Logan

Posted on April 12, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Logan is the final installment of the Hugh Jackman Wolverine film series. (Major spoiler alerts ahead). He goes out in style.

Or should I say a change of style. Logan is R-rated for a great deal of bloody violence and a plethora of F-bombs. It looks and feels darker than any Wolverine film before it, and even than any previous Marvel film.

The story is stripped down and simple in a Hell or High Water way, a film with which it has several shared characteristics: uncomplicated, with a small number of actors doing good work, and moody. The mood here is one of painful aging and impending demise, with the requisite dark cinematic palette to match.

Most of the attention has been rightly paid to Jackman, who at a distance looks like those bad pictures of a bushy-bearded Mel Gibson. This isn’t the handsome, energetic Wolverine; it’s the older, even more cynical and jaded version who walks with a limp and whose previous cautious attitude has been replaced with a darker and even more angry pessimism. He swears a lot and bites nearly everyone’s head off verbally. He’s also more quick to kill with more gruesome violence than has been seen before.

The plot is straightforward. Logan is caring for an aging Charles (Patrick Stewart, looking thin and playing older than he is) when his life is interrupted by a woman who wants this young, apparently mutant, girl to be taken to North Dakota so she can be safe and with those of her kind. Things happen, and of course the three end up on the run. The little one turns out to be mutant with major skills, especially in the killing department. She’s a young female version of Wolverine, and questions arise regarding her possible parentage.

While the two principal males are at the end of their lives, the elegiac nature of the film gives way to youth and the driving attempt to keep the young girl safe. Those two moods and trajectories bounce off one another nicely from then on.

Aside from the dark tenor of the film, the defining element of the film is a new child star, Dafne Keen. She is a tween British/Spanish actress who knows how to rage and destroy one minute, and then act like a typical preadolescent the next. It’s quite the performance. I remember when Spielberg’s War of the Worlds came out in 2005, and it was noted that Dakota Fanning’s performance of the continually terrified young girl must have taken a toll on the young actress. I had similar thoughts watching Keen jump, roll around, leap madly, and slice and dice with abandon. Even knowing that she had a stunt double, that’s a lot of intense anger and bloody destruction to put a young girl through. Her character is every bit as angry—perhaps more so with the focus and energy of youth—and is as much the killing machine as Logan. The actress holds her own in all her scenes with Jackman and Stewart, even the quiet ones. A young star is born.

Two other minor characters add color to the film. That’s an ironic statement when it comes to the underutilized British actor Stephen Merchant, the ghostly-pale Caliban, who is missed when not on screen once he’s introduced. The villain is Boyd Holbrook (Gone Girl and Netflix’s Narcos), who has a strong screen presence but whose character isn’t as defined or as clearly motivated as his role might suggest.

One surprise is all the Christian references throughout. There are a couple of Jesus-on-the-cross visual references made with Logan, and there is a surprisingly respectful presentation of a Christian family. No snide remarks, no deviance under the surface, and no weirdness. For a character marked by unbelief generally placed in the context of a godless world, this religious emphasis—never upended or rendered impotent—is a fascinating flavor to add to the end of a multi-film arc.

Technically, director James Mangold (Walk the Line, Wolverine, 3:10 to Yuma) has given us a good-looking film with great focus and energy, exemplary action scenes, and an exceptional amount of rack-focus shots that have left this author confused as to the reason for their existence. Serious warning: If you think this is just another Wolverine film and want to see how things wrap up, know that this is a rough, profane and violent film at times. Yet it also opens the door for the possibility of a new franchise. Perhaps Wolverette?

 

 

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Two Semi-Classics: Anne of the Thousand Days and Anastasia

Posted on April 10, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Being a history nut as well as a film person, I try to fill in the many gaps in my film experience with classic or semi-classic historical films. I recently had the opportunity to see 1969’s Anne of the Thousand Days (about Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn) and 1956’s Anastasia (about the possible survivor of the massacre of Russia’s royal family in 1918). Both were big, colorful, dramas that were certainly of their time.

