Perhaps the most fascinating thing about the Apatow gang is the creative endeavors of the three older "Freaks & Geeks" stoner dudes -- James Franco, Seth Rogen, and Jason Segel.
Franco has become the ubiquitous artist to a degree that frankly annoys some people. In some folks' eyes, James Franco is quite possibly doing too much -- multiple graduate degrees, Soap Operas, art installations, hosting the Oscars, and a relentless acting career that includes everything from the Spiderman movies to Pineapple Express to Eat Pray Love. Let alone an Oscar nomination for 127 Hours and an Oscar overlook for Milk. Hate all you want -- the man is out there getting it done.
Jason Segel not only has a near decade on "How I Met Your Mother," dueling through musical numbers with Neil Patrick Harris during set's downtime -- he penned Forgetting Sarah Marshall and is now the man behind the reboot of The Muppets. What else could you expect?
And then there's Seth Rogen -- The Green Hornet himself. Rather than using his first piece of writing as a star vehicle, Rogen wisely opted to settle in as a supporting character with Bill Hader, letting Michael Cera and Jonah Hill take the reins as the leads of Superbad. He and Evan Goldberg's follow-up, Pineapple Express is not only one of the greatest stoner movies of all time, it went on to score Franco a Golden Globe nomination in a year where he couldn't score one for Milk. Funny People seemed misguided on first view -- I must admit -- but Rogen is certainly not the weak link. Sharing a house with Jason Schwartzman and Jonah Hill had me wondering whether I'd rather slide in there as a fourth roommate or executive produce the television series -- much as I have neither the coin or station to do so. In short, Rogen is as out there and successful as his "F&G" compadres. His lone writing misstep seems The Green Hornet. Folks might like to rag on "Undeclared" or Drillbit Taylor -- but the truth is both are solid. "Undeclared" never found it's footing despite having great jokes and excellent actors -- Charlie Hunnam, anyone? Drillbit unfairly fell through the cracks. For those of you who haven't taken a gander, give it a whirl -- you won't be disappointed.
After all this it has folks wondering if Franco will rise to the heights of Sean Penn -- how far Jason Segel will go as the new helmer of The Muppets -- and whether Seth Rogen may be this generation's Albert Brooks. He certainly hasn't written a Defending Your Life as yet -- but give him time. As the producer of 50/50 -- which is based on Rogen's personal experience with a close friend's cancer diagnosis -- one wonders how far this ever-chuckling self proclaimed member of stoner royalty will go.
So let's get down to it... 50/50:
Joseph Gordon-Levitt's continued string of exceptional and varied performances continue to launch his star farther and farther into the Hollywood cosmos. Brick and Mysterious Skin showed the world that the little boy from "Third Rock From the Sun" -- an underestimated, unnecessarily scoffed at television series -- was an unquestionable young adult talent. To have opted to prove that talent with such heavy fare was a bold move. Sealing the deal with 500 Days of Summer not only locked down his burgeoning adult stardom, he stole our hearts. This kid wasn't just a talent, he was a romantic lead with a smile and accompanying squinting eyes to be reckoned with. Oh, and by the way, Mr. Levitt -- Christopher Nolan's on the line.
Following up Inception, Levitt chose the off-beat Hesher -- one of this year's best indies. A brilliant move for America's sweetheart who may have been one upped by Tom Hardy in the Inception masculinity department -- drawing a line in the sand that there is always a bad boy inside -- just holler if you need him.
With 50/50 we get something entirely different from both Levitt and Rogen: an expertly measured emotional journey about illness, loss, fear, love, and death. Director Jonathan Levine and Writer Will Resier have taken Seth Rogen's personal experience and woven it into a heartwarming and heart-wrenching picture, the likes of which rarely takes place among the late-twenties and thirty-something set.
Luckily, I know nothing of cancer. I have seen friends and friends' parents succumb to the horrible disease -- but the odds have played in my favor well-enough to spare me having to deal with The Big C on a regular basis. What I know -- as nearly all of us do -- is that it is cruel, relentless, and illogical. For many, as is the case with 50/50 -- and don't worry, there will be no spoilers here -- the battle is a long one: life doesn't simply end the moment a diagnosis is pronounced. Which probably leaves folks wondering, "Is this a cancer movie like Dying Young (a film I refuse to see), that will plunge its audience into depression and leave a weepy crowd looking for the nearest watering hole?" In a word: No.
What's so wonderful about 50/50 -- and hats off to Mr. Levine, Mr. Reiser, and (frankly) Mr. Rogen for allowing the right people to tell his story and more or less getting the hell out of its way -- is that it is not a story of disease. It is a story of life going on in the face of horror. Young, romantic, humorous men don't have to throw in the towel and surrender themselves to the dark abyss the moment their doctor presents them with the image of a malignant tumor. There's life left. And it needn't be bleak -- not be a long-shot. What Levine, Reiser, and Rogen have expertly laid on the shoulders of Joseph Gordon Levitt is the necessity for each day to not only have its share of positivity -- but to be rife with the simple pleasures any young man desires. Hope -- with a capital "H" -- may be in question, but it simply does not mean life loses the uncontrollable daily hopes and desires of the average man. This is what is so killer when it comes to 50/50. As usual, the Rogen world and the Levitt eyes are bursting with hopeful wishes from underdogs who aren't asking for too much -- just their crack at the joys each of us seeks. The fact that this is combined with dick jokes, stoner moments, sex, booze, and cancer humor is what makes it a must see.
Let me ruin no specific moment. Let me step back from dishing too much about any specific relationship. Let me simply say Anna Kendrick and Bryce Dallas Howard continue to prove their endless talent. Perfect casting. As was the choice of Anjelica Huston as Joseph Gordon Levitt's mother. The matriarch of Wes Anderson-ville was the perfect choice. There are no two ways about the fact that there's a lot of Tenenbaum and Darjeeling here. But there's a smooth, grounded everyday tenderness that one only hopes to see more of in the future. Huston is a great: her limited screen time here proves it.
I don't know where 50/50 will end up come awards time. JGL may score a Musical/Comedy Actor nom at the Globes -- more than likely losing to Owen Wilson. The script, on the other hand, should not be overlooked when it comes times to play the fast and furious game of musical chairs for those five coveted spots -- even though that may ultimately be a Woody Allen slam-dunk, as well.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Tree of Life - Mallick, Mallick, Mallick
The absolute adoration of Terrence Mallick is something that has always been a mystery. Admittedly I was drawn to TM when he was releasing Thin Red Line and the word on the street was that the amazing genius of the 70s who up and vanished from the film making business for no reason -- isn't it because his family has huge oil money? -- was coming back with a movie about World War II. Get ready! Get ready! After all these years it's coming! And you wouldn't believe the cast!
Now, let's not forget that this was also the year of Saving Private Ryan and Life is Beautiful. We were on the brink of "Band of Brothers." This was SUPER World War II sentimentality season and this mystery man was returning with a dish we'd all been enjoying anyway? Well, right this way, Mr. Mallick.
And I was a fan or Thin Red Line. I hear stories of what's left on the cutting room floor for Adrien Brody and a few others would have made their careers years ago if it hadn't just been Mallick out there shooting a hundred hours worth of stuff and then trying to whittle it into some kind of three-ish hour mood story about the war. Hey -- I heard all sorts of things. But I was a fan. I thought he really pulled it off.
And I like Badlands. For some reason that movie really works for me.
But I'm not a Mallick crazy who sits down and admires the fact that he only filmed during certain times of the day to get the exact sunlight he wanted. To me that sounds like an absolute pain in the ass and frankly impossible. This may also be a rumor.
What I admire is that his films are stunningly beautiful when it comes to their photography. It's like nothing I've seen. The same is true for The Tree of Life.
Let's first go through the positive stuff.
Once again, as I was saying, Mallick has created a visual masterpiece. It is probably the most beautiful film of the summer in that regard. I will be stunned if something with better imagery comes down the pike between now and the full blown tirade of award season.
The problem is that the images are not backed up by a great deal.
Frankly, I'm incorrect in saying that -- if I were a studio executive I would have to say that there is plenty to back it up -- more needs to be cut.
We were all sold a movie where Brad Pitt was a tough love father and Sean Penn was the resultant adult son. Somewhere between these two great actors' lives was a male emotional history that was somehow going to unlock some family or personal secret that was probably going to make me cry my eyes out. Right? Isn't that what we were sold or is that just what I was sold?
Well, the movie sure starts like it's going down that road showing us the past, showing us Sean Penn, Brad Pitt -- locked away in their respective decades. Showing us the turmoil, a sour moment, the longing, the wondering -- initially, I was hooked. I've seen The Hours. I regularly listen to Phillip Glass. I thought to myself "I'm on the line, Mallick, start reeling in!"
And the truth is that the movie didn't need all that. Somehow the past is all that matters and there is absolutely no need for Sean Penn or the modern era to be in this film. It lends nothing. But the story that took place in Brad Pitt's household is excellent.
I was repeatedly awed by Mallick's ability to pick random moments of raw emotion. To jump from one side of the spectrum to another in such a real life way. He lets his characters make mistakes, he lets them hate for the wrong reason, he lets them knowingly choose the terrible option -- from this regard it was a remarkably brave movie that I deeply adored.
I worship at the altar of Brad Pitt, so let's all keep that in mind. But I thought it was another act of bravery for him -- of all Hollywood people -- to have taken the role of the despicable father -- who isn't actually that horrible. He is way worse than Hanks in Road to Perdition. But he's certainly not some psycho from the wrong side of town in To Kill A Mockingbird. Yet it's a hateful role -- and Brad played it well. The things this man has done with his career. Astounding.
Every single one of the children is excellent. Straight down the line. They're the best part of the film.
Jessica Chastain is a revelation. I would be surprised if folks remember this film -- let alone her stellar performance -- once we hit ballot season. I'm happy to see she is also in The Help and will get great reviews there and be seen by a wider audience.
So what's wrong with the film?
I don't know what the heck the point of it is. I don't know why it can't just be a family drama and then lead up to something. Somehow Mallick put this insane construct of the universe and creation and God and fate and all this nonsense -- that frankly does nothing more than get this film into a hole deeper than The Fountain. Hell, if I thought I knew how to pull Brad Pitt and Sean Penn into a movie together wherein they could be father and son -- well, I'd come up with something.
But nothing is there. There is no connection. And there needs to be one. I can't simply be ACTUALLY floating through space while I watch this movie. Then we are never given the absolutely essential information about how this film got from POINT A to POINT B (or was it POINT Z?). No.
After three hours of my time -- where I had to watch the earth cool and dinosaurs act out some kind of a morality play -- you owe your audience clear answers. I wonder if there was one. I wonder if it's on the cutting room floor or if it simply was never there.
Now, let's not forget that this was also the year of Saving Private Ryan and Life is Beautiful. We were on the brink of "Band of Brothers." This was SUPER World War II sentimentality season and this mystery man was returning with a dish we'd all been enjoying anyway? Well, right this way, Mr. Mallick.
And I was a fan or Thin Red Line. I hear stories of what's left on the cutting room floor for Adrien Brody and a few others would have made their careers years ago if it hadn't just been Mallick out there shooting a hundred hours worth of stuff and then trying to whittle it into some kind of three-ish hour mood story about the war. Hey -- I heard all sorts of things. But I was a fan. I thought he really pulled it off.
And I like Badlands. For some reason that movie really works for me.
But I'm not a Mallick crazy who sits down and admires the fact that he only filmed during certain times of the day to get the exact sunlight he wanted. To me that sounds like an absolute pain in the ass and frankly impossible. This may also be a rumor.
What I admire is that his films are stunningly beautiful when it comes to their photography. It's like nothing I've seen. The same is true for The Tree of Life.
Let's first go through the positive stuff.
Once again, as I was saying, Mallick has created a visual masterpiece. It is probably the most beautiful film of the summer in that regard. I will be stunned if something with better imagery comes down the pike between now and the full blown tirade of award season.
The problem is that the images are not backed up by a great deal.
Frankly, I'm incorrect in saying that -- if I were a studio executive I would have to say that there is plenty to back it up -- more needs to be cut.
We were all sold a movie where Brad Pitt was a tough love father and Sean Penn was the resultant adult son. Somewhere between these two great actors' lives was a male emotional history that was somehow going to unlock some family or personal secret that was probably going to make me cry my eyes out. Right? Isn't that what we were sold or is that just what I was sold?
Well, the movie sure starts like it's going down that road showing us the past, showing us Sean Penn, Brad Pitt -- locked away in their respective decades. Showing us the turmoil, a sour moment, the longing, the wondering -- initially, I was hooked. I've seen The Hours. I regularly listen to Phillip Glass. I thought to myself "I'm on the line, Mallick, start reeling in!"
And the truth is that the movie didn't need all that. Somehow the past is all that matters and there is absolutely no need for Sean Penn or the modern era to be in this film. It lends nothing. But the story that took place in Brad Pitt's household is excellent.
I was repeatedly awed by Mallick's ability to pick random moments of raw emotion. To jump from one side of the spectrum to another in such a real life way. He lets his characters make mistakes, he lets them hate for the wrong reason, he lets them knowingly choose the terrible option -- from this regard it was a remarkably brave movie that I deeply adored.
I worship at the altar of Brad Pitt, so let's all keep that in mind. But I thought it was another act of bravery for him -- of all Hollywood people -- to have taken the role of the despicable father -- who isn't actually that horrible. He is way worse than Hanks in Road to Perdition. But he's certainly not some psycho from the wrong side of town in To Kill A Mockingbird. Yet it's a hateful role -- and Brad played it well. The things this man has done with his career. Astounding.
Every single one of the children is excellent. Straight down the line. They're the best part of the film.
Jessica Chastain is a revelation. I would be surprised if folks remember this film -- let alone her stellar performance -- once we hit ballot season. I'm happy to see she is also in The Help and will get great reviews there and be seen by a wider audience.
So what's wrong with the film?
I don't know what the heck the point of it is. I don't know why it can't just be a family drama and then lead up to something. Somehow Mallick put this insane construct of the universe and creation and God and fate and all this nonsense -- that frankly does nothing more than get this film into a hole deeper than The Fountain. Hell, if I thought I knew how to pull Brad Pitt and Sean Penn into a movie together wherein they could be father and son -- well, I'd come up with something.
But nothing is there. There is no connection. And there needs to be one. I can't simply be ACTUALLY floating through space while I watch this movie. Then we are never given the absolutely essential information about how this film got from POINT A to POINT B (or was it POINT Z?). No.
After three hours of my time -- where I had to watch the earth cool and dinosaurs act out some kind of a morality play -- you owe your audience clear answers. I wonder if there was one. I wonder if it's on the cutting room floor or if it simply was never there.
X-Men First Class - It's not Singer, but it's solid.
The Disaster that is X-Men 3 -- whose correct title I will not expand and will not officially employ -- was such a grandiose Brett Ratner disaster and such an out and out insult to X2: X-Men United (see what I did there?) that one had to consider the franchise absolutely dead. If that didn't convince you, surely the X-Men Origins: Wolverine saga taught you a thing or two about the franchise that was only going to be a thing or two long.
So why this fourth film? This X-Men First Class? The total reboots that are taking place across the board?
Is it that the brilliance of what Sam Raimi did with the Spiderman movies, what Nolan did with the Batman movies and what Donner did with the Superman movies has finally taught the studios a long overlooked lesson ----> You've already got a whole series of pre-existing stories -- not just pre-existing characters! Why not use the material that's already there to create some great movies rather than picking a couple of super heroes you think are great and then trying to figure out a plot that could possibly apply to them -- and that hasn't been done yet?
As an origin film X-Men First Class is a great. It is not nearly as good as X-Men 2 and any films that come in the subsequent -- and clearly definite series -- will never be as good as the work of Bryan Singer. There is simply no way that is ever going to happen. But this film was good. It came as no surprise to me that this latest installment was directed by Matthew Vaughn -- director of Kick Ass. Kick Ass was one of the most under-rated films last year. While not nailing it the way Scott Pilgrim did, Kick Ass remains an excellent movie folks should check out -- and hopefully will once they enjoy his steady, smooth, creative, and cool direction in X-Men First Class. For those of you naysayers that are going to leave Kick Ass in the dust, let me also point out that Vaughn directed Layer Cake. That's right. Some "kick ass" stuff happens in Vaughn's X-Men.
The cast is excellent -- the younger members of the team simply don't pack the wallop the teen actors clobbered us with back in Singer's originals. Do not expect acting of that caliber or banter of that level -- you will not find it here. What you will find is a rivalry between three great male actors: Kevin Bacon, Michael Fassbender, and James McAvoy. The battle between these seasoned actors in their archetypal X-Men roles is the bread and butter -- as well as the bones, brains and balls of the entire film. There are few great moments that don't involve at least two of them -- either teaming up in some unforeseen way or flat out trying to kill each other. It's well done.
Magneto -- like most super villains -- has always been my favorite Marvel character of all time. There was a period before X-Men where I thought the casting of Ian McKellan was completely moronic. The man I had always seen as this domineering holocaust survivor was Rutger Hauer. I obviously loved McKellan's performance -- but there was always a part of me that wished someone just plain bigger and tougher had been given the role. Watching the lovely Brit from Inglorious Basterds -- the handome as a devil Michael Fassbender take on the role of the evil, tortured mutant was a joy.
Seeing McAvoy in another giant film -- after the much underrated Wanted -- not forgetting his roots in big studio Narnia... well it made me pleased as punch. He is a great actor with a great face. He should be constantly pursuing all levels of film acting.
Bacon has the swagger of the summer -- no questions asked. That Footloose smoothie cruised straight through the Nazi ranks to a Las Vegas strip club like he was half high and pushing his way through a beaded curtain. This dude is Bacon to the max. And it plays.
Enjoy X-Men First Class. Let it be what it is -- and you'll have a great time. If not, you can come home and watch X2.
-Matthew J. McCue
So why this fourth film? This X-Men First Class? The total reboots that are taking place across the board?
Is it that the brilliance of what Sam Raimi did with the Spiderman movies, what Nolan did with the Batman movies and what Donner did with the Superman movies has finally taught the studios a long overlooked lesson ----> You've already got a whole series of pre-existing stories -- not just pre-existing characters! Why not use the material that's already there to create some great movies rather than picking a couple of super heroes you think are great and then trying to figure out a plot that could possibly apply to them -- and that hasn't been done yet?
