Transsiberian (Brad Anderson, 2008) - B+
Fortunate enough to see three fantastic movies in a row over the course of two days -- this, Vicky Cristina Barcelona (see last entry), and Boy A (below). The remarkable thing here is Anderson's flair for evocative bleakness, also on display in The Machinist. Everything constantly straddles the line between beauty and menace: Eduardo Noriega's good-natured drifter, Emily Mortimer's reformed bad girl (Mortimer is wonderful, by the way), but most of all the snowy, foreign desolation of the Siberian setting -- the heart of the film. Some of the plotting is a bit unlikely, and Anderson should have gone easy on the explanatory flashbacks to events we've already seen, but the plot is really just a function of the scenery, which is a moody, malevolent character all its own. A few amusing points: casting Woody Harrelson as a genial yokel, Ben Kingsley teaching Harrelson Russian pronunciation. But mostly scary and haunting; left me in a sad, unsettled funk. Anderson clearly cares more about mood and (sometimes inarticulable) emotion than about story, but he's so good I'm actually cool with that.
Boy A (John Crowley, 2008) - A-
Immensely powerful, and almost a masterpiece; the reason it's not is the overly schematic nature of the crucial subplot involving Mullan's son, with Crowley hellbent on forcing a thematic parallel to the A-story. (I kept wondering why the son was in the movie, and rolled my eyes when it became clear.) The rest is gold; a thoughtful, understated rumination on punishment, forgiveness, and the criminal justice system's (and the media's) insistence on letting juvenile convictions haunt people for the rest of their lives. Maybe the most impressive thing about it is that it doesn't pull any punches about the protagonist's crime -- he did what he did, and note that the movie provides the sexual abuse "excuse" to his psychopathic friend, but not to him. Garfield's performance is as awesome as everyone says, in a hugely difficult role. The last few minutes are a masterfully manipulative knock-out, bringing me to tears. One of the best films of the year; go see it immediately.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
A bunch of stuff
Mirrors (Alexandre Aja, 2008) - D+
Really, really bad -- really bad -- and I'm stunned, since I had come to think of Aja as the most artful of the "Splat Pack," a genre wizard with an eye for genuinely haunting imagery; a horror director who actually pays attention to stuff like shot composition and the color palette. Still looks good, I guess -- the Laurie Holden jawbreaker sequence is one-of-a-kind, and the (obvious) use of reflections can be striking, though the resulting set pieces are often more confusing than Aja, I think, intended. The problem is the screenplay, which is hideously clunky and lazy: every line of dialogue is expository or explanatory, and most plumb the depths of horror flick cliches ("You think I'm crazy, don't you?" "I don't know what to think!"); several crucial story points are conveyed via conveniently placed newspaper clippings (the protagonist actually receives a package full of them at one point); worst of all, the movie never figures out what it's supposed to be about. It's got two things going on simultaneously, as best I could figure out: some sort of vague demonic possession plot, and a just-as-vague alternate universe story; the movie clearly thinks it brings the two of them together, but, uh, it doesn't. Twist ending is laughable, presenting the least creative ever vision of a parallel universe.
Man on Wire (James Marsh, 2008) - B
This is excellent, though not really for the reasons everyone says. I was struck by its portrayal of the sort of passion that can spur extraordinary collaboration -- the most stirring moments in the film aren't Petit's (admittedly incredible) tightrope walking but the footage of him and his cronies frantically, gleefully working out the head-spinning details of their WTC coup. Amazing what driven, adventurous people can accomplish. Also a surprisingly thoughtful exploration of the divide between morality and the law, and the notion of doing something illegal but not "wicked or mean"; listen for the police officer's awed response to Petit's escapades after he worked to put a stop to them, and the "punishment" meted out by the DA. Not really all that inspiring as a Portrait of an Artist: Petit comes off as infectiously enthusiastic but also self-absorbed and kind of crazy, and too much time is given over to gushing, vapid talking heads, like the girlfriend. But the logistics are loads of fun, Nyman's score is beautiful, and the insights are surprising.
