My Thoughts on Oscar Night 2016

It's the morning after Oscar night and I'm shaking my head; wondering what the hell has become of the awards ceremony. What is supposed to be a fun if meaningless event for most movie-lovers, including myself, has become an insufferable affair. Sure, there were some fine moments in the telecast, but overall, I felt exhausted and impatient for the thing to end. In years past, it was no less innocuous and dumb--even when it was at its worst but the 2016 Academy Awards sunk to a new low.

I'm sure I'm like most Oscar-watchers who were looking forward to hearing Chris Rock slash white Hollywood with his hyper-sharp tongue, which he accomplished with consummate skill in his opening monologue. But given that the media hadn't let the issue of black actors being slighted rest since the nominees were announced in late January, I had hoped Rock would speak his piece then move on. But to my disappointment, the white Hollywood jokes became his only source of humor the entire evening. I did find his video clip with black comedians inserted into movie scenes to be quite funny and felt the telecast should have opened with it. I also enjoyed the clip of Rock interviewing black movie-goers outside a Compton theater. The bit highlighted how ill-served black audiences are by Hollywood. I thought the industry had been embarrassed enough by the media backlash that followed the nominations; it didn't need to be ridiculed for several hours more. Rock made his point in the monologue and the two clips. And it didn't end there, for Kevin Hart had to weigh in on the subject himself before his award presentation. And a lame joke featuring black actress and Fox News darling Stacey Dash kept a tedious running gag chugging along.

...And if that wasn't enough...

The evening became a rally for several causes. One of the evening's abominations was the appearance of Vice-President Joe Biden, who received a standing ovation for a reason I can't fathom (come on, Joe; you're a vice-president; you're only required to play golf, attend dinners, make speeches and make paper-clip chains at your desk); announced the White House's proactive position on campus rape. Biden implored everyone to make a pledge to help prevent this scourge. What this has to do with an evening devoted to celebrating films is beyond me but it did serve as an introduction to Lady Gaga's performance of 'Til it Happens to You; the theme song for the documentary film on campus rape; The Hunting Ground. Her performance was another low point in itself. The song, which Lady Gaga co-wrote with Diane Warren, is based on an experience where she herself was victimized sexually when she was 19. But her emotionally hysterical performance, which featured a legion of campus rape victims, came off as a self-aggrandizing moment and one more cause the evening couldn't possibly sustain. The words and music of Gaga's song are a statement in themselves; why the added spectacle?

...And the causes kept coming...

During Leonardo DiCaprio's acceptance speech, the Oscar-winning actor went on a bit long about global warming; a cause close to his heart. I agree with everything he said and recognize the issue as critical but once again, the audience was pummeled with another cause.

But the evening had its moments. I particularly enjoyed Louis C.K.'s short-documentary presentation. In an amusing way, he highlighted how short doc filmmakers don't get rich or famous for their work and as he put it "...they drive home in Honda Civics."
Rock's attempt to help his daughter's Girl Scout troop sell their cookies in the audience was an inspired gag and impressive for what it raised on short notice.

Ryan Gosling and Russell Crowe had an amusing moment as presenters, as did Tina Fey and Steve Carell.

Lost in the wave of protests were the awards themselves. It isn't surprising that Mad Max hauled off a sizable chunk of technical awards. The major categories weren't exactly a surprise save for Spotlight, which I thought didn't have a chance against The Revenant behemoth. I liked Spotlight but didn't love it and felt the award should have gone to Inarritu's film. DiCaprio and Brie Larson deserved their Best Actor/Actress statues, as did Mark Rylance and Alicia Vikander for their respective Supporting Actor awards. Rylance's performance came with much critical acclaim while Vikander's, though terrific, seemed to be more a composite accolade for the numerous films she appeared in last year, including her excellent performance in Ex Machina.

The songs and performances were uninteresting. None of the nominated songs were particularly melodic or memorable.

One of the evening's glorious moments was Ennio Morricone receiving the award for best score. The standing ovation he received was well-deserved and well-earned. I was shocked to learn his Oscar was his first and only his sixth nomination. For being one of movie history's greatest composers, who has over 500 films in his amazing resume, it seems criminal that only now he is recognized. What took the Academy so long?

The enduring gripe about the ceremony is that it is too long. I think it would help to have the ceremony televised earlier in the day, especially for those of us on the east coast, who find themselves turning off the T.V. at midnight.