Anne of the Thousand Days features Richard Burton as Henry and the then-new surprise of French Canadian actress Geneviève Bujold. The film is a typically ‘60’s epic that was nominated for 10 Oscars and only won for Best Costume. You may know the type—lush, lovely, and with a background of grand orchestral medieval music. Based on a 1940’s play that took a couple of decades to make into a film because of its subjects of adultery, incest, etc., the film feels “literate” from the word go, but does manage to cover a great deal of history, politics and human interaction in its 2+ hours.

The great Burton isn’t quite big enough, physically or in terms of power, to be Henry, though he rages with great effect at times. It’s a slight misfit of actor to character, but hardly noticeable. What is the most enjoyable aspect of the film is Bujold, who has erased every other Anne Boleyn I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen many). She is young, feisty, stubborn, conniving and almost completely believable. The script forces a change of heart on her at one point that even her talents can’t quite help us to go along with. But other than that, this is the Anne for the ages. The legendary Maggie Smith (Downton Abbey) won Best Actress that year for The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, while the Golden Globe Award went to Bujold. For once, the Golden Globes may have gotten it right.

For those comfortable with an extremely literate, big, colorful, thumping medieval story taken from a play, this is for you. The story is still intriguing (in both senses of the word), the acting is strong and the look is sumptuous.

Anastasia is probably best remembered as Ingrid Bergman’s Hollywood comeback after her scandalous years with Roberto Rossellini. Apparently a few years and one strong Oscar-winning performance (her second, after Gaslight) were enough to allow her to retake her place as a Hollywood star. Though clearly several years too old to play a twenty-something, Bergman is excellent as the is-she-or-is-she-not survivor of the royal family’s massacre. She has the marvelous acting opportunity to play a confused street person in rags who gets the Pygmalion treatment and ends up looking comfortable in the finest attire, carrying herself as the princess she might be. One strength of her performance is that she never quite seems sure at times if she is or isn’t the princess. This adds layers to the film that its rather straightforward plotline doesn’t provide.

The surprise of the film, though, is her co-star, Yul Brynner. Oscar students will remember that the year of Anastasia—1956—was the year of Brynner’s Oscar-winning performance in The King and I. And while that performance is a worthy winner, perhaps the better perspective is provided by the National Board of Review’s award to him for Best Actor for The King and I, The Ten Commandments, and yes, Anastasia. His performance in Anastasia is every bit as good as Bergman’s, and it’s a pleasure to see him outside of either Siam or the American West. It’s a good fit for him as a person as well, as he was born Yuliy Borisovich Briner in Vladavostok, Russia.

Adding to the acting level is Helen Hayes, who plays the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna, and whose performance was so strong in a smaller part that she was nominated in the Best Actress category in that year’s Golden Globes along with Bergman (who won). Apparently, the film’s producer wanted the talented British actress Helen Haye, who likely would have been excellent, and looked the part. But the casting director assumed that the request was a typo and contacted the American acting legend instead.

Unfortunately, there is a great deal of fancy as well as history in the film, and it’s not a source of learning accurately about the Romanovs or even the main character Anna, who existed in real life, but didn’t experience much of what the film suggested. The film is in CinemaScope, and provides a great example of the beauty and the restrictions that format can provide. But, like Anne of the Thousand Days, it’s an enjoyable visit to the past—England, Russia, and middle-century British and American film.

 

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Lion and Loving

Posted on April 8, 2017 by Mark DuPré

I recently saw Lion in the theater and later that day, watched the DVD of Loving. The similarities were striking.

Both are based on true stories, one very recent, and the other, still within my lifetime. Both were good-looking films (Lion is more self-consciously beautiful), with good to excellent performances. Both could have exploited their emotional storylines, but instead are rather cool products (Loving is more subdued) that pull back from the excesses possible in their stories. Lion could have been a tearjerker, and Loving could have been an angry political statement. It’s to their credit that they are neither.

Lion tells the story of a young man separated by his family, raised on another continent, and facing a growing desire to connect with his biological family. He is played as a child by the adorable and talented Sunny Pawar, and Pawar has to hold the screen and the film in a way that rivals Tom Hank’s work in Cast Away. There are long periods without dialogue where we willingly follow him, and emotionally, we are with him all the way.