As an origin film X-Men First Class is a great. It is not nearly as good as X-Men 2 and any films that come in the subsequent -- and clearly definite series -- will never be as good as the work of Bryan Singer. There is simply no way that is ever going to happen. But this film was good. It came as no surprise to me that this latest installment was directed by Matthew Vaughn -- director of Kick Ass. Kick Ass was one of the most under-rated films last year. While not nailing it the way Scott Pilgrim did, Kick Ass remains an excellent movie folks should check out -- and hopefully will once they enjoy his steady, smooth, creative, and cool direction in X-Men First Class. For those of you naysayers that are going to leave Kick Ass in the dust, let me also point out that Vaughn directed Layer Cake. That's right. Some "kick ass" stuff happens in Vaughn's X-Men.
The cast is excellent -- the younger members of the team simply don't pack the wallop the teen actors clobbered us with back in Singer's originals. Do not expect acting of that caliber or banter of that level -- you will not find it here. What you will find is a rivalry between three great male actors: Kevin Bacon, Michael Fassbender, and James McAvoy. The battle between these seasoned actors in their archetypal X-Men roles is the bread and butter -- as well as the bones, brains and balls of the entire film. There are few great moments that don't involve at least two of them -- either teaming up in some unforeseen way or flat out trying to kill each other. It's well done.
Magneto -- like most super villains -- has always been my favorite Marvel character of all time. There was a period before X-Men where I thought the casting of Ian McKellan was completely moronic. The man I had always seen as this domineering holocaust survivor was Rutger Hauer. I obviously loved McKellan's performance -- but there was always a part of me that wished someone just plain bigger and tougher had been given the role. Watching the lovely Brit from Inglorious Basterds -- the handome as a devil Michael Fassbender take on the role of the evil, tortured mutant was a joy.
Seeing McAvoy in another giant film -- after the much underrated Wanted -- not forgetting his roots in big studio Narnia... well it made me pleased as punch. He is a great actor with a great face. He should be constantly pursuing all levels of film acting.
Bacon has the swagger of the summer -- no questions asked. That Footloose smoothie cruised straight through the Nazi ranks to a Las Vegas strip club like he was half high and pushing his way through a beaded curtain. This dude is Bacon to the max. And it plays.
Enjoy X-Men First Class. Let it be what it is -- and you'll have a great time. If not, you can come home and watch X2.
-Matthew J. McCue
Super 8 - J.J. goes Amblin
To say that I am anything short of one of the greatest Steven Spielberg fans walking the face of the earth is not an overstatement. I am endlessly nourished at the fountain of Steven Spielberg and see the genius in everything he has done. As much as he is the most successful filmmaker of the American 1970s generation -- which is what we're all currently considering the greatest time to have made movies -- he is far and away the least recognized given his endless successful ventures. If any other director had directed Jaws, Close Encounters, Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T., The Color Purple, Empire of the Sun, Schindler's List, Jurassic Park, Saving Private Ryan, A.I., Minority Report, Catch Me If You Can -- if any other person had directed just one of those films it would have been the film of their career. That list is his resume. That should be about 30 Oscars deep and it doesn't even come close.
Having said that... when I saw that Spielberg was getting behind J.J. Abrams to make a movie about a bunch of kids who are in the middle of making their own movie and accidentally get the Area 51 train jack-knife derailment on footage. Well, excuse me, I was stunned. This was going to be the movie of the summer. I am here to report that so far -- with the exception of Midnight in Paris, a vastly different kind of picture -- it is. J. J. has done it again. Is anyone surprised?
The thing is an absolute homage to Spielberg's work right down to the fact that there are shots and sequences completely lifted from Spielberg's movies. If that is going to be a problem for you as a viewer and you're not going to be able to dive right in, you're going to miss the whole point. It's Goonies (which I realize is Donner with a Columbus script, but that was a Spielberg movie) colliding with the E.T. era and going on the kind of adventure Spielberg has been taking us on each time. If you're able to just hook into that fact, you are going to have the time of your life.
The action sequences are creative and near flawless. The child actors are astounding. I have to say there have been a slew of impressive kids out there this summer and you can just sign this entire cast right onto that list. They were playing such tightly scripted roles that made each character such a remarkable stereotype but such a real teen that the raw talent there is something that could be taken and molded into any youthful character. It was like watching the greatest "Freaks and Geeks" episode of all time -- without the lackluster pace of most Apatow projects -- much as I love them.
These kids kept this film's foot on the pedal.
You throw in the "emotionally milking overtly set up character interactions" established before an alien enters the picture -- and you're in Abrams wheelhouse. This is what this guy can do. It's not that different from an episode of "Lost" or Star Trek when you look at it tonally. Hell, even Mission Impossilble 3 felt the Abrams stamp good and hard. But I'll tell you what, the emotional moments -- while so obvious and simple -- worked. When J.J. is directing or producing he knows how to walk a ridiculous tightrope of sentimentality few directors can manage. I think the proof is in the pudding with Armageddon -- obviously that thing is a stinker -- Criterion Collection or not -- if Bay is at the helm. But Abrams can steer a giant action film right down the Hallmark aisle while keeping it all kick ass. The man knows his thing.
And it works here. This was the perfect melding of burgeoning director and massive iconic producer. Make Abrams the next Zemeckis. Why not? If the guy was 25 years older you think he wouldn't have eventually directed Forrest Gump along side another landslide resume of success?
It works.
But what about what obviously doesn't work. Spoiler alert -- if you didn't know this movie was about an escaped alien, then yes, I just spoiled it for you. Then again, you're a fool. What do you think this movie is about? And if you were just reading this review to find out -- well that's what it's about and it's absolutely radical and I haven't ruined anything. However -- the thing that just doesn't work is the monster. It's amazing that we've made it this far and the monster usually doesn't work. Oh, that's what's doing it? What is that thing? What does it want? What the heck's going on?
When there are quick shadows -- quick snatches -- quick deaths -- I'm dying to know what the hell is going on. Once I see it -- eh. But they built a great story with the characters and this doesn't then fall into the bin with Jeepers Creepers -- you just have to ride this one out and it overcomes this seemingly unavoidable flaw for Alien movies. You really have to hand it to Ridley Scott and James Cameron with Alien and Aliens -- like... those things are some serious shit. Since then we've kind of been hedging our bets somewhere between there and Conmunion. Someone has to get back to the monster shop and work on this.
So far the best of the summer -- save Woody. I recommend it highly.
- Matthew J. McCue
Having said that... when I saw that Spielberg was getting behind J.J. Abrams to make a movie about a bunch of kids who are in the middle of making their own movie and accidentally get the Area 51 train jack-knife derailment on footage. Well, excuse me, I was stunned. This was going to be the movie of the summer. I am here to report that so far -- with the exception of Midnight in Paris, a vastly different kind of picture -- it is. J. J. has done it again. Is anyone surprised?
The thing is an absolute homage to Spielberg's work right down to the fact that there are shots and sequences completely lifted from Spielberg's movies. If that is going to be a problem for you as a viewer and you're not going to be able to dive right in, you're going to miss the whole point. It's Goonies (which I realize is Donner with a Columbus script, but that was a Spielberg movie) colliding with the E.T. era and going on the kind of adventure Spielberg has been taking us on each time. If you're able to just hook into that fact, you are going to have the time of your life.
The action sequences are creative and near flawless. The child actors are astounding. I have to say there have been a slew of impressive kids out there this summer and you can just sign this entire cast right onto that list. They were playing such tightly scripted roles that made each character such a remarkable stereotype but such a real teen that the raw talent there is something that could be taken and molded into any youthful character. It was like watching the greatest "Freaks and Geeks" episode of all time -- without the lackluster pace of most Apatow projects -- much as I love them.
These kids kept this film's foot on the pedal.
You throw in the "emotionally milking overtly set up character interactions" established before an alien enters the picture -- and you're in Abrams wheelhouse. This is what this guy can do. It's not that different from an episode of "Lost" or Star Trek when you look at it tonally. Hell, even Mission Impossilble 3 felt the Abrams stamp good and hard. But I'll tell you what, the emotional moments -- while so obvious and simple -- worked. When J.J. is directing or producing he knows how to walk a ridiculous tightrope of sentimentality few directors can manage. I think the proof is in the pudding with Armageddon -- obviously that thing is a stinker -- Criterion Collection or not -- if Bay is at the helm. But Abrams can steer a giant action film right down the Hallmark aisle while keeping it all kick ass. The man knows his thing.
And it works here. This was the perfect melding of burgeoning director and massive iconic producer. Make Abrams the next Zemeckis. Why not? If the guy was 25 years older you think he wouldn't have eventually directed Forrest Gump along side another landslide resume of success?
It works.
But what about what obviously doesn't work. Spoiler alert -- if you didn't know this movie was about an escaped alien, then yes, I just spoiled it for you. Then again, you're a fool. What do you think this movie is about? And if you were just reading this review to find out -- well that's what it's about and it's absolutely radical and I haven't ruined anything. However -- the thing that just doesn't work is the monster. It's amazing that we've made it this far and the monster usually doesn't work. Oh, that's what's doing it? What is that thing? What does it want? What the heck's going on?
When there are quick shadows -- quick snatches -- quick deaths -- I'm dying to know what the hell is going on. Once I see it -- eh. But they built a great story with the characters and this doesn't then fall into the bin with Jeepers Creepers -- you just have to ride this one out and it overcomes this seemingly unavoidable flaw for Alien movies. You really have to hand it to Ridley Scott and James Cameron with Alien and Aliens -- like... those things are some serious shit. Since then we've kind of been hedging our bets somewhere between there and Conmunion. Someone has to get back to the monster shop and work on this.
So far the best of the summer -- save Woody. I recommend it highly.
- Matthew J. McCue
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Water for Elephants: The Carter-Cash and Cullen Circus
For those folks who were big fans of this International Best-Seller, there is a great movie out there. The film adaptation of Water for Elephants (or Like Water for Elephants as I will always call it) is a true-to-the page piece. The fact of the matter is that I am a reader of the book who had certain problems with its story and I believe they persist. What this movie will be for someone who has no relationship to the story -- I don't precisely know. And as I have mulled it over these past days since I screened the pachyderm pic, I realize that I can't give it a rave. The truth is that it is a beautifully filmed problematic picture that didn't take the time to iron out the problems that existed in the source material. While there's something to be said for loyalty, there's also something to be said for wisdom and straight-up "ironing." A book can have wrinkles a film can't. It was surprising to watch them persist.
Non-readers, fear not! I won't spoil the plot!
When it comes to the cast of characters this was the perfect professional move.
Robert Pattinson is three movies deep into the Twilight Saga -- Saga by the way? -- and try as people might, Remember Me wasn't exactly the break-out "I'm not just a vampire" folks desired. The fact is getting blasted by Voldemoort and becoming -- well... DEAD and looking a lot like Edward Cullen is far more of one of Pattinson's "also-knowns." But the young cute veterinary student whose parents are killed in a car crash and who innocently joins the circus in the midst of The Great Depression to stand up for the animals -- and who is far and away the most handsome attraction in the three rings... well that's a role you take. Half the folks who are coming to the movie are already in love with his character -- that's a good starting point. The problem is this character has virtually no arc. He never outsmarts anyone. He never comes up with anything. He is never the wisest person in the room. He is the young innocent throughout the entire film who is caught up in the wrong situation -- shit, who wouldn't be on a circus train? But the cool factor Pattinson has been building these past years is completely lost in Jake the vet.
What Pattinson has going for him is a heart of gold, flattering period outfits, his looks -- duh -- and the young Ms. Witherspoon.
This role was a wise choice for Reese.
The James L. Brooks picture didn't go as anyone planned -- it couldn't have. And no one can blame any of the folks who got on board. Rudd, Wilson, Witherspoon, Nicholson? Nicholson alone you say yes. Then you pair Jack with a writer/director who's responsible for two of his three Oscars? It's a no-brainer. Turns out the film was mindless. Funny how that works.
But why not play the absolute beauty, high atop her mystical horses, later holding the reins of the titular elephant. Dashing evening dresses, sequins performance-wear, endless champagne, and the object of every man's desire -- young and old. It's a daring choice for a woman as young as Reese to play the "slightly" older than the young hot thing role. But it's a smart move. She isn't Bella Swan. She's Elle Woods. Doesn't mean they both don't end up with Pattinson. Why not get in on the reverse angle of the slight-age gap romance? There's no cougar quality here -- this is just a question of kindred spirits of similar "soul age" finding one another in a tumultuous world they never intended to be a part of. And Reese looks great. She's a believable circus performer -- though her intensity is a far cry from a certain rollercoaster ride I seem to remember.
The problem is August -- the role played by Oscar winning "Bingo" Nazi, Christoph Waltz. None of this blame rests on Waltz' head. It lies somewhere in the novel -- somewhere in the translation of the character to the screen -- and ends up right there before your eyes, in my good pal, the flickering light-beam. One gets the impression -- particularly from his proclamations -- that August is a horribly abusive man who has done what it takes over the year to stay on top. Much of what it has taken has been absolute criminal behavior including murder! You can call it "red lighting" all you want when you huck a person off a fast moving train onto the rocks. When their brains get dashed out somewhere between Albany and Weehawken -- I call that murder. And yet we're supposed to buy into his troubles. Sympathize with his troubles. Forgive him because of his troubles. I asked the book, I asked the film, and now I ask you, America, what on earth are his troubles?
The man is a wife-abuser, a psychopath, a thief. And just for future film reference to all of planet earth -- a German accent never helps these maladies.
And then there's the animal abuse. It's one thing to write about it. To throw some italics into the text so we know just how bad it's actually getting!! (<--Note the double exclamation points!!) It's just not something you can film. This isn't an Inarritu pic -- this is something whose visual landscape gives one the impression of ... well... Seabiscuit -- a movie I highly enjoy. But you're not going to really watch that horse go through anything.
And thus we don't really watch all too much happen here -- we simply know it has -- we flashback to it -- we see the black-eye -- we hear the rumor. It's not precisely a "show don't tell" problem, either. What on earth are you going to show? I don't want to watch an elephant get beaten. And even at my most misanthropic, I never want to see a person suffer -- hence my complicated relationship with the work of Marty Scorcese. And that's not the kind of helmer this picture required.
And somehow, the majesty of it all -- including a great flashback lead-in by the always amazing Hal Holbrook -- overcomes the pictures flaws. We're in the good land of literary adaptation. Just settle in for a ride through a visualized novel.
And if you do happen to actually read this blog and think otherwise, I'd love to hear your thoughts -- especially if you're a non-reader.
-Matthew J. McCue
Non-readers, fear not! I won't spoil the plot!
When it comes to the cast of characters this was the perfect professional move.
Robert Pattinson is three movies deep into the Twilight Saga -- Saga by the way? -- and try as people might, Remember Me wasn't exactly the break-out "I'm not just a vampire" folks desired. The fact is getting blasted by Voldemoort and becoming -- well... DEAD and looking a lot like Edward Cullen is far more of one of Pattinson's "also-knowns." But the young cute veterinary student whose parents are killed in a car crash and who innocently joins the circus in the midst of The Great Depression to stand up for the animals -- and who is far and away the most handsome attraction in the three rings... well that's a role you take. Half the folks who are coming to the movie are already in love with his character -- that's a good starting point. The problem is this character has virtually no arc. He never outsmarts anyone. He never comes up with anything. He is never the wisest person in the room. He is the young innocent throughout the entire film who is caught up in the wrong situation -- shit, who wouldn't be on a circus train? But the cool factor Pattinson has been building these past years is completely lost in Jake the vet.
What Pattinson has going for him is a heart of gold, flattering period outfits, his looks -- duh -- and the young Ms. Witherspoon.
This role was a wise choice for Reese.
The James L. Brooks picture didn't go as anyone planned -- it couldn't have. And no one can blame any of the folks who got on board. Rudd, Wilson, Witherspoon, Nicholson? Nicholson alone you say yes. Then you pair Jack with a writer/director who's responsible for two of his three Oscars? It's a no-brainer. Turns out the film was mindless. Funny how that works.
But why not play the absolute beauty, high atop her mystical horses, later holding the reins of the titular elephant. Dashing evening dresses, sequins performance-wear, endless champagne, and the object of every man's desire -- young and old. It's a daring choice for a woman as young as Reese to play the "slightly" older than the young hot thing role. But it's a smart move. She isn't Bella Swan. She's Elle Woods. Doesn't mean they both don't end up with Pattinson. Why not get in on the reverse angle of the slight-age gap romance? There's no cougar quality here -- this is just a question of kindred spirits of similar "soul age" finding one another in a tumultuous world they never intended to be a part of. And Reese looks great. She's a believable circus performer -- though her intensity is a far cry from a certain rollercoaster ride I seem to remember.
The problem is August -- the role played by Oscar winning "Bingo" Nazi, Christoph Waltz. None of this blame rests on Waltz' head. It lies somewhere in the novel -- somewhere in the translation of the character to the screen -- and ends up right there before your eyes, in my good pal, the flickering light-beam. One gets the impression -- particularly from his proclamations -- that August is a horribly abusive man who has done what it takes over the year to stay on top. Much of what it has taken has been absolute criminal behavior including murder! You can call it "red lighting" all you want when you huck a person off a fast moving train onto the rocks. When their brains get dashed out somewhere between Albany and Weehawken -- I call that murder. And yet we're supposed to buy into his troubles. Sympathize with his troubles. Forgive him because of his troubles. I asked the book, I asked the film, and now I ask you, America, what on earth are his troubles?
The man is a wife-abuser, a psychopath, a thief. And just for future film reference to all of planet earth -- a German accent never helps these maladies.
And then there's the animal abuse. It's one thing to write about it. To throw some italics into the text so we know just how bad it's actually getting!! (<--Note the double exclamation points!!) It's just not something you can film. This isn't an Inarritu pic -- this is something whose visual landscape gives one the impression of ... well... Seabiscuit -- a movie I highly enjoy. But you're not going to really watch that horse go through anything.
And thus we don't really watch all too much happen here -- we simply know it has -- we flashback to it -- we see the black-eye -- we hear the rumor. It's not precisely a "show don't tell" problem, either. What on earth are you going to show? I don't want to watch an elephant get beaten. And even at my most misanthropic, I never want to see a person suffer -- hence my complicated relationship with the work of Marty Scorcese. And that's not the kind of helmer this picture required.
And somehow, the majesty of it all -- including a great flashback lead-in by the always amazing Hal Holbrook -- overcomes the pictures flaws. We're in the good land of literary adaptation. Just settle in for a ride through a visualized novel.
And if you do happen to actually read this blog and think otherwise, I'd love to hear your thoughts -- especially if you're a non-reader.
