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.

The Last of Robin Hood

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Richard Glatzer, Wash Westmoreland/Starring: Kevin Kline, Dakota Fanning and Susan Sarandon

The Last of Robin Hood tells the true story of screen legend Errol Flynn's relationship with the underage Beverly Aadland (Dakota Fanning); an elicit affair abetted in part by Aadland's mother Florence (Susan Sarandon).

Kevin Kline is splendidly cast as the aging Errol Flynn whose best Hollywood years are behind him; a truth he sadly acknowledges in the film. Kline bears an uncanny resemblance to Flynn with his roguish mustache, which makes him physically ideal for the role.

Beverly is a young actress/dancer with show biz ambitions and when the film begins, she is seen walking on a movie lot to attend a rehearsal for a dance routine. Unbeknownst to Beverly, she is being watched by none other than Flynn himself from an office window across the street. Enchanted and fascinated by the young beauty, he follows her, then seeks her out inside the studio. Flynn introduces himself to Beverly, who is naturally taken with the star.

In a classic movie industry seduction, Flynn offers to become her mentor, which the young woman eagerly accepts. He asks her to audition a short time thereafter, which thrills her mother, who is besotted with fame and stardom.

On the car ride home from said audition, Flynn seizes an opportunity to kiss Beverly. Rather than responding with disgust, Beverly reciprocates.

While Florence shows only a trace of suspicion when her daughter arrives home late, Beverly's father Herb (Patrick St. Esprit) remains wary of Flynn. When Herb learns Flynn has invited both women to New York, he first threatens to leave the family then acts on said threat shortly after. After the women spend some time with Flynn in New York, he comes clean about his love for Beverly, which at first incurs Florence's ire but her intoxication with fame and the film star's Hollywood stature stays her moral indignation.

As Flynn's career further declines, so does his health. And what Beverly and her mother had hoped would be a career boost becomes a series of very unprestigious movie roles. Her modest acting ability does nothing to help. Flynn directs her in a pro-Cuban revolution B-film set on location and tries to sell Stanley Kubrick on the idea of a Flynn/Aadland pairing for his film Lolita. Though Kubrick seems intrigued with the idea of casting Flynn (Flynn as Humbert Humbert--that would have been something!), he finds Beverly's screen-test less than impressive.

While her daughter's romance with Flynn rages, Florence drinks heavily and tells anyone who will listen about her friendship with Errol Flynn.

It's too bad the cast had such a serviceable script. Kline is terrific but apart from his amoral behaviour, he could be any playboy flaunting his taste for young girls. Dakota Fanning's role is the least tended to. Aside from a few moments that suggest Beverly has smarts and some wit, she is mostly a blank. Only Sarandon's character has any dimension, which she fleshes out with a skilled performance. Much of the dialogue and scenes lay flat which makes the movie seem more like a made-for-cable-T.V. production rather than something cinematic.

The film is tastefully chaste but it also never dips its toes into anything dark. Flynn confesses to being an SOB but it would have helped to demonstrate it more. Yes, it is enough that he was in a relationship with an underage girl--Beverly was 15 when they became a thing--but he seems too charming to be anything more than a drunken cad.

The film left an aftertaste like that of flat soda. It had some flavor but all the fizz and pop was sadly lacking. It also suffered from an unimaginative title.

Sometimes the worst response to a film is to have no response. Apathy is in many ways worse than contempt. This isn't a film that one will hate, merely one that might elicit a yawn and a stretch. I wish I could say more but what's the point?

My Old Lady

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Israel Horovitz/Starring: Maggie Smith, Kevin Kline and Kristin Scott Thomas

Theater scribe Israel Horovitz dresses up his play of the same name for the big screen while appointing some considerable talent to key roles.

Kevin Kline plays Mathias Gold, a newly-arrived New Yorker to Paris, who is in the city to claim an apartment his father has willed to him. Upon entering his inheritance, he finds an elderly lady named Mathilde Girard, a British ex-patriate; who has been occupying the residence for decades. To Mathias' horror, he learns the apartment is a viager; an odd, french real-estate term that refers to a life-annuity a buyer pays to the seller until the latter's death. Although one can occupy said home, he or she cannot claim ownership until the seller passes away (I think I got that right).

Mathias discovers his father (who he was estranged from in life and whom he despised), hasn't left him with clear ownership, which he finds to be a kind of posthumous jab from the grave.

Broke and without a reason to return to New York, Mathias relies on the future sale of the house--a modest-looking but very pricey piece of Parisian real-estate--to fully emancipate himself financially. Mathilde allows him to stay until he can get handle on his situation.

Learning Mathilde is ninety-years-old, he visits her doctor, hoping to ascertain the old woman's physical status. The doctor's distaste for his visit is eloquently written in a scowl. To Mathias' dismay, the doctor smugly informs him Mathilde is a robust ninety and could conceivably live beyond one-hundred. The doctor also informs him Mathilde is her english teacher, which subtly conveys her allegiance to the old woman.

While Mathias hatches a plan to sell the apartment to a shady real-estate creep, he gets to know Mathilde and she him. He divulges details of his pathetic life; failed marriages, unpublished books and a friendless middle-age, while Mathilde mentions a former marriage and having a husband (now deceased)--who loved to hunt.

While lying in bed one day, surrounded by Mathilde's former husband's hunting trophies, Mathias rises from the bed to visit the bathroom, only to encounter a middle-age woman, who turns out to be Mathilde's daughter Chloe (Kristin Scott Thomas). The two are immediate adversaries. Mathias is seen as an unlawful intruder by Chloe, while he sees the two women as an obstacle to estate liquidation.

While spying on Chloe and her lover in the street one day, he watches as a mortifying incident unfolds. As Chloe approaches her lover, she notices his wife and kids sitting in an outdoor cafe, watching her. While her lover coaxes her to leave, the wife glares, humiliating Chloe, which lays the groundwork for her imminent break-up with her lover. Mathias uses the incident as a means to a moral high-ground but also as a way to dispel the superciliousness Chloe feels toward him.

The conflict between Chloe and Mathias becomes incendiary; concealing sparks of romance as both learn their present lives were shaped by identical, tragic pasts involving his father.

Though I feel I've seen Paris more than any other city in movies this year, its visual charms never falter. It also seems to be a place where those seeking to repair their lives or relationships find illumination or closure, such as Le Weekend. The same can be said for Horovitz's film, where the City of Lights acts as a sort of agent of reconciliation and rapprochement.

I thought the characterization offered surprises. Mathias, Mathilde and Chloe show their nuanced colors in the form of emotional frailties and unsympathetic behaviour.

But I had problems with the film. While Smith and Thomas always nail their character's jumble of pain and anxiety, which reach like tentacles from the past, Kline has never convinced me he can manage drama effectively. He can be hammy and unnatural and his transitions from the antic to the solemn are never seamless.

Like most films adapted from stage plays, My Old Lady is hobbled by theatrical conventions of narrative: plot exposition followed by dark revelations, then crisis then neat resolution. Another problem with play adaptations is that they feel like theater rather than cinema. Some directors can erase the barrier but more often than not, such films tend to be un-cinematic. One might come away from Horovitz's film entertained and appreciative of--if not enchanted by--the performances. But a weary indifference might also trail after one on the way to one's vehicle. One might be surprised by the film's lack of resonance, given the setting, the cast and the director's writing credentials but one may not care that one is surprised, which is another problem.