As the New York Times already wisely notes -- Woody Allen writes incredible roles for women. In fact, he's a far more astute writer of lead female roles than he is male. Looking at awards history -- as one should when reading this award blog -- there is only one actor ever to have ever won an Oscar in a Woody Allen role -- Mr. Michael Caine for 1986's Hannah and Her Sisters. Chazz, Matin Landau, Sean Penn, and the Woodman himself have all been nommed for other Allen pics. But it is the women who reign proud.
Victories for Diane Keaton, Mira Sorvino, Penelope Cruz, and two for Diane Wiest. Nominations for Geraldine Page, Maureen Stapleton, Judy Davis, Jennifer Tilly, and Samantha Morton.
That's a staggering amount of roles that have made it to the final five in their respective categories -- let alone the five actual victories! Interesting to note that Mia Farrow is nowhere on the list... but I digress.
The interesting thing about Woody Allen's leading lady roles is that they often have a lot in common. Having his pick of leading ladies, The Woodman has been able to change up whose headlined his films when he hasn't been dating his lead. Often, though, it seems that the character still has echoes of Allen roles that have come before. With his latest, Blue Jasmine, we find leading lady Cate Blanchett saddling up a would-be Judy Davis role and riding it with a swagger all her own.
Why put all the focus on Cate? Why not the beautiful depiction of San Francisco? Why not the ensemble cast which includes Sally Hawkins, Andrew Dice Clay, Peter Sarsgaard, Louis C.K., and Alec Baldwin -- or the adorable Alden Ehrenreich? Well... great as the city looks and excellent as that cast turns out to be -- particularly Hawkins -- this film is purely Cate's.
Blanchett plays Jasmine - nee Jeanette -- as adopted daughter who dropped out of college to marry the older, more sophisticated Alec Baldwin after meeting him on Martha's Vineyard while "Blue Moon" played. I'm ruining nothing, I assure you. She'll tell you as much in the first 90 seconds of the film and will repeat herself a number of times.
In a role similar to Mrs. Madoff, Jasmine briefly enjoyed the high-life, where money was no object and her husband was the center of her world. It was a life of relaxing, pilates, and Tori Birch shoes that all went toe up when the chickens came home to roost. Amazingly, Baldwin plays one of the rare birds who was actually captured for his gross financial indiscretions. Consequently, Jasmine is left penniless and flees to San Francisco to crash with her sister, Ginger, played by the brilliant Sally Hawkins -- whom we all loved in Happy Go-Lucky, An Education, and Never Let Go.
Somewhere along the line, Jasmine had a psychological break. The stress of her husband's downfall, her life being uprooted, and her new life with Ginger -- which is far below Jasmine's standards -- keep her a rattled, pill popping, Stoli swilling, china doll. The slightest nudge could shatter her.
This is not a woman who is particularly likeable. The more you learn about her -- the less so. This is not a woman whose struggles are one the average Joe can connect with -- outside of a couple "60 Minutes" pieces and season three of "Damages." And yet Cate Blanchett makes her accessible and sympathetic. Playing this part with her dynamic grace and elegance, Blanchett also throws in a superb case of "the nerves," and a chilled haughty edge that serves as a lousy self-defense mechanism.
From an acting standpoint, it's a tour de force. This is hands down the best lead actress performance to have come down the pike this year. Of course, the fall will run amok with them; but Cate's ahead of the game. Though she has an Oscar, it's for a supporting role nearly a decade ago.
If Denzel Washington has taught us anything -- it's that "that doesn't
count" as a "real" Oscar win. Of course it does "count;" Denzel's lesson fell on deaf ears when it comes to the McNook -- much as the press core around his Training Day nom gone victory swallowed it whole. Cate's beloved by the industry and revered for her craft. She vanished so deeply into the role of Kate Hepburn for her Aviator win, it's possible people may forget that even happened!
I don't know where Place Beyond the Pines will fall in the land of ten. I don't know whether the Academy is going to admit reality and nominate McConnaughey. I leave the entire ballot wide open. Except for one spot -- Ms. Blanchett's lead actress slot. Consider it filled. Four to go in that crowd.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
The Conjuring...
I will never see Saw. I make that clear in blog posts from time to time when I find it relevant. Oddly, that's often proven to be the case, lately -- but what can you do. For this particular entry, it's relevant because James Wan, the gifted director behind The Conjuring and Insidious started it all of with a little film called Saw ... which -- by all reports -- did kind of well and may have had a feature or two -- oh yeah, and those saws aren't for the chains, Cary Elwes, they're for your ankles. So it's a no.
Horrible cruelty and extreme violence of an Eli Roth shock value nature hold no interest for me -- despite the morality play that might be bubbling beneath the surface. In short, I never need to know how you got that key out from behind your eye.
But with Insidious and now The Conjuring, James Wan's focus has been far more on the supernatural than it has been on grit, guts, and gore. September 13 -- Friday the 13th -- shall mark the release of Insidious 2. While I wonder how far one can go with that plot line -- or how there's even a sequel with the full cast (except one wrung neck) considering how the first installment ended -- the fact that it's now a franchise should come as no surprise. While the film industry has been polarizing into enormous 3-D spectacles and little tiny art house pics hoping for an iTunes release -- horror has held as a form with low budgets and high grosses. The phenomenon of Paranormal Activity is a sure bet; it's full budget is less than a day of catering on a Downey, Jr. movie -- why not just do it? Profits rolling in at the 1000 to 10,000 % levels doesn't hurt either. James Wan has made the wise decision to keep his films cheap and to keep them raking in dough -- and they're drawing in audiences because the stories are strong and compelling -- and the mythologies are freakishly believable.
I'm not going to sit here and ruin the plot of Insidious for you -- I want you to Netflix stream that sucker for yourself. But I will say this -- for a while there you have absolutely no idea what is going on and you are completely freaked out. And then these paranormal experts arrive, lay down the "facts" about what's up in the Rose Byrne/Patrick Wilson house -- and you buy it. Throw on a tape recorder, some weird head peace, and a couple of flashbulbs -- and yes, with a tiny bit of explanation, I am absolutely willing to believe there are ghosts all over the room and that we're all in terrible danger.
That story aspect is the cornerstone of Wan's latest -- The Conjuring. Based on the true events that took place at the house visited by demonologists before heading to exorcise that charming little Dutch Colonial on Long Island. Here, Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga (who I think is doing some of her best work) are a married couple that travel around to investigate paranormal activity and hopefully bring peace to the victims thereof. And they have quite a track record. Wilson is the only non-ordained man the Catholic Church lets assess folks for exorcisms (though he's not permitted to perform them -- you need a trusty Jesuit for that) and Farmiga is a clairvoyant who can tap into the energy of the location -- the evil that took place, the spirits that are at unrest. In short -- they're a great team.
And this time, rather than making the investigator a truly secondary set of characters, Wan had the brilliant idea to split the movie nearly in two -- Lily Taylor, Ron Livingston, and their daughters living in their newly purchased haunted house -- and Wilson and Farmiga -- ghost hunters. The film bounces back and forth between the two parties before colliding them when Taylor is at her most desperate.
Unlike Mama -- or so many other horror films that have come out the past year -- which try to whip up some insane ghost explanation for why the place you're dealing with is so damn terrible -- why the spirits are at unrest -- why you're in extreme danger -- Wan keeps it simple. Want to know why this place is bad? Here's the explanation. Want the clairvoyant to see some creepy stuff? No problem. Want Lily Taylor to play the worst game of hide and seek in years? Done deal. We, as the audience, sit there screaming "Get out! Get out! Get out!" "I don't care that you have a mortgage!" "Get a hotel room!" Of course, the brilliance of an exorcism film is that it's no so much a question of you getting out of the house -- as it's a question of whatever's in the house getting inside of you.
Of course... by the time you realize that... you're too late. And that's just great for us!