-Matthew J. McCue
Hanna: My apologies on the delayed review
The fact that I have taken this long to put a review of Hanna into the Film Nook is a true "shame on me." An immediate run to the phonebooth and tell the boys back in the copy room which story to run with would have been the far better approach. However, this little blog of mine -- much as I like to let it shine -- is a tiny little subdeal that is more or less still a hobby. Life gets in the way and you end up doing unspeakable things like ... oh, I don't know... reviewing Insidious and The Lincoln Lawyer first.
So let's get to Hanna.
Joe Wright came into the film world as the capable director of Pride and Prejudice. And the way he made the splash with his period piece was not as others have -- quickly redoing a well known text and then fading through the arthouse scene -- particularly those venues that favor assisted listening devices and patrons who travel with ample amounts of crinkly plastic bags. No, Joe Wright's Pride was a thing of beauty with an exceptional cast and an Oscar nominated performance from the good Ms. Knightley.
The follow-up was the adaptation of Atonement a film whose middling success is something that still baffles me. Everything I thought Mr. Wright had correct was somehow problematic to many audience members -- despite its multiple Oscar nominations, including one for best picture. For those of use who were enthralled with Ian McEwan's novel, there could not have been a better adaptation. Christopher Hampton's script reminded the world what a master of adaptation he truly is -- summoning up writing on the level of his Dangerous Liaisons and Carrington screenplays. The photography was near flawless, the performances heartbreaking, the passion lush, the betrayal heart-wrenching, and the pacing just as I'd imagined. That movie was that book and that book was wonderful. What did people want? Furthermore, it behooves me to emphasize my extreme love for Mr. Wright's extended take during the beach battle scene. The choreography of that shot was no minor undertaking and was the perfect time to let the camera roll and roll. Lord knows I love it when a real director knows how to let the camera roll.
And then it seemed there was a crisis of some kind that Joe Wright was going to become Mr. Period Piece -- as if that is the worst thing in the world and should be avoided at all costs. The two he made -- which took place in different centuries -- were excellent pieces of work. Why, one wonders, did he make The Soloist his next project. I love Robert Downey, Jr. more than most people on the planet do. I have seen them all folks. I've seen Fur. Two Girls and a Guy? Oh, I've seen it. The man's divine. But this Soloist ... this was a down home doozie.
Which brings us -- at long last -- to Hanna.
Joe Wright could have done anything as a follow up to The Soloist. One might have thought that he would have turned around and gone running headlong into the arms of successful literature and taken on something that at least required hiking one's skirts when heading through the long grass (that covers a lot of previous centuries). But he didn't. This director proved his salt by taking on the remarkably original Hanna.
The photography makes one wonder if it was adapted from a graphic novel -- it's not. This yarn is the work of screenwriters who created a remarkable young female protagonist thrown into excellently original circumstances: Your father (Eric Bana -- like that isn't reason enough to run to the box office) saved you, took you out into the wild and trained you to be a killer. And yet, there's no denying that you're a blossoming teenage girl and after a while, one has to assume yak meat and endless martial art and combat training gets a little tiresome. Young Hanna (Saoirse Ronan) longs to see the world.
Her heart has the same desires as Ariel, Belle, even Rapunzel -- of course, none of these folks is capable of taking out a group of CIA operatives and vanishing into the folds of a ridiculously (and I do mean ridiculously) intricate ventilation system. You pair all that up with a psychotic Cate Blanchett -- over the top Zak Snyder like framing and a score from the Chemical Brothers -- and you know what you've got on your hands? A damn fine movie.
What I found to be most interesting -- besides, of course, the badass kills, Cate Blanchett once again giving yet another amazing performance as a completely different individual, and Eric Bana hauling hs rugged self out of the water -- were the small heart to heart moments Hanna has with her new found teenage friend. In this age of The Hunger Games where the idea of a female vigilante is not exactly news to the youth world -- what made it novel in this picture was that it seemingly took place in some off beat time period that may as well be now. Hanna's run-ins with regular everyday folk like Olivia Williams -- looking oddly reminiscent of Greta Scacchi back in her Player days -- raise excellent questions about what this little girl from the combative bubble makes of our world. This isn't some brand new place where particular rules have been put in place that force a situation that could only take place in the future. This is more of an Alex Garland/Danny Boyle "may very well be happening, particularly in the middle of Europe and with people who drive cars like that" kind of scenario. It's Firestarter without the flames. But why not trade a tearful Drew Barrymore, a scared-of-the-dark George C. Scott, and a nosebleeding Dad -- for a cold blooded killer, wrapped in wolf pelts, waiting for her first kiss?
The ending could have been more powerful. I will not argue that point. It was a situation where the absolute solution to the mystery was a let down -- no questions asked. But the way the plot played itself out worked perfectly. The actions could not have taken another course -- only their ultimate motivation. Frankly, this is nothing to hold against a film that delivers -- with a wallop -- 95% of the time.
Definitely give it a view.
- Matthew J. McCue
So let's get to Hanna.
Joe Wright came into the film world as the capable director of Pride and Prejudice. And the way he made the splash with his period piece was not as others have -- quickly redoing a well known text and then fading through the arthouse scene -- particularly those venues that favor assisted listening devices and patrons who travel with ample amounts of crinkly plastic bags. No, Joe Wright's Pride was a thing of beauty with an exceptional cast and an Oscar nominated performance from the good Ms. Knightley.
The follow-up was the adaptation of Atonement a film whose middling success is something that still baffles me. Everything I thought Mr. Wright had correct was somehow problematic to many audience members -- despite its multiple Oscar nominations, including one for best picture. For those of use who were enthralled with Ian McEwan's novel, there could not have been a better adaptation. Christopher Hampton's script reminded the world what a master of adaptation he truly is -- summoning up writing on the level of his Dangerous Liaisons and Carrington screenplays. The photography was near flawless, the performances heartbreaking, the passion lush, the betrayal heart-wrenching, and the pacing just as I'd imagined. That movie was that book and that book was wonderful. What did people want? Furthermore, it behooves me to emphasize my extreme love for Mr. Wright's extended take during the beach battle scene. The choreography of that shot was no minor undertaking and was the perfect time to let the camera roll and roll. Lord knows I love it when a real director knows how to let the camera roll.
And then it seemed there was a crisis of some kind that Joe Wright was going to become Mr. Period Piece -- as if that is the worst thing in the world and should be avoided at all costs. The two he made -- which took place in different centuries -- were excellent pieces of work. Why, one wonders, did he make The Soloist his next project. I love Robert Downey, Jr. more than most people on the planet do. I have seen them all folks. I've seen Fur. Two Girls and a Guy? Oh, I've seen it. The man's divine. But this Soloist ... this was a down home doozie.
Which brings us -- at long last -- to Hanna.
Joe Wright could have done anything as a follow up to The Soloist. One might have thought that he would have turned around and gone running headlong into the arms of successful literature and taken on something that at least required hiking one's skirts when heading through the long grass (that covers a lot of previous centuries). But he didn't. This director proved his salt by taking on the remarkably original Hanna.
The photography makes one wonder if it was adapted from a graphic novel -- it's not. This yarn is the work of screenwriters who created a remarkable young female protagonist thrown into excellently original circumstances: Your father (Eric Bana -- like that isn't reason enough to run to the box office) saved you, took you out into the wild and trained you to be a killer. And yet, there's no denying that you're a blossoming teenage girl and after a while, one has to assume yak meat and endless martial art and combat training gets a little tiresome. Young Hanna (Saoirse Ronan) longs to see the world.
Her heart has the same desires as Ariel, Belle, even Rapunzel -- of course, none of these folks is capable of taking out a group of CIA operatives and vanishing into the folds of a ridiculously (and I do mean ridiculously) intricate ventilation system. You pair all that up with a psychotic Cate Blanchett -- over the top Zak Snyder like framing and a score from the Chemical Brothers -- and you know what you've got on your hands? A damn fine movie.
What I found to be most interesting -- besides, of course, the badass kills, Cate Blanchett once again giving yet another amazing performance as a completely different individual, and Eric Bana hauling hs rugged self out of the water -- were the small heart to heart moments Hanna has with her new found teenage friend. In this age of The Hunger Games where the idea of a female vigilante is not exactly news to the youth world -- what made it novel in this picture was that it seemingly took place in some off beat time period that may as well be now. Hanna's run-ins with regular everyday folk like Olivia Williams -- looking oddly reminiscent of Greta Scacchi back in her Player days -- raise excellent questions about what this little girl from the combative bubble makes of our world. This isn't some brand new place where particular rules have been put in place that force a situation that could only take place in the future. This is more of an Alex Garland/Danny Boyle "may very well be happening, particularly in the middle of Europe and with people who drive cars like that" kind of scenario. It's Firestarter without the flames. But why not trade a tearful Drew Barrymore, a scared-of-the-dark George C. Scott, and a nosebleeding Dad -- for a cold blooded killer, wrapped in wolf pelts, waiting for her first kiss?
The ending could have been more powerful. I will not argue that point. It was a situation where the absolute solution to the mystery was a let down -- no questions asked. But the way the plot played itself out worked perfectly. The actions could not have taken another course -- only their ultimate motivation. Frankly, this is nothing to hold against a film that delivers -- with a wallop -- 95% of the time.
Definitely give it a view.
- Matthew J. McCue
Monday, April 18, 2011
The Lincoln Lawyer: McConaughey Rides Again?
In recent years, Matthew McConaughey has received more recognition for his bongo playing, Lance Armstrong wingman-ing, and being the inspiration for some great impersonation work by Matt Damon each and every time he visits Dave Letterman. His leading man status dropped drastically leaving him in the doldrums of romantic comedies like Ghosts of Girlfriends Past and the scandalously unwatched Surfer Dude. Frankly, I am still waiting for my opportunity to see Tip Toes even if it only delivers half of what Tosh 2.0 promised.
Wisely, McConaughey returned to his roots as the defense attorney with a drawl -- this time taking on the lead of Michael Connelly's wildly best-selling crime thrillers. He's not quite as sweaty and swarthy as he was in A Time to Kill -- but this is LA and it's been about fifteen years. My apologies to my little sister and to Casey Wait Fitzgerald -- McC's arms ain't what they used to be. But the man still has a sick body as does co-star Ryan Phillippe -- and director Brad Furman wisely showed their and Tomei's tone off. This is an adult crime thriller after all -- you can't just have a bunch of beaten women and gangsters rolling around. There has to be a bit of skin and intrigue to keep the audience hooked. And I must say, The Lincoln Lawyer does just that.
It is unquestionably good. Great? Well that gets dangerous. But who says it has to be great? In this era of multiple "CSI" franchises, Law & Orders of all varieties, Cold Cases, NCISes, Without A Traces, Criminal Mindses -- it does seem like the crime story you're going to charge for needs exceptional intrigue. However, this is often greatly offset by the fact that movies needn't be completely formulaic and that you can stack a picture with gads of stars -- putting a recognizable face in each role. Everyone here is a known quantity -- and a good one at that. Again, a smart move by McConaughey -- one that probably left co-star Josh Lucas wondering why he wasn't helming the picture and where the hell Bradley Cooper had run off to leaving both of them with significant acting opportunities that could easily be the start of a Michael Connelly run.
The film is at least as good as Kiss the Girls and if Alex Cross is going to get multiple films, why not Connelly's Mick Haller?
Though it isn't raking in the dough at the box office -- this was an exceptional career move that must be praised. The Lincoln Lawyer is doing everything for Matthew McConaughey that Mel Gibson's Edge of Darkness didn't. Perhaps a portion of that success is the quiet roll out of this very simple star vehicle that perfectly shows a side of LA we haven't seen -- despite the fact that it was supposed to be a key player in Street Kings. Yes, I subjected myself to that.
This is a good sign for McC after working his way down the ranks from Grisham's new man on the scene, to the religious expert Jodie Foster refused to date, to the motorcyclist who knew a thing or two about hunting dragons at twilight, to Kate Hudson, to Sarah Jessica, to projects whose camp value is so out of control -- they haven't been released. Bring it back in, get yourself a little drunk and teary eyed, have a close friend die, scream about justice, play it like a chess game, and have the case turn out just as it should. Nice work.
If you don't believe me, toss it into the Netflix queue if only to enjoy Tomei, William H. Macy, Bryan Cranston, John Leguizamo, Michael Pena, Frances Fisher, and Catherine Moennig. This is a good little legal thriller. You won't be let down.
- Matthew J. McCue
Wisely, McConaughey returned to his roots as the defense attorney with a drawl -- this time taking on the lead of Michael Connelly's wildly best-selling crime thrillers. He's not quite as sweaty and swarthy as he was in A Time to Kill -- but this is LA and it's been about fifteen years. My apologies to my little sister and to Casey Wait Fitzgerald -- McC's arms ain't what they used to be. But the man still has a sick body as does co-star Ryan Phillippe -- and director Brad Furman wisely showed their and Tomei's tone off. This is an adult crime thriller after all -- you can't just have a bunch of beaten women and gangsters rolling around. There has to be a bit of skin and intrigue to keep the audience hooked. And I must say, The Lincoln Lawyer does just that.
It is unquestionably good. Great? Well that gets dangerous. But who says it has to be great? In this era of multiple "CSI" franchises, Law & Orders of all varieties, Cold Cases, NCISes, Without A Traces, Criminal Mindses -- it does seem like the crime story you're going to charge for needs exceptional intrigue. However, this is often greatly offset by the fact that movies needn't be completely formulaic and that you can stack a picture with gads of stars -- putting a recognizable face in each role. Everyone here is a known quantity -- and a good one at that. Again, a smart move by McConaughey -- one that probably left co-star Josh Lucas wondering why he wasn't helming the picture and where the hell Bradley Cooper had run off to leaving both of them with significant acting opportunities that could easily be the start of a Michael Connelly run.
The film is at least as good as Kiss the Girls and if Alex Cross is going to get multiple films, why not Connelly's Mick Haller?
Though it isn't raking in the dough at the box office -- this was an exceptional career move that must be praised. The Lincoln Lawyer is doing everything for Matthew McConaughey that Mel Gibson's Edge of Darkness didn't. Perhaps a portion of that success is the quiet roll out of this very simple star vehicle that perfectly shows a side of LA we haven't seen -- despite the fact that it was supposed to be a key player in Street Kings. Yes, I subjected myself to that.
This is a good sign for McC after working his way down the ranks from Grisham's new man on the scene, to the religious expert Jodie Foster refused to date, to the motorcyclist who knew a thing or two about hunting dragons at twilight, to Kate Hudson, to Sarah Jessica, to projects whose camp value is so out of control -- they haven't been released. Bring it back in, get yourself a little drunk and teary eyed, have a close friend die, scream about justice, play it like a chess game, and have the case turn out just as it should. Nice work.
If you don't believe me, toss it into the Netflix queue if only to enjoy Tomei, William H. Macy, Bryan Cranston, John Leguizamo, Michael Pena, Frances Fisher, and Catherine Moennig. This is a good little legal thriller. You won't be let down.
- Matthew J. McCue
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Scream 4: Hell No, Sydney
I've always credited Scream as giving birth to the slasher movie - particularly the teen varietal - in the very same way Clueless gave new birth to teen romantic comedies. While I was actually attending high school there was nary a good movie about high school students released -- whether they were desperate to fall in love or clawing their way through poorly lit hallways in a vain attempt to escape a murderer. In the world of horror -- what we had left was the deep sequels of 80s franchises, adult thrillers crossing their fingers and hoping to high heaven to be half as frightening as Silence of the Lambs and, of course, the disastrous Crow series. Like those films or not -- they shot their lead and if nothing else, it kind of put a kink in the plan.
Then came the Wes Craven/Kevin Williamson powerhouse Scream -- an excellent piece of work. Audiences cheered their heads off each time the phone rang. Drew Barrymore's opening sequence has become nothing short of iconic. Neve Campbell, Skeet Ulrich, Rose McGowan, Matthew Lillard, Jamie Kennedy, David Arquette, Courtney Cox. Each character immediately assumed the iconic roles Williamson and Craven were riffing on. "I'm gonna gut you like a fish!" "Liver alone" "And let's face it, your mom was no Sharon Stone." These are gems. Gems! The audience experience of Scream was superb.
Scream 2 didn't strike me the way it those just a bit younger than me -- maybe because I thought the entire premise of the second killer was absolutely moronic. Maybe because I had been an intern at Miramax/Dimension that summer and accidentally saw who the killer was and consequently the entire viewing experience was "pre-destroyed" for me. Never the less, it stuck to its guns as a franchise, connected the second murder wave to the first, and included such star cast members as Jerry O'Connell, Timothy Olyphant, Joshua Jackson, Jada Pink Smith, Omar Epps, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Rebecca Gayheart, Heather Graham, Portia de Rossi. You didn't have to explain to me that these people were famous nor did you have to go through much to get me hooked on the locale -- a college campus, pledge week. It all seemed to gel -- with the exception of Casey's acting career in some overly done Greek tragedy. As sequels go, I thought it was fine. Most thought it was better.
It was Scream 3 that had me back in. Could be the fact that the entire plot focused on a mix between Roger Corman and Roman Polanski -- could be my raging crush on Scott Foley. But once again, there was a clear connection to the initial killings and the only self-reflexive question of this ongoing franchise was clear: "Who's doing it this time? What does it have to do with the murder of Sydney's mother?" The Hollywood set up worked. They killed major cast members, they threw in Parker Posey and somehow this Ehren Kruger penned screenplay jived with its predecessors.
So here we are at 4. The number that vainly attempted to relaunch the Halloween series and was certainly better than the "silver shamrocking" Halloween 3. But does the "we're back to the beginning" -- "it's Williamson and Craven reteamed" hype actually pay off? The frankest answer I can give is "No."
I very much wanted Scream 4 to be an excellent movie -- so yes, I had high expectations and deliberately attended a midnight showing at a theater where I knew the crowd would be interactive -- yelling things like "take off your heels and run, bitch!" That's what I like to hear. But in the end the twist simply wasn't one and as much as many of the kills were cool -- didn't everyone just get stabbed? Wasn't the point -- since entering sequel land -- that sometimes running from the guy with the knife gets you killed in and of itself. You ran into a spike, a nail-bed, off the roof, or tried to wriggle your way through the wrong garage door. You didn't simply get corned by the knife-man and then wait for the violins to do the rest.
Scream 4 hit a particularly weird moment here -- fifteen years after the original. Who's the audience? Yes, the films are designed to have a murderer and a youthful set of victims who suspect one another but in the end are more help in solving the case than law enforcement -- except, of course, Dewey. We followed high school to college, to young hollywood -- and then we took a ten year break. So who the heck should the cast be now? In the revisionist remake world oft referenced by the film -- it seems we're back to a high school again and working our way forward. No point in making a Scream about a bunch of people in their 30s and 40s -- and at this point most of the original characters have been -- well -- stabbed. So it makes sense.