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Woody Allen, 2008) - B+
Woody Allen's more serious efforts this decade have all been about ambition in one form or another, and the contrast between the previous two, both thrillers about working-class strivers who get into trouble chasing dreams of wealth and comfort, and this one, about overprivileged Americans searching for other kinds of fulfillment, is fascinating. Allen is not, as some would have it, against commitment; rather, he's made a(nother) film about satisfaction, and the often self-destructive human tendency to grab for things beyond one's reach -- precisely the theme of Cassandra's Dream, and roughly of Match Point as well. And there's so much else that's interesting too, like the best performances of Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz's careers, a remarkable discovery in Rebecca Hall (as the obligatory Woody stand-in), unexpectedly careful and lovely cinematography, and the droll voiceover that pointedly undercuts the film's woozy romanticism. On par with Match Point as the best Allen of the 00s.
Elegy (Isabel Coixet, 2008) - C+
Hoo boy. A touching if simple story defeated by unrestrained excess and shameless jerry-rigging. An aging playboy slowly discovers what he's been missing and learns love and companionship -- fine. But seriously, did he have to also be a world-renowned expert on hedonism (I am not making this up), just to drive the point home? Stuff like that. Still compelling for a while, exploring the paradox of how a man so devoted to commitment- and care-free living can simultaneously be so paranoid and jealous; for a while Ben Kingsley looks like he is less likely to kiss Penelope Cruz than devour her (which might be the point), but a character soon starts to emerge, and his gradual awakening is sweet. Then the ridiculously contrived, overwrought ending comes along and sinks the film -- the sort of cheap, out-of-the-blue, totally unearned stunt that can only come from the mind of a supremely arrogant screenwriter. I don't recall Coixet's My Life Without Me being this oppressive. Patricia Clarkson is still awesome.
Really, really bad -- really bad -- and I'm stunned, since I had come to think of Aja as the most artful of the "Splat Pack," a genre wizard with an eye for genuinely haunting imagery; a horror director who actually pays attention to stuff like shot composition and the color palette. Still looks good, I guess -- the Laurie Holden jawbreaker sequence is one-of-a-kind, and the (obvious) use of reflections can be striking, though the resulting set pieces are often more confusing than Aja, I think, intended. The problem is the screenplay, which is hideously clunky and lazy: every line of dialogue is expository or explanatory, and most plumb the depths of horror flick cliches ("You think I'm crazy, don't you?" "I don't know what to think!"); several crucial story points are conveyed via conveniently placed newspaper clippings (the protagonist actually receives a package full of them at one point); worst of all, the movie never figures out what it's supposed to be about. It's got two things going on simultaneously, as best I could figure out: some sort of vague demonic possession plot, and a just-as-vague alternate universe story; the movie clearly thinks it brings the two of them together, but, uh, it doesn't. Twist ending is laughable, presenting the least creative ever vision of a parallel universe.
Man on Wire (James Marsh, 2008) - B
This is excellent, though not really for the reasons everyone says. I was struck by its portrayal of the sort of passion that can spur extraordinary collaboration -- the most stirring moments in the film aren't Petit's (admittedly incredible) tightrope walking but the footage of him and his cronies frantically, gleefully working out the head-spinning details of their WTC coup. Amazing what driven, adventurous people can accomplish. Also a surprisingly thoughtful exploration of the divide between morality and the law, and the notion of doing something illegal but not "wicked or mean"; listen for the police officer's awed response to Petit's escapades after he worked to put a stop to them, and the "punishment" meted out by the DA. Not really all that inspiring as a Portrait of an Artist: Petit comes off as infectiously enthusiastic but also self-absorbed and kind of crazy, and too much time is given over to gushing, vapid talking heads, like the girlfriend. But the logistics are loads of fun, Nyman's score is beautiful, and the insights are surprising.
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Woody Allen, 2008) - B+
Woody Allen's more serious efforts this decade have all been about ambition in one form or another, and the contrast between the previous two, both thrillers about working-class strivers who get into trouble chasing dreams of wealth and comfort, and this one, about overprivileged Americans searching for other kinds of fulfillment, is fascinating. Allen is not, as some would have it, against commitment; rather, he's made a(nother) film about satisfaction, and the often self-destructive human tendency to grab for things beyond one's reach -- precisely the theme of Cassandra's Dream, and roughly of Match Point as well. And there's so much else that's interesting too, like the best performances of Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz's careers, a remarkable discovery in Rebecca Hall (as the obligatory Woody stand-in), unexpectedly careful and lovely cinematography, and the droll voiceover that pointedly undercuts the film's woozy romanticism. On par with Match Point as the best Allen of the 00s.