He grows up to be Dev Patel (Slumdog Millionaire and The Exotic Marigold Hotel), who does the strongest and most sensitive work of his career here. Patel has become Hollywood’s go-to Indian leading man, and his comic chops have been well demonstrated. What is a joy to watch his fine dramatic work here. The script tends to wander a little in the middle of the film, but like Pawar, we are with Patel all the way.

As good if not better is his adoptive mother, played by Nicole Kidman. Kidman is such a celebrity and strong film presence that I almost forgot that she could be an excellent actress, as she is here. She is precise in her acting decisions, and yet relatable and maternal. It’s a pleasure to be reminded about what she can do.

Rooney Mara plays Patel’s love interest, and it is here that the story is at its weakest. Mara is “fine” in her role, but it’s underwritten, and the actress, in spite of strong performances in the past, is rather recessive here. There are any numbers of ways the story could have used her character to push things along narratively, emotionally, or even in terms of cultural difference. But none of these possibilities is explored in any depth. The whole relationship is a lost opportunity.

The film moves along at a firm but measured pace, which can add some frustration (“OK, I get it—can we move on, please?”). But the restraint prevents the film from jerking the viewer from one emotional high to the next, and the gradual accumulation of fact and emotion is released, satisfactorily, at a genuinely touching climax. Then (spoiler alert) there is a kind of second climax that too earns whatever tears are being shed.

Loving, too, moves at a measured pace, but perhaps suffers for it a little more than Lion. Coming out in a year of increased racial tension, the film focuses intently on the relationship between the two—a black/Native American woman and a white man, rather than the social or political context around their troubles. The fact that the case against them went to the Supreme Court is underplayed, always playing second to the supposedly close and loving relationship of the two.

The script certainly makes it clear that this is a couple that is simple, deeply, in love, and that Jim Crow laws and attitudes are the enemy of their relationship, almost as if they stood alone in just wanting to be left alone. The film almost moves outside of the context of racism at times to support the concept that any two people who care about one another should be able to get married. That’s a more modern argument that tends to obfuscate the time period and the particular prejudices of the time and the story. The film at least states that their struggles will benefit other interracial couples who want to marry, but in the film’s attempt to circle back to the central love relationship, it puts a great deal of pressure on the two central actors to warrant our primary attention in the midst of so many other important issues.

So it’s really up to Ruth Negga and Joel Edgerton to work at continually drawing our attention away from the unfairness, hypocrisy, anger, prejudice, and judicial swirl around them, knowing (as many in the audience would) how important this case was and how loathsome the hate around them. But they don’t quite succeed. Negga is the stronger by far, but perhaps because of direction, her performance involves a growing confidence that is less gradual than bumpy. Nevertheless, this is an actress of intelligence and substance, and the performance is a lovely thing to behold. Edgerton, meanwhile, underplays his role so much, and has such a continual scowl-like expression that it is hard to connect with him. He and Casey Affleck (Manchester by the Sea) presented us with two of the most internal male performances of the last year, but Affleck’s is full of such radiating pain, confusion and suppressed anger that we can read into his silences and stillness. Edgerton plays a hardworking regular guy who just happens to love a woman of another race, but we don’t get inside of his head or heart enough to see either her attraction to him or how the brouhaha around his marriage really affects him.

The film generally avoids stereotyping, but there is a rather evil policeman and a borderline overeager lawyer. Other than that, the film presents what is ostensibly a collection of real people; it’s just that we can tap into only a few of them.

The film also falls into the current trap of over-informing us with the printed word at the end of the film–of not just the subsequent events, but the specific importance of it, interpreted for us in a way we can neatly wrap up and put in our pockets. The otherwise strong The Imitation Game did it as well, and Hidden Figures nearly fell into that trap, but stayed within the borders of the story we just saw. This is a tendency that reduces these films, just as the film is wrapping up, to something less than a work of art and more of a visualized sociopolitical statement.

Happily, in Loving we have a film that will stand as THE film about the Loving family and their story. There have been lesser films about great subjects (Red Tails, In the Heart of the Sea, Jackie), so we finally stand grateful that the subject, if perhaps too intensely focused, is well presented by this film.