It behooves me to speak briefly about the criticism The Conjuring will more than likely receive for the exorcism portions. Folks are immediately going to throw it up against the William Friedkin for comparison. I believe that we're going to have to say as a society that this is simply unfair. We can rent out the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, have Billy Friedkin come down there, and crown him the king of all things possession. It's true -- there's nothing that film did that any other film about possession has ever done better. And the awful thing for all predecessors is it seems what happened in the 1973 Ellen Burstyn masterpiece was everything on the menu: mumbled Latin, crazy vomit, crucifixes trying to push their way out from inside your gut. You know... Exorcism 101. What I can say about The Conjuring is that it made some excellent selections from the menu and the presentation was superb.
And now it behooves me to speak of Lily Taylor -- most famous for films like Dogfight, Say Anything, and Mystic Pizza. I'm sure there are those who also adored her in "Six Feet Under" or my personal favorite Taylor role, I Shot Andy Warhol. When it comes to horror, Ms. Taylor was unfortunate enough to be in The Haunting -- a film whose cast had a great pedigree and whose plot was simply lousy. It's a bad movie. So bad that it caused folks to skip the Geoffrey Rush remake of House on Haunted Hill -- the far superior of the two. Here, in The Conjuring, Lily Taylor is exceptional. Let me begin by saying how damn good she looks at the start of the film. Whatever she's eating, however she's exercising -- I'd like to know. Of course one wants one's lead to look particularly good at the start when one plans to drag them and their children through hell. And Lily Taylor does a hell of a job taking that journey. I don't know who else would be able to do this role -- and it's the triangle of Wilson, Farmiga, and Taylor that hold this picture together and elevate it above your average horror.
I suggest going during the day -- so you can exit during sunlight and make it back to your homes safely -- but then again, doing something like that might just show the spirits you're weak and make your soul all the more easily stolen.
Horrible cruelty and extreme violence of an Eli Roth shock value nature hold no interest for me -- despite the morality play that might be bubbling beneath the surface. In short, I never need to know how you got that key out from behind your eye.
But with Insidious and now The Conjuring, James Wan's focus has been far more on the supernatural than it has been on grit, guts, and gore. September 13 -- Friday the 13th -- shall mark the release of Insidious 2. While I wonder how far one can go with that plot line -- or how there's even a sequel with the full cast (except one wrung neck) considering how the first installment ended -- the fact that it's now a franchise should come as no surprise. While the film industry has been polarizing into enormous 3-D spectacles and little tiny art house pics hoping for an iTunes release -- horror has held as a form with low budgets and high grosses. The phenomenon of Paranormal Activity is a sure bet; it's full budget is less than a day of catering on a Downey, Jr. movie -- why not just do it? Profits rolling in at the 1000 to 10,000 % levels doesn't hurt either. James Wan has made the wise decision to keep his films cheap and to keep them raking in dough -- and they're drawing in audiences because the stories are strong and compelling -- and the mythologies are freakishly believable.
I'm not going to sit here and ruin the plot of Insidious for you -- I want you to Netflix stream that sucker for yourself. But I will say this -- for a while there you have absolutely no idea what is going on and you are completely freaked out. And then these paranormal experts arrive, lay down the "facts" about what's up in the Rose Byrne/Patrick Wilson house -- and you buy it. Throw on a tape recorder, some weird head peace, and a couple of flashbulbs -- and yes, with a tiny bit of explanation, I am absolutely willing to believe there are ghosts all over the room and that we're all in terrible danger.
That story aspect is the cornerstone of Wan's latest -- The Conjuring. Based on the true events that took place at the house visited by demonologists before heading to exorcise that charming little Dutch Colonial on Long Island. Here, Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga (who I think is doing some of her best work) are a married couple that travel around to investigate paranormal activity and hopefully bring peace to the victims thereof. And they have quite a track record. Wilson is the only non-ordained man the Catholic Church lets assess folks for exorcisms (though he's not permitted to perform them -- you need a trusty Jesuit for that) and Farmiga is a clairvoyant who can tap into the energy of the location -- the evil that took place, the spirits that are at unrest. In short -- they're a great team.
And this time, rather than making the investigator a truly secondary set of characters, Wan had the brilliant idea to split the movie nearly in two -- Lily Taylor, Ron Livingston, and their daughters living in their newly purchased haunted house -- and Wilson and Farmiga -- ghost hunters. The film bounces back and forth between the two parties before colliding them when Taylor is at her most desperate.
Unlike Mama -- or so many other horror films that have come out the past year -- which try to whip up some insane ghost explanation for why the place you're dealing with is so damn terrible -- why the spirits are at unrest -- why you're in extreme danger -- Wan keeps it simple. Want to know why this place is bad? Here's the explanation. Want the clairvoyant to see some creepy stuff? No problem. Want Lily Taylor to play the worst game of hide and seek in years? Done deal. We, as the audience, sit there screaming "Get out! Get out! Get out!" "I don't care that you have a mortgage!" "Get a hotel room!" Of course, the brilliance of an exorcism film is that it's no so much a question of you getting out of the house -- as it's a question of whatever's in the house getting inside of you.
Of course... by the time you realize that... you're too late. And that's just great for us!
It behooves me to speak briefly about the criticism The Conjuring will more than likely receive for the exorcism portions. Folks are immediately going to throw it up against the William Friedkin for comparison. I believe that we're going to have to say as a society that this is simply unfair. We can rent out the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, have Billy Friedkin come down there, and crown him the king of all things possession. It's true -- there's nothing that film did that any other film about possession has ever done better. And the awful thing for all predecessors is it seems what happened in the 1973 Ellen Burstyn masterpiece was everything on the menu: mumbled Latin, crazy vomit, crucifixes trying to push their way out from inside your gut. You know... Exorcism 101. What I can say about The Conjuring is that it made some excellent selections from the menu and the presentation was superb.
And now it behooves me to speak of Lily Taylor -- most famous for films like Dogfight, Say Anything, and Mystic Pizza. I'm sure there are those who also adored her in "Six Feet Under" or my personal favorite Taylor role, I Shot Andy Warhol. When it comes to horror, Ms. Taylor was unfortunate enough to be in The Haunting -- a film whose cast had a great pedigree and whose plot was simply lousy. It's a bad movie. So bad that it caused folks to skip the Geoffrey Rush remake of House on Haunted Hill -- the far superior of the two. Here, in The Conjuring, Lily Taylor is exceptional. Let me begin by saying how damn good she looks at the start of the film. Whatever she's eating, however she's exercising -- I'd like to know. Of course one wants one's lead to look particularly good at the start when one plans to drag them and their children through hell. And Lily Taylor does a hell of a job taking that journey. I don't know who else would be able to do this role -- and it's the triangle of Wilson, Farmiga, and Taylor that hold this picture together and elevate it above your average horror.
I suggest going during the day -- so you can exit during sunlight and make it back to your homes safely -- but then again, doing something like that might just show the spirits you're weak and make your soul all the more easily stolen.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Only God Forgives The Wolverine...
Only God Forgives...
I was a huge fan of Drive. In fact, I thought it was truly screwed when it came to the Academy Awards and it thrust Ryan Gosling into that "what's this guy have to do to get a nomination around here?" category. Only Half Nelson -- so don't get yourself into a Gary Oldman quagmire over this one... the guy is supremely under-nominated.
Yes, it was a violent. And those of you who know me well know that I abhor violence and that it is -- besides the presence of Andie MacDowell -- one of the surefire ways to keep me from seeing a film. I'll admit to having seen half of Django with eyes shielded, half of Inglorious under similar constraints and as I've said time and again "I will never see Saw." Thus, I don't even know what happened with Albert Brooks and that fork in Drive -- I just know that it was really, really bad.
However, in Drive there was a subtle excellence in a small crime film that got out of hand quickly all while having a sweet little Gosling/Mulligan love story. They were an excellent pairing and it was a great way for Carey and Ryan to capitalize on their other performances of that same year Shame for the CM and the one-two punch of Ides of March (which I consider a bit lackluster) and Crazy Stupid Love (a champ of a film) for the RG. All this coupled with the soundtrack by College and you had a great film on your hands.
Drive was the start of a great new pairing of director and star -- just the kind of relationship a down-home artistic actor like Ryan Gosling thrives in.