In spite of the show's few inspired moments, the telecast felt like a Social Justice Warrior's orgy. Being a minority myself, I recognize the dearth of acting and directorial roles for people of color in the film industry but that doesn't diminish my appreciation for movies. As Chris Rock stated in his monologue, the problem isn't new and the reason black performers didn't protest 50 years ago is due to the fact that blacks were waging more important battles, like the struggle for Civil Rights. Or as Rock put it: "when your grandmother is swinging from a tree, it's hard to care about the best documentary foreign short." One can only hope the issue will be dealt with in time. My fear is that the problem will be over-corrected; mediocre performances might earn a nomination simply because the actor/actress is black.

Some black performers I felt should have been considered from last year: Idris Elba and some cast members from Straight Outta Compton.

I'm sick of the controversy and hope it doesn't return next year. I also hope we don't have to listen to plugs for everyone's pet causes at the next Oscar ceremony. Make the Oscars about movies again, not about righting society's wrongs. If films happen to address an issue, then let said movies express the outrage themselves.

That being said, I can honestly say I'm glad the movie awards season is over. Now let's get back to watching movies...

The Look of Silence

Director: Joshua Oppenheimer

Director Joshua Oppenheimer's follows-up his masterful documentary The Act of Killing (2012) with The Look of Silence, which continues his examination of Indonesia's violent past; specifically the brutal, mass killings of communists in 1965. The film perfectly illustrates the oft quoted words by William Faulkner "The past is never dead. It's not even past." The murder of one million communists by the Indonesian military, who wrested power from the government, has hardly been forgotten by those who were victimized directly or indirectly. We know from Oppenheimer's previous film that those responsible have hardly expressed any guilt or remorse for their crimes and in fact, often recall their acts of brutality with a degree of glee; as if the deaths were amusing anecdotes. It is appalling to learn that many of those responsible still occupy positions of power in the government and will never be punished or held accountable for their evil.

In the surreal The Act of Killing, perpetrators were asked to recreate their crimes on film in a movie genre of their choosing. The Look of Silence employs a more conventional documentarian's approach; victims and perpetrators alike are interviewed about the brutal purge of 1965. Serving as the film's conscience is Adi Rukun, whose parents managed to survive the wave of violence though his older brother was tortured and eventually murdered by the death squads.

We learn the death squads were made up of ordinary citizens enlisted by the military to carry out their dirty work; savagery executed in earnest and without compunction. Adi, with Oppenheimer at his side, conducts interviews with the perpetrators and the victims. What interviewees share is always fascinating. Adding an odd texture to the proceedings is Adi's optometry work, which provides a kind of distraction for the interviewees and a means for Oppenheimer to tease confessional responses from his interviewees. The very first shot in the film of an optometrist's ocular device resting on a subject's face gives us a taste of the visual eccentricity we saw in The Act of Killing. We also see Adi interact with his elderly and infirm parents; his emaciated, blind and nearly deaf father and his frail, white-haired mother.

It is astonishing to find the squad members are so forthcoming about their past and their willingness to share the most gruesome details of the killings and torture. Adi finds the two men who murdered Adi's brother, who unashamedly recount, in gory detail, how they carried out the killng and how they disposed of his body. Throughout the film, Adi is able to listen to tales of butchery and sadism with superhuman equanimity, which is a story in itself.

As one might expect, the guilty are unapologetic and if sorrow is ever expressed, it is solely articulated by their offspring. In one scene, Adi and a death squad member's daughter bond and embrace--one of the few gestures of reconciliation we see in the film.
So much about the film is powerful. I found Adi's optometry tests to be a perfect metaphor for magnifying the past with clear objectivity. The metaphor is almost too perfect. In the back of my mind was the age-old question about how neighbors and countrymen are able to visit the worst brutalities on one another in times of social upheaval. Another pertinent question might be how former victims and death squad members are able to live together in the same neighborhood without mutual hostility. It is quite disturbing to hear one death squad member talk about how it could all happen again; a frightening prospect looming in Indonesia's future.

Oppenheimer's film offers no closure nor does it offer any hope of justice. Justice would be impossible to obtain anyway when the perpetrators are the majority and the incumbent power.

