There is perhaps no better way to start the week leading up to the Hollywood Foreign Press Association's Golden Globe Awards than with a set of Directors Guild Nominations that throw the entire Oscar race into question.
In the past weeks, more and more publications have done their best to point out the disparity between Globe winners and Oscar winners in years past -- particular during these, the dark days of ten nominees. However, what these publications fail to notice - time and again - is the remarkable symmetry between the nominees. The question, it seems, is how much advertising, press, guild momentum, and screeners can flood the market in the brief time between Globe Night and Oscar Night -- six weeks, this year. The Oscar nominations are a mere 8.25 days after the Globes and this sort of crunch time -- as I mentioned in this very blog time and again last year -- seems to have only given further credence to the Globes while mildly weakening the statue I so adore (Moses, can you hear me now?). It's an Oscar, so it's going to take a lot more. But being head and shoulders above the rest is its claim to fame. Encroachment should be dealt with swiftly and wisely.
In the simplest of terms, McCue's current theory is that the crunch time and expansion of best picture nominees to ten -- which is now "up to ten" and supposed to be more thrilling but is ultimately nothing more than odd -- has given HFPA a leg up. If your nominees are going to match and you're going to match the winners bordering on 66%, then the first guy out of the gate seems to have a bit more credence. Oscar is, after all, Oscar. He'll be difficult to topple. But the Golden Globes, which the Academy long brushed aside as the RC Cola -- nay the White Rock -- of accolades has slid right into Pepsi position. Why else dig deep with Billy Crystal (who I am thrilled is returning) except Gervais? Sure, they had Eddie Murphy -- but it seems after Ratner's gaffe, Murphy would have been bullet-riddled by the time Ricky was through with him. I remember when the Globes were hostless. Someone introduced Miss Golden Globe who usually tipped her shoulders forward to hide her budding boobs, and the evening went on. Ricky Gervais two years in a row -- despite a (completely inflated) controversy? NBC ain't messing around.
Then there's today, the Monday before the Globes with Scorsese, Payne, Hazanavicius (scourge of Kim Novak!), Woody Allen ... and there he is folks, David Fincher as this year's Directors Guild Nominees.
What does this say for Oscar?
Does this mean Spielberg is out? Is War Horse headed for the glue factory? Because I thought it was marvelous!
Does this mean Woody is in for the first time since 1994? (I go by the year films came out, not the year trophies are distributed.)
What does this say for Tate Taylor? Something tells me not to count Tate Taylor out. I have a feeling he may Driving Miss Daisy this ball to the hoop -- directing nod or not. There's something about The Help that has me wondering whether it will take the cake (hopefully devoid of a certain ingredient). You heard it here, folks! Tate Taylor may well be a modern day Bruce Beresford!
Then again, this Fincher DGA nom may not be guilt over last year's award tease -- he could be a late arrival. The press was locked out of many screenings. He did masterful work. Though it highly resembled the Swedish original, there was enough Finch-touch to make it his own. Furthermore, Dragon Tattoo isn't something that's easy to replicate while putting your personal, established, stylistic spin on it. (As I have mentioned more than once, I'll address each film individually as the Oscars approach.) But folks are acting like having the existing novel and Swedish film made the Fincher version a snap. I suggest getting the cash, film rights, and trying it yourself. He did, after all, discover Rooney Mara -- who may well end up an actress nominee. He assembled a nice band of the most Aryan looking group of Hollywooders for the ride. I love the man, but you're digging deep with Julian Sands. Then again, who the else has such a perfect look? That's Fincher. Yet -- having said all that, I wonder if his footing is solid. Spielberg's omission seems ludicrous and the possibility of Dragon Tattoo getting a picture nom only seems feasible if the nominees stretch up past eight. Sooner or later, Fincher will have his winning year. He's not a Schnabel. He's not a Kieslowski. He's hardly the "being nominated was award enough" type. In the harsh light of day (or night, depending on which part of Sweden you're currently in) doesn't that seem all this is? A nom as an award, not as validation of the fact that Finch actually has a shot at winning. Prove me wrong awards year -- prove me wrong. But that's what the gut says.