As Place Beyond the Pines rolled into town -- this time on two wheels -- I was under the false impression this was the latest from Drive director Nicolas Winding Refn, only to be swiftly corrected that Pines was the work of Mr. Derk "Blue Valentine" Cianfrance. My mistake -- months ago though it was when I made it -- briefly.
No, the follow-up picture for Mr. Refn is the now highly controversial (whatever that means in this day and age) Only God Forgives. I defiantly rented the sucker through iTunes last week to give it a view under all the heated criticism and Razzie predictions. I was hoping it would prove to be a film others relished in despising but I -- this great other mind -- would enjoy. I could not have been more wrong.
Those of you who read this blog and who talk to me about movies know that it's very difficult for me to point out films that I just plain hate. Quite hard. I look for the saving graces, failed attempts, and the "what they were going fors" in nearly every thing I lay my eyes on. With Only God Forgives, I'm at a loss on every level. I wasn't annoyed. I wasn't "grossed out." I wasn't offended. Yeah... they lop people's bodies to pieces in a glorified way that's almost as annoying as an Alex Garland Beach follow-up -- I'm looking at you, Tesseract! And I know we're in Asia (which is why I lumped this one with Wolverine), but what is with all the swords and silence? It was my impression that among the many things the Western World got from their ventures to the East was gun powder. Is just shooting people too much to ask from an action film?
There's a moment deep into Mike Nichols' The Birdcage where Nathan Lane is in "convincing" drag and breaks character with a great, "What?" showing just how flummoxed and caught off-guard he is. The tone of that single-syllable "What?" is my review of Only God Forgives.
Nevertheless, I'm happy to see Kristin Scott Thomas working. Anything that gets her on the screen is to be lauded. The lady is superb and should be in everything. Hire her today. (Don't use OGF as part of her audition reel when casting).
Rent Place Beyond the Pines -- still one of the year's finest films. And I'm certain this was just a blip for Mr. Refn; thee man has talent and I hope his next Gosling pic is a slam dunk.
THE WOLVERINE...
Oh how I waited for them to make this Wolverine story as opposed to whatever the hell that last X-Men Origins debacle was. Before righting the ship, Marvel made some missteps in there... like The Hulk, X-Men 3, The Hulk, and I almost want to say Thor (I'm in the minority and promised I'd watch it again before rendering my final verdict).
This Wolverine -- The Wolverine -- is quite good. I don't know what the movie going experience would be like for someone unaware of the Bryan Singer films -- it relies heavily on their back story -- and has a great end-credit scene leading us into Singer's neXt installment, Days of Future Past. But it is great. For those who would detract or claim that it is my Jackman blindness that's responsible for my using the word great -- let me offer this:
The Wolverine is an X-Man -- whether he likes it or not. He's also a solider -- whether he likes it or not. He also has an incredible history -- whether he likes it or not. He is the only character from the X world about whom a singular story can be effectively made -- until that great day when someone makes the Magneto movie and I have to be carted away to place with standard issue terrycloth robes and free cigarettes.
He's not going to fly around and save the world like Superman. He's not from some other land with troubles we could never fully grasp -- like Thor or... well... Superman. And completely divulging his origin is about as stupid as doing so to Hannibal Lecter -- we all saw how well continually revealing that myth worked out on the big screen -- sister soup? Please.
And Logan/Weapon X/Wolverine is not going head to head with one arch-nemesis like the Bat -- much as people like to think that putting him up against Sabertooth would do just that. They're mistaken, as the "let's pretend it never happened" previous Wolverine movie proves.
A tortured man of honor who has lived through too much history with powers he despises -- which others are constantly trying to either steal or enhance and then exploit. That is Wolverine. And that is what happens in this picture by James Mangold -- who was kind enough to step away from his stream of Oscar worthy films like Copland, Girl, Interrupted..., Walk the Line and 3:10 to Yuma -- to helm this comic pic. And he did it as the master directors who've worthily and successfully taken the comic challenge have: by relying on the already rich source material -- like Mr. Brannagh, Mr. Wheedon, and Mr. Nolan -- and getting some great writers on board -- in this case, Mark Bomback (if it's exploded in the past 10 years, he wrote some of it) and Scott Frank (Spielberg's often "go-to" who's penned films as wide ranging as Little Man Tate, Minority Report, and Out of Sight).
Unlike the mystery of swords in Only God Forgives, here they worked perfectly. The man has six blades that shoot out of his body when he gets upset -- throw him up against ninjas and the Yakuza -- they're the right villains! Just as Magneto is the perfect guy to freeze Logan and his adamantium skeleton in its tracks. There's a great expression -- often falsely attributed to Connery's character in The Untouchables -- he says something close, but not this -- "Don't bring a knife to a gun fight." Well this guy has knives as a part of his skeleton. So they made it a knife fight and a sword fight. It works. It delivers.
Enjoy The Wolverine.
I was a huge fan of Drive. In fact, I thought it was truly screwed when it came to the Academy Awards and it thrust Ryan Gosling into that "what's this guy have to do to get a nomination around here?" category. Only Half Nelson -- so don't get yourself into a Gary Oldman quagmire over this one... the guy is supremely under-nominated.
Yes, it was a violent. And those of you who know me well know that I abhor violence and that it is -- besides the presence of Andie MacDowell -- one of the surefire ways to keep me from seeing a film. I'll admit to having seen half of Django with eyes shielded, half of Inglorious under similar constraints and as I've said time and again "I will never see Saw." Thus, I don't even know what happened with Albert Brooks and that fork in Drive -- I just know that it was really, really bad.
However, in Drive there was a subtle excellence in a small crime film that got out of hand quickly all while having a sweet little Gosling/Mulligan love story. They were an excellent pairing and it was a great way for Carey and Ryan to capitalize on their other performances of that same year Shame for the CM and the one-two punch of Ides of March (which I consider a bit lackluster) and Crazy Stupid Love (a champ of a film) for the RG. All this coupled with the soundtrack by College and you had a great film on your hands.
Drive was the start of a great new pairing of director and star -- just the kind of relationship a down-home artistic actor like Ryan Gosling thrives in.
As Place Beyond the Pines rolled into town -- this time on two wheels -- I was under the false impression this was the latest from Drive director Nicolas Winding Refn, only to be swiftly corrected that Pines was the work of Mr. Derk "Blue Valentine" Cianfrance. My mistake -- months ago though it was when I made it -- briefly.
No, the follow-up picture for Mr. Refn is the now highly controversial (whatever that means in this day and age) Only God Forgives. I defiantly rented the sucker through iTunes last week to give it a view under all the heated criticism and Razzie predictions. I was hoping it would prove to be a film others relished in despising but I -- this great other mind -- would enjoy. I could not have been more wrong.
Those of you who read this blog and who talk to me about movies know that it's very difficult for me to point out films that I just plain hate. Quite hard. I look for the saving graces, failed attempts, and the "what they were going fors" in nearly every thing I lay my eyes on. With Only God Forgives, I'm at a loss on every level. I wasn't annoyed. I wasn't "grossed out." I wasn't offended. Yeah... they lop people's bodies to pieces in a glorified way that's almost as annoying as an Alex Garland Beach follow-up -- I'm looking at you, Tesseract! And I know we're in Asia (which is why I lumped this one with Wolverine), but what is with all the swords and silence? It was my impression that among the many things the Western World got from their ventures to the East was gun powder. Is just shooting people too much to ask from an action film?
There's a moment deep into Mike Nichols' The Birdcage where Nathan Lane is in "convincing" drag and breaks character with a great, "What?" showing just how flummoxed and caught off-guard he is. The tone of that single-syllable "What?" is my review of Only God Forgives.
Nevertheless, I'm happy to see Kristin Scott Thomas working. Anything that gets her on the screen is to be lauded. The lady is superb and should be in everything. Hire her today. (Don't use OGF as part of her audition reel when casting).
Rent Place Beyond the Pines -- still one of the year's finest films. And I'm certain this was just a blip for Mr. Refn; thee man has talent and I hope his next Gosling pic is a slam dunk.
THE WOLVERINE...