It makes sense that master documentarians Werner Herzog and Errol Morris would serve as executive directors on Oppenheimer's film. Both directors are well-acquainted with Oppenheimer's techniques and are no strangers to tackling tough, controversial subjects.

Though the film is powerful and unwavering in its pursuit of truth, I didn't find it to be as absorbing as Oppenheimer's previous film. The Act of Killing told me everything I needed to know about the purge and Indonesia's strange relationship to its past. Oppenheimer's film certainly deserves its Oscar nomination; it is fearless and honest but something of a repeat. Nevertheless, it deserves the recognition the nomination brings. If accountability and justice are impossibilities, at least Oppenheimer's film doesn't let the past escape scrutiny.

Race

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Stephen Hopkins/Starring: Stephan James, Jason Sudeikis, Jeremy Irons, William Hurt, Carice van Houten, Barnaby Metschurat and Shanice Banton

I'm always leery of Hollywood sports biopics. They always seem to slide into sentimental, Disney-esque, feel-good tripe. I had such misgivings before I saw Race; director Stephen Hopkins' film on the great Jesse Owens, who electrified the world by winning four gold medals at the 1936 Berlin Olympics. But I discovered the film had greater ambitions and though it celebrates Owen's triumphant displays of athleticism, it doesn't cower from what much of the film is about: racism and discrimination. And though we expect to see scenes of ugly, race hatred in Nazi Germany, Hopkins' story doesn't let America off the hook for its own appalling race relations. As stated in the film, the situation for blacks in Germany was hardly different than in the states, where institutionalized racism was the norm.

But what is surprising about Hopkins' moving film is that it is really three stories in one; all reflecting an overarching racial theme. One of course is Jesse Owens' Olympian feats; another is American Olympic committee representative Avery Brundage (Jeremy Irons) and his struggle to keep America from boycotting the Berlin Games while yet another story depicts legendary German filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl's efforts to make her now famous Olympic film. Riefenstahl, played with gusto by Carice van Houten, encounters the formidable, Nazi propaganda machine in the form of sinister Joseph Goebbels; who is intent on using the games to promote the party's platform on Aryan, racial superiority. The film is aptly christened, for the word race applies to the story in several ways.

Another film featuring several narrative streams might lose sight of one at the expense of another. Hopkins and screenwriters Joe Shrapnel and Anna Waterhouse manage to make the plot and its subplots cohere into one affective story and in the process we learn much about the racial politics surrounding the '36 Olympics.

The story doesn't begin with Owens' childhood but the days leading up to his departure for Ohio State University. Early on we get a glimpse of his family life, where the struggle to make ends meet in Depression-era Cleveland is a constant. Owens' opportunity to attend college is made possible by his astonishing high school track and field accomplishments.

After Owens (Stephan James) arrives on the University campus, he meets the track and field coach Larry Snyder (Jason Sudeikis); whose own Olympian opportunity was dashed by an accident that left unable to compete in the 1924 Games. In the awkward first meeting, Snyder offers Owens a chance to make the Olympic team for the Berlin games, which are several years in the future. Owens immediately accepts but neglects to mention his girlfriend and his child, who he must support with his meager gas station pay. But though Owens promises Snyder he will devote the majority of his time to track and field, he finds the demands of supporting his child and girlfriend Ruth (Shanice Banton) and attending track practice to be overwhelming. Snyder is irked to find Owens neglected to divulge his family situation but is nevertheless sympathetic; securing him a bogus campus job for a livable wage that will allow him more track time.

The early scenes between Owens and Snyder are bracing for their tension, as the coach's past and his heavy drinking clash with Owens frustrations with campus bigotry and Ohio's own brand of segregation. We see that Jim Crow attitudes and practices were hardly relegated to the south

While Owens becomes a college track star, shattering NCAA records, another drama unfolds in the American Olympic headquarters in New York as the committee members debate the pros and cons of boycotting the Berlin Games. Citing the Nazi's virulent anti-semitism, committee member Jeremiah Mahoney (William Hurt) pushes for non-participation while Avery Brundage holds the position that beating the Nazis' could be a cogent act of defiance and a way to discredit their claims about a master race.
In later scenes, we see Brundage arrive in Berlin to secure a promise from Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels (a chilling Barnaby Metschurat) that the Reich will clean up its act and support a racially inclusive Olympics. At the meeting is Riefenstahl, who acts as translator for Goebbels. Brundage gets tough, threatening to keep America out of the Olympics if the Minister doesn't comply. Securing a promise, Brundage returns to America. But during another meeting with Goebbels, he forms a business deal that will later haunt him.

