts worldwide. Their leader, Solomon Lane (a delightfully sinister Sean Harris), is a former British intelligence operative who believes his organization can right the wrongs of the world by overturning the status quo. The Syndicate has few qualms about killing and doing so en masse to satisfy their amoral agenda.

Lane's thugs manage to capture Hunt, who is well aware of the Syndicate's destructive aims. While Hunt is tied up in a cell, a Syndicate butcher known as Janik Vinter (Jens Hulten) administers a beating before unveiling his array of tools meant to inflict painful and potentially lethal wounds. Before Vinter can begin, a woman working with The Syndicate helps Hunt to free himself before they escape together. Before he can learn her identity, she runs off while Hunt dodges bullets en route to his own freedom.

In time, with the help of Dunn, who plays video games at his desk in a London CIA field office when his supervisor isn't around, Hunt learns about a Syndicate operation targeting the Austrian Chancellor.

An exciting cat and mouse sequence in the Vienna Opera House finds Hunt and Dunn trying to find Syndicate operatives who are planning an assassination of the Austrian Chancellor. Hunt uncovers a tangle of would-be snipers. Among them is the woman who helped Hunt escape. Though she helped Hunt before, her actions always seem to be at cross-purposes with the IMF team. When the attempt on the Chancellor succeeds, Hunt and Dunn are aware that their presence will only incriminate them, which necessitates a hasty escape abetted by none other than the mysterious woman. Hunt learns she was actually trying to save the Chancellor and when questioned further, he learns she is Ilsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson) a erstwhile member of MI6, who has joined The Syndicate in order to stop Lane.

Hunt, Dunn and Faust learn Lane is interested in obtaining encrypted information held in a digital vault in Morocco, inside a maximum security complex. Hunt and company discover the information they need is securely stored inside a water tank, which is accessible only by a dangerous dive and a formidable swim, which involves holding one's breath under water for several minutes. The sensitive and highly sophisticated alarm systems, which are triggered by the presence of metal, disqualify the use of oxygen tanks, which would compromise the mission. The break-in comes with its own perils, which hardly end with Hunt's harrowing dive into the water tank and his near drowning but with a hair-raising motorcycle chase through Moroccan hills.

Not long after, when Brandt and Stickell join Hunt and Dunn, the group learns the information they've stolen can only be accessed by the British Prime-Minister's retinal-scan, palm print and voice-recognition, which presents one more "impossible" mission they must accomplish. The contents of the stolen disc are of vital importance to The Syndicate but also to Hunt and the IMF. The data on the disc would prove the existence of the Syndicate, which Hunley and the CIA dismiss as a fiction crafted by Hunt.

Showdowns are inevitable and though we don't doubt the various outcomes, it is deliriously entertaining to watch the plot unfold.

One of the wonders of MI: Rogue Nation is Tom Cruise. How a 53-year-old man can manage the stunts and run about if he were still in his mid-thirties is mind-blowing but he does it all with dazzle. Rebecca Ferguson holds her own, engaging in intricately choreographed fight scenes without sacrificing her onscreen sex appeal.
Sean Harris makes an excellent, spy-movie villain. His whispery, raspy voice is a nice touch and his fashion sense is classic movie-bad guy couture; very impeccable and highly stylish.

I think the addition of Simon Pegg to the MI films has proven to be one of the best casting moves in the series. Pegg's natural, comedic flair compliments Cruise's tough-guy, onscreen persona. His levity also keeps the film from becoming mired in earnestness and self-seriousness.
McQuarrie demonstrates he can direct an action film; keeping its pace kinetic and action white-hot. Jack Reacher left much for he and Cruise to atone for.

I thought this might be the last Mission Impossible installment but the film and the filmmakers seemed to have avoided any conspicuous closure, which means we may see more in the future. Or will we? I guess that all depends on whether Cruise can meet the physical demands. But based on his physique, which looks as toned and muscled as everybody else's in the movie, he may be playing Ethan Hunt well into his 80s'.

MI: Rogue Nation is a treat. In a year where Liam Neeson's tough guys have put audiences to sleep and other actors have joined the CIA-trained-bad-ass bandwagon, Cruise's Ethan Hunt outclasses the amateurs by kicking tail convincingly. His character belongs on the super-spy Mt. Olympus, with Jason Bourne and 007.

At last, we have a summer thriller that actually features thrills, rather than just incoherent mayhem. I guess we'll have to wait and see if we see more of the IMF. More wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. Or at least another round.

The Stanford Prison Experiment

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Kyle Patrick Alvarez/Starring: Billy Crudup, Michael Angarano, Thomas Mann, Ezra Miller, Tye Sheridan, Johnny Simmons, Nelsan Ellis and Olivia Thirlby

The Stanford Prison Experiment, based on the actual experiment conducted in the early 1970s', isn't the first dramatization of the subject. A German film called The Experiment, released in 2001, was also based on Dr. Philip Zimbardo's infamous test. Director Kyle Patrick Alvarez's story may be the first film based directly on the experiment events. Alvarez's film, like the actual experiment, makes its point with the force of a hundred pile-drivers. It is riveting and nearly becomes unbearable to watch as the test subjects undergo and endure deprivation and humiliation. Zimbardo's quest to gauge test subject's behavior in a potentially combustible scenario; where participants assume the roles of prisoner or guard, forms the basis of the film's narrative. The results are shocking and extraordinary.