Elegy (Isabel Coixet, 2008) - C+
Hoo boy. A touching if simple story defeated by unrestrained excess and shameless jerry-rigging. An aging playboy slowly discovers what he's been missing and learns love and companionship -- fine. But seriously, did he have to also be a world-renowned expert on hedonism (I am not making this up), just to drive the point home? Stuff like that. Still compelling for a while, exploring the paradox of how a man so devoted to commitment- and care-free living can simultaneously be so paranoid and jealous; for a while Ben Kingsley looks like he is less likely to kiss Penelope Cruz than devour her (which might be the point), but a character soon starts to emerge, and his gradual awakening is sweet. Then the ridiculously contrived, overwrought ending comes along and sinks the film -- the sort of cheap, out-of-the-blue, totally unearned stunt that can only come from the mind of a supremely arrogant screenwriter. I don't recall Coixet's My Life Without Me being this oppressive. Patricia Clarkson is still awesome.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
La Dolce Vita (Federico Fellini, 1960) - B
I'm no Fellini aficionado, but this is an awful lot like 8 1/2, isn't it, with the same rambling quasi-narrative that goes off the meta-deep end in the last half hour? It's less compelling, I think -- possibly because I saw it second, but also because the Fellini/Mastroianni lover protagonist just isn't as interesting as the other movie's filmmaker/solipsist. Mastroianni weirdly goes the lovable puppy dog route, standing around looking all pouty and forlorn as he takes stock of his broken dreams, his pointless career, his empty womanizing, and the artifice that surrounds him. Some of the vignettes are pretty brilliant (I love the circus that develops around the rural Virgin Mary sighting), others just seem like showing off (the weird dungeon sequence is absurdly overstuffed); too many end on the same glibly ironic note, with Marcello calling or otherwise reconnecting with another of his women. The three hours feel more like two, and I'll keep watching Fellini, but 8 1/2 made me hope for something a bit stronger.
I'm no Fellini aficionado, but this is an awful lot like 8 1/2, isn't it, with the same rambling quasi-narrative that goes off the meta-deep end in the last half hour? It's less compelling, I think -- possibly because I saw it second, but also because the Fellini/Mastroianni lover protagonist just isn't as interesting as the other movie's filmmaker/solipsist. Mastroianni weirdly goes the lovable puppy dog route, standing around looking all pouty and forlorn as he takes stock of his broken dreams, his pointless career, his empty womanizing, and the artifice that surrounds him. Some of the vignettes are pretty brilliant (I love the circus that develops around the rural Virgin Mary sighting), others just seem like showing off (the weird dungeon sequence is absurdly overstuffed); too many end on the same glibly ironic note, with Marcello calling or otherwise reconnecting with another of his women. The three hours feel more like two, and I'll keep watching Fellini, but 8 1/2 made me hope for something a bit stronger.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Platoon
Platoon (Oliver Stone, 1986) - B-
Hysterical in a very Oliver Stone sort of way, every shot filled with blood, angst and anger; the characters lament the corruption of the System ("and we're stuck in the middle sucking on it") when they're not surrendering to their bloodthirst, screaming "it's fucking beautiful!" while unloading on the NVA. Charlie Sheen seems a bit goofy here, though that may have been the point; Kevin Dillon is terrifying; Tom Berenger way over the top. Actually one of the better Stones (I'm not a big fan), though useful mostly for its admirable grasp of military logistics, and for making you ask (once again) what the fuck we were thinking fighting a war in the jungle. Features one of the laziest uses of voiceover in movie history.
Hysterical in a very Oliver Stone sort of way, every shot filled with blood, angst and anger; the characters lament the corruption of the System ("and we're stuck in the middle sucking on it") when they're not surrendering to their bloodthirst, screaming "it's fucking beautiful!" while unloading on the NVA. Charlie Sheen seems a bit goofy here, though that may have been the point; Kevin Dillon is terrifying; Tom Berenger way over the top. Actually one of the better Stones (I'm not a big fan), though useful mostly for its admirable grasp of military logistics, and for making you ask (once again) what the fuck we were thinking fighting a war in the jungle. Features one of the laziest uses of voiceover in movie history.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Some Catch-Up
Brideshead Revisited (Julian Jarrold, 2008) - B
Catholicism is the villain, a monster capable of consuming entire families. Took me a while to realize this was where the movie was going -- I haven't read the Evelyn Waugh novel -- but then it all sort of came together. Before that I couldn't figure out if this was supposed to be a doomed love story (in which case it was an awfully languid, dispassionate one) or a Faulkneresque saga of an aristocratic clan's gradual downfall (in which case the dully good-natured protagonist was a meaningless distraction); in reality it's sort of a combination of the two, with religion as the unexpected focus, which turns out to make a lot more sense. Ben Whishaw remarkable; Matthew Goode a blank slate.