Riefenstahl herself butts heads with Goebbels, whose impatience with the filmmaker makes progress on her Olympic film exceedingly difficult.

Owens faces considerable pressure at home from those who believe he should boycott the Games and those, like Snyder, who feel he should compete. An official from the NAACP visits Owens, urging him not to participate to show solidarity for the those suffering discrimination in Germany. Though he actually agrees to the boycott, the opportunity to compete ultimately proves overpowering.

The Games themselves become a showcase for Owens' brilliance as he easily wins the 100 and 200 meter events. But during the long jump, he accidentally scratches his first attempt then fouls his second attempt before the German long jumper, Luz Long (David Kross), offers him a helpful way to avoid scratching the third time. Owens and Long then engage in a long-jumping duel where both break the previous Olympic record before Owens ultimately prevails. Owens thanks Long after and the exchange becomes the basis of a friendship that lasts beyond the games. Though Owens friendship with Long smacks of plot contrivance, their mutual fondness and admiration was, in fact, real, which makes a powerful statement on its own about racial harmony.

Before the American Jewish track participants can compete in the 4 by 100 relay, Goebbels coerces Brundage into striking them from the race, creating another politically sticky situation. Owens is asked to run in their place but only does so after the runners give their consent. His participation in the relay helps the team win first place and his fourth gold medal but it also provides the Jewish runners a degree of satisfaction.

In the final, heartbreaking scenes, we see how more degradation is visited upon Owens when he returns home. At an event in his honor, Owens and Ruth and Snyder and his girlfriend arrive for the fete but before the group can gain access, the doorman prevents Owens from entering through the main door; directing him instead to the building's side entrance.
The incident is but one indignity Owens endured, for the closing subtitles inform us that Owens' achievement wasn't recognized by the American government until 1990.

I found the film to be very entertaining and often very moving. Though I wouldn't go so far to call it an artistic achievement, it still stands as a poignant portrait of Owens and his times. We can credit the filmmakers for not white-washing history with candy-apple revisionism. The film is keen to remind us that America's race relations were no better than Nazi Germany's.
I like that the film broadened its narrative scope to include Brundage's role in ensuring America's participation in the Games without air-brushing his dark dealings with Goebbels. I also think it was inspired to include the making of Leni Riefenstahl's film as part of the story. In defiance of the Nazi Party ethos, we see her celebrate Owens athletic prowess on film as he reenacts his record-setting long jumps for her camera.

What is supposed to be an event free of politics and racial bigotry was anything but in 1936, as Hopkins' film effectively testifies. But it would be a mistake to overlook the compassion many whites in the film felt for minorities, like Snyder, who rode steerage with Owens and the other black athletes during the voyage across the ocean and Brundage, who, in spite of his secret negotiations with Goebbels, did fight for the inclusion of Jews in the games. We also see Riefenstahl's artistic vision remained unsullied by the Reich's loathsome ideas about race.

Race is highly entertaining and a fascinating bit of history. The film celebrates the achievements of an extraordinary man but doesn't shrink from the seamier side of the times in which he lived. The saddest fact we might glean from his story may be that America never fully appreciated the man and his accomplishments. Maybe Hopkins' film helps to keep him in our thoughts.

Touched With Fire

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Paul Dalio/Starring: Katie Holmes, Luke Kirby, Christine Lahti, Griffin Dunne and Bruce Altman

Two bipolar patients meet in a hospital and their burgeoning relationship proves to be passionate and artistically inspired but also mutually pernicious. Their struggle to be together becomes an issue not only for their doctor but their respective families, who fear their manic tendencies pose a danger to one another. One patient; Carla (Katie Holmes, who does well with the material), is a published poet who is prone to furious, in-the-middle-of-the-night surges of creativity while the other; Marco (Luke Kirby), is a visual artist and also a poet with his own volcanic emotions.