Oh how I waited for them to make this Wolverine story as opposed to whatever the hell that last X-Men Origins debacle was. Before righting the ship, Marvel made some missteps in there... like The Hulk, X-Men 3, The Hulk, and I almost want to say Thor (I'm in the minority and promised I'd watch it again before rendering my final verdict).
This Wolverine -- The Wolverine -- is quite good. I don't know what the movie going experience would be like for someone unaware of the Bryan Singer films -- it relies heavily on their back story -- and has a great end-credit scene leading us into Singer's neXt installment, Days of Future Past. But it is great. For those who would detract or claim that it is my Jackman blindness that's responsible for my using the word great -- let me offer this:
The Wolverine is an X-Man -- whether he likes it or not. He's also a solider -- whether he likes it or not. He also has an incredible history -- whether he likes it or not. He is the only character from the X world about whom a singular story can be effectively made -- until that great day when someone makes the Magneto movie and I have to be carted away to place with standard issue terrycloth robes and free cigarettes.
He's not going to fly around and save the world like Superman. He's not from some other land with troubles we could never fully grasp -- like Thor or... well... Superman. And completely divulging his origin is about as stupid as doing so to Hannibal Lecter -- we all saw how well continually revealing that myth worked out on the big screen -- sister soup? Please.
And Logan/Weapon X/Wolverine is not going head to head with one arch-nemesis like the Bat -- much as people like to think that putting him up against Sabertooth would do just that. They're mistaken, as the "let's pretend it never happened" previous Wolverine movie proves.
A tortured man of honor who has lived through too much history with powers he despises -- which others are constantly trying to either steal or enhance and then exploit. That is Wolverine. And that is what happens in this picture by James Mangold -- who was kind enough to step away from his stream of Oscar worthy films like Copland, Girl, Interrupted..., Walk the Line and 3:10 to Yuma -- to helm this comic pic. And he did it as the master directors who've worthily and successfully taken the comic challenge have: by relying on the already rich source material -- like Mr. Brannagh, Mr. Wheedon, and Mr. Nolan -- and getting some great writers on board -- in this case, Mark Bomback (if it's exploded in the past 10 years, he wrote some of it) and Scott Frank (Spielberg's often "go-to" who's penned films as wide ranging as Little Man Tate, Minority Report, and Out of Sight).
Unlike the mystery of swords in Only God Forgives, here they worked perfectly. The man has six blades that shoot out of his body when he gets upset -- throw him up against ninjas and the Yakuza -- they're the right villains! Just as Magneto is the perfect guy to freeze Logan and his adamantium skeleton in its tracks. There's a great expression -- often falsely attributed to Connery's character in The Untouchables -- he says something close, but not this -- "Don't bring a knife to a gun fight." Well this guy has knives as a part of his skeleton. So they made it a knife fight and a sword fight. It works. It delivers.
Enjoy The Wolverine.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
House of Cards Emmy Noms Will Change the Game
There's a lot to be said about movies since Mud.
Bling Ring, Behind the Candelabra, The Heat -- and how Sandy Bullock will never stop being a success. Much to say... but lest we not forget -- I remind me from time to time, too -- that this is an awards driven blog.
We're on the brink of hearing the Emmy nominations. There is an amazing phenomenon that was truly kicked off this year by Netflix's "House of Cards." We all know that by now, this is not news. However, what's interesting when it comes to the world of the Emmys is that Netflix is not a television channel -- it is an entertainment delivery system. So how this sucker is going to play into this year's awards ought to be quite fascinating.
The excellent thing to point out -- right off the bat -- is that the only reason there's an issue that will drastically change the landscape of television should "House of Cards" be nominated for best series and should Spacey, Wright, Mara, and Corey Stoll lock up acting noms (if not more folk than that) -- the only reason it's going to be able to pull this off is because it's a piece of high quality. Ignoring it would make Emmy look stupid.
This is not -- I repeat, this is not the first original web series that could have been all over your Emmy ballot. "Lilyhammer," anyone? But this massive piece of Fincher level quality that the world devoured the second it was released was an entirely different story. "House of Cards" is a force to be reckoned with.
So what does this mean? Does this mean that if something is produced by Netflix that it is a "television movie?" What if it's simul-released in theaters? And here's the biggest stretcheroo of them all -- but a legitimate question nevertheless -- what if I can watch a series on Netflix that isn't yet available in the United States via network television -- why isn't it eligible for awards now?
Used to be you needed American television distribution during the award calendar window and that you hadn't previously been exhibited in the United States via another means -- etc. etc. etc. What does the very existence of a Netflix do to all that?
I frankly find it exciting and hope that Emmy isn't silly enough to simply bestow honorary awards on "House of Cards" and then give its own category -- like Oscar and Tony have done before. This is the new "cable." Full acceptance, Emmy. And voters need to vote on quality, not on whether their jobs will be threatened.
There was a year I like to call 1991... when Beauty and the Beast became the first (and -- in my opinion - LAST) animated film nominated for best picture. It lost. Digital was invented. Lasseter was given an honorary Oscar for Toy Story and a separate category for animated film was created. If you think that wasn't because actors were terrified that they would be replaced with cartoons -- you're insane. That was the lion share of this cocktail. Take a look around at how much is animated now. Look how many voice actors it employs. Take a look at the length of the credits. You think people lost work?
In one year the phrase "web-series" went from being the equivalent of "I could always make earrings in the garage to make ends meet" to being synonymous with "depending on the company, it's better than network." I say embrace it and let the future roll in.
We'll know soon enough.
Bling Ring, Behind the Candelabra, The Heat -- and how Sandy Bullock will never stop being a success. Much to say... but lest we not forget -- I remind me from time to time, too -- that this is an awards driven blog.
We're on the brink of hearing the Emmy nominations. There is an amazing phenomenon that was truly kicked off this year by Netflix's "House of Cards." We all know that by now, this is not news. However, what's interesting when it comes to the world of the Emmys is that Netflix is not a television channel -- it is an entertainment delivery system. So how this sucker is going to play into this year's awards ought to be quite fascinating.
The excellent thing to point out -- right off the bat -- is that the only reason there's an issue that will drastically change the landscape of television should "House of Cards" be nominated for best series and should Spacey, Wright, Mara, and Corey Stoll lock up acting noms (if not more folk than that) -- the only reason it's going to be able to pull this off is because it's a piece of high quality. Ignoring it would make Emmy look stupid.
This is not -- I repeat, this is not the first original web series that could have been all over your Emmy ballot. "Lilyhammer," anyone? But this massive piece of Fincher level quality that the world devoured the second it was released was an entirely different story. "House of Cards" is a force to be reckoned with.
So what does this mean? Does this mean that if something is produced by Netflix that it is a "television movie?" What if it's simul-released in theaters? And here's the biggest stretcheroo of them all -- but a legitimate question nevertheless -- what if I can watch a series on Netflix that isn't yet available in the United States via network television -- why isn't it eligible for awards now?
Used to be you needed American television distribution during the award calendar window and that you hadn't previously been exhibited in the United States via another means -- etc. etc. etc. What does the very existence of a Netflix do to all that?
I frankly find it exciting and hope that Emmy isn't silly enough to simply bestow honorary awards on "House of Cards" and then give its own category -- like Oscar and Tony have done before. This is the new "cable." Full acceptance, Emmy. And voters need to vote on quality, not on whether their jobs will be threatened.
There was a year I like to call 1991... when Beauty and the Beast became the first (and -- in my opinion - LAST) animated film nominated for best picture. It lost. Digital was invented. Lasseter was given an honorary Oscar for Toy Story and a separate category for animated film was created. If you think that wasn't because actors were terrified that they would be replaced with cartoons -- you're insane. That was the lion share of this cocktail. Take a look around at how much is animated now. Look how many voice actors it employs. Take a look at the length of the credits. You think people lost work?
In one year the phrase "web-series" went from being the equivalent of "I could always make earrings in the garage to make ends meet" to being synonymous with "depending on the company, it's better than network." I say embrace it and let the future roll in.
We'll know soon enough.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
MUD-thew McConaughey
Alright, Alright, Alright...