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Kong: Skull Island

Posted on March 24, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Saw the latest King Kong film. A definite mixed bag. And I have no idea why anyone thinks we need another Kong movie at this time. (Of course…duh…it’s making money, especially overseas.)

The effects are good. And the action scenes (or should I say scenes of violence) are well done. Definitely not recommended for younger audiences, as the rate of intense animal munching is pretty high and graphic.

With Oscar winner Brie Larson (Room), Oscar nominees John C. Reilly and Samuel L. Jackson, John Goodman, and future Oscar nominee Tom Hiddleston (Loki in the Thor films), the acting is solid, though the acting choices are questionable at times. Even Jackson manages to rein things in until he goes all Samuel L. Jackson on us, right down to the profanity.

The direction (full disclosure—the director is a friend of a friend) by Jordan Vogt-Roberts is rather solid, considering the challenges of audience expectation, the Kong legend, other modern action/danger films, and especially the difficulty of balancing believable human interactions with believable computer-generated monsters. Each scene is lovingly photographed (often to the point of nearly looking posed) and is credible and convincing on its own.

The problem is the script and the missing narrative arc. We don’t know whom we are to follow. We start with Goodman’s character, and (spoiler alert), he ends up being lunch. Hiddleston plays the presumed hero, and acts the part with conviction, but his story never really takes off., nor does the film’s. After a rather typical and lame set-up to the action, we arrive—after the expected struggles—at the island of the title. Then, instead of a long and slow buildup to the creature that the classic (and never bested) 1933 version presents, we are thrown into a quick and unexpected confrontation with the biggest Kong we’ve seen in a long time. The beast does a great deal of damage in a short period of time, and we’re left not knowing what comes next. That’s a great start. Unfortunately, we never get a sense of direction after that. There is a thin plotline involving getting to a certain part of the island. But then we meet Reilly’s character, which moves us in one direction. Then we find that (oh, how we all love reverses, yes?) it’s imperative that we keep Kong alive and well for… some reasons, which take us into another direction. Aside from numerous (perhaps too many) cinematic references to Apocalypse Now (in keeping with the reverses, we have napalm in the evening), there is little to keep us engaged except wondering which dangerous and huge creature we might meet next.

Human interaction is minimal. Nothing really happens with our two attractive leads (Hiddleston and Larson), which leaves a possible rich vein unmined. Some folks we like get eaten, which combines disappointment with our surprise. But the bottom line is that the various tensions and conflicts in the film never coalesce into a coherent, engaging storyline. Surprises and dangerous encounters can’t take the place of a solidly building narrative. We don’t know whom we’re to follow, as our loyalties bounce around, and we don’t know where to place our hopes, other than in a generic wish that the core group survives.

Goodman, Jackson, and Hiddleston are some of the most relatable and enjoyable film actors today. And that brings me to the mystery of Brie Larson. Perhaps it’s just me, but this lovely (actually, too lovely and put together throughout this film) and very talented actress is a rather opaque and nondescript screen presence. My film class addresses the issue of who is a star, what it takes to become a star, and the differences between stage and film actors. Larson is unusual in that her beauty and talent put her in the obvious star category. But she practically evaporates off the screen. As she is the only female in any kind of important role in the film, that’s a great loss. Between the thin script and her screen presence, this is almost an all-guys film. Considering the often controversial and complex roles played by women in the Kong series, her lack of definition as a character and the strange lack of presence, this is almost an all-guys film. Considering the often controversial and complex roles played by women in the Kong series, her lack of definition as a character and the strange lack of presence of the actress conspire to bring an imbalance to a film sorely in need of it.

After all the Kong iterations, with this entry, the Peter Jackson version (Jack Black, really?) and the forgettable ‘70s version, we still crown the 1933 version the King of the Kongs.

 

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Passengers

Posted on March 20, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Passengers

 

Passengers arrived months ago with a great deal of marketing but ended up with a rather soft landing. If not for a positive review when I was looking to see a video, I would likely have let it slip by. I’m glad I didn’t.