When we first see Marco, he is pirating electricity in his apartment building after the power is shut off. He explains to his father that he has gone off the grid and no longer needs modern conveniences to survive. It is amusing to hear Marco tell this father that he is able to live on ketchup from McDonald's and free milk from Starbuck's. His apartment is a disheveled wreck of wall to wall books and miscellanies. From the phone conversation with his father, we gather Marco has not only stopped taking his medication but refuses to be on them again.

An incident where Marco sneaks onto the roof of a building to stare at the moon lands him in the hospital mental ward while Carla's highly erratic and manic behavior behavior becomes manifest during a 1AM visit to her mother Sara (an excellent Christine Lahti). Though we expect Carla's behavior to exasperate her mother, her odd visitation doesn't elicit anger or reproach but maternal patience that is quite touching. Concerned with her own condition, Carla admits herself into the hospital and becomes furious the next morning when her doctor refuses to discharge her.

Held against their will, Carla and Marco become part of the hospital's bipolar support/therapy group. During a therapy session, Marco's comments on the apocalypse earn him a rebuke from the therapist and a sharp reprimand from Carla, who grows impatient with his loud, negative chatter. But the two begin to bond during an extemporaneous game whereby the participants recite their own poem with only a word to inspire them. Carla's is immediately taken by Marco's poetic talents. The creative fire the two share leads to late night/early morning meetings in the kitchen, where their respective manic energies become almost overpowering. Their boisterous, late night meetings draw the attention of the staff and their doctor, who try to bring their rendezvous to a halt.

But the doctor's efforts to keep the two apart prove unsuccessful, and their subsequent romance burgeons in spite of his and their parent's interventions.

How the relationship plays out and how the two contend with their illness and their respective families becomes the narrative infrastructure for director Paul Dalio's engaging and well-acted Touched With Fire. If you've read my blog in the past, you may remember my reservations about movies about alcoholics and mentally ill characters, specifically manic-depressives. Watching movies about unstable people can often become monotonous; over-the-top behavior sometimes leads to over-the-top drama. But some films manage to be touching and though I didn't find Dalio's film to be powerful, he at least made his characters real and treats the illness honestly without infecting the story with cheesy romanticism.

The film goes to interstellar lengths--sometimes annoyingly--to link manic-depression to creative genius, which is the story's overarching theme or idea. Van Gogh is held up as the shining example, though other great artists are mentioned; a lengthy list accompanies the closing titles. Marco himself is always ready to share a factoid about bipolar geniuses. We learn from Marco that Van Gogh painted Starry Night after seeing the night sky from his sanitarium window.
Marco and Carla's ability to feel deeply about the world is treated as a virtue but also something dangerous that threatens to keep them from connecting to the non-bipolar world. We see scenes of the two frolicking about the city, splashing in fountains, writing poetry and falling in love but Dalio also shows us the wrenching realities of their illness.

The film does well at showing how their illness affects their parents, who must contend with Marco and Carla's emotional extremes and flights of aberrant behavior. Griffin Dunne as Marco's father George and Christine Lahti and Bruce Altman as Carla's parents Sara and Donald do terrific work here. Some of the film's best scenes are the family gatherings, where the parents almost seem to be pitted against Marco and Carla.

The film isn't without its dark moments. In one such scene, Marco gathers the family for what seems to be an occasion to celebrate Carla's pregnancy before the moment morphs into something tragic. The film's ending is unexpected and unsurprising but hardly neat and comforting.

The film is chock full of light and fire motifs, which serve as visual metaphors for Carla and Marco's creative powers. Their respective energies that they feed off burn brightly like the sun and moon names they adopt but the same fires also burn, which the two discover to their peril.

I can't say every scene works; the film has its lapses but overall it was much better than expected. Kirby and Holmes pull off key performances and manage to make their characters worthy of our empathy. The film often feels like a play, which is good and bad. I was surprised to find it wasn't based on a stage production.

I walked away from the film fairly pleased but my feelings about it unfortunately don't burn the way Van Gogh's painting does for Marco. I thought it was done well but I can't extend my praise beyond that. My feelings for it are more sober, like those of someone on their meds.

Al's Omniflick Turns Two!

Happy Birthday, blog; you turn 2 this month! Thank you to my precious few readers for taking the time these past two years to visit my shabby little blog. I hope you stick around for another year. See you here soon!