Dr. Zimbardo, professor of psychology at Stanford University in the 1960's and 1970s' conducted said experiment, hoping to gain insights into the psychology of prison life.

In the opening scenes, we see the recruitment ad for the experiment, which offers student subjects $15 a day for their participation. The prospective participants answer graduate student's basic questions to evaluate their psychological make-up. It is interesting to note that, on one of the key questions: would you rather be a guard or prisoner; none of the test subjects chose the former. When one student, Christopher Archer (Michael Angarano) is asked why he prefers to be a prisoner, he says "Because nobody wants to be a guard." The graduate students then determine, via a coin-flip, role assignments. Later in the film, the random designations take on a powerful significance Dr. Zimbardo is keen to recognize.

Dr. Zimbardo selects a basement in the psychology hall to erect makeshift prison cells. Guard uniforms, night sticks and sunglasses are provided for one group while degrading, dress-like uniforms, replete with numbers, are assigned to the prisoners.

It is understood among the subjects that Dr. Zimbardo and his group will monitor the proceedings by a semi-concealed camera in the "prison" corridor.

If you've seen any film or read any article on the subject, you know what happens next. Though the experiment is to be of a two-week duration, it yields immediate results as the guards inhabit their roles with uncontrolled zeal. The guards find creative ways to subject the prisoners to spirit-deadening ignominy, such as demanding each "inmate" call out his prison number in needless repetition. Some prisoners are naturally rebellious. Prisoner 8162 (a terrific Ezra Miller) makes a defiant stand against the guards, only to be placed in the Hole; a dark closet in the immediate jail vicinity. His repeated attempts to organize a rebellion is met with fierce resistance by guards and inmates alike, until a mental and physical breakdown is all but assured.

Archer, who affects the manner of the infamous prison guard in Cool Hand Luke, embraces his role with a passion. This is easily facilitated with his intimidating, night-stick baton twirling and the opaque sunglasses, which give the guards a menacing demeanor.

Before long, the prisoners suffer a dramatic loss of identity as their number designations become their only means of identification. This psychic debasement is one of Dr. Zimbardo's sought-after results.

Just as the experiment's unintended success affects both prisoner and inmate alike, Dr. Zimbardo and his staff are also affected in ways they couldn't anticipate. They too become players in the simulation; their stern, near-uncompromising attitude toward the prisoners begins to take on the scary verisimilitude of prison administration. A black consultant named Jesse (a marvelous Nelsan Ellis), whose connection to the experiment is at first nebulous becomes a unnerving presence. Later, during Prisoner 8162's tearful breakdown before Dr. Zimbardo and staff, Jesse's role becomes clearer when he reveals his penal servitude in San Quentin. Thrusting his face forcefully into 8162's,he counters complaints about the horrors "in the basement" with his disclosure about doing seventeen years behind bars.

And as we might expect, the experiment achieves a realism that spins out of Dr. Zimbardo and his staff's control, which leaves the audience wondering if the hostilities can be reigned in before full-scale violence erupts.

The film attains ferocious power, which is made possible by moving, ensemble performances. Billy Crudup is superb. We feel his fascination and revulsion but are repulsed by his morbid curiosity to keep pushing the experiment forward long after it yields sufficient data. Michael Angarano and Ezra Miller, two of the principal subjects, seize the opportunity to shine on camera as we've seldom seen before. The rest of the cast is no less startling.

What was initially a two-week experiment is stretched to an unbearable intensity only after six days.

The film stimulates much thought about the prison system and its inherent inhumanity, as well as the haphazard, social circumstances that make an inmate of one man and a prison guard of another. When Jesse and a graduate analyze Prisoner 8162's rebellious tendencies and his subsequent breakdown, Dr. Zimbardo offers a concise, devastating and scientific counter-assessment. He points out, quite correctly, that Prisoner 8162's and Archer's roles were determined by a coin flip; a chance occurrence that resonates with profound, social implications in the real world.
The experiment makes its point cogently and conclusively; the results undeniable. The same can be said for Alvarez's film.

The epilogue is as telling as the experiment, particularly when Archer and Daniel Culp (nee Prisoner 8162) discuss the experience. Daniel is dismayed to learn Archer was conducting his own mini-experiment. He tells Daniel that he wanted to test the prisoners endurance for abusive language and was surprised, he says, when no one challenged him. This too is stirring, for it suggests that all prisoners are complicit, to some degree or another, in their own abuse.

It is interesting to consider how simple it was for a professor to create an oppressive atmosphere by merely simulating one. The movie's most unsettling revelation may be that everyone is capable of becoming an oppressor and worse still, may relish its most heinous aspects.

Post film subtitles tell us no one was seriously affected by the experiment but one wonders.

Alvarez's film left me feeling shaken, in spite of my familiarity with the subject and my having seen The Experiment.
The Stanford Prison Experiment dramatizes its subject well; maybe too well but it is powerful and thought-provoking. It raises so many questions about human nature; our innate capacity for cruelty and sadism and maybe our tolerance for the abusive tendencies of superiors.

It's safe to say the film is a misfit in this summer movie schedule and I'm glad for that. Let's hope its stay in the theaters isn't ephemeral, though it may be consigned to that fate. See it while and if you can.

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.