Mud is a modern day Huck Finn that feels as if it were brined in a heavy dose of Tracy Letts. It turns out, that recipe's a one way ticket to a succulent meal. Two boys who live on the river -- one with a beneficent guardian, the other with tumultuous parents find a fugitive living in a boat in a tree. They strike a bargain with the fugitive, helping him in the name of love.
It's Harper Lee-ville. Mississippi Burning. The War -- only tougher.
But let's just cut to the chase -- what everyone's going to be talking about is the fact that McConaughey plays the fugitive. When George had Reese on GMA as part of her "I should have stayed in the car" apology tour, they both gushed about the rebirth of Matt Damon's favorite target -- the McConz.
I'm here to report that he's still riding the wave.
Somewhere around the time McConaughey was signing the deal to make Lincoln Lawyer, he either had hit rock bottom and was rolling the dice -- or he was making a remarkably calculated come back. There are those who will point out his role in Tropic Thunder, claiming that marked his resurrection -- could be - I consider a blip between rather awful romantic comedies - it's no "Ally McBeal" or Wonder Boys. But since the days of Lincoln Lawyer McC has carved out a place for his tripped out mystical Texan with a heart and a faulty line of logic. He has cornered the market on ... well... himself -- a character type that happens to align perfectly with the shady side of the current wave of thinker indies. These heady blue collar films have been some of the strongest works we've seen on the festival circuit and spilling out of the mini majors: Hesher, Winter's Bone, Blue Valentine, Killer Joe. We've had a spate of intellectual rural indies whose writers and directors have tapped back into cinema and literary history.
This Huck Finn shiz suits Matt McC perfectly. As did Killer Joe. As did The Paperboy. As did Magic Mike. This man is back in a major way. If we're going to dole out Oscar nominations to Alec Badlwin for The Cooler and Robert Downey, Jr. for Tropic Thunder -- then McConaughey can't be frar behind. This could well be the flick.
All of that will depend on how the audience connects with the lead of this film, the incredible Tye Sheridan -- who's all but sixteen now and looks far younger on screen. This is a master turn. It's the kind of work we're loving from guys like John Hawkes and Sheridan's Mud co-star Michael Shannon: a genuine young man from a down-on-their-luck part of the country, who's trying to be a better man, and gets disappointed by the system. Well, there's a lot of that going around lately. Turns out it works just as well on the river as it did in Hesher's suburbs. But as was the case with Hesher where all the JGL in the world didn't mean a thing without the spine that was the young Devin Brochu -- Tye Sheridan walks an elegant tightrope -- frightening us when we think he'll fall -- shocking us when he actually does -- and all in the name of perfectly executed drama. This kid's fantastic. As is the pre-teen John C. Reilly-esque best friend "Neckbone," played by Jacob Lofland. If these two weren't Huck and Tom-ing it, none of the adult actors -- all of whom are quite good -- would have the chance to enjoy their characters.
It ain't easy to steer a motorboat when you're headed up stream.
When a newcomer teenager does so adeptly, one has to take his hat off to the director, Jeff Nichols.
After Take Shelter and now Mud, Mr. Lofland is showing himself as a force to be reckoned with. This sophomore effort is solid. Crystal clear, emotionally solid, and as much an allegory as it is believable -- Mud is the work of a director who knows his craft. I understand that Mr. Lofland's success is giving him the chance to track down any actors he pleases -- it seems he should stick with the character types that make his films indelible. For some reason the known quantities -- save McConaughey - aren't playing the way they might for Paul Thomas Anderson.
Let's hope Mud's a film that we're still talking about next February -- and not just saying, "Oh, yeah. That was good -- what happened?" This is the new indie that could gun right up the middle in the age of 10.
Mud is a modern day Huck Finn that feels as if it were brined in a heavy dose of Tracy Letts. It turns out, that recipe's a one way ticket to a succulent meal. Two boys who live on the river -- one with a beneficent guardian, the other with tumultuous parents find a fugitive living in a boat in a tree. They strike a bargain with the fugitive, helping him in the name of love.
It's Harper Lee-ville. Mississippi Burning. The War -- only tougher.
But let's just cut to the chase -- what everyone's going to be talking about is the fact that McConaughey plays the fugitive. When George had Reese on GMA as part of her "I should have stayed in the car" apology tour, they both gushed about the rebirth of Matt Damon's favorite target -- the McConz.
I'm here to report that he's still riding the wave.
Somewhere around the time McConaughey was signing the deal to make Lincoln Lawyer, he either had hit rock bottom and was rolling the dice -- or he was making a remarkably calculated come back. There are those who will point out his role in Tropic Thunder, claiming that marked his resurrection -- could be - I consider a blip between rather awful romantic comedies - it's no "Ally McBeal" or Wonder Boys. But since the days of Lincoln Lawyer McC has carved out a place for his tripped out mystical Texan with a heart and a faulty line of logic. He has cornered the market on ... well... himself -- a character type that happens to align perfectly with the shady side of the current wave of thinker indies. These heady blue collar films have been some of the strongest works we've seen on the festival circuit and spilling out of the mini majors: Hesher, Winter's Bone, Blue Valentine, Killer Joe. We've had a spate of intellectual rural indies whose writers and directors have tapped back into cinema and literary history.
This Huck Finn shiz suits Matt McC perfectly. As did Killer Joe. As did The Paperboy. As did Magic Mike. This man is back in a major way. If we're going to dole out Oscar nominations to Alec Badlwin for The Cooler and Robert Downey, Jr. for Tropic Thunder -- then McConaughey can't be frar behind. This could well be the flick.
All of that will depend on how the audience connects with the lead of this film, the incredible Tye Sheridan -- who's all but sixteen now and looks far younger on screen. This is a master turn. It's the kind of work we're loving from guys like John Hawkes and Sheridan's Mud co-star Michael Shannon: a genuine young man from a down-on-their-luck part of the country, who's trying to be a better man, and gets disappointed by the system. Well, there's a lot of that going around lately. Turns out it works just as well on the river as it did in Hesher's suburbs. But as was the case with Hesher where all the JGL in the world didn't mean a thing without the spine that was the young Devin Brochu -- Tye Sheridan walks an elegant tightrope -- frightening us when we think he'll fall -- shocking us when he actually does -- and all in the name of perfectly executed drama. This kid's fantastic. As is the pre-teen John C. Reilly-esque best friend "Neckbone," played by Jacob Lofland. If these two weren't Huck and Tom-ing it, none of the adult actors -- all of whom are quite good -- would have the chance to enjoy their characters.
It ain't easy to steer a motorboat when you're headed up stream.
When a newcomer teenager does so adeptly, one has to take his hat off to the director, Jeff Nichols.
After Take Shelter and now Mud, Mr. Lofland is showing himself as a force to be reckoned with. This sophomore effort is solid. Crystal clear, emotionally solid, and as much an allegory as it is believable -- Mud is the work of a director who knows his craft. I understand that Mr. Lofland's success is giving him the chance to track down any actors he pleases -- it seems he should stick with the character types that make his films indelible. For some reason the known quantities -- save McConaughey - aren't playing the way they might for Paul Thomas Anderson.
Let's hope Mud's a film that we're still talking about next February -- and not just saying, "Oh, yeah. That was good -- what happened?" This is the new indie that could gun right up the middle in the age of 10.
Friday, May 10, 2013
The Great Gatsby: All that Baz...
*edited to get the point across better...
"How would you characterize 'The Great Gatsby'?"
"He was... uh... great!"
- Rodney Dangerfield, Back to School
At this point you're either under 18, not a film goer, or an idiot if you haven't formulated an opinion about the work of Baz Luhrmann. He's such a hyper-stylized director that you're either in or your our. For those of us who are in, it seems that when all is said and done, the best slice of Baz-ness is the much hailed Romeo and Juliet -- the film that made Leo the Leo Titanic would solidify and also the film that had me wondering -- throughout Gatsby -- whether Claire Danes could have played Daisy Buchanan.