How to Be Single

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Christian Ditter/Starring: Dakota Johnson, Rebel Wilson, Leslie Mann, Damon Wayans Jr., Anders Holm, Nicholas Braun, Jake Lacy and Alison Brie

I had misgivings about How to Be Single after seeing the trailer, being that romantic comedies are typically the most inane product excreted from the Hollywood machine. The world really needs one more movie about young twenty-somethings contending with dating and relationships? What's worse is that the movie features Rebel Wilson, whose signature foul-mouthed, promiscuous, best friend-to-the-beautiful-protagonist character had to have been conceived in a tweet. Ditto for her performance. If she ever plays anything else in a movie, you'll also hear about a cure for the common cold.
Unfortunately, nothing else in the movie looked particularly interesting and a chunk of the cast have already served time in other romantic comedies; namely Alison Brie, Leslie Mann and Jake Lacy. Mann could easily mentor any cast-member in the finer points of the romantic comedy craft.

But because I expected little from the movie, or I simply realized the alternate choices were a appallingly bad adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, another Wayans's brothers parody or Zoolander 2; I actually found the movie palatable. I know that isn't exactly a passionate endorsement but it's the most honest response I can muster, given the genre. Director Christian Ditter's flick isn't the worst cinematic experience one will have this year. That distinction may go to the forthcoming Miracles from Heaven (if you haven't seen the trailer, check it out on IMDB or YouTube; it's a howler). It also won't be the most memorable. It's a film that takes leave of some of the romantic-comedy trappings to generate a few moments of genuine charm and impart the main character's hard-earned wisdom, which manages to steer clear of total triteness.

The story, based on the novel by Liz Tuccillo, is standard issue romantic comedy; young woman named Alice (Dakota Johnson) moves to New York City after agreeing to a separation from her long-term boyfriend, Josh (Nicholas Braun). It is understood implicitly that the two will come together again at some time in the indeterminate but near future. She takes up temporary lodgings with her older sister Meg (Leslie Mann), who works as a doctor at a local hospital. She also meets Robin (Rebel Wilson), a co-worker at her new job at a law firm, who wastes little time sharing secrets about the job, like the best places to hook-up on the premises. Robin also assumes the title of Alice's single-life guru; teaching the finer points of bar-life behavior and dealing with men.

But the film comes with a wide panoply of characters; all who represent singledom in its various incarnations. We have the young and handsome Tom (Anders Holm), who runs a local bar and is happy to share his non-commitment guy secrets with any woman he seduces into his apartment. Tom is attracted to Lucy (Alison Brie); a young woman who lives in neighborhood who uses Tom's bar as a place to pursue her on-line dating though it doesn't take a genius to figure they might end up together. Another character is the youngish Ken (Jake Lacy); Alice's co-worker, who eyes her older sister Meg (Leslie Mann) at a company party. Though their obvious age difference is hardly a deterrent to Ken, Meg is put off by what she sees as a temporary infatuation. The fact that she has also been impregnated via artificial insemination leaves her wary of his pursuit.
Other characters are Josh, who disappoints Alice when he announces his engagement to another woman but confuses her by periodically showing up for friendship and affection. Alice spends most of the film pining for Josh and making her happiness contingent on his coming back. And we also meet David (Damon Wayans Jr.); an African-American man with whom Alice begins a relationship, only to run afoul of his issues with his deceased wife. The idea of Alice and David being together takes the usually timid rom-com narrative someplace different; inter-racial romance is too bold a concept for Hollywood.

It isn't difficult to figure how the various threads will cross and entwine though I was surprised that a few end messily for one character or another. I also didn't anticipate the empowering choices Alice makes. Usually, in films of this stripe, the protagonist finds his or her love at the end after overcoming contrived crises but not here. I can at least give the film credit for not hewing snugly to the genre's narrative norms. The film offers a few more surprises but not many.

Other than the Alice/David pairing, which could have been the most exciting development in the story, I found the Ken/Meg story-line to be touching. It isn't often we see a young, studly, twenty-something pursue a pregnant forty-something in any romantic comedy.

By the time we reach the end credits, we see Alice has formulated some ideas about the virtues of being single, which is yet another way the movie breaks from the genre conventions.

In spite of the movie's attempt to shake the dust from romantic-comedies, I can't say I was wowed by the story. Several scenes stumble badly, such as Lucy's meltdown during a children's book reading at a local bookstore, which leads to a meeting with her future significant other. Most of Rebel Wilson's antics also just seem to be a reprise of everything she's done in other comedies and it isn't surprising when we learn she is committed to her single life. David's story-thread could have been given more time and space to become fully realized but it never happened.