But who the heck is this cast? I know every single teen star out there and I realize using a Culkin, Emma Roberts, and Hayden Panettiere is a good start. But who the heck is everyone else? They're not WB or "All new CW" stars. They're certainly not the stand-out stars of ABC Family or MTV. Thus the film was already dinged and dented. Are we supposed to simply overlook these teens because everyone else in the film is so much more famous? Or are we supposed to feel old, overlook the significant characters who have been staples of the franchise for fifteen years and three films? The film doesn't seem to know either. The plot is split. The motives are unfocused and while there may be some great kills and a couple of good liners like "I'm going to slice your eyelids in half so you have to watch while I kick your face in" -- it just isn't there.
Could it be that the films Williamson is referencing simply don't jive with Scream? Could it be that they didn't go the whole way and that this fourth installment wasn't even close to the Saw or Hostel style horrors the cast can't get over? It's obviously both of these things. And that they may have already played their best cards -- your Dad is why my Mom left -- you killed my son -- I'm your half brother. The motivation here simply doesn't work and doesn't warrant another run at the windmill.
Thank heavens "Vampire Diaries" is kicking some butt.
- Matthew J. McCue
Then came the Wes Craven/Kevin Williamson powerhouse Scream -- an excellent piece of work. Audiences cheered their heads off each time the phone rang. Drew Barrymore's opening sequence has become nothing short of iconic. Neve Campbell, Skeet Ulrich, Rose McGowan, Matthew Lillard, Jamie Kennedy, David Arquette, Courtney Cox. Each character immediately assumed the iconic roles Williamson and Craven were riffing on. "I'm gonna gut you like a fish!" "Liver alone" "And let's face it, your mom was no Sharon Stone." These are gems. Gems! The audience experience of Scream was superb.
Scream 2 didn't strike me the way it those just a bit younger than me -- maybe because I thought the entire premise of the second killer was absolutely moronic. Maybe because I had been an intern at Miramax/Dimension that summer and accidentally saw who the killer was and consequently the entire viewing experience was "pre-destroyed" for me. Never the less, it stuck to its guns as a franchise, connected the second murder wave to the first, and included such star cast members as Jerry O'Connell, Timothy Olyphant, Joshua Jackson, Jada Pink Smith, Omar Epps, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Rebecca Gayheart, Heather Graham, Portia de Rossi. You didn't have to explain to me that these people were famous nor did you have to go through much to get me hooked on the locale -- a college campus, pledge week. It all seemed to gel -- with the exception of Casey's acting career in some overly done Greek tragedy. As sequels go, I thought it was fine. Most thought it was better.
It was Scream 3 that had me back in. Could be the fact that the entire plot focused on a mix between Roger Corman and Roman Polanski -- could be my raging crush on Scott Foley. But once again, there was a clear connection to the initial killings and the only self-reflexive question of this ongoing franchise was clear: "Who's doing it this time? What does it have to do with the murder of Sydney's mother?" The Hollywood set up worked. They killed major cast members, they threw in Parker Posey and somehow this Ehren Kruger penned screenplay jived with its predecessors.
So here we are at 4. The number that vainly attempted to relaunch the Halloween series and was certainly better than the "silver shamrocking" Halloween 3. But does the "we're back to the beginning" -- "it's Williamson and Craven reteamed" hype actually pay off? The frankest answer I can give is "No."
I very much wanted Scream 4 to be an excellent movie -- so yes, I had high expectations and deliberately attended a midnight showing at a theater where I knew the crowd would be interactive -- yelling things like "take off your heels and run, bitch!" That's what I like to hear. But in the end the twist simply wasn't one and as much as many of the kills were cool -- didn't everyone just get stabbed? Wasn't the point -- since entering sequel land -- that sometimes running from the guy with the knife gets you killed in and of itself. You ran into a spike, a nail-bed, off the roof, or tried to wriggle your way through the wrong garage door. You didn't simply get corned by the knife-man and then wait for the violins to do the rest.
Scream 4 hit a particularly weird moment here -- fifteen years after the original. Who's the audience? Yes, the films are designed to have a murderer and a youthful set of victims who suspect one another but in the end are more help in solving the case than law enforcement -- except, of course, Dewey. We followed high school to college, to young hollywood -- and then we took a ten year break. So who the heck should the cast be now? In the revisionist remake world oft referenced by the film -- it seems we're back to a high school again and working our way forward. No point in making a Scream about a bunch of people in their 30s and 40s -- and at this point most of the original characters have been -- well -- stabbed. So it makes sense.
But who the heck is this cast? I know every single teen star out there and I realize using a Culkin, Emma Roberts, and Hayden Panettiere is a good start. But who the heck is everyone else? They're not WB or "All new CW" stars. They're certainly not the stand-out stars of ABC Family or MTV. Thus the film was already dinged and dented. Are we supposed to simply overlook these teens because everyone else in the film is so much more famous? Or are we supposed to feel old, overlook the significant characters who have been staples of the franchise for fifteen years and three films? The film doesn't seem to know either. The plot is split. The motives are unfocused and while there may be some great kills and a couple of good liners like "I'm going to slice your eyelids in half so you have to watch while I kick your face in" -- it just isn't there.
Could it be that the films Williamson is referencing simply don't jive with Scream? Could it be that they didn't go the whole way and that this fourth installment wasn't even close to the Saw or Hostel style horrors the cast can't get over? It's obviously both of these things. And that they may have already played their best cards -- your Dad is why my Mom left -- you killed my son -- I'm your half brother. The motivation here simply doesn't work and doesn't warrant another run at the windmill.
Thank heavens "Vampire Diaries" is kicking some butt.
- Matthew J. McCue
Monday, April 11, 2011
Insidious: It's Not The House
As the title of this review deftly points out -- there may in fact be spoilers ahead. I'll be sure to point out where and when with all the appropriate web shenanigans -- but there's really no big reveals here.
Insidious, the new thriller from director James Wan, is one of the best horror movies to come down the pike in quite some time. I am, admittedly, a person who made a solemn promise -- to which I have remained true -- that I shall never see one of the Saw movies. Thus, it was tough to drag me to this little pic by the original's writer/director, (Wan) and the co-writer of Saw, its sequel, and Dead Silence (Leigh Whannell). But I am one of these audience members who had to admit to himself that the Paranormal Activity movies looked pretty good -- except for the fact that they cost 50 cents and thus I didn't see the point in going to some Blair Witch Redux where I was going to have to constantly operate under the ruse that the low production value was only the result of the fact that the story was TRUE! Oooooh! No. No "Oooooh."
I have no problem with there being weird crap in your house and your kids thinking they saw footprints and you and your spouse freaking out and it scaring the bejesus out of audiences the world over. These are all obviously good things. But I scare easily. So if I am going to head to a movie like that -- I need some extremely good looking people to play the leads. Insidious was just that. Rose Byrne and Patrick Wilson? I'm obviously in.
Amazingly, what Wan and Whannel did so astutely was to keep the scope of the film remarkably limited -- despite how trippy the actual "device" may seem when it's thoroughly explained -- I will not be the kind of spoiler, so you won't get that explanation here. But we're basically talking about two small houses, a cast of eight or nine -- excluding the weirdo ghosts -- and much more sound design than insane visual effects. This "contained" horror structure was the absolute perfect set-up to keep even this particularly out there horror conceit plausible. If it's all just in the house? Great. I buy that.
Rose Byrne and Patrick Wilson were perfectly cast as a believable couple with all the right tension between them. Some of their heart to heart conversations had some down and out clunkers -- but once you get to the later twists of the film you can see why this would be possible. They're exceptional actors who can pull off anything from Little Children and "Damages" to The Watchmen and Adam. Great work all around. If they were going to pick a horror film from the slate of projects at the studio level -- this was the one. They're parents -- the don't seem old. They both look great. They're both right and wrong about the encounter. The audience switches sympathies between them. And frankly, one doesn't trump the other in the looks department.
So what happens in this thriller?
There's no point in destroying the journey of this horror film -- because it's very well done. It takes its time, cranks it up when it needs to, lets itself move along slowly when the story calls for it.
So here's the SPOILER portion -- as the poster appropriately points out, the house isn't haunted, the kid is. The way that this portion -- and it is only a portion -- of the device plays out is excellently well done.
I cannot think of higher praise to give Insidious than to say that once I realized it was the kid who was the problem, I turned to my sister and said "So ditch the kid." She agreed whole-heartedly. The situation is that spooky and that terrifying. Putting that kid into some kind of a facility and focusing all energy on the other two non-haunted children seemed a perfectly moral alternative whose regret component could easily be off-set by the fact that you at least got a piece of demon bait off the premises.
The extent to which James Wan and Leigh Whannel created a believable yet unexplored form of supernatural terror is perhaps what makes it so very scary. Once folks realize it is the boy who is haunted -- not the house -- and start exploring the reasons why -- frankly, it's completely believable. The insanity of the final half-hour just plain works.
The only problem with this movie -- that seems to hamstring most horror films -- and I would say in the case of Insidious, it's definitely far more acceptable than Jeepers Creepers -- is showing the monster. It's the Jaws problem. At least with Jaws the audience knows it will ultimately see a shark. When it comes to "Who the hell is that outside the window?!" "Who's driving the van?!" "What the hell are we running from?!" It seems the only correct move in horror movies is to show the killer the entire time -- Freddy, Michael Myers, Jason. Even if it's going to end up being the type of killer that pulls off its mask -- a la Scream -- at least I know I'm dealing with a human in a black suit the entire time. With these more supernatural, multidimensional, "Can you see what I see?" movies -- nailing the beast is next to impossible. For Insidious this is barely an issue because so many other things are going on and the revelation of a specific creature is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to solving the character's problems. I have no solution except not to show the beast -- which clearly doesn't work either.
But this is a dynamo in the horror world and should be viewed by anyone who likes a bit of fright and will even let themselves get more scared than normal if the logic behind the madness is sound. Insidious is a smart thriller that sticks with you once you leave the multiplex -- because it just might be possible!
-Matthew J. McCue
Insidious, the new thriller from director James Wan, is one of the best horror movies to come down the pike in quite some time. I am, admittedly, a person who made a solemn promise -- to which I have remained true -- that I shall never see one of the Saw movies. Thus, it was tough to drag me to this little pic by the original's writer/director, (Wan) and the co-writer of Saw, its sequel, and Dead Silence (Leigh Whannell). But I am one of these audience members who had to admit to himself that the Paranormal Activity movies looked pretty good -- except for the fact that they cost 50 cents and thus I didn't see the point in going to some Blair Witch Redux where I was going to have to constantly operate under the ruse that the low production value was only the result of the fact that the story was TRUE! Oooooh! No. No "Oooooh."
I have no problem with there being weird crap in your house and your kids thinking they saw footprints and you and your spouse freaking out and it scaring the bejesus out of audiences the world over. These are all obviously good things. But I scare easily. So if I am going to head to a movie like that -- I need some extremely good looking people to play the leads. Insidious was just that. Rose Byrne and Patrick Wilson? I'm obviously in.
Amazingly, what Wan and Whannel did so astutely was to keep the scope of the film remarkably limited -- despite how trippy the actual "device" may seem when it's thoroughly explained -- I will not be the kind of spoiler, so you won't get that explanation here. But we're basically talking about two small houses, a cast of eight or nine -- excluding the weirdo ghosts -- and much more sound design than insane visual effects. This "contained" horror structure was the absolute perfect set-up to keep even this particularly out there horror conceit plausible. If it's all just in the house? Great. I buy that.
Rose Byrne and Patrick Wilson were perfectly cast as a believable couple with all the right tension between them. Some of their heart to heart conversations had some down and out clunkers -- but once you get to the later twists of the film you can see why this would be possible. They're exceptional actors who can pull off anything from Little Children and "Damages" to The Watchmen and Adam. Great work all around. If they were going to pick a horror film from the slate of projects at the studio level -- this was the one. They're parents -- the don't seem old. They both look great. They're both right and wrong about the encounter. The audience switches sympathies between them. And frankly, one doesn't trump the other in the looks department.
So what happens in this thriller?
There's no point in destroying the journey of this horror film -- because it's very well done. It takes its time, cranks it up when it needs to, lets itself move along slowly when the story calls for it.
So here's the SPOILER portion -- as the poster appropriately points out, the house isn't haunted, the kid is. The way that this portion -- and it is only a portion -- of the device plays out is excellently well done.
I cannot think of higher praise to give Insidious than to say that once I realized it was the kid who was the problem, I turned to my sister and said "So ditch the kid." She agreed whole-heartedly. The situation is that spooky and that terrifying. Putting that kid into some kind of a facility and focusing all energy on the other two non-haunted children seemed a perfectly moral alternative whose regret component could easily be off-set by the fact that you at least got a piece of demon bait off the premises.
The extent to which James Wan and Leigh Whannel created a believable yet unexplored form of supernatural terror is perhaps what makes it so very scary. Once folks realize it is the boy who is haunted -- not the house -- and start exploring the reasons why -- frankly, it's completely believable. The insanity of the final half-hour just plain works.
The only problem with this movie -- that seems to hamstring most horror films -- and I would say in the case of Insidious, it's definitely far more acceptable than Jeepers Creepers -- is showing the monster. It's the Jaws problem. At least with Jaws the audience knows it will ultimately see a shark. When it comes to "Who the hell is that outside the window?!" "Who's driving the van?!" "What the hell are we running from?!" It seems the only correct move in horror movies is to show the killer the entire time -- Freddy, Michael Myers, Jason. Even if it's going to end up being the type of killer that pulls off its mask -- a la Scream -- at least I know I'm dealing with a human in a black suit the entire time. With these more supernatural, multidimensional, "Can you see what I see?" movies -- nailing the beast is next to impossible. For Insidious this is barely an issue because so many other things are going on and the revelation of a specific creature is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to solving the character's problems. I have no solution except not to show the beast -- which clearly doesn't work either.
But this is a dynamo in the horror world and should be viewed by anyone who likes a bit of fright and will even let themselves get more scared than normal if the logic behind the madness is sound. Insidious is a smart thriller that sticks with you once you leave the multiplex -- because it just might be possible!
-Matthew J. McCue
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Win Win: Perfect Perfect
March is certainly one of the more random times of year to release a movie. The award winners are still out there raking in the dough for the parts of the nation that didn't get a chance to see them while they were playing for -- oh, the past 150 some odd days. Studios are dumping their lousy high profile pictures to scrape up whatever cash they can and insure that the duds will be on Blu-Ray come summer time so teenage slumber parties and Netflix nights of guilty pleasure can be sufficiently fulfilled.
And somewhere in this mix there is always a strong as hell indie that pops its head straight into the arthouse world for the true cinephiles who've seen it all and are desperate for high quality work -- whether it's the latest French import, Julian Schnabel, or a stunner that should be given its moment to shine and dig its heels in for the long haul without and over-extended release blotter to unfairly drown it out. Win Win may be around a while -- or may well be back out, wowing folks in a second release come Christmastime. But it's official:
This season's solid, perfect little stunner is Tom McCarthy's Win Win -- the best film I have seen since award season -- which may not be saying much to some of you, given how early we are in the year. But I left the theater with a tear in my eye, a smile on my face, and in a state of deep thought: wondering what the hell movie is possibly going to come along between now and the major studio releases of the summer that could possibly be of better quality. This thing's got award season written all over it. From top to bottom. In every regard.
Hats off, Mr. McCarthy. Hats off. I place you in the same category as Todd Field -- though you're wildly different men of different end product, you're actors gone directors, stealthily weaving your way through a rather superb film career that walks the interesting line between indie and art-house. I don't know exactly what we want to call these Fox Searchlight-ish mini-major movies -- but they're wonderful novel-like films that pull us all into the heart of Americana and the specific little struggles each of us is going through. They continually prove that adventures and happiness can come out of nowhere, and show us how many unappreciated heroes are out there in the world.
I'm a sap, sure. But what of it? And I sat in the Angelika -- the perfect place to enjoy this movie morsel -- with my heart in a vise. I cannot recommend it highly enough and I am not going to delve into its plot and ruin it for everyone. I simply going to insist the world attend. However, I can't overlook the performances.
Every step Paul Giammati takes in the film is perfect. The kind-hearted desperado only trying to provide. The local attorney who may cross a line -- but certainly not into a realm that makes him a villain. And the kind of man who accepts the consequences of each action with full honesty and a weighty heart. He snuck into a Comedy Musical Golden Globe win for best actor this year for the very unseen Barney's Version -- who knows what will happen for PG next year. Perhaps he'll earn an Oscar nomination worthy of his consistent work, saluting the type of man he brings to the screen, rather than the period-piece boxing coach he brings to an off-kilter kitsch fest.
Is there anything Amy Ryan can't do? I barely enjoyed Gone Baby Gone and omit a comma from its title out of spite. While I can't deny Ryan's exceptional performance, the award locomotive that pulled out for that movie -- and was apparently missing a coal-car for this year's Town -- turned me off. It's perhaps my least favorite of the Southie pics. But I cannot remotely deny Amy Ryan's endless run of hits. She is the perfect match for Steve Carrell on "The Office" and now the perfect match for Giammati as the Jon Bon Jovi tattooed housewife who initially fears the runaway wrestler who moves into her basement -- nearly deadbolting him in. And flips immediately to wanting to pound the wrestler's mom's face in. And why not?
Jeffrey Tambor and Bobby Cannavale -- what can I say. The wingmen to Giammati's wrestling coach are second to none. While I personally thought Cannavale stole the entire film -- and was thrilled to find him sitting in front of me at Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo (which you should all see) -- comic chemistry demands a balance of parts. Thus credit for this trio of coaches leads us right back to writer/director Tom McCarthy. Tambor's reticence and school bus screaming props up Cannavale's hero worship and over enthusiasm -- just as much as Giammati serves as the tee for every single one of their jokes. Once again Giammati lets perfect comedy performances buttress off his straight man. There's no Thomas Hayden Church here -- and that's good. It's not what the film requires. But the latitude Cannavale and Tambor take thanks to boss man Giammati can't be overlooked -- and never ceases to be hysterical.
Meet Alex Shaffer -- wrestling dynamo, Kyle. This is his first feature film and if we were still handing out statues for breakthrough males -- to actual breakthrough males -- this kid's got it in the bag. Who knows what he'll do next -- Eisenberg it? Hardwicke it? Be a werewolf? Be an X-Man? Whatever it is -- expect to see a lot more of it -- at all production levels.
Burt Young -- you've never done any wrong. Keep on trucking, Paulie. Keep on driving Jake Gittes' clients to Mexico. And keep on agreeing to the right indies. You were a wonder.