Considering this is an awards blog -- and considering the state of Luhrmann's Gatsby, I'd be remiss not to include Moulin Rouge! -- Baz' best picture nominee. There are those, like me, who are a tad obsessed -- loving the soundtrack, thinking it might be cozy to live in an elephant. But for as many who loved it, there were people who loathed it whether they liked R&J or not. But the truth of the matter is that Moulin Rouge is the best (modern) jukebox musical -- bar none. It's a form that catches a lot of hell -- but within the form, Baz delivered. I don't know how they'll ever bring it to the stage considering Satine drops dead at the end and who the hell wants to pay $500 to take the kids to see that? And yet I know that when Mr. Luhrmann brings it to the stage, it shall he yet another marvel.
The reason I know this is that Mr. Luhrmann -- I'm just going to sail right past Australia! if you'll permit me -- is clearly now -- and seemingly always was -- an opera director. Look back over the films. What we're watching is the progression of a man who loves spectacles -- and not just the brassy pair looming over the valley of ashes. The Great Gatsby proves that the fuel to Baz' fire is not excellent storytelling, it's not even great performances, it's explosive visuals with moments of high drama.
I'm going to meander about as I assess the film -- if for no other reason that the film itself meanders about -- inviting one to critique it thusly. So let me lay out a couple of quick clear statements about the Leo Gatz...
It's better than the Redford.
It's surprisingly faithful to the book.
It is ultimately a good movie.
If you're a Bazian, you may be incredibly happy... or you may have my conflicted reaction...
Call (516) MOU-LIN2 now for great offers on FitzGerald!!!
My gut reaction is that I'm a little surprised Baz "Rouged" it in. You're really just watching Moulin Rouge! - Nassau County Edition. The camera work, the dancing, the art direction -- all quite MR. When you strip the plot down to bare bones -- they comparison is even more obvious. There are very limited differences between this story and Moulin Rouge -- Christ, if they'd said "penniless" one more time, I would have started wondering if Gatsby was a sitar player.
At the same time, you come to the realization that what makes many pieces of American literature great is that they are, at their core, very simple stories. Our experience of them through the author's selected word choice is really what matters. As I was watching this film I couldn't shake the feeling of, "Well, yeah, that's it." that kept washing over me. The thing's faithful. And, to be honest, something about it feels -- despite the cartoonishness of it -- a bit more faithful than the Bob Evans.
What today's release proved, if anything else, is that Gatsby is one of those rare novels that simply can't be filmed. The loss of language destroys it. It didn't matter that you heard Nick Carraway speaking direct quotes about our being "borne back ceaselessly to the past." What struck was that the emotion is unfilmable. What are you going to do, show a rowboat tugging on its mooring? You know what the rhymes with? Boring.
You realize, too, that's not really a sentence whose saying aloud gives a sense of revelation -- unless we're talking about The Hotel New Hampshire.
Baz gussied it up and sent it down the runway. Millions of English Lit students rejoice!
However, I have to say that as a bona fide Fitzfan, it felt empty. True, it could be that there was something to the film's picture and sound process that gave the feeling of disembodiment. But for a novel from such a tragic figure, that has a love story many rank as one of the all time greats -- it just doesn't have a convincing heart. Again, that heart seemed a medium based loss.
The only performance that one need speak of is Leonardo DiCaprio... Gatsby himself.
It was interesting to see that there were shots of Leonardo DiCaprio that were phantoms of his Romeo. For me, those moments highlighted the fact that it has been a long time since Leo has been in a convincing romantic relationship on screen. His roles are always so damn tragic: he's always winding up unhappy and dead. Gangs of New York, Aviator, Departed, Blood Diamond, Inception, and Shutter Island weren't exactly laugh factories. Nor did they have many warm beds. One of the few times he's been momentarily happily married ended up being Revolutionary Road. The audience is estranged from watching Leo be romantic. It's a dangerous place for him to be -- especially when Ryan Gosling's strutting through every other picture, desperately in love. Obviously this kid's staying at the top of the pack for a long, long time. He carved himself out a leading man niche that's on par with Nicholson, Beatty, and Clooney (though it's been a while since George had a love scene, too). Leo'd be wise to show us he can have convincing on screen sex with someone who lives happily. Vera Farmiga, Tilda Swinton, and Kate Hepburn don't count as convincers. He needs to show us that he doesn't always have to be the isolated character -- unless he plans on being Eastwood -- the problem is Ben's already doing that.
Leo is still the king. Let's not forget.
"How would you characterize 'The Great Gatsby'?"
"He was... uh... great!"
- Rodney Dangerfield, Back to School
At this point you're either under 18, not a film goer, or an idiot if you haven't formulated an opinion about the work of Baz Luhrmann. He's such a hyper-stylized director that you're either in or your our. For those of us who are in, it seems that when all is said and done, the best slice of Baz-ness is the much hailed Romeo and Juliet -- the film that made Leo the Leo Titanic would solidify and also the film that had me wondering -- throughout Gatsby -- whether Claire Danes could have played Daisy Buchanan.
Considering this is an awards blog -- and considering the state of Luhrmann's Gatsby, I'd be remiss not to include Moulin Rouge! -- Baz' best picture nominee. There are those, like me, who are a tad obsessed -- loving the soundtrack, thinking it might be cozy to live in an elephant. But for as many who loved it, there were people who loathed it whether they liked R&J or not. But the truth of the matter is that Moulin Rouge is the best (modern) jukebox musical -- bar none. It's a form that catches a lot of hell -- but within the form, Baz delivered. I don't know how they'll ever bring it to the stage considering Satine drops dead at the end and who the hell wants to pay $500 to take the kids to see that? And yet I know that when Mr. Luhrmann brings it to the stage, it shall he yet another marvel.
The reason I know this is that Mr. Luhrmann -- I'm just going to sail right past Australia! if you'll permit me -- is clearly now -- and seemingly always was -- an opera director. Look back over the films. What we're watching is the progression of a man who loves spectacles -- and not just the brassy pair looming over the valley of ashes. The Great Gatsby proves that the fuel to Baz' fire is not excellent storytelling, it's not even great performances, it's explosive visuals with moments of high drama.
I'm going to meander about as I assess the film -- if for no other reason that the film itself meanders about -- inviting one to critique it thusly. So let me lay out a couple of quick clear statements about the Leo Gatz...
It's better than the Redford.
It's surprisingly faithful to the book.
It is ultimately a good movie.
If you're a Bazian, you may be incredibly happy... or you may have my conflicted reaction...
Call (516) MOU-LIN2 now for great offers on FitzGerald!!!
My gut reaction is that I'm a little surprised Baz "Rouged" it in. You're really just watching Moulin Rouge! - Nassau County Edition. The camera work, the dancing, the art direction -- all quite MR. When you strip the plot down to bare bones -- they comparison is even more obvious. There are very limited differences between this story and Moulin Rouge -- Christ, if they'd said "penniless" one more time, I would have started wondering if Gatsby was a sitar player.
At the same time, you come to the realization that what makes many pieces of American literature great is that they are, at their core, very simple stories. Our experience of them through the author's selected word choice is really what matters. As I was watching this film I couldn't shake the feeling of, "Well, yeah, that's it." that kept washing over me. The thing's faithful. And, to be honest, something about it feels -- despite the cartoonishness of it -- a bit more faithful than the Bob Evans.
What today's release proved, if anything else, is that Gatsby is one of those rare novels that simply can't be filmed. The loss of language destroys it. It didn't matter that you heard Nick Carraway speaking direct quotes about our being "borne back ceaselessly to the past." What struck was that the emotion is unfilmable. What are you going to do, show a rowboat tugging on its mooring? You know what the rhymes with? Boring.
You realize, too, that's not really a sentence whose saying aloud gives a sense of revelation -- unless we're talking about The Hotel New Hampshire.
Baz gussied it up and sent it down the runway. Millions of English Lit students rejoice!
However, I have to say that as a bona fide Fitzfan, it felt empty. True, it could be that there was something to the film's picture and sound process that gave the feeling of disembodiment. But for a novel from such a tragic figure, that has a love story many rank as one of the all time greats -- it just doesn't have a convincing heart. Again, that heart seemed a medium based loss.