I'm pleased that some of the loose ends were left loose and things didn't work out perfectly for some of the characters. So why didn't the film leave me feeling like I had seen something new? Because it was only a little better than my unbelievably low expectations, which were so low as to be despairing.

In spite of her penance in 50 Shades of Grey, Dakota Johnson is a charming presence. I don't know that she has any comedic bones in her body but she did give me a chuckle in a scene where she mimics Rebel Wilson. Her small role in Black Mass tells me she is willing to reach for more challenging roles so I'm hoping her turn here means she is only browsing in the romantic-comedy section. She shouldn't tarry here long, for the genre has claimed the careers of so many actresses, to wit: Kate Hudson, Ginnifer Goodwin (well, she only did two but she hasn't been heard from since) and Katherine Heigl, who couldn't get arrested now if she were caught with kiddie porn and a hundred kilos of heroine.

If the film doesn't celebrate being single, it at least doesn't treat it as a fatal disease. Alice finds liberation in it; which took me by surprise. How to Be Single isn't a bad movie. It's like a chocolate chip cookie sparsely sprinkled with chips. You wish it had bigger chunks of chocolate but at least it goes down easily.

Hitchcock/Truffaut

Director: Kent Jones

It's hard to imagine Alfred Hitchcock's work was once dismissed as frivolous, light entertainment by the keepers of high culture. Though he had amassed an impressive body of work and contributed many of cinema's masterworks, Hitchcock's films weren't considered worthy of closer examination by the major critics of the time. But along came Cahiers du Cinema; the now famous French film periodical, whose contributors formed part of what became known as the Nouvelle Vague; Jacques Rivette, Francois Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Eric Rohmer and Claude Chabrol. The aforementioned French cinephiles--soon to become groundbreaking filmmakers--didn't share the fashionable low American regard for Hitchcock's films. Their subsequent reappraisal of Hitchcock's films helped critics, film-lovers and the industry itself reconsider the British filmmaker's cinematic contributions.
A major champion of Hitchcock's films, French New Wave director Francois Truffaut's groundbreaking book Hitchcock/Truffaut may be one of the most significant books on cinema ever. If that claim seems hyperbolic, consider Hitchcock's reputation now, and his inclusion into the great director pantheon. Truffaut himself can claim a lion's share of credit for the rehabilitation.

Truffaut's book is based on hours of interviews with the great director, which not only illuminate Hitchcock's creative process but serve as an effective companion to Truffaut's detailed film analysis, which includes frame by frame coverage that spans the director's epic career. Director Kent Jones' film details the meeting of both legendary directors that came about via a fawning letter Truffaut sent to Hitchcock outlining his plans for the interviews, which took place in Los Angeles in 1966. The book that followed and its powerful impact are discussed by numerous interviewees, which include filmmakers Wes Anderson, Olivier Assayas, David Fincher, Martin Scorcese, Richard Linklater and Paul Schrader; to name a few.
Scorsese discusses the how the book allowed his directorial peers to embrace Hitchcock's work while Wes Anderson comments on how his copy of Truffaut's book is a now a well-thumbed pile of pages. On discussing the unpretentious nature of the conversations, Paul Schrader mentions how the two directors talked about craft. The various director's incisive commentary about Hitchcock's style and camera work are a movie-lover's treat.

Jones also tells us about the two directors became life-long friends; sharing thoughts and ideas on one another's work until Hitchcock's death in 1980. It is interesting to learn that Truffaut was decades younger than his hero but died a mere 4 years after Hitchcock at the age of 52.

It seems strange that it's only now we see a film on this subject. Jones' film, like the book that inspired it, is necessary and utterly fascinating. To think that one book helped rescue a great director's creative reputation seems highly improbable. Cinephiles everywhere owe a tremendous debt to Truffaut and his French, directorial peers for their keen perception and their passion, which made a critical reassessment of Hitchcock's work possible. We also owe something to Kent Jones; a film curator for the New York Film Festival and programmer at Lincoln Center; for his wonderful documentary, that in essence celebrates two great filmmakers. In the end, it's safe to say Jones film is an appreciation of an artist who appreciated another artist.