And finally, I'd like to take this time to offer a rare salute to the always working, always under-appreciate Melanie Lynskey. While the world focuses on Charlie Sheen's implosion and the impending doom surrounding "Two and a Half Men" one of the skein's little ladies has just kept plugging along, carving out the perfect career somewhere between Heavenly Creatures co-star Kate Winslet and the up and coming Rose Byrne. Melanie Lynskey has never shied away from playing the best friend, the mom, the pregnant girl in the background -- let's face it, the second fiddle. But boy, the concertos she chooses to play that fiddle in! Up in the Air, Away We Go, Flags of Our Fathers, "The L Word," Sweet Home Alabama, Shattered Glass, But I'm a Cheerleader, Ever After, Heavenly Creatures. This is not a career to shake a stick at. And Ms. Lynskey sure as heck isn't always "that girl." She is a go to actress -- plain and simple. Her work here as the derelict mother anchors the reality of this film and is the perfect balance to new-comer Alex Shaffer, veteran Burt Young, and dynamo Paul Giammati.
Run don't walk.
- Matthew J. McCue
And somewhere in this mix there is always a strong as hell indie that pops its head straight into the arthouse world for the true cinephiles who've seen it all and are desperate for high quality work -- whether it's the latest French import, Julian Schnabel, or a stunner that should be given its moment to shine and dig its heels in for the long haul without and over-extended release blotter to unfairly drown it out. Win Win may be around a while -- or may well be back out, wowing folks in a second release come Christmastime. But it's official:
This season's solid, perfect little stunner is Tom McCarthy's Win Win -- the best film I have seen since award season -- which may not be saying much to some of you, given how early we are in the year. But I left the theater with a tear in my eye, a smile on my face, and in a state of deep thought: wondering what the hell movie is possibly going to come along between now and the major studio releases of the summer that could possibly be of better quality. This thing's got award season written all over it. From top to bottom. In every regard.
Hats off, Mr. McCarthy. Hats off. I place you in the same category as Todd Field -- though you're wildly different men of different end product, you're actors gone directors, stealthily weaving your way through a rather superb film career that walks the interesting line between indie and art-house. I don't know exactly what we want to call these Fox Searchlight-ish mini-major movies -- but they're wonderful novel-like films that pull us all into the heart of Americana and the specific little struggles each of us is going through. They continually prove that adventures and happiness can come out of nowhere, and show us how many unappreciated heroes are out there in the world.
I'm a sap, sure. But what of it? And I sat in the Angelika -- the perfect place to enjoy this movie morsel -- with my heart in a vise. I cannot recommend it highly enough and I am not going to delve into its plot and ruin it for everyone. I simply going to insist the world attend. However, I can't overlook the performances.
Every step Paul Giammati takes in the film is perfect. The kind-hearted desperado only trying to provide. The local attorney who may cross a line -- but certainly not into a realm that makes him a villain. And the kind of man who accepts the consequences of each action with full honesty and a weighty heart. He snuck into a Comedy Musical Golden Globe win for best actor this year for the very unseen Barney's Version -- who knows what will happen for PG next year. Perhaps he'll earn an Oscar nomination worthy of his consistent work, saluting the type of man he brings to the screen, rather than the period-piece boxing coach he brings to an off-kilter kitsch fest.
Is there anything Amy Ryan can't do? I barely enjoyed Gone Baby Gone and omit a comma from its title out of spite. While I can't deny Ryan's exceptional performance, the award locomotive that pulled out for that movie -- and was apparently missing a coal-car for this year's Town -- turned me off. It's perhaps my least favorite of the Southie pics. But I cannot remotely deny Amy Ryan's endless run of hits. She is the perfect match for Steve Carrell on "The Office" and now the perfect match for Giammati as the Jon Bon Jovi tattooed housewife who initially fears the runaway wrestler who moves into her basement -- nearly deadbolting him in. And flips immediately to wanting to pound the wrestler's mom's face in. And why not?
Jeffrey Tambor and Bobby Cannavale -- what can I say. The wingmen to Giammati's wrestling coach are second to none. While I personally thought Cannavale stole the entire film -- and was thrilled to find him sitting in front of me at Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo (which you should all see) -- comic chemistry demands a balance of parts. Thus credit for this trio of coaches leads us right back to writer/director Tom McCarthy. Tambor's reticence and school bus screaming props up Cannavale's hero worship and over enthusiasm -- just as much as Giammati serves as the tee for every single one of their jokes. Once again Giammati lets perfect comedy performances buttress off his straight man. There's no Thomas Hayden Church here -- and that's good. It's not what the film requires. But the latitude Cannavale and Tambor take thanks to boss man Giammati can't be overlooked -- and never ceases to be hysterical.
Meet Alex Shaffer -- wrestling dynamo, Kyle. This is his first feature film and if we were still handing out statues for breakthrough males -- to actual breakthrough males -- this kid's got it in the bag. Who knows what he'll do next -- Eisenberg it? Hardwicke it? Be a werewolf? Be an X-Man? Whatever it is -- expect to see a lot more of it -- at all production levels.
Burt Young -- you've never done any wrong. Keep on trucking, Paulie. Keep on driving Jake Gittes' clients to Mexico. And keep on agreeing to the right indies. You were a wonder.
And finally, I'd like to take this time to offer a rare salute to the always working, always under-appreciate Melanie Lynskey. While the world focuses on Charlie Sheen's implosion and the impending doom surrounding "Two and a Half Men" one of the skein's little ladies has just kept plugging along, carving out the perfect career somewhere between Heavenly Creatures co-star Kate Winslet and the up and coming Rose Byrne. Melanie Lynskey has never shied away from playing the best friend, the mom, the pregnant girl in the background -- let's face it, the second fiddle. But boy, the concertos she chooses to play that fiddle in! Up in the Air, Away We Go, Flags of Our Fathers, "The L Word," Sweet Home Alabama, Shattered Glass, But I'm a Cheerleader, Ever After, Heavenly Creatures. This is not a career to shake a stick at. And Ms. Lynskey sure as heck isn't always "that girl." She is a go to actress -- plain and simple. Her work here as the derelict mother anchors the reality of this film and is the perfect balance to new-comer Alex Shaffer, veteran Burt Young, and dynamo Paul Giammati.
Run don't walk.
- Matthew J. McCue
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Angelo Badalamenti: Scoring Lynch's World
A very happy birthday to Angelo Badalamenti the amazingly non-Oscar nominated scorist of 75 films -- best known for his work with David Lynch from Blue Velvet onward. No Elephant Man, no Dune, no Eraserhead. But hasn't it been since these films -- though gems all -- that the true Lynchian world has emerged? And each masterful director knows that half the cinematic experience is music.
Would I cry when Yoda raises the X-Wing from the Dagobah swamp without John Williams?
Would I cry when the Cadillacs of the sky buzz by without the very same John Williams?
Where is Edward Scissorhands, Beetlejuice, or Batman without Danny Elfman?
And where would a small milltown with a murdered prom queen... a young man caught-up in the kidnapping ear-snipping love triangle... an old man on a tractor... a pair of lesbian starlets... ironing bunnies... Julee Cruise... or the J.G. Ballard (second ref to the man in this post) collaborations be without the man himself, Angelo Badalamenti.
"Twin Peaks" is probably his musical masterpiece. Badalamenti brought intense multi-track scoring complete with character oriented themes, leit motifs that cued the presence of the supernatural, roadhouse performances, drug addled over the border brothels, and the perfect combination of romance and suspense. The sounds of "Twin Peaks" are as memorable as it's backward talking dwarf, the Log Lady, its stoplights, its blowing Douglas Firs, ceiling fans, donuts, flickering lights, and un-hung dear trophies. The relentless soundscape elevated this program from mere soap opera to a level of television never witnessed before: film quality in hourly doses. It did what only music could do -- dance between two worlds with the shift of a key or the change of tempo.
Badalamenti paved the way for the likes of Thomas Newman's work with "Six Feet Under" and Michael Giacchino's work on "Lost." The music of television has never been the same -- and used properly -- lofty stories are granted the poetic soundscape to make each episode a true feast for the senses.
So I thank you, Angelo. I thank you for letting me fall in love with Audrey Horn. Thank you for "Rocking Back Inside My Heart." Thank you for creating perfect cover material for Anthony and the Johnsons. Thank you for meshing perfectly with Bowie. Thank you for being with Lynch -- no matter what the tale required.
Thank you for City of Lost Children -- and the beyond minimalist score from Eyes Wide Shut... which truly borders on psychosis -- but ends up being perfect for Kubrick's last.
I listen to you with revery and respect.
Happy Birthday, good sir.
- Matthew J. McCue
Would I cry when Yoda raises the X-Wing from the Dagobah swamp without John Williams?
Would I cry when the Cadillacs of the sky buzz by without the very same John Williams?
Where is Edward Scissorhands, Beetlejuice, or Batman without Danny Elfman?
And where would a small milltown with a murdered prom queen... a young man caught-up in the kidnapping ear-snipping love triangle... an old man on a tractor... a pair of lesbian starlets... ironing bunnies... Julee Cruise... or the J.G. Ballard (second ref to the man in this post) collaborations be without the man himself, Angelo Badalamenti.
"Twin Peaks" is probably his musical masterpiece. Badalamenti brought intense multi-track scoring complete with character oriented themes, leit motifs that cued the presence of the supernatural, roadhouse performances, drug addled over the border brothels, and the perfect combination of romance and suspense. The sounds of "Twin Peaks" are as memorable as it's backward talking dwarf, the Log Lady, its stoplights, its blowing Douglas Firs, ceiling fans, donuts, flickering lights, and un-hung dear trophies. The relentless soundscape elevated this program from mere soap opera to a level of television never witnessed before: film quality in hourly doses. It did what only music could do -- dance between two worlds with the shift of a key or the change of tempo.
Badalamenti paved the way for the likes of Thomas Newman's work with "Six Feet Under" and Michael Giacchino's work on "Lost." The music of television has never been the same -- and used properly -- lofty stories are granted the poetic soundscape to make each episode a true feast for the senses.
So I thank you, Angelo. I thank you for letting me fall in love with Audrey Horn. Thank you for "Rocking Back Inside My Heart." Thank you for creating perfect cover material for Anthony and the Johnsons. Thank you for meshing perfectly with Bowie. Thank you for being with Lynch -- no matter what the tale required.
Thank you for City of Lost Children -- and the beyond minimalist score from Eyes Wide Shut... which truly borders on psychosis -- but ends up being perfect for Kubrick's last.
I listen to you with revery and respect.
Happy Birthday, good sir.
- Matthew J. McCue
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The Adjustment Bureau: Not Nearly As Bad As You Think
Let's be honest and admit that the title is half the problem.
Is this a Pottery Barn item inspired by a chiropractor's supply closet?
Is this a law firm for victims of overly aggressive pants tailors?
Why couldn't they just have called it Fate?
That question will never be answered.
Surprisingly, this new little movie from from first time director George Nolfi doesn't leave the audience with many other questions. It isn't the muddy mess folks started to get the impression was headed their way as the film's release date was continually pushed back and ultimately hit the screen with lukewarm reviews and less than stellar box office. Obviously the film had its reshoots -- who knows who did them -- who knows who rewrote what -- who knows what scenes were replaced -- when certain overclarifications came to pass and when pockets of selective voice over arrived.
Amazingly, this seems symptomatic of many a film adapted from Phillip K. Dick stories. Spielberg - surprise! - escaped this pitfall with Minority Report and released his film simply as intended. It stands as one of the best science fiction films of the past decade in a year where Steven also gave us Catch Me If You Can. He didn't get tripped up on the need to overly explain the conceit of his PKD tale -- then again, folks don't tell Spielberg what to do.
One wonders whether there's an original Adjustment Bureau out there that accepted the intelligence of its intended adult audience and didn't murk itself up with a bit (and truly just a bit) of egregious exposition and explanation. Anyone who has seen the overly voiced-over Bladerunner and then enjoyed Ridley Scott's actual cut knows the difference -- the director had it right all along. Time will tell whether Mr. Nolfi had it pegged or whether the studio was right. Frankly, I hope Nolfi had it and look forward to buying a director's cut Blu-Ray in a few months.
That bit aside, let's talk about the poorly sold film -- which is masquerading as an action drama but is far more of a love story than anything else. Franzly, it should be categorized as Kafka-esque romance -- with a positive spin. There's no shapeshifting or buggifying -- but there's obviously a bureau. The ins and outs of fate and its many doorways had my brain drawn far more to Orson Welles' Trial than any sci-fi pic or Pakula chase and race. But here, we're not watching Anthony Perkins languish in a land of nightmarish bureaucratic persecution -- we're watching Matt Damon and Emily Blunt fall in love.
I am an unabashed, over the moon Matt Damon superfan. His selection of material is routinely fantastic and I wonder what his hand was in The Adjustment Bureau considering Writer/Director/Producer George Nolfi's having served as one of the writers on both The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean's Twelve. Perhaps he and Mr. Damon have developed a working relationship over the years -- as wise writers and actors often do. And Damon ain't no dummy.
Professionally speaking, The Adjustment Bureau may not be bringing Matt a grandiose check or any awards. It's no True Grit, it's no Hereafter. But from an actor standpoint, this script was a smart move. Damon plays a Congressman from New York whose days as a bad boy cost him his first stab at the Senate -- despite initially holding a 10 point lead. Right before his concession speech, he meets the lovely Emily Blunt. And it's love at first sight.
Frankly, not enough movies are playing the love at first sight card and this movie is a true testament to the fact that it needs to come back in a major way. Why wouldn't two of the world's most beautiful, talented and naturally comic people not charm each other right off their feet in a first meeting? Isn't this what we go to the movies for?
And when they run into one another the next day on the bus -- well does it even matter that you lost your Senate bid? The girl of your dreams is on the M6!
Enter The Adjustment Bureau whose mission is to keep us mortals to the plan -- you've all seen the weird auto-Etch-A-Sketch notebooks toted about by the likes of John Slattery and Terrence Stamp. Yes, that's our fate in there. And Damon and Blunt have knocked one another off course. They can't end up being the fated political juggernaut and dancer/choreographer "the chairman" has in store if they pursue one another -- they must be pulled apart.
The film reels off on a four year course toward Damon's next stab at the Senate, as these two lovers search for one another out of a compulsion to love and avoid one another when they fear destroying their true love's fate.
And yes, idiot in the audience, Senate terms are six years long. He's obviously running for the other seat, you jackass.
In what may be the most obnoxious pun considering the film in question: hats off to Blunt and Damon.
The chemistry between the two of them is remarkable considering they have to trust one another in the face of a completely absurd set of surrealistic fedora wearing guardians of fate. The charm in the flick of an eye or the glint of a smile -- and the passion of their kisses had me hook, line, and sinker. They are absolutely believable real human beings in amidst a ridiculous set of circumstances and it works. The romance is unquestionably on the screen and that's all the movie needs despite its self-conscious need to explain its every device right down to the nitty gritty. One hardly needed a flashcard session with Damon and Anthony Mackie down in the New York sewers -- or wherever the hell they were supposed to be -- to go through the point by point plan for act three. For heaven's sake, throw Damon and Blunt back into bed! Use your brain!
I recommend it. Just know that you're walking into a romance -- not a sci-fi thriller or some Inception like piece of alternarama -- man how Nolan must have thrown Adjustment for a loop!
You will enjoy yourself. McCue seal of approval.
I might add, the only thing that surprised me more than how crazy excellent Damon looked -- like he'd gone back in time ten years -- was how damn spry Terrence Stamp was. Look at Stamp trotting up those stamps in his smart little suits and swaying scarfs. Well done, sir!
- Matthew J. McCue
Is this a Pottery Barn item inspired by a chiropractor's supply closet?
Is this a law firm for victims of overly aggressive pants tailors?
Why couldn't they just have called it Fate?
That question will never be answered.
Surprisingly, this new little movie from from first time director George Nolfi doesn't leave the audience with many other questions. It isn't the muddy mess folks started to get the impression was headed their way as the film's release date was continually pushed back and ultimately hit the screen with lukewarm reviews and less than stellar box office. Obviously the film had its reshoots -- who knows who did them -- who knows who rewrote what -- who knows what scenes were replaced -- when certain overclarifications came to pass and when pockets of selective voice over arrived.
Amazingly, this seems symptomatic of many a film adapted from Phillip K. Dick stories. Spielberg - surprise! - escaped this pitfall with Minority Report and released his film simply as intended. It stands as one of the best science fiction films of the past decade in a year where Steven also gave us Catch Me If You Can. He didn't get tripped up on the need to overly explain the conceit of his PKD tale -- then again, folks don't tell Spielberg what to do.
One wonders whether there's an original Adjustment Bureau out there that accepted the intelligence of its intended adult audience and didn't murk itself up with a bit (and truly just a bit) of egregious exposition and explanation. Anyone who has seen the overly voiced-over Bladerunner and then enjoyed Ridley Scott's actual cut knows the difference -- the director had it right all along. Time will tell whether Mr. Nolfi had it pegged or whether the studio was right. Frankly, I hope Nolfi had it and look forward to buying a director's cut Blu-Ray in a few months.
That bit aside, let's talk about the poorly sold film -- which is masquerading as an action drama but is far more of a love story than anything else. Franzly, it should be categorized as Kafka-esque romance -- with a positive spin. There's no shapeshifting or buggifying -- but there's obviously a bureau. The ins and outs of fate and its many doorways had my brain drawn far more to Orson Welles' Trial than any sci-fi pic or Pakula chase and race. But here, we're not watching Anthony Perkins languish in a land of nightmarish bureaucratic persecution -- we're watching Matt Damon and Emily Blunt fall in love.
I am an unabashed, over the moon Matt Damon superfan. His selection of material is routinely fantastic and I wonder what his hand was in The Adjustment Bureau considering Writer/Director/Producer George Nolfi's having served as one of the writers on both The Bourne Ultimatum and Ocean's Twelve. Perhaps he and Mr. Damon have developed a working relationship over the years -- as wise writers and actors often do. And Damon ain't no dummy.
Professionally speaking, The Adjustment Bureau may not be bringing Matt a grandiose check or any awards. It's no True Grit, it's no Hereafter. But from an actor standpoint, this script was a smart move. Damon plays a Congressman from New York whose days as a bad boy cost him his first stab at the Senate -- despite initially holding a 10 point lead. Right before his concession speech, he meets the lovely Emily Blunt. And it's love at first sight.
Frankly, not enough movies are playing the love at first sight card and this movie is a true testament to the fact that it needs to come back in a major way. Why wouldn't two of the world's most beautiful, talented and naturally comic people not charm each other right off their feet in a first meeting? Isn't this what we go to the movies for?