The only performance that one need speak of is Leonardo DiCaprio... Gatsby himself.
It was interesting to see that there were shots of Leonardo DiCaprio that were phantoms of his Romeo. For me, those moments highlighted the fact that it has been a long time since Leo has been in a convincing romantic relationship on screen. His roles are always so damn tragic: he's always winding up unhappy and dead. Gangs of New York, Aviator, Departed, Blood Diamond, Inception, and Shutter Island weren't exactly laugh factories. Nor did they have many warm beds. One of the few times he's been momentarily happily married ended up being Revolutionary Road. The audience is estranged from watching Leo be romantic. It's a dangerous place for him to be -- especially when Ryan Gosling's strutting through every other picture, desperately in love. Obviously this kid's staying at the top of the pack for a long, long time. He carved himself out a leading man niche that's on par with Nicholson, Beatty, and Clooney (though it's been a while since George had a love scene, too). Leo'd be wise to show us he can have convincing on screen sex with someone who lives happily. Vera Farmiga, Tilda Swinton, and Kate Hepburn don't count as convincers. He needs to show us that he doesn't always have to be the isolated character -- unless he plans on being Eastwood -- the problem is Ben's already doing that.
Leo is still the king. Let's not forget.
Pain & Gain & 42
Pain & Gain
There will be no awards for Pain & Gain -- so it shan't get its own blog entry. It's a tried and true Michael Bay movie. It falls very short of The Rock (the movie, not the guy) and I doubt Transformers fans would find it all that exciting. It's nevertheless an okay crime movie that should have been funnier.
Bay -- who knows how to make things go boom -- doesn't know how to make things amusing. Most of the time, the amusement at a Bay film comes from his absurdly over the top filming style. However, if Bay's gonna stick it for the long haul, he would do with pulling a Richard Donner.
Consider the fact that The Rock (the guy, not the movie) is currently in two of the Top 10 films with Fast and the Furious waiting in the wings; we're going to have to actually start admitting that the guy is a bona fide movie star. And let's talk about Marky Mark and the $218 Million box office haul for Ted. There's no two ways about the fact that if you're going to put these guys in a crime movie, you better be aiming for something in the Get Shorty ballpark. Here the end cocktail is more Blow than I Love You Phillip Morris -- and it should have aimed for the latter -- this take doesn't quite work. If an editor tightened this thing by twenty-five minutes, dropped the True Romance-ing, and leaned on the Midnight Run, this sucker would have been far superior.
It's a rental. I could see truly enjoying this sucker over a couple of lazy Sunday cups of coffee.
42 Reasons Why The Supporting Oscar Race May Be On...
Brian Helgeland is a mystery to me. He's one of these screenwriters who is always on high profile projects -- especially since he shared an Oscar win with Curtis Hanson for 1997's attempted iceberg pic -- L.A. Confidential. He's definitely going to deliver quality -- but it can be all over the map -- ranging from the "let's dance to Bowie in medieval times" flick - A Knight's Tale - to the "is that my Oscar in there?!?!" Sean Penn-ery that was the muted crime drama known as Mystic River. That being said, it's tough to know which version of the Jackie Robinson story he was going to deliver.
Well, let me say this: Helgeland delivered the goods. While I'll admit there's about a half-dozen overly sentimental moments of the We Are Marshall variety -- in 42, they're mostly one on one moments with good actors: just when you're about to squirm at a saccharine scene... it lands. You'll forgive 42 these itsy bitsy flaws because more than anything else, it's great.
No, it's not The Natural. And it's not Ray. And that's a good thing. This is not the story of the greatest baseball player in the history of the world. And this is not the story of a man whose personal life was so dramatic that it needs to be on the big screen. That's not Jackie Robinson. This is the story of a great ball player whose ability to stomach racism was as vital to his success as his natural talent at stealing an extra base. Interestingly, Helgeland has been a bit vocal about the fact that he doesn't see 42 as a "sports movie" -- opting to be categorized as a film about a great man, breaking the color barrier, a encapsulation of a specific moment in America. That's all fine and good, Mr. Helgeland. But I'd argue it's the "sports" aspect of this story that makes it work; it's the "sport" that facilitates the delivery of your message.
There's something amazing about the marriage of movies and athletics. We love them -- whether they're about the business (Moneyball), the hilarity of grown men playing a game for a living (Slap Shot), a specific championship (Eight Men Out), or something that enhances the sheer myth of it all with a tale we wish were true (The Natural -- no sports article would be complete without at least two references to the Redford-Levinson great). There's about 2% of sports movies where the focal team or athlete doesn't pull it off. And yet we all sit on the edge of our seats when the director throws athletic triumph into question. I don't care if it's watching Olympiads in a great struggle -- the title of the friggin' movie is Miracle, what do you think happens? -- or the story of a kid who wants to win the season ender his way -- Teen Wolf. These films have us in the palm of their hands...
God I hope she sticks it!
God, I hope they score this touchdown!
God, I hope wins despite his dramatic injury!
They're gonna make it: don't worry.
Unless, we're talking about Rocky I, Friday Night Lights, Without Limits or Jeepers Creepers 2.
Sports get the audience on the hook, willing to take an emotional roller-coaster ride, setting aside huge chunks of their logic and historic knowledge.
This marriage worked very much in 42's favor. We all know what happened. We know he made it. We know that professional sports are -- if anything -- the flipside of what they were when Mr. Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers. But we surrender to the story nevertheless -- and to the central thesis of the film: style and talent matter more than one's religion, nationality, race, gender, sexuality, etc. etc. etc. It's one of the definitive reasons why we have The Olympics. There's simply no argument that you're on Jackie's side -- consequently, the film becomes a reminder of how openly racist people were permitted to be -- how incredibly stupid it was/is -- and how easy it is to get past your own preconceived notions if you just try. I'm not joking when I say you hit the end of this film and find out some terrible things happened to the bigots and it's like you just heard Lecter say, "I'm having an old friend for dinner." That means you pulled this story off.
And it took -- among many great performances -- two actors in particular...
There's a remarkable discovery in Chadwick Boseman, Hegeland's Jackie Robinson. This is far and away the largest responsibility placed on Mr. Boseman's shoulders and he delivers. This is a complex character who weathers some truly challenging moments in the course of this film. 42 was not easy work -- even though Chadwick sure as hell made it look like it was.
The issue is that his performance -- and everyone else's performance -- is overshadowed by Harrison Ford.
It may come as a surprise to all of you that Harrison -- Dr. Jones, Captain Solo, Jack Ryan, Get Off My Plane, I Did Not Kill My Wife -- Ford has but one Oscar nomination for 1985's Witness -- losing to William Hurt for Kiss Of The Spiderwoman. At the very least, those who follow the awards might be saying, "Really? Nothing for Working Girl?" -- already dismissing Mosquito Coast, Presumed Innocent, and the heavily Oscar nommed Fugitive.
One nomination -- though he's one of the most successful movie stars in the history of cinema.
And the truth is Mr. McBeal hasn't had the smoothest go of it, lately. The fourth Indiana Jones didn't have too many folks psyched about the coming fifth installment -- though we're all going to go. Cowboys and Aliens didn't do what it should... and hopefully Anchorman 2 makes up for what Morning Glory couldn't deliver in the Ford-meets-Brokaw department. But 42 is a whole bag.
Ford slips into a true character that anchors the film. The film would be nowhere without him. It's a Hackman Hoosiers, Nolte Warrior, Russell Miracle kinda role. He's a remarkable engine. 42 is the perfect reminder of Ford's talent, sense of humor, and his sheer power on screen. He does logical-mean-old-man-who-isn't-gonna-put-up-with-your-shit damn well. He's officially thrown it into Bogie gear.
If Ford can get this locked in as a supporting role -- this could be the place to hand him a statue. Scroll through the list of supporting actor winners and you see that it's often an elder statesman getting a trophy for a solid role -- while also being just a touch lifetime achievement...
Connery, Gielguld, Williams, Jones, Caine -- twice!
To those who say he has too much screen time and should be in the lead category, I counter by citing the Hutton/Hopkins/Connelly trifecta -- the Bermuda's Triangle of how rolls are categorized and which ones win...