The film is held up by two pillars. The first is the production design, which is beautiful, well deserving of its Oscar nomination. It’s the lighter and more positive side of a film like Ex Machina.

Then of course there are the leads, who either hold the film together or are the reason to avoid it. Jennifer Lawrence and Chris Pratt are two of the most likable and sympathetic actors today. (And this being a Hollywood film, of course they are both good-looking.) Her seriousness and intelligence blend well with his sturdy Everyman quality, especially as his is livened with a sense of humor that keeps the film grounded in some kind of earthly reality.

Neither actor completely nails the part. Perhaps the direction by Morten Tyldum (The Imitation Game) ended up more concerned with the technical elements rather than the human ones. Lawrence rose to the occasion in each scene, covering a full emotional range throughout the film. But a solid character never completely emerges, and she is more of an accouterment to Pratt’s character and a projection of his desires and fears than a unique human being at times. Pratt is growing as a serious actor, and you can almost see his awe at finding himself a leading man. Again, he works hard in each scene and earns our sympathies early. His humor is invaluable to the film, too, and those lovely comic grace notes lift the entire film. He manages to do a respectable Tom Hanks/Cast Away feat of carrying a good deal of the film alone as well, and proves his leading man status in the process.

The film owes a good deal of its success to the presence of two other actors. The inimitable Michael Sheen (The Queen) is Britain’s answer to our own Stanley Tucci, who improves every film he is a part of. Here, Sheen plays a character we are happy to see at every occasion, and whose character moves the film forward while providing a series of opportunities for the main characters to express themselves in ways they couldn’t with just one another. He’s a complete delight. The other actor? You’ll just have to see the film.

The film looks like it might be simply a typical story of two pretty people caught in a space challenge of some kind. If pressed too hard, the holes and occasional lapses of believability in the story might pull some viewers out of the film. But the film concerns itself with issues far more interesting than the simple plot line. Try these:

  • The issue of honesty in relationships
  • What/who we are attracted to and why
  • How changed circumstances put people together who may never have looked at one another in their “normal lives”
  • Forgiveness
  • How loneliness, neediness and pressure can lead to questionable decisions
  • How danger/pressure can move us past our differences and offenses

There are others, of course, and they are worth not only discovering, but also discussing. If you let Passengers slide by, it might be time to pay the film a visit.

 

 

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#OscarsSoSilly

Posted on February 8, 2017 by Mark DuPré

The Oscars should be taken seriously on a few levels. Sometimes they actually reward and encourage great work. At other times, they at least call attention to work that might otherwise be ignored. They can jumpstart a stalling career (or in the case of Best Supporting Actress, apparently begin the death process) or begin a new successful one.

But it’s good not to take them too seriously. They are not quite as silly as the Golden Globes, which admittedly have moved from the ridiculous (voters in the past seemed to be able to be bought by a few peanuts and a free drink) to the occasionally interesting. They lean European, of course, which makes sense considering that the group behind them is the Hollywood Foreign Press. That helps bring a little balance to the Oscars, which of course tend to skew American.

When we look over some of the more laughable Oscar wins in its history (does anyone seriously want to remember Renée Zellweger’s Cold Mountain award with fondness and pride?), it’s helpful to know what is really going on under the surface. Occasionally, a best “something” actually gets an award for that best work. Marion Cotillard for La Vie en Rose is a case in point. Yes, a foreign language performance, and it was the best of many a year. Also, Philip Seymour Hoffman in Capote, etc.

But many times, we are giving a career reward for someone the Academy hasn’t bestowed its golden man on at this point. Julianne Moore’s award for Still Alice was given for a wonderful piece of acting, and a great chance to give an “overdue” artist her award. (See also the Best Actress awards for Nicole Kidman for The Hours and Kate Winslet for The Reader, both of which could/should have been in the Supporting Actress category) Or the great performance was the year before, when someone else got the award, and this year, if you put in a good one, you’ll get the Oscar for that, even though we all know it’s a year-later consolation prize.