And when they run into one another the next day on the bus -- well does it even matter that you lost your Senate bid? The girl of your dreams is on the M6!
Enter The Adjustment Bureau whose mission is to keep us mortals to the plan -- you've all seen the weird auto-Etch-A-Sketch notebooks toted about by the likes of John Slattery and Terrence Stamp. Yes, that's our fate in there. And Damon and Blunt have knocked one another off course. They can't end up being the fated political juggernaut and dancer/choreographer "the chairman" has in store if they pursue one another -- they must be pulled apart.
The film reels off on a four year course toward Damon's next stab at the Senate, as these two lovers search for one another out of a compulsion to love and avoid one another when they fear destroying their true love's fate.
And yes, idiot in the audience, Senate terms are six years long. He's obviously running for the other seat, you jackass.
In what may be the most obnoxious pun considering the film in question: hats off to Blunt and Damon.
The chemistry between the two of them is remarkable considering they have to trust one another in the face of a completely absurd set of surrealistic fedora wearing guardians of fate. The charm in the flick of an eye or the glint of a smile -- and the passion of their kisses had me hook, line, and sinker. They are absolutely believable real human beings in amidst a ridiculous set of circumstances and it works. The romance is unquestionably on the screen and that's all the movie needs despite its self-conscious need to explain its every device right down to the nitty gritty. One hardly needed a flashcard session with Damon and Anthony Mackie down in the New York sewers -- or wherever the hell they were supposed to be -- to go through the point by point plan for act three. For heaven's sake, throw Damon and Blunt back into bed! Use your brain!
I recommend it. Just know that you're walking into a romance -- not a sci-fi thriller or some Inception like piece of alternarama -- man how Nolan must have thrown Adjustment for a loop!
You will enjoy yourself. McCue seal of approval.
I might add, the only thing that surprised me more than how crazy excellent Damon looked -- like he'd gone back in time ten years -- was how damn spry Terrence Stamp was. Look at Stamp trotting up those stamps in his smart little suits and swaying scarfs. Well done, sir!
- Matthew J. McCue
Monday, March 14, 2011
How to Fix Award Shows? The Hollywood Reporter's complaints continue
I am a huge fan of the newly formatted Hollywood Reporter thanks to J.R.'s having pointed it out to me. It offers unlimited web-access and doesn't leave readers staring at a black screen a la Cloak and Dagger when they've read too many articles like some other celebrated trades. However, the analysis of the Award season has been surprisingly short sighted given their continued articles about first Ricky Gervais' hosting the Globes and now the seeming Oscar fail.
Many of the adjustments suggested in today's article by Tim Goodman are wise. However, Mr. Goodman has fallen victim to the very misstep an Oscar worshipper like myself could tripped over himself. Mr. Goodman still sees the Oscar -- and its telecast -- as the unquestionable gold standard in entertainment ceremonies. It is. Of course it is. For heaven's sake, it's the Oscars. But the telecast has gone a bit schizo -- it knows it's too long but suddenly it's freaking out. This doesn't mean Mr. Goodman should consequently dismiss the Golden Globes as a laughable ceremony.
How are they laughable when one of Goodman's first suggestions is that the Oscars immediately move themselves to the other side of the Globes so they stop losing their "gravitas." Do the math, pal. That means HFPA has the gravitas. Slide between Christmas and Globe time? I could not disagree with Mr. Goodman more.
If the over-campaigning of the 90s Weinstein brothers, followed by the Dreamworks/Miramax wars of the turn of the century, and now the dark days of the 10 nominees has taught us anything, it is that the Oscars are in a serious state of self-doubt and -- much like our own political system -- they simply do not know how to do a bit of simple "campaign finance reform." It seems Russ Feingold is currently available. Perhaps he could swing by Tinsel town and give AMPAS a lesson or two.
The truth of the matter is that Ricky Gervais -- despite the endless criticism he received afterward -- hit the ball clean out of the park with this year's Golden Globe telecast. He was edgy, he was tough, he was hilarious. So what if a few people were offended? If another of Mr. Goodman's major suggestions is to stop looking at "the awards" as something for people "in the room" and "industry" only -- isn't a little ribbing toward the bevy of boozing celebs just what the doctor ordered? And Dr. Gervais delivered. I don't think Robert Downey, Jr. minded his introduction one bit. I think Tim Allen may have -- but so what? He can afford it! And Downey certainly proved he can take a tough joke when Jude Law once again aired Downey's arrest record at the Oscars.
Thus let's forgive Ricky -- he did an excellent job.
James and Anne -- both of whom I love -- not so much.
The other point of fun with the Hollywood Foreign Press is that it's the first telecast of the year that gets all the big stars in one room and hands out trophies to the stars of stage and screen -- and it's a good show. Christ, SAG does the same thing but few people are elevating that little wonder to Oscar status.
What we've got here is a closed award window where the Oscar nominations follow so quickly on the heels of the actual Globe presentation -- where the campaigning seems far less psychotic -- that the HFPA shifted from being a predictor to an indicator.
For years, idiots like myself hoped something amazing would happen -- even after the "SKG vs. Bob and Harvey" feud shaved a year off the Oscar calendar. We woke up on that fateful nominating Tuesday with the hopes that some crazy little weasel was going to pop its head into the best picture mix. Sure, we were stunned when things like the 1995 (a talking pig, a spaceship, and an Italian mailman beat out a Sean Penn death march and Mike Figgis?) and 1998 (5 nominees -- 3 World War II, 2 Elizabethan) happened. There's always a shun -- Dreamgirls, anyone? But we idiots continued to operate under the impression that somehow Oscar would see the light and we'd all be back in 1991 -- when a movie about a well scrubbed rube and a cannibalistic psychiatrist could take the top honors.
Amazingly this ire came to an overflowing boil when Dark Knight wasn't nominated. Suddenly there was a demand to expand the Oscar pool to ten pictures -- the worst mistake imaginable. Had any of us known this meant they were going to go right on NOT nominating Christopher Nolan we wouldn't have even looked at Dark Knight as any sort of problem -- frankly, as much of a fan as I am of that movie (I own it and watch it regularly) I would not have nominated it. I would have given it technical accolades -- just like the Bourne movies. If Greengrass wants an Oscar nomination, it's United 93 -- even he knows that.
But now we have an award show where there is a distinct separation between Musical/Comedy and Drama -- Drama always having the edge in Oscar-land -- and then find ourselves in one giant free for all. Christ, it's worse than the Grammys!
So now the pool is so damn vast, all a producer has to do is find a way to run with the ball and take down the front runner. It's been two in a row and I'll bet it happens again next year unless everyone gets a case of the Julie Andrews and starts turning down Critics Circle Awards.
"The Ten" is making Oscar borderline irrelevant -- obviously they're never going to be irrelevant. My solution is to pull away from the Globes. Screw the tailgaters by moving back to the end of March.
Studios should release all of their contenders Christmas week in both New York and LA with a slow roll out during the early spring -- let the Globes earn you money, and the reviews, and the Oscar nominations, and then the wins. Why get it all at once?
The nominations should not be announced until mid February -- a cool month after the Golden Globes. Currently the Globes are so close to the current Oscar telecast (Oscar moved, Globie stayed put like a good little Globie) they're more or less a glorified red carpet with trophies. Of course everyone's watching the pre-show -- it's like a great play off game! Why not watch both Annette and Natalie win? But this doesn't mean double the trophies. It just means let that cocktail party do its thing. You stand back and wait for the minor post season to end. You get to close and you lose your moxie.
Sometimes the best game of the year is Jets/Patriots. But not if you move the Super Bowl back a month.
So drop the ten, slide it back, and get yourself a damn host. Stop blaming the Globes for your woes. Look to the ads! Look to the ads!
For Christ sake, the next thing you know the Sierra Club and the Wiley Brothers will be buying air time for the Coen Brothers.
I thank you for your time and consideration.
Matthew J. McCue
Many of the adjustments suggested in today's article by Tim Goodman are wise. However, Mr. Goodman has fallen victim to the very misstep an Oscar worshipper like myself could tripped over himself. Mr. Goodman still sees the Oscar -- and its telecast -- as the unquestionable gold standard in entertainment ceremonies. It is. Of course it is. For heaven's sake, it's the Oscars. But the telecast has gone a bit schizo -- it knows it's too long but suddenly it's freaking out. This doesn't mean Mr. Goodman should consequently dismiss the Golden Globes as a laughable ceremony.
How are they laughable when one of Goodman's first suggestions is that the Oscars immediately move themselves to the other side of the Globes so they stop losing their "gravitas." Do the math, pal. That means HFPA has the gravitas. Slide between Christmas and Globe time? I could not disagree with Mr. Goodman more.
If the over-campaigning of the 90s Weinstein brothers, followed by the Dreamworks/Miramax wars of the turn of the century, and now the dark days of the 10 nominees has taught us anything, it is that the Oscars are in a serious state of self-doubt and -- much like our own political system -- they simply do not know how to do a bit of simple "campaign finance reform." It seems Russ Feingold is currently available. Perhaps he could swing by Tinsel town and give AMPAS a lesson or two.
The truth of the matter is that Ricky Gervais -- despite the endless criticism he received afterward -- hit the ball clean out of the park with this year's Golden Globe telecast. He was edgy, he was tough, he was hilarious. So what if a few people were offended? If another of Mr. Goodman's major suggestions is to stop looking at "the awards" as something for people "in the room" and "industry" only -- isn't a little ribbing toward the bevy of boozing celebs just what the doctor ordered? And Dr. Gervais delivered. I don't think Robert Downey, Jr. minded his introduction one bit. I think Tim Allen may have -- but so what? He can afford it! And Downey certainly proved he can take a tough joke when Jude Law once again aired Downey's arrest record at the Oscars.
Thus let's forgive Ricky -- he did an excellent job.
James and Anne -- both of whom I love -- not so much.
The other point of fun with the Hollywood Foreign Press is that it's the first telecast of the year that gets all the big stars in one room and hands out trophies to the stars of stage and screen -- and it's a good show. Christ, SAG does the same thing but few people are elevating that little wonder to Oscar status.
What we've got here is a closed award window where the Oscar nominations follow so quickly on the heels of the actual Globe presentation -- where the campaigning seems far less psychotic -- that the HFPA shifted from being a predictor to an indicator.
For years, idiots like myself hoped something amazing would happen -- even after the "SKG vs. Bob and Harvey" feud shaved a year off the Oscar calendar. We woke up on that fateful nominating Tuesday with the hopes that some crazy little weasel was going to pop its head into the best picture mix. Sure, we were stunned when things like the 1995 (a talking pig, a spaceship, and an Italian mailman beat out a Sean Penn death march and Mike Figgis?) and 1998 (5 nominees -- 3 World War II, 2 Elizabethan) happened. There's always a shun -- Dreamgirls, anyone? But we idiots continued to operate under the impression that somehow Oscar would see the light and we'd all be back in 1991 -- when a movie about a well scrubbed rube and a cannibalistic psychiatrist could take the top honors.
Amazingly this ire came to an overflowing boil when Dark Knight wasn't nominated. Suddenly there was a demand to expand the Oscar pool to ten pictures -- the worst mistake imaginable. Had any of us known this meant they were going to go right on NOT nominating Christopher Nolan we wouldn't have even looked at Dark Knight as any sort of problem -- frankly, as much of a fan as I am of that movie (I own it and watch it regularly) I would not have nominated it. I would have given it technical accolades -- just like the Bourne movies. If Greengrass wants an Oscar nomination, it's United 93 -- even he knows that.
But now we have an award show where there is a distinct separation between Musical/Comedy and Drama -- Drama always having the edge in Oscar-land -- and then find ourselves in one giant free for all. Christ, it's worse than the Grammys!
So now the pool is so damn vast, all a producer has to do is find a way to run with the ball and take down the front runner. It's been two in a row and I'll bet it happens again next year unless everyone gets a case of the Julie Andrews and starts turning down Critics Circle Awards.
"The Ten" is making Oscar borderline irrelevant -- obviously they're never going to be irrelevant. My solution is to pull away from the Globes. Screw the tailgaters by moving back to the end of March.
Studios should release all of their contenders Christmas week in both New York and LA with a slow roll out during the early spring -- let the Globes earn you money, and the reviews, and the Oscar nominations, and then the wins. Why get it all at once?
The nominations should not be announced until mid February -- a cool month after the Golden Globes. Currently the Globes are so close to the current Oscar telecast (Oscar moved, Globie stayed put like a good little Globie) they're more or less a glorified red carpet with trophies. Of course everyone's watching the pre-show -- it's like a great play off game! Why not watch both Annette and Natalie win? But this doesn't mean double the trophies. It just means let that cocktail party do its thing. You stand back and wait for the minor post season to end. You get to close and you lose your moxie.
Sometimes the best game of the year is Jets/Patriots. But not if you move the Super Bowl back a month.
So drop the ten, slide it back, and get yourself a damn host. Stop blaming the Globes for your woes. Look to the ads! Look to the ads!
For Christ sake, the next thing you know the Sierra Club and the Wiley Brothers will be buying air time for the Coen Brothers.
I thank you for your time and consideration.
Matthew J. McCue
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Unknown: Not Taken
I couldn't be more pleased that Liam - Darkman, Schindler, Aslan, Zeus - Neeson has somehow become the world's favorite action star. If I could flux-capacitate back and share this with audiences leaving Michael Collins they'd punch me in the face and throw me in a one way cab to Belleview. And yet, it's the case.
Neeson is launching himself into that strata of Euro-actors who takes film after film -- sometimes lending his clout to simple one-liners "RELEASE THE KRACKEN!" which the formerly "Sir" Anthony Hopkins shall do with this summer's Thor.
The old Grand Moff Tarkin move.
At the same time, Neeson is headlining would be crummy action movies that are driving middle aged women crazy and are -- admittedly -- not half bad. The amount of street cred he gained with Taken was nothing short of astonishing. It wasn't a solid film by any means -- yet its undeniably entertaining. The world loved it. It's constantly on television and is the type of movie Mel Gibson would have (actually) killed to have chosen instead of the astoundingly unattended Edge of Darkness.
So here we are with Unknown which is raking in the dough and has audiences clamoring that they've found a new Taken. I'm here to tell you that couldn't be further from the truth. The plot holes in this thing are beyond compare. There's some sweet action -- I'll admit that. Diane Kruger is pretty excellent. And the best performance in the entire film is seasoned Swiss star Bruno Ganz -- perhaps best known for the recent Hitler film Downfall or the 90s masterpiece Far Away, So Close. With an actor like that, would you expect any less?
But my word is the storyline a stunner of repetitive, weak, forced twists and turns.
Neeson's screamed, "I'm Martin Harris!" borders on "Give me back my son!" and "Not without my daughter!" As a drinking game, it would leave audiences the world over fighting their way onto organ donor lists. There is literally an hour of film where Neeson yells that line at least once per scene. I'm going to go out on a limb and say, "We got it, Qui Gon."
If you're looking for something mindless to rent or netflix stream in the months to come -- perhaps consider it -- but this is not something one needs to hurry to a multiplex to enjoy. In fact the only redeeming line of dialogue is when amnesiac Neeson screams "I haven't forgotten how to kill you a**hole!"
Other than that, my review Unknown is this: Corn?
- Matthew J. McCue
Neeson is launching himself into that strata of Euro-actors who takes film after film -- sometimes lending his clout to simple one-liners "RELEASE THE KRACKEN!" which the formerly "Sir" Anthony Hopkins shall do with this summer's Thor.
The old Grand Moff Tarkin move.
At the same time, Neeson is headlining would be crummy action movies that are driving middle aged women crazy and are -- admittedly -- not half bad. The amount of street cred he gained with Taken was nothing short of astonishing. It wasn't a solid film by any means -- yet its undeniably entertaining. The world loved it. It's constantly on television and is the type of movie Mel Gibson would have (actually) killed to have chosen instead of the astoundingly unattended Edge of Darkness.
So here we are with Unknown which is raking in the dough and has audiences clamoring that they've found a new Taken. I'm here to tell you that couldn't be further from the truth. The plot holes in this thing are beyond compare. There's some sweet action -- I'll admit that. Diane Kruger is pretty excellent. And the best performance in the entire film is seasoned Swiss star Bruno Ganz -- perhaps best known for the recent Hitler film Downfall or the 90s masterpiece Far Away, So Close. With an actor like that, would you expect any less?
But my word is the storyline a stunner of repetitive, weak, forced twists and turns.
Neeson's screamed, "I'm Martin Harris!" borders on "Give me back my son!" and "Not without my daughter!" As a drinking game, it would leave audiences the world over fighting their way onto organ donor lists. There is literally an hour of film where Neeson yells that line at least once per scene. I'm going to go out on a limb and say, "We got it, Qui Gon."
If you're looking for something mindless to rent or netflix stream in the months to come -- perhaps consider it -- but this is not something one needs to hurry to a multiplex to enjoy. In fact the only redeeming line of dialogue is when amnesiac Neeson screams "I haven't forgotten how to kill you a**hole!"
Other than that, my review Unknown is this: Corn?
- Matthew J. McCue
Little Red's Little Review
What a muddy plot you have.
The better to confuse you with, my dear.
I am a huge fan of Catherine Hardwicke. The "Twilight Saga" has ventured onward without her and has dragged in colossal sums -- who knows what kind of box office numbers the Breaking Dawn two-parter will do under Bill Condon. We're talking borderline Harry Potter numbers here.
The problem is, they've lost their edge. That handheld choppiness -- that borderline off-putting editing -- that slow it down/speed it up -- clear "direction" has left Forks. Eclipse and New Moon are clean and pristine -- about all they've kept in common with the franchise kick-off is their excellent soundtracks -- another Hardwicke signature. And this isn't to say Chris Weitz (my hero) or Hard Candy's David Slade didn't nail the follow-ups. But they've been smoothed down and polished beyond studio compare. Take one look at the directorial style of the Twilight "baseball game" and it couldn't be more clear -- the edge is gone -- then again, so is glittering in the sunshine -- you take what you can get, I suppose.
But this helmer of Thirteen and The Lords of Dogtown is clearly a director to be reckoned with (or for any of my students who happen to be reading this "a director with whom one should reckon"). I wonder what she'll do next and which film will be her signature piece. One thing is certain -- it shall not be Red Riding Hood.
I for one am overjoyed about Hollywood's current tip toward adapting and reinventing fairytales and folklore. It's always a nice recurring trend to ride through and the vampire - werewolf obsession spawned by Stephanie Meyer, Kristen Stewart, Taylor Lautner and Robert Pattinson makes Catherine Hardwicke the slam-dunk choice to lens it.