There will be no awards for Pain & Gain -- so it shan't get its own blog entry. It's a tried and true Michael Bay movie. It falls very short of The Rock (the movie, not the guy) and I doubt Transformers fans would find it all that exciting. It's nevertheless an okay crime movie that should have been funnier.
Bay -- who knows how to make things go boom -- doesn't know how to make things amusing. Most of the time, the amusement at a Bay film comes from his absurdly over the top filming style. However, if Bay's gonna stick it for the long haul, he would do with pulling a Richard Donner.
Consider the fact that The Rock (the guy, not the movie) is currently in two of the Top 10 films with Fast and the Furious waiting in the wings; we're going to have to actually start admitting that the guy is a bona fide movie star. And let's talk about Marky Mark and the $218 Million box office haul for Ted. There's no two ways about the fact that if you're going to put these guys in a crime movie, you better be aiming for something in the Get Shorty ballpark. Here the end cocktail is more Blow than I Love You Phillip Morris -- and it should have aimed for the latter -- this take doesn't quite work. If an editor tightened this thing by twenty-five minutes, dropped the True Romance-ing, and leaned on the Midnight Run, this sucker would have been far superior.
It's a rental. I could see truly enjoying this sucker over a couple of lazy Sunday cups of coffee.
42 Reasons Why The Supporting Oscar Race May Be On...
Brian Helgeland is a mystery to me. He's one of these screenwriters who is always on high profile projects -- especially since he shared an Oscar win with Curtis Hanson for 1997's attempted iceberg pic -- L.A. Confidential. He's definitely going to deliver quality -- but it can be all over the map -- ranging from the "let's dance to Bowie in medieval times" flick - A Knight's Tale - to the "is that my Oscar in there?!?!" Sean Penn-ery that was the muted crime drama known as Mystic River. That being said, it's tough to know which version of the Jackie Robinson story he was going to deliver.
Well, let me say this: Helgeland delivered the goods. While I'll admit there's about a half-dozen overly sentimental moments of the We Are Marshall variety -- in 42, they're mostly one on one moments with good actors: just when you're about to squirm at a saccharine scene... it lands. You'll forgive 42 these itsy bitsy flaws because more than anything else, it's great.
No, it's not The Natural. And it's not Ray. And that's a good thing. This is not the story of the greatest baseball player in the history of the world. And this is not the story of a man whose personal life was so dramatic that it needs to be on the big screen. That's not Jackie Robinson. This is the story of a great ball player whose ability to stomach racism was as vital to his success as his natural talent at stealing an extra base. Interestingly, Helgeland has been a bit vocal about the fact that he doesn't see 42 as a "sports movie" -- opting to be categorized as a film about a great man, breaking the color barrier, a encapsulation of a specific moment in America. That's all fine and good, Mr. Helgeland. But I'd argue it's the "sports" aspect of this story that makes it work; it's the "sport" that facilitates the delivery of your message.
There's something amazing about the marriage of movies and athletics. We love them -- whether they're about the business (Moneyball), the hilarity of grown men playing a game for a living (Slap Shot), a specific championship (Eight Men Out), or something that enhances the sheer myth of it all with a tale we wish were true (The Natural -- no sports article would be complete without at least two references to the Redford-Levinson great). There's about 2% of sports movies where the focal team or athlete doesn't pull it off. And yet we all sit on the edge of our seats when the director throws athletic triumph into question. I don't care if it's watching Olympiads in a great struggle -- the title of the friggin' movie is Miracle, what do you think happens? -- or the story of a kid who wants to win the season ender his way -- Teen Wolf. These films have us in the palm of their hands...
God I hope she sticks it!
God, I hope they score this touchdown!
God, I hope wins despite his dramatic injury!
They're gonna make it: don't worry.
Unless, we're talking about Rocky I, Friday Night Lights, Without Limits or Jeepers Creepers 2.
Sports get the audience on the hook, willing to take an emotional roller-coaster ride, setting aside huge chunks of their logic and historic knowledge.
This marriage worked very much in 42's favor. We all know what happened. We know he made it. We know that professional sports are -- if anything -- the flipside of what they were when Mr. Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers. But we surrender to the story nevertheless -- and to the central thesis of the film: style and talent matter more than one's religion, nationality, race, gender, sexuality, etc. etc. etc. It's one of the definitive reasons why we have The Olympics. There's simply no argument that you're on Jackie's side -- consequently, the film becomes a reminder of how openly racist people were permitted to be -- how incredibly stupid it was/is -- and how easy it is to get past your own preconceived notions if you just try. I'm not joking when I say you hit the end of this film and find out some terrible things happened to the bigots and it's like you just heard Lecter say, "I'm having an old friend for dinner." That means you pulled this story off.
And it took -- among many great performances -- two actors in particular...
There's a remarkable discovery in Chadwick Boseman, Hegeland's Jackie Robinson. This is far and away the largest responsibility placed on Mr. Boseman's shoulders and he delivers. This is a complex character who weathers some truly challenging moments in the course of this film. 42 was not easy work -- even though Chadwick sure as hell made it look like it was.
The issue is that his performance -- and everyone else's performance -- is overshadowed by Harrison Ford.
It may come as a surprise to all of you that Harrison -- Dr. Jones, Captain Solo, Jack Ryan, Get Off My Plane, I Did Not Kill My Wife -- Ford has but one Oscar nomination for 1985's Witness -- losing to William Hurt for Kiss Of The Spiderwoman. At the very least, those who follow the awards might be saying, "Really? Nothing for Working Girl?" -- already dismissing Mosquito Coast, Presumed Innocent, and the heavily Oscar nommed Fugitive.
One nomination -- though he's one of the most successful movie stars in the history of cinema.
And the truth is Mr. McBeal hasn't had the smoothest go of it, lately. The fourth Indiana Jones didn't have too many folks psyched about the coming fifth installment -- though we're all going to go. Cowboys and Aliens didn't do what it should... and hopefully Anchorman 2 makes up for what Morning Glory couldn't deliver in the Ford-meets-Brokaw department. But 42 is a whole bag.
Ford slips into a true character that anchors the film. The film would be nowhere without him. It's a Hackman Hoosiers, Nolte Warrior, Russell Miracle kinda role. He's a remarkable engine. 42 is the perfect reminder of Ford's talent, sense of humor, and his sheer power on screen. He does logical-mean-old-man-who-isn't-gonna-put-up-with-your-shit damn well. He's officially thrown it into Bogie gear.
If Ford can get this locked in as a supporting role -- this could be the place to hand him a statue. Scroll through the list of supporting actor winners and you see that it's often an elder statesman getting a trophy for a solid role -- while also being just a touch lifetime achievement...
Connery, Gielguld, Williams, Jones, Caine -- twice!
To those who say he has too much screen time and should be in the lead category, I counter by citing the Hutton/Hopkins/Connelly trifecta -- the Bermuda's Triangle of how rolls are categorized and which ones win...
- Timothy Hutton provides the first, strongest leg of the "Go Ahead and Be a Lead in the Supporting Category" argument. The TH is the lead of Ordinary People. Unquestionably so. Nevertheless, he won the 1980 supporting Oscar. Why was he categroized as such? Well, according to anyone you ask: "because he was young." So what?! Why is it that people consider the Supporting Oscar to be Oscar Jr.? It's maddening! Hutton proves Ford could go supporting.
- The little Labyrither serves as Exhibit B. If you're going to say, "Well, she was just the wife." I say, "Shame on you, sir!" Jennifer Connelly may well have been the only woman in A Beautiful Mind. And MAN did she have screentime. Yet her Oscar's for supporting. Take a page, Harry.
- Finally, there's the back door approach of supporting roles going lead -- proving, like back in geometry class -- that there's no rhyme or reason to this thing: Anthony Hopkins. The former Sir Tony has such limited screentime in Silence of the Lambs it's remarkable to think that he was possibly considered to be in a lead role -- go ahead and look up how few minutes Hannibal had, you'll be surprised. Why's he lead? Because his character is important? Did you see The Dark Knight?
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