Perhaps the two most prominent actors receiving the consolation award were Bette Davis and James Stewart. Davis had reportedly come in second with a write-in vote for her work in 1934’s Of Human Bondage –meaning she wasn’t even officially nominated. Of course this was the year of the first five-award sweep (Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, Screenplay) for It Happened One Night. If you look at Davis’s performance now in comparison with the other nominees, hers sails above them, even Claudette Colbert’s solid work in It Happened One Night. In a more perfect world, Grace Moore and Norma Shearer should have been out, and Myrna Loy should have been nominated for her stellar work in The Thin Man (which earned her film partner William Powell a nomination.)

In any event, it was generally recognized that the Academy had blown it big-time with their failure to nominate Davis. So she got the next year’s award for Dangerous. There was no real standout that year, so her win made some kind of sense. (She also won three years later, deservedly so, for Jezebel.)

But the James Stewart award mix-up may well have stemmed from the same year. Clark Gable won Best Actor for his good work in It Happened One Night, which meant that he wasn’t going to win for 1939’s Gone with the Wind, an admittedly stronger performance and probably the best of his career. For some reason, the Academy lost its head for a moment, passing over Stewart’s work in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (which still stands up) for Robert Donat’s in Goodbye, Mr. Chips, which really doesn’t as much. (That film is more remembered now for introducing us to the lovely Greer Garson than for Donat’s performance).

So what to do? Well, we’ll give it to Stewart for a perfectly fine but not special performance in The Philadelphia Story, over Chaplin in The Great Dictator, Olivier in Rebecca, and horror of horrors, over the man who should have won, Henry Fonda for his powerful work in The Grapes of Wrath. Fonda would have to wait until the 1980’s for his “he’s going to die, let’s quickly get him an award” award for On Golden Pond. (Fortunately, there was no performance for the ages among the nominees in that category, so why not give it to Fonda?)

Then there is the “if only they had waited a few years” element. For instance, Marlon Brando should have won Best Actor for his work in 1951’s A Streetcar Named Desire. No other performance in that very strong year had the impact and influence of that work. But it was time to reward Humphrey Bogart for his career and oh, yes, his work in that year’s African Queen. He was great in that film, but the award should have gone to Brando. It gets confusing, though, in 1955 (for the year’s previous films). That was the year that Brando finally did win his first Oscar, for his titanic work in On the Waterfront. That too was impacting and influential. But Bogart did fine work in The Caine Mutiny, and might have won for that if he hadn’t won a few years earlier. To confuse matters more, there were predictions that Bing Crosby was going to win for his dramatic (and best film) performance in The Country Girl, which dwarfed his Oscar-winning work in 1944’s Going My Way. Brando’s win makes sense, but it could have gone those two other ways for “other reasons” than giving the best performance.

Which leads us to…the personal affection factor. Speaking of The Country Girl, the lovely and well-liked Grace Kelly gave a solid “against type” performance in that film. And she won the Oscar. But it was over Judy Garland’s work in A Star is Born, which is wholly different, to be sure, but which still towers over the other nominees that year. Garland had caused a lot of problems for MGM in the late ‘40s, and wasn’t winning any new friends with how she and her producer husband were handling aspects of A Star is Born. People were tired of her antics, and Kelly had also done some solid work in Dial M for Murder and even better work in Rear Window the same year. So Garland lost. Shouldn’t have happened.

Then of course there is the single Oscar for screenplay for Citizen Kane, a film that should have cleaned up at the Oscars. But Orson Welles was a rather arrogant and obnoxious fellow, so it’s not surprising that things got personal—aside from the fact that not all that many folks recognized what a groundbreaking film it was.

Then there is the split vote (or I must confess, what I assume is a split vote). For instance, 1951’s An American in Paris won Best Picture. It’s a great film, but my guess is that A Streetcar Named Desire and A Place in the Sun (both great, serious, black-and-white classics) split the vote. The year before, the funny and talented Judy Holiday won Best Actress for Born Yesterday, an admitted comic classic (at least her performance, anyway). But this was the year that Anne Baxter insisted on being in the Best Actress category for All About Eve instead of Best Supporting (which she may well have won) with co-star Bette Davis, who gave the performance of her career. Also competing was silent film star Gloria Swanson, giving a classic performance in a great film, Sunset Boulevard. Davis should have won, but with all the vote-splitting going on, Holiday came out on top.