The Wackness (Jonathan Levine, 2008) - C+
Couldn't quite get behind this morose bit of 90s nostalgia, despite being intrigued by the notion of 90s nostalgia -- could this be the first avowed example of same? Too aggressive with the cultural signifiers, straining to shoehorn them in where they don't really fit, and the quirkiness seems forced; it's hard, from a screenwriter's perspective, to make a character like Ben Kingsley's "weird old guy" work, and Levine's not up to the challenge -- "weird old guy" is all he ever is. Josh Peck and Olivia Thirlby are winners, and the movie rose at least half a grade in its last five minutes. But were summers in New York City in the early 90s really this depressing?
Mamma Mia! (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008) - B-
ABBA songs + Meryl Streep = entertainment. That's about all I have to say about this one. Stupid, laughable even, but the music is great, the director seems to have had a pulse, and the cheese factor and Pierce Brosnan's inability to sing a note are part of the charm. However, it's stupid to sing "Chiquitita" to someone not named Chiquitita.
Swing Vote (Joshua Michael Stern, 2008) - C-
First of all, dreadful as a character piece -- the swing voter is an insufferable, irredeemable dimwit, and there's nothing remotely charming (or human) about him. For a while, I thought it would be serviceable as political commentary, a statement on the way modern politics makes it impossible for anyone involved with it in any capacity to hold on to a shred of dignity and principle. But then it ends with a weird bit of ass-kissing, Costner suddenly telling both candidates how much he admires them and wishes he were more like them -- what? That's your ending? Talk about pulling your punches. Also not very funny, though Lane, Tucci, Grammer and Hopper are entertaining to watch, as usual.
Catholicism is the villain, a monster capable of consuming entire families. Took me a while to realize this was where the movie was going -- I haven't read the Evelyn Waugh novel -- but then it all sort of came together. Before that I couldn't figure out if this was supposed to be a doomed love story (in which case it was an awfully languid, dispassionate one) or a Faulkneresque saga of an aristocratic clan's gradual downfall (in which case the dully good-natured protagonist was a meaningless distraction); in reality it's sort of a combination of the two, with religion as the unexpected focus, which turns out to make a lot more sense. Ben Whishaw remarkable; Matthew Goode a blank slate.
The Wackness (Jonathan Levine, 2008) - C+
Couldn't quite get behind this morose bit of 90s nostalgia, despite being intrigued by the notion of 90s nostalgia -- could this be the first avowed example of same? Too aggressive with the cultural signifiers, straining to shoehorn them in where they don't really fit, and the quirkiness seems forced; it's hard, from a screenwriter's perspective, to make a character like Ben Kingsley's "weird old guy" work, and Levine's not up to the challenge -- "weird old guy" is all he ever is. Josh Peck and Olivia Thirlby are winners, and the movie rose at least half a grade in its last five minutes. But were summers in New York City in the early 90s really this depressing?
Mamma Mia! (Phyllida Lloyd, 2008) - B-
ABBA songs + Meryl Streep = entertainment. That's about all I have to say about this one. Stupid, laughable even, but the music is great, the director seems to have had a pulse, and the cheese factor and Pierce Brosnan's inability to sing a note are part of the charm. However, it's stupid to sing "Chiquitita" to someone not named Chiquitita.
Swing Vote (Joshua Michael Stern, 2008) - C-
First of all, dreadful as a character piece -- the swing voter is an insufferable, irredeemable dimwit, and there's nothing remotely charming (or human) about him. For a while, I thought it would be serviceable as political commentary, a statement on the way modern politics makes it impossible for anyone involved with it in any capacity to hold on to a shred of dignity and principle. But then it ends with a weird bit of ass-kissing, Costner suddenly telling both candidates how much he admires them and wishes he were more like them -- what? That's your ending? Talk about pulling your punches. Also not very funny, though Lane, Tucci, Grammer and Hopper are entertaining to watch, as usual.
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