I Saw the Light

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Marc Abraham/Starring: Tom Hiddleston, Elizabeth Olsen, Bradley Whitford, Cherry Jones, Maddie Hasson and David Krumholtz

I don't know if the world needs a narrative film on country music great Hank Williams but you can be sure it didn't need a sloppy, clunky and junky biopic like director Marc Abraham's I Saw the Light. If a film features a name cast but opens only in one local theater, you can be pretty sure industry folk know something you don't and what they know they deliberately withhold. They only hope you'll overlook the stench wafting out of the theater and throw caution and greenbacks to the wind. A what a reek Abraham's film generates! If you didn't know the subject was Hank Williams, you might think the movie was about any philandering, drunk musician. But its single greatest flaw is its casual regard for Williams' music, which the story treats almost as an intrusion; a pesky interloper that keeps getting in the way of the seamier side of the singer's life.

The trendy aesthetic the film adopts is the black and white to color imagery seen in another current music biopic; Born to Be Blue. We see and hear two men from William's life; filmed in the recollective black and white of the present while their memories--depicted in color--represent the past. One of the men; famed music publisher Fred Rose (Bradley Whitford), shares facts of Williams' life with an unseen interviewer (documentarian?). Rose appears periodically throughout the film as a kind of narrator and purveyor of tragic details though we never learn just who he is talking to.

We see Williams (Tom Hiddleston) just before he achieves super-stardom; playing radio gigs and honky-tonks in his Alabamian home-state with his band and wife Audrey (Elizabeth Olsen), who lends her vocals to the performances. Shortly thereafter, we see the couple exchange vows at a gas station in Andalusia, Alabama, as the proprietor performs the service. Though the couple shows outward signs of marital bliss, Audrey experiences frustration as she tries to share the stage spotlight with her husband. But she finds her marriage trying for other reasons; one of them being her mother-in-law Lillie (Cherry Jones, who is continually upstaged by set props), who she battles constantly for influence in Hank's life. Another glaring issue is Hank's drinking, which threatens the marriage and becomes a professional liability.

Eager and ambitious, Hank's dream of playing at the Grand Ole Opry hits a snag when the legendary venue's director tells him to come back when he has achieved more success. Undeterred, Hank is able to record a single, Lovesick Blues, over Rose's protestations about the song's suitability. The single becomes a hit and before long, Williams receives an invitation to perform at the Opry.

As Williams' sordid behavior on the road becomes habitual, Audrey begins to express her disgust with his womanizing and before long Hank finds himself barred from their home. Soon after, divorce proceedings commence.

When not enthralled with the dramas offstage, the film manages to devote some time to Williams onstage; performing some of the songs for which he is known. Hiddleston does a respectable job performing the songs and doing his level best to appear Williams-like. As with every music biopic I see, I had hoped to see some scenes of song-craft, giving us a sense of the artistry behind the music but I guess directors consider such scenes un-cinematic.

We see more of Williams relationships and his marriage to Billie Jean Jones (Maddie Hasson). We do see him achieve his dream of playing the Grand Ole Opry, which is followed by his return to Alabama as a country music hero. He is able to accomplish both in between pissing women off and his passion for the bottle.

And though we see Williams sing Your Cheatin' Heart and Why Don't You Love Me, we get to hear precious few of his other classics. How does a film about Hank Williams not include even a snippet of Jambalaya? Or Kaw-Liga; songs that stand as tall as Hey Good Lookin', if not taller? Why must the music take a backseat to scenes such as one where a doctor diagnoses Williams' chronic back problems as spina bifida, a sequence that does little to shed light on the man except to explain his pain. Are we all dying to know about Hank Williams' lower back aches? Yes, two great country songs were preempted by spina bifida. As for the influences behind his music, Williams' love for gospel as a child is mentioned in passing.

When tragedy strikes late in the film, we don't feel a sense of heavy loss but relief that such a tepid film has mercifully come to an end. We don't even get obligatory end-titles telling us about Williams' musical legacy, just an abrupt cut to the closing credits. Maybe that's for the better.

Hiddleston and Olsen are fine in a flop. Too bad for Hiddleston; playing Williams' is a refreshing departure from his role as Loki in the Thor franchise.

The formulaic, music biopic narrative we've come to know: artist hungry for stardom--artist secures brass ring--artist womanizes and abuses substances--artist dies at young age--may as well be chiseled as a script blueprint on a bronze plate for unimaginative future filmmakers to follow. If you really want to know about Williams' life, you could do far worse than read a Wikipedia entry. But if you prefer to watch a flick about a musician who romances a few chicks, drinks lethally and sings a few famous tunes, then this is your stop. Just don't expect more.