Perhaps because the only difference between the Globes and the DGA is that they swapped Clooney for Fincher. Thus, the other four seem to be in prime position for Oscar nominations. Are these the four fixed, leaving a wild card slot? Odds are. It seems for Sunday's purposes, Marty has it in the bag -- unless the Weinsteins can truly get everyone aboard the silent -- but possibly deadly -- train. I would obviously love Woody to take both scribe and helmer -- but the odds of that seem slim and I'm delicately walking on Annette Bening like eggshells when it comes to the Wood-man's Globe and Oscar chances.
So, folks, what we've got here is a full on shake up.
We're looking at an unconfirmed year that doesn't even have a front-runner with possible upset nipping at its heels as we had at this point for so many years. And I mean the legit years. Not years where Scorsese was getting the Globe for Gangs of New York -- years where we thought he was getting it for The Aviator and yet Michael Mann got the statue for picture while the ever so slinking Million Dollar Baby was already through the door, giving Eastwood the directing trophy, and waiting to knock off The Spruce Goose come Oscar time. Bigelow went trophy-less as did The Hurt Locker for picture -- but it was clear it was a two dog fight with the blue folk losing footing with each dollar it grossed. The switcheroo from Social Network to King's Speech is something I still marvel at. I love Colin Firth more than the next guy and I can see how his highness outdid Zuckerberg. But it was Facebook's to lose. Where does that apply this year?
Hugo can't possibly be considered a picture lock. The Artist? If it pulls it off, it will be more as a default victor that had some Harvey shoulder behind it. A silent, black and white film, with a French lead? You can Life As Beautiful me all you want - it didn't win picture. Furthermore, we're talking about a type of film that had actually been made for nearly 30 straight years. There was plenty of source material to draw from. Masterfully as it was made -- and I will go through each film once the Globes have passed -- I wonder how many actors who vote in the Academy will want to ditch the microphone. Personally, I had a column in college called "Talkies Are Just A Fad." But I stumbled upon that phrase as a witty retort and decided it was a good header for my film write-ups. There's something about The Artist that doesn't have "it." It may at the Globes -- where there are two categories -- but can it hold?
Furthermore, it's in the comedy category against Bridesmaids, Midnight in Paris, 50/50 (my little buddy), and the remarkably unfunny (yet quite good) My Week With Marilyn. A black and white silent winning the hearts of the Hollywood Foreign Press may seem like a no-brainer once the envelop is opened. Then again -- can't the same be said of Bridesmaids and Midnight in Paris?
What about the dramas? One wonders how Hugo, The Help, and The Descendants ended up on this side of the aisle. Then again, The Player won best comedy so who the hell knows what lands a flick in one pocket or the other. Rounding out the dirty-half dozen are War Horse, Moneyball, and Ides. On one level it seems folks are doing everything in their power to ensure Clooney will attend. He will. So will Pitt and Spielberg. But again, a clear winner is a tricky pick.
If the pictures were aligned properly giving The Help comedy and War Horse drama -- then I'd say we have a horse race on our hands, realize that's not even close to a good War Horse joke, that I didn't intend one, consider making a dog race joke, and then simply say -- we've at least have a boxing match. The Globes can be screwy - hailing the completely snubbed (save song) Evita -- giving it to dear old Bugsy while Silence of the Lambs goes down as one of the only films to win the top five honors -- going Hours -- Atonement -- Robert Altman for Gosford Park -- to watch it all swept away by the Kodak, Shrine, or Dorothy Chandler Pavillion -- depending on the year.
This year is pure chaos. In the coming days I'll do my best to untangle this Globe-knot. And I encourage you all to make your predictions Saturday night. I'm NOTORIOUSLY lousy at picking the Globes because I go with my heart and only have critics circles as a reference point -- as if those have told us anything! But in what is hopefully the final days of the "more than five" Oscar era -- note how tricky it is to nail down who's taking a Golden Boy without knowing the Globe victors.
Tomorrow I'll go over my favorite dozen films of the year in the briefest terms. That can give you a look-see into where this blogger's coming from this year.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Let the Autumn Write-Ups Begin! With 50/50
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.
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.
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
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