But the plot, my friends, the plot. And let me just say spoiler alert to the max.
What looked like it had the possibility of being a neat little film about a small town, a werewolf, a snow and some hot people turned into a muddled near laughable mess that made me re-evaluate my deep disrespect for The Village.
A small town is haunted by a werewolf to whom they sacrifice livestock each month. One month, the wolf kills the beautiful Amanda Seyfried's sister. How can this be? We've been giving that wolf goats and pigs on a regular basis and then he up and kills one of us? Murmurmurmur, watermelonbubblegum, elephantshoe.
Lukas Haas -- who still looks like he stepped off the set of Witness and who may well be the reason Leonardo DiCaprio produced the pic (or vice versa) -- is the local priest who insists they call in the big religious guns. And who else would be the worst possible priest to ring up? Well, Gary Oldman, of course. What was nice to see is that this was real Gary Oldman -- not watered down Sirius Black. This was the Oldman of the '90s who we all think could snap at any moment, torture folks, or just straight up kill them -- and he does. That was at least a pleasure.
But apparently -- according to this film -- the town is currently under a "Red Moon" wherein a werewolf's bite can turn anyone into an additional werewolf. This, of course, is long after multiple drifting, warning camera shots of a VERY white moon -- at least they were kind enough to keep the moon red once this brand-new piece of folklore was introduced.
Thus we're left with a love triangle between Seyfried unknown actors -- a woodcutter and a blacksmith -- both about 18 and great looking. Amazingly to us of the modern age -- a woodcutter is an absolutely unacceptable husband whereas with a smithy you've struck gold -- or you've at least met someone who can hammer it into the shape of something.
So the wolf obviously returns and starts killing people and no significant actor is ever on-screen while this is happening to keep absolutely everyone a suspect. And one night -- while the wolf is slash folks to pieces it corners Amanda Seyfried and speaks to her. Yes, the wolf speaks. And this is one of these modern day werewolves who doesn't take its lycanthrope form like good old Benicio del Toro in the highly underrated (seriously, rent it today) and now Oscar-winning Wolfman. No torn shirt and jeans here. This is one of these actual wolves that looks more like that bad-ass from The Neverending Story and yet it speaks. So it tells Seyfried to leave town and make a new life.
Of course, every single character in the movie has told Seyfried to do this one way or the other, so there's no telling who it could be. Amazingly, in my opinion, it's also a clear sign that Seyfried should indeed leave town -- wolf endorsement or not.
And here's where the holes come in. The questions.
What the hell is Julie Christie -- dame of Beatty-dom -- doing here?
Oh, she's the dad's mom?
If the wolf can't go on holy ground, why don't we all just chill in the church for the whole movie?
Aren't there like 15 people in this town? Wouldn't it be relatively easy to just take attendance?
Why are they killing every person who is "wolf bit" when the wolf itself claims its power can only be passed on to someone in its bloodline?
How are there locked guarded gates around the entire village and yet my dear Julie Christie -- granny who lives out in the woods -- can come and go as she pleases?
What is going on?!
I'm not going to spend time nitpicking over the remarkable contradictions of logic that persist through the rest of the film because frankly I'm in a storm of conflicting emotions -- I wish to hell Hardwicke had made a better movie and at the same time, it's so bad, I can't possibly believe this was the intended picture. Something must have gone horribly wrong out there in the woods and somehow this was what we ended up with.
It looked great. And the music is good. I must give it both of those. But that's all.
Here's hoping Ms. Seyfried and Ms. Hardwicke get right back into the swing of things and put this one behind them.
-Matthew J. McCue
The better to confuse you with, my dear.
I am a huge fan of Catherine Hardwicke. The "Twilight Saga" has ventured onward without her and has dragged in colossal sums -- who knows what kind of box office numbers the Breaking Dawn two-parter will do under Bill Condon. We're talking borderline Harry Potter numbers here.
The problem is, they've lost their edge. That handheld choppiness -- that borderline off-putting editing -- that slow it down/speed it up -- clear "direction" has left Forks. Eclipse and New Moon are clean and pristine -- about all they've kept in common with the franchise kick-off is their excellent soundtracks -- another Hardwicke signature. And this isn't to say Chris Weitz (my hero) or Hard Candy's David Slade didn't nail the follow-ups. But they've been smoothed down and polished beyond studio compare. Take one look at the directorial style of the Twilight "baseball game" and it couldn't be more clear -- the edge is gone -- then again, so is glittering in the sunshine -- you take what you can get, I suppose.
But this helmer of Thirteen and The Lords of Dogtown is clearly a director to be reckoned with (or for any of my students who happen to be reading this "a director with whom one should reckon"). I wonder what she'll do next and which film will be her signature piece. One thing is certain -- it shall not be Red Riding Hood.
I for one am overjoyed about Hollywood's current tip toward adapting and reinventing fairytales and folklore. It's always a nice recurring trend to ride through and the vampire - werewolf obsession spawned by Stephanie Meyer, Kristen Stewart, Taylor Lautner and Robert Pattinson makes Catherine Hardwicke the slam-dunk choice to lens it.
But the plot, my friends, the plot. And let me just say spoiler alert to the max.
What looked like it had the possibility of being a neat little film about a small town, a werewolf, a snow and some hot people turned into a muddled near laughable mess that made me re-evaluate my deep disrespect for The Village.
A small town is haunted by a werewolf to whom they sacrifice livestock each month. One month, the wolf kills the beautiful Amanda Seyfried's sister. How can this be? We've been giving that wolf goats and pigs on a regular basis and then he up and kills one of us? Murmurmurmur, watermelonbubblegum, elephantshoe.
Lukas Haas -- who still looks like he stepped off the set of Witness and who may well be the reason Leonardo DiCaprio produced the pic (or vice versa) -- is the local priest who insists they call in the big religious guns. And who else would be the worst possible priest to ring up? Well, Gary Oldman, of course. What was nice to see is that this was real Gary Oldman -- not watered down Sirius Black. This was the Oldman of the '90s who we all think could snap at any moment, torture folks, or just straight up kill them -- and he does. That was at least a pleasure.
But apparently -- according to this film -- the town is currently under a "Red Moon" wherein a werewolf's bite can turn anyone into an additional werewolf. This, of course, is long after multiple drifting, warning camera shots of a VERY white moon -- at least they were kind enough to keep the moon red once this brand-new piece of folklore was introduced.
Thus we're left with a love triangle between Seyfried unknown actors -- a woodcutter and a blacksmith -- both about 18 and great looking. Amazingly to us of the modern age -- a woodcutter is an absolutely unacceptable husband whereas with a smithy you've struck gold -- or you've at least met someone who can hammer it into the shape of something.
So the wolf obviously returns and starts killing people and no significant actor is ever on-screen while this is happening to keep absolutely everyone a suspect. And one night -- while the wolf is slash folks to pieces it corners Amanda Seyfried and speaks to her. Yes, the wolf speaks. And this is one of these modern day werewolves who doesn't take its lycanthrope form like good old Benicio del Toro in the highly underrated (seriously, rent it today) and now Oscar-winning Wolfman. No torn shirt and jeans here. This is one of these actual wolves that looks more like that bad-ass from The Neverending Story and yet it speaks. So it tells Seyfried to leave town and make a new life.
Of course, every single character in the movie has told Seyfried to do this one way or the other, so there's no telling who it could be. Amazingly, in my opinion, it's also a clear sign that Seyfried should indeed leave town -- wolf endorsement or not.
And here's where the holes come in. The questions.
What the hell is Julie Christie -- dame of Beatty-dom -- doing here?
Oh, she's the dad's mom?
If the wolf can't go on holy ground, why don't we all just chill in the church for the whole movie?
Aren't there like 15 people in this town? Wouldn't it be relatively easy to just take attendance?
Why are they killing every person who is "wolf bit" when the wolf itself claims its power can only be passed on to someone in its bloodline?
How are there locked guarded gates around the entire village and yet my dear Julie Christie -- granny who lives out in the woods -- can come and go as she pleases?
What is going on?!
I'm not going to spend time nitpicking over the remarkable contradictions of logic that persist through the rest of the film because frankly I'm in a storm of conflicting emotions -- I wish to hell Hardwicke had made a better movie and at the same time, it's so bad, I can't possibly believe this was the intended picture. Something must have gone horribly wrong out there in the woods and somehow this was what we ended up with.
It looked great. And the music is good. I must give it both of those. But that's all.
Here's hoping Ms. Seyfried and Ms. Hardwicke get right back into the swing of things and put this one behind them.
-Matthew J. McCue
Monday, February 28, 2011
Best Moment of the Night: The Steve Sole Salute!
You're right, Steve and C.C., I should have pointed out my favorite moment of the night. Of course it was Robert Downey, Jr. (my man) and Jude Law (the flop-surviving dynamo: Gigolo Joe).
How on earth could you better present Visual Effects?
Jude Law: "It’s their moment. You know, if it wasn’t for them your closest association with a superhero would have been in 2001. When you got busted in a cheap hotel with a woman dressed as Batgirl."
Robert Downey, Jr. : "Okay, first of all, that cheap hotel room cost $1250 with a corporate discount. Secondly, it was 2000 not 2001. And most importantly, she was dressed as Wonder Woman. And THAT attention to detail is what has won the respect of all the Academy voters for these fine men and women."
How on earth could you better present Visual Effects?
Jude Law: "It’s their moment. You know, if it wasn’t for them your closest association with a superhero would have been in 2001. When you got busted in a cheap hotel with a woman dressed as Batgirl."
Robert Downey, Jr. : "Okay, first of all, that cheap hotel room cost $1250 with a corporate discount. Secondly, it was 2000 not 2001. And most importantly, she was dressed as Wonder Woman. And THAT attention to detail is what has won the respect of all the Academy voters for these fine men and women."
The King's Sweep: And So It Is.
First of all -- how'd I do?
Art Direction, Costume Design, Makeup, Sound, Sound Effects Editing, Visual Effects Editing, Score (well, I narrowed it down to two -- but who didn't), Song, Editing, Documentary, Adapted Screenplay, Actor.
So Denmark gets Foreign Film -- fine, it did everywhere else.
So Pfister gets Cinematography -- my apologies to the oft nominated Deakins, but an Inception win is aok with me. Looks like the Nolan pic walked away with the most awards of the night, didn't it?
Annette!
It was clear Natalie Portman had it in the bag -- but as a faithful Annettean, I was not going to put that in writing. Natalie has held my heart for many a moon -- but this is Annette we're talking about. My little four time nominee. Bless her and keep her. Natalie, I salute your work. And man, you were a trooper hauling that bursting belly around. You did not look comfortable on the red carpet.
Supporting...
The Fighter duo really took it to the bank this year -- and I'm a little saddened to see there was no upset in either category. But I've said it before -- and shall again -- I seem in the incredible minority with my lukewarm reaction to Marky Mark's passion project.
So let's talk for a moment about the multiple minutes surrounding Melissa Leo's win. Why was Kirk Douglas sent onto the stage? How did that happen? Will an elder-statesman of a star ever be sent on stage again? What on earth was going on with Melissa Leo's speech? What was with the "I have learned so much about the Academy. It's about selling movies and respecting the work?" What does that mean? Why did she leave with Kirk's cane? Someone please help me understand everything that took place.
Christian Bale is a fantastic actor and thus I salute him. The little boy from Empire of the Sun has come a long way. I, for one, plan to follow his lead by thanking his wife and children somewhat forgetfully without having mentioned a specific name. That speech can be played forever and will never point to a specific relationship. Way to Swank it, Bale.
The Writers...
I would have loved to have seen Nolan get the respect he deserves with an original screenplay Oscar. I wonder when that -- or a directing nomination -- will happen for him. The Seidler win was one of the evening's more touching moments.
Both Mr. Seidler and Mr. Sorkin gave some excellent speeches. Watching Sorkin get up there and rattle off something that polished shows what a remarkable writer the man is -- and how many Emmys he's accepted.
Director AND Picture?!
The Fincher loss was a stunner. An absolute stunner and once again proof of the HW's power. My goodness. Yes, yes, it rarely splits. But I will happily admit that I 100% believed that either the awards were going to split or The Social Network was taking it all. It would be foolish to claim that The King's Speech didn't have steadily building momentum straight through the award season -- making it clear that it was going to take picture. But it sure as hell didn't seem like Tom Hooper was coming along!
After Zodiac, Benjamin Button, and now The Social Network -- one wonders if Fincher will have another crack at the gold, especially now that he's knee-deep in the Millenium Trilogy. What a mind-blower.
How about those hosts?
The show was a complete screwball. There seemed no reason to just stick Anne Hathaway out there alone to sing. But if that's what it takes to put James Franco in a dress -- I'll take it. He really pulled it off!
Whether they pulled off the actual job of hosting is another story. The opening worked for me. I greatly enjoyed traveling through Alec Baldwin's dreams and thought there were some great jokes in there.
But it raises the very simple question: Why not simply hire ONE comedian? It baffles the mind.
I know this seems the job to refuse -- but why? Find someone! SomeONE.
So what happens to this little blog now?
Well, I'm going to keep it up. I plan to review each film I see and roll this sucker right into next year's award season.
By the way, Trent Reznor has an Oscar.
Art Direction, Costume Design, Makeup, Sound, Sound Effects Editing, Visual Effects Editing, Score (well, I narrowed it down to two -- but who didn't), Song, Editing, Documentary, Adapted Screenplay, Actor.
So Denmark gets Foreign Film -- fine, it did everywhere else.
So Pfister gets Cinematography -- my apologies to the oft nominated Deakins, but an Inception win is aok with me. Looks like the Nolan pic walked away with the most awards of the night, didn't it?
Annette!
It was clear Natalie Portman had it in the bag -- but as a faithful Annettean, I was not going to put that in writing. Natalie has held my heart for many a moon -- but this is Annette we're talking about. My little four time nominee. Bless her and keep her. Natalie, I salute your work. And man, you were a trooper hauling that bursting belly around. You did not look comfortable on the red carpet.
Supporting...
The Fighter duo really took it to the bank this year -- and I'm a little saddened to see there was no upset in either category. But I've said it before -- and shall again -- I seem in the incredible minority with my lukewarm reaction to Marky Mark's passion project.
So let's talk for a moment about the multiple minutes surrounding Melissa Leo's win. Why was Kirk Douglas sent onto the stage? How did that happen? Will an elder-statesman of a star ever be sent on stage again? What on earth was going on with Melissa Leo's speech? What was with the "I have learned so much about the Academy. It's about selling movies and respecting the work?" What does that mean? Why did she leave with Kirk's cane? Someone please help me understand everything that took place.
Christian Bale is a fantastic actor and thus I salute him. The little boy from Empire of the Sun has come a long way. I, for one, plan to follow his lead by thanking his wife and children somewhat forgetfully without having mentioned a specific name. That speech can be played forever and will never point to a specific relationship. Way to Swank it, Bale.
The Writers...
I would have loved to have seen Nolan get the respect he deserves with an original screenplay Oscar. I wonder when that -- or a directing nomination -- will happen for him. The Seidler win was one of the evening's more touching moments.
Both Mr. Seidler and Mr. Sorkin gave some excellent speeches. Watching Sorkin get up there and rattle off something that polished shows what a remarkable writer the man is -- and how many Emmys he's accepted.
Director AND Picture?!
The Fincher loss was a stunner. An absolute stunner and once again proof of the HW's power. My goodness. Yes, yes, it rarely splits. But I will happily admit that I 100% believed that either the awards were going to split or The Social Network was taking it all. It would be foolish to claim that The King's Speech didn't have steadily building momentum straight through the award season -- making it clear that it was going to take picture. But it sure as hell didn't seem like Tom Hooper was coming along!
After Zodiac, Benjamin Button, and now The Social Network -- one wonders if Fincher will have another crack at the gold, especially now that he's knee-deep in the Millenium Trilogy. What a mind-blower.
How about those hosts?
The show was a complete screwball. There seemed no reason to just stick Anne Hathaway out there alone to sing. But if that's what it takes to put James Franco in a dress -- I'll take it. He really pulled it off!
Whether they pulled off the actual job of hosting is another story. The opening worked for me. I greatly enjoyed traveling through Alec Baldwin's dreams and thought there were some great jokes in there.
But it raises the very simple question: Why not simply hire ONE comedian? It baffles the mind.
I know this seems the job to refuse -- but why? Find someone! SomeONE.
So what happens to this little blog now?
Well, I'm going to keep it up. I plan to review each film I see and roll this sucker right into next year's award season.
By the way, Trent Reznor has an Oscar.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
It's The Day of the Show Y'all: Heartfelt Predictions
Here we are.
After all the waiting, nominated Angelinos are getting their morning coffee and anti-anxiety pills, swarmed by publicists and stylists, selecting the right outfit, the right quaff.
So how will it all go?
I humbly submit my sentimental predictions where I will -- admittedly -- present a combination of what I both expect and hope will occur this evening -- before we settle into a long March of half-baked movies awaiting the quality only May and beyond can bring.
And the winner is...?
Art Direction: Alice in Wonderland should win -- if The King's Speech takes it -- Christ, it might sweep.
Costume Design: Again, Alice in Wonderland -- again, if The King's Speech takes it -- Messiah, etc.
Makeup: The film only I saw on opening day -- The Wolfman.
Sound Editing, Sound Effects Editing, Visual Effects: All 3 will go to Inception, though True Grit took some sound awards just last week and this is often the haven of the Western or the War pic. But this time it seems the dream agents have it locked away. Any non-Nolan wins in these categories are straight-up snubs.
Original Score: As I said before this is one of "McCue's Telling Categories" -- true, a Trent Reznor Academy Award win is something none of us would have ever foreseen. Yes, we bring him "closer to God" -- but, closer to gold? That question never seemed possible. The fact that he is nominated as the cleaned-up score-ist of a Fincher-flick, all these many years past Se7en seems the only way this could come to pass. However, he did win the Golden Globe. And that often proves the kiss of death for musicians: these awards rarely align and it's highly possible Mr. Reznor and and Co-Scorer Atticus Ross will lose -- despite their excellent work.
Hans Zimmer's score for Inception is inspired and groundbreaking. But that buzz seems long faded.
Much as he would be a deserving winner the race is two-way: The Social Network or King's Speech.