Knight of Cups

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Terrence Malick/Starring: Christian Bale, Cate Blanchett, Natalie Portman, Wes Bentley, Brian Dennehy, Antonio Banderas, Armin Mueller-Stahl and Cherry Jones

Terrence Malick has certainly earned his place in the American Directorial Pantheon. His visual stylings can be breathtaking, as in Tree of Life and films from his past, like Badlands, Days of Heaven and The New World meld his stunning visual aesthetic to powerful drama. But in his new film; Knight of Cups, as in his last film To the Wonder he seems to have become tethered to a storytelling mode that has become self-parodying. Many of the storytelling elements seen in his last few films are conspicuously present here: whispery voice-overs, protagonists drifting through beautifully surreal urban and desert landscapes, and fantastic images that almost overpower the narrative. Though opinions on the Tree of Life were ferociously polarized, I myself found it to be moving and ambitious but with Malick's follow-up projects, he seems to have become smitten with a style that is no longer new and visionary. His new movie carries all the aforementioned stylistic tics without breaking any new ground. Only the characters have changed.
If the film has a selling point, it's in its striking images, but two hours of incomparable beauty without a solid narrative feel like Koyaanisqatsi. I don't know that I want to see one more Terrence Malick film where a character walks slowly through the desert; contemplating whatever they're supposed to be contemplating while a mumbly voice-over whispers stuff like "find your way through the darkness." That which seemed so poetic in Tree of Life now seems almost satirical. Mr. Malick, thou hast drawn from the same well once too often.

The film, to its credit, doesn't follow conventional plotting, but tries to paint a portrait of a man through a series of images rather than dialogue and action. The man; Rick (Christian Bale), is a Hollywood something or other (forgive me if I missed what may have been obvious to you); actor or writer; I couldn't tell. Having failed in his marriage to a doctor named Nancy (Cate Blanchett), Rick finds himself lost in a world of Hollywood excess. Images of bacchanalian chaos in Los Angeles mansions and nightclubs, where Rick wanders among the beautiful bodies like a ghost, are a common sight.

When Rick isn't a presence at parties, we see him in various locations around Los Angeles, engaged in thoughtful walkabouts. I don't know that I've ever seen a film set in the City of Angels look lovelier. The skyline, streets, and the beaches we've seen in a million other films suddenly seems new and strange. Malick's brilliant cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki, who has also done fine work on Alejandro Innaritu's recent films, makes Los Angeles seem otherworldly. My guess is he accomplished this visual feat with a wide-angle lens.

We also see Rick's brief relationships with a series of women; none of whom seem particularly exceptional save for their looks. It is me or does every respective shot of the women consist of frolics on the beach or inside apartments? The only woman of any substance is Nancy; a doctor who we see treating the less beautiful citizens of the city. The only real dialogue we hear Rick share with any woman is also with Nancy, who still suffers emotional wounds from their failed marriage.
And finally we meet Rick's brother Barry (Wes Bentley) and his father Joseph (Brian Dennehy), who can never be in the same room together unless they're bickering. Again, we never really hear them interact, we only see them in various phases of their troubled familial relationship. We can see Barry bears more rancor for his father than Rick and isn't shy about expressing it. Toward the end of the film Rick seems to achieve some sort of reconciliation with his father, while Joseph; atoning for his failures as a father and husband, seeks spiritual absolution.

As Rick drifts from woman to woman, we see one has fallen deeply in love with him though she be married: Elizabeth (Natalie Portman). How do we know she's in love? Because we hear say as much in her own whispery voice-over (yes, everybody in this film has a whispery voice-over; even Rick's goatee--no, not really) and because she too (sarcasm alert) runs along the beach.

So, do all the beautiful images, which encompass city-scapes and southern Californian deserts and Las Vegas and Rick's innumerable women and the film's scant drama cohere into anything resembling a poignant whole? You be the judge. Do we care about Rick, who never seems to work but has plenty of time to chase women and walk around aimlessly? I can't say I did. Can a man be said to have troubles when he can partake of legions of sexy, beautiful women who come and go like the tide? If he was suffering, it wasn't obvious to me.

Malick's film is a lot like the women Rick romances; great to look at but superficial. But an hour and a half into the film, even the beautiful images, like the women, become tedious. Malick certainly has made great films and may again if he takes leave of the style he can't seem to let go of. Knight of Cups isn't an embarrassment but it falls well short of being an achievement.