Yes, this award will once again give us viewers an insight into which way this thing's tipping -- but this brings me back to Reznor and his surprising score success. This isn't David Byrne scoring The Last Emperor. This isn't Isham. This isn't Knopfler. And Alexandre Desplat is not some new man on the scene. This is Mr. Desplat's fourth nomination, having scored all of Wes Anderson's pictures, Benjamin Button, The Queen, The Ghost Writer, The Golden Compass (whose music was its lone redeeming quality), let alone New Moon, Julie and Julia, and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
But will any of that matter? Musicians nominated a zillion times often become musicians who are nominated another zillion times before winning -- just ask Randy Newman or his cousin Thomas Newman, who I think is perhaps the most under-rated under-acknowledged composer out there.
Yes, I just spent that amount of time talking about score -- the fact is, it's a category I love and it's far more essential to the overall film than people credit. I leave it a telling toss-up with hopes of a Zimmer upset.
Original Song: Over the years this has become the most pathetic Oscar category as the movie industry seems to have lost all interest in throwing together "song scores" of significant, original, catchy -- or frankly just plan good songs. The category is basically dead -- which is remarkable considering how most record companies are controlled by the same conglomerates that own the studios. Much as I loved Annie Lennox' "Into the West," the fact of the matter is the last significant song to win was Eminem's "Lose Yourself."
Grasp at all the straws you like, but Hustle and Flow, The Motorcycle Diaries, are far cries from "Let the River Run," "Take My Breath Away," "Streets of Philadelphia" or "My Heart Will Go On." The studios have left this ship to small films like Once and Crazy Heart. Frankly, I do not understand why.
But the question is, who's winning this year -- out of the collection of songs few of us have heard. With the exception of the "Coming Home" from Country Strong, the other three nominees have all won. Newman for Monsters, Inc., Rahman for Slumdog, and Alan Menken has -- that's right -- 8 Oscars.
Folks are talking about Rahman taking it for 127 Hours -- but I think it's Randy Newman's second. "We Belong Together" is no "I Love to See You Smile" or "You Got A Friend In Me" ... but the TS3 love should spill over to its musical maestro.
Cinematography: I firmly think Roger Deakins finally gets his due for True Grit.
Editing: While The Social Network is the odds on favorite -- and I think it will pull it out -- Black Swan could be the upset here. Especially if The Swan also snags Cinematography.
Foreign Film: Though early buzz seems to think there is nothing like a Dane, I'd actually be surprised if Biutiful -- depressant of audiences the world over -- didn't bring Inarritu a golden boy. Oscar already likes him -- this may be a chance to trophy the man.
Documentary Feature: The Inside Job seems to have it -- much as Exit Through the Gift Shop would be a delight.
I'm not even going to pretend to know what's going on in the short categories.
And now the great big biggies...
I'm going out on a limb with a few of these. Go ahead and judge.
Original Screenplay: Christopher Nolan, Inception
Adapted Screenplay: Aaron Sorkin, The Social Network
Supporting Actor: While it looks like Christian Bale has it in the bag for Fighter -- I see a Geoffrey Rush upset as a true possibility -- particular if Harvey has this thing in the bag.
Supporting Actress: I see True Grit's little Hailee Steinfeld as the upset of the evening. Melissa Leo is in the prime position of having previously locked a lead actress nom for a small movie and carefully playing her cards into a stellar supporting role. And perhaps it's my Fighter blindspot combined with my love of a young lady taking home an Oscar -- I'm looking at you, Anna Paquin -- but I smell an upset.
Actor: Is there a question? That reminds me -- I should go buy some Prosecco or something.
Actress: Annette Bening, The Kids Are All Right
Director: David Fincher, The Social Network
Picture: The King's Speech buzz has gone straight on through the roof seemingly having slain The Social Network despite all its early victories. It also softens the blow when both Sorkin and Fincher seemingly have it in the bag. But I still think this is a MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR toss up and we're simply not going to know until the envelope opens.
The King's Speech? The Social Network? True Grit? -- yes, I'm that crazy.
I truly don't know.
My hope -- regardless of The King's majestic simplicity -- is The Net -- since a deserved Inception upset seems impossible.
We'll see in about 12 hours!
- Matthew J. McCue
After all the waiting, nominated Angelinos are getting their morning coffee and anti-anxiety pills, swarmed by publicists and stylists, selecting the right outfit, the right quaff.
So how will it all go?
I humbly submit my sentimental predictions where I will -- admittedly -- present a combination of what I both expect and hope will occur this evening -- before we settle into a long March of half-baked movies awaiting the quality only May and beyond can bring.
And the winner is...?
Art Direction: Alice in Wonderland should win -- if The King's Speech takes it -- Christ, it might sweep.
Costume Design: Again, Alice in Wonderland -- again, if The King's Speech takes it -- Messiah, etc.
Makeup: The film only I saw on opening day -- The Wolfman.
Sound Editing, Sound Effects Editing, Visual Effects: All 3 will go to Inception, though True Grit took some sound awards just last week and this is often the haven of the Western or the War pic. But this time it seems the dream agents have it locked away. Any non-Nolan wins in these categories are straight-up snubs.
Original Score: As I said before this is one of "McCue's Telling Categories" -- true, a Trent Reznor Academy Award win is something none of us would have ever foreseen. Yes, we bring him "closer to God" -- but, closer to gold? That question never seemed possible. The fact that he is nominated as the cleaned-up score-ist of a Fincher-flick, all these many years past Se7en seems the only way this could come to pass. However, he did win the Golden Globe. And that often proves the kiss of death for musicians: these awards rarely align and it's highly possible Mr. Reznor and and Co-Scorer Atticus Ross will lose -- despite their excellent work.
Hans Zimmer's score for Inception is inspired and groundbreaking. But that buzz seems long faded.
Much as he would be a deserving winner the race is two-way: The Social Network or King's Speech.
Yes, this award will once again give us viewers an insight into which way this thing's tipping -- but this brings me back to Reznor and his surprising score success. This isn't David Byrne scoring The Last Emperor. This isn't Isham. This isn't Knopfler. And Alexandre Desplat is not some new man on the scene. This is Mr. Desplat's fourth nomination, having scored all of Wes Anderson's pictures, Benjamin Button, The Queen, The Ghost Writer, The Golden Compass (whose music was its lone redeeming quality), let alone New Moon, Julie and Julia, and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
But will any of that matter? Musicians nominated a zillion times often become musicians who are nominated another zillion times before winning -- just ask Randy Newman or his cousin Thomas Newman, who I think is perhaps the most under-rated under-acknowledged composer out there.
Yes, I just spent that amount of time talking about score -- the fact is, it's a category I love and it's far more essential to the overall film than people credit. I leave it a telling toss-up with hopes of a Zimmer upset.
Original Song: Over the years this has become the most pathetic Oscar category as the movie industry seems to have lost all interest in throwing together "song scores" of significant, original, catchy -- or frankly just plan good songs. The category is basically dead -- which is remarkable considering how most record companies are controlled by the same conglomerates that own the studios. Much as I loved Annie Lennox' "Into the West," the fact of the matter is the last significant song to win was Eminem's "Lose Yourself."
Grasp at all the straws you like, but Hustle and Flow, The Motorcycle Diaries, are far cries from "Let the River Run," "Take My Breath Away," "Streets of Philadelphia" or "My Heart Will Go On." The studios have left this ship to small films like Once and Crazy Heart. Frankly, I do not understand why.
But the question is, who's winning this year -- out of the collection of songs few of us have heard. With the exception of the "Coming Home" from Country Strong, the other three nominees have all won. Newman for Monsters, Inc., Rahman for Slumdog, and Alan Menken has -- that's right -- 8 Oscars.
Folks are talking about Rahman taking it for 127 Hours -- but I think it's Randy Newman's second. "We Belong Together" is no "I Love to See You Smile" or "You Got A Friend In Me" ... but the TS3 love should spill over to its musical maestro.
Cinematography: I firmly think Roger Deakins finally gets his due for True Grit.
Editing: While The Social Network is the odds on favorite -- and I think it will pull it out -- Black Swan could be the upset here. Especially if The Swan also snags Cinematography.
Foreign Film: Though early buzz seems to think there is nothing like a Dane, I'd actually be surprised if Biutiful -- depressant of audiences the world over -- didn't bring Inarritu a golden boy. Oscar already likes him -- this may be a chance to trophy the man.
Documentary Feature: The Inside Job seems to have it -- much as Exit Through the Gift Shop would be a delight.
I'm not even going to pretend to know what's going on in the short categories.
And now the great big biggies...
I'm going out on a limb with a few of these. Go ahead and judge.
Original Screenplay: Christopher Nolan, Inception
Adapted Screenplay: Aaron Sorkin, The Social Network
Supporting Actor: While it looks like Christian Bale has it in the bag for Fighter -- I see a Geoffrey Rush upset as a true possibility -- particular if Harvey has this thing in the bag.
Supporting Actress: I see True Grit's little Hailee Steinfeld as the upset of the evening. Melissa Leo is in the prime position of having previously locked a lead actress nom for a small movie and carefully playing her cards into a stellar supporting role. And perhaps it's my Fighter blindspot combined with my love of a young lady taking home an Oscar -- I'm looking at you, Anna Paquin -- but I smell an upset.
Actor: Is there a question? That reminds me -- I should go buy some Prosecco or something.
Actress: Annette Bening, The Kids Are All Right
Director: David Fincher, The Social Network
Picture: The King's Speech buzz has gone straight on through the roof seemingly having slain The Social Network despite all its early victories. It also softens the blow when both Sorkin and Fincher seemingly have it in the bag. But I still think this is a MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR toss up and we're simply not going to know until the envelope opens.
The King's Speech? The Social Network? True Grit? -- yes, I'm that crazy.
I truly don't know.
My hope -- regardless of The King's majestic simplicity -- is The Net -- since a deserved Inception upset seems impossible.
We'll see in about 12 hours!
- Matthew J. McCue
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Adapted Screenplay: Soar, Sorkin, Soar.
For all its split categorizing - Drama and Comedy/Musical - so twice as many folks can go home a winner, the screenplay category is the only Golden Globe category that goes from unicameral to bi when it hits Oscartown. Everyone's in one mix at the HFPA. At the Oscars, not so. Thus, screenplay proves the only category where The Social Network and The King's Speech share a rare, "Reverse Golden Globe". While The King's Speech finds itself in what I hope is a true bout of fisticuffs against Christopher Nolan's masterwork, Inception -- The Social Network stands in the adapted category.
They're not head to head -- each could win.
While I have my doubts about Mr. Seidler snagging screenplay out from under Nolan or Cholodenko -- Mr. Sorkin seems a dead lock. Though Fincher's directing steers The Social Network roller coaster as smoothly as a shark slicing through a currentless sea -- the tracks for the ride were laid by Mr. "West Wing" himself.
I'll wonder for the rest of my days why Mr. Sorkin felt it necessary to use his Golden Globe acceptance speech to simultaneously disavow any criticism of Mark Zuckerberg -- as if that weren't the entire point of the film -- and announce to his daughter that smart girls have more fun. I watched his appearance on Oprah; I heard his explanation; I'm still confused.
But sliding right alongside my wonder shall be my marvel at Aaron Sorkin's crisp, flawless writing.
Forget whether there's an oddball line or a scene that could go. The Social Network is one of those rare cases where there damn well may not be a syllable out of place. From Rooney Mara's character indictment to Rashida Jones' vain "cheer-up" attempt -- this thing's moving as quick and tight as Glengarry Glen Ross, and as timely and witty as Network. It doesn't trump either of those puppies -- certainly not Mamet's stage play -- and you certainly can't trump Finch, Dunaway, Duvall, and Holden. But to mix these two into a drinkable cocktail that goes down smooth despite having some of the best barbs in years -- what else can you expect from Mr. "You Can't Handle The Truth!"
Adapted normally isn't this "in the bag." In hindsight, many of the wins seem perfectly logical -- but only once the film has taken picture. But just take a look at last year: Precious sure as hell didn't walk in there as the odds on favorite. Nor did The Departed, Return of the King, The Pianist, or Traffic -- and if you don't believe me on the last one, do yourself a favor and click on any Harry Potter film's credits: that award was supposed to go another way.
But this year, Sorkin's sitting pretty as a Coen boy -- and oddly enough, they're up against him for a sizable piece of writing. But it just doesn't look like this one is ultimately going Joel and Ethan's way -- they'll have to settle for the hundreds of millions True Grit's raking in -- far more than Social Network, I might add.
127 Hours and Winter's Bone need to rest happily in the fact that they have been nominated. Neither stands a chance. Mr. Beaufoy and Danny Boyle can continue to bask in the glow of their recent Slumdog sweep. Every single person involved with Winter's Bone should consider every bit of attention this tiny film has caught an absolute triumph. There's simply no way a multi-nominated night at the Kodak was how these folks saw this playing out. My hat is off.
And then there's Michael Arndt. Something tells me not to discount Mr. Arndt.
(Free drink to the humanoid who nails that reference).
Perhaps the slickest move I made this summer was sliding off my Real 3D glasses with one hand and sliding on my Wayfarers with the other: I was like a T-1000. I got right out of Murray Hill dignity in hand! Whether I maintained my dignity and how deeply I breathed trying to get oxygen back into my 'til then vice-gripped heart is frankly none of your business.
Arndt nailed Toy Story 3 absolutely remarkably. I've said it before and I shall say it again -- this ten picture nonsense cannot last. We will fall back to the five. When we fall back to the five, the animated pictures will be back out of the race and left to their separate category so actors can rest assured their faces will stay up there on the screen.
Pixar's consistent high-quality must scare the bejesus out of everyone -- but sooner or later, Hollywood's absolute fear and jealousy usually turn into standing ovations of praise. Whether it's waiting until 1993 to give Spielberg an Oscar -- never awarding Hitchcock -- or waiting 'til Return of the King -- Hollywood comes around.
Will they this time? Dubious seems the kindest Tim Gunn word I can use. But if not now, when?
Luckily, Arndt already has an Oscar for Little Miss Sunshine and TS3 is a lock for animated feature.
It's pretty tough to put happy former winners up against a man whose made the room a fortune in television series and what must be the most unpredicted residuals of all time from The American President -- can anyone believe how much play that thing gets?! Sorkin's a star -- A Few Good Men, Charlie Wilson's War -- and it's pretty tough to be a star writer for too long without an Oscar, unless of course you're a woman not named Jhabvala -- but that's an article for a different time.
Thus, I hope Michael Arndt kisses his original screenplay Oscar lightly on the head before limo-ing down Hollywood Boulevard. Stars align now and again -- just ask Julian Fellowes. But Sunday seems set for Sorkin.
- Matthew J. McCue
They're not head to head -- each could win.
While I have my doubts about Mr. Seidler snagging screenplay out from under Nolan or Cholodenko -- Mr. Sorkin seems a dead lock. Though Fincher's directing steers The Social Network roller coaster as smoothly as a shark slicing through a currentless sea -- the tracks for the ride were laid by Mr. "West Wing" himself.
I'll wonder for the rest of my days why Mr. Sorkin felt it necessary to use his Golden Globe acceptance speech to simultaneously disavow any criticism of Mark Zuckerberg -- as if that weren't the entire point of the film -- and announce to his daughter that smart girls have more fun. I watched his appearance on Oprah; I heard his explanation; I'm still confused.
But sliding right alongside my wonder shall be my marvel at Aaron Sorkin's crisp, flawless writing.
Forget whether there's an oddball line or a scene that could go. The Social Network is one of those rare cases where there damn well may not be a syllable out of place. From Rooney Mara's character indictment to Rashida Jones' vain "cheer-up" attempt -- this thing's moving as quick and tight as Glengarry Glen Ross, and as timely and witty as Network. It doesn't trump either of those puppies -- certainly not Mamet's stage play -- and you certainly can't trump Finch, Dunaway, Duvall, and Holden. But to mix these two into a drinkable cocktail that goes down smooth despite having some of the best barbs in years -- what else can you expect from Mr. "You Can't Handle The Truth!"
Adapted normally isn't this "in the bag." In hindsight, many of the wins seem perfectly logical -- but only once the film has taken picture. But just take a look at last year: Precious sure as hell didn't walk in there as the odds on favorite. Nor did The Departed, Return of the King, The Pianist, or Traffic -- and if you don't believe me on the last one, do yourself a favor and click on any Harry Potter film's credits: that award was supposed to go another way.
But this year, Sorkin's sitting pretty as a Coen boy -- and oddly enough, they're up against him for a sizable piece of writing. But it just doesn't look like this one is ultimately going Joel and Ethan's way -- they'll have to settle for the hundreds of millions True Grit's raking in -- far more than Social Network, I might add.
127 Hours and Winter's Bone need to rest happily in the fact that they have been nominated. Neither stands a chance. Mr. Beaufoy and Danny Boyle can continue to bask in the glow of their recent Slumdog sweep. Every single person involved with Winter's Bone should consider every bit of attention this tiny film has caught an absolute triumph. There's simply no way a multi-nominated night at the Kodak was how these folks saw this playing out. My hat is off.
And then there's Michael Arndt. Something tells me not to discount Mr. Arndt.
(Free drink to the humanoid who nails that reference).
Perhaps the slickest move I made this summer was sliding off my Real 3D glasses with one hand and sliding on my Wayfarers with the other: I was like a T-1000. I got right out of Murray Hill dignity in hand! Whether I maintained my dignity and how deeply I breathed trying to get oxygen back into my 'til then vice-gripped heart is frankly none of your business.
Arndt nailed Toy Story 3 absolutely remarkably. I've said it before and I shall say it again -- this ten picture nonsense cannot last. We will fall back to the five. When we fall back to the five, the animated pictures will be back out of the race and left to their separate category so actors can rest assured their faces will stay up there on the screen.
Pixar's consistent high-quality must scare the bejesus out of everyone -- but sooner or later, Hollywood's absolute fear and jealousy usually turn into standing ovations of praise. Whether it's waiting until 1993 to give Spielberg an Oscar -- never awarding Hitchcock -- or waiting 'til Return of the King -- Hollywood comes around.
Will they this time? Dubious seems the kindest Tim Gunn word I can use. But if not now, when?
Luckily, Arndt already has an Oscar for Little Miss Sunshine and TS3 is a lock for animated feature.
It's pretty tough to put happy former winners up against a man whose made the room a fortune in television series and what must be the most unpredicted residuals of all time from The American President -- can anyone believe how much play that thing gets?! Sorkin's a star -- A Few Good Men, Charlie Wilson's War -- and it's pretty tough to be a star writer for too long without an Oscar, unless of course you're a woman not named Jhabvala -- but that's an article for a different time.
Thus, I hope Michael Arndt kisses his original screenplay Oscar lightly on the head before limo-ing down Hollywood Boulevard. Stars align now and again -- just ask Julian Fellowes. But Sunday seems set for Sorkin.
- Matthew J. McCue
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