Perhaps the most egregious example is for 1935’s Mutiny on the Bounty. Since the Best Supporting category didn’t appear until the next year, there were three—count ‘em, three—nominees for Best Actor: Clark Gable, Charles Laughton and Franchot Tone. The winner? Victor McLaglen for John Ford’s The Informer. And Montgomery Clift and Burt Lancaster likely canceled each other out for 1953’s From Here to Eternity. But then, the winner, William Holden, was receiving his “we should have given it to you earlier” award. A lot of people thought he should have won for Sunset Boulevard (1950) and instead he won for Stalag 17 three years later.

Then of course there is the sweep factor. Perhaps the worst example of a sweep win was Charlton Heston’s in Ben-Hur. Seriously? He was probably the weakest in his category; the award at least should have gone to James Stewart for Anatomy of a Murder, which was several levels above Heston’s work. And though he was a fresh face and did fine work in 2011’s The Artist, it may well be that the love for that film swept Jean Dujardin into the winner’s circle that year. Oh yes, and Donna Reed in From Here to Eternity. And George Chakiris in West Side Story.

There’s also the career reward. That’s related to the “we should have given this to you for a stellar recent performance,” but not always. Paul Newman for The Color of Money. Jack Lemmon in Save the Tiger. Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman. Denzel Washington for Training Day. Leonard DiCaprio for The Revenant. Robert Duvall for Tender Mercies (fortunately, he also deserved that award). John Wayne in True Grit (though, again, if they’d waited, a more worthy film would have been The Shootist.) Mary Pickford in Coquette. Ginger Rogers in Kitty Foyle. Elizabeth Taylor in BUtterfield 8 (though this was coupled with the “you almost died, here’s your award” factor). Jessica Tandy in Driving Miss Daisy (good performance, but really a lifetime achievement award). Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich (sure, a really good performance, but Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream!!! Helen Hayes in Airport. John Mills for Ryan’s Daughter. Don Ameche in Cocoon. Jack Palance in City Slickers. George Clooney in Syriana. The list will go on and on.

The race factor. Hollywood has rightly been criticized, like the rest of America, for its institutional racism, which has denied many a black (or Asian, or whatever) actor or actress the career they perhaps might have had. So every once in a while, they try to balance the scales by honoring performances that perhaps don’t deserve the award. The recent #OscarsSoWhite controversy isn’t new. The first breakthrough came for Hattie McDaniel for a deserving performance in 1939’s Gone with the Wind. Since then…not much. But skipping back a few years, we find that (perhaps) some have won because of their race. I remember that when Denzel was nominated for Training Day, my immediate reaction was “Wow. They really like this guy. Not really deserving, but this is a sign of love. We’ll see who wins.” Well, the momentum began, and the patting on the back came early to Hollywood when there was a non-spoken (or was it?) group decision to favor both major actor categories with black winners. Halle Berry’s work in Monster’s Ball was surprisingly good, and a case can be made for it deserving the award over her competitors. (Unfortunately, she’s done little worthwhile since.) Denzel’s win for Training Day was unfortunate, too. IMHO, he didn’t quite nail the character, and Russell Crowe deserved it for A Beautiful Mind (the phone-throwing incident notwithstanding). In any event, Denzel’s was probably the weakest in the category. But it was Hollywood’s year to congratulate itself again by attempting to make up for its past sins. (See also Sidney Poitier’s award for a “nice” performance in 1963’s Lilies of the Field. Hello? Albert Finney in Tom Jones, or even Paul Newman in Hud?)

Then there is the simple “What the heck were they thinking, or smoking?” award. Best Picture to 1952’s The Greatest Show on Earth can be attempted to be excused as a career award for legendary director Cecil B. DeMille, who never won a competitive Oscar. But what about Around the World in 80 Days? Or The Sting? Or Rocky (over All the President’s Men)? Out of Africa? Dances with Wolves?

Bottom line? The Oscars are based on a huge variety of factors, some of which have to do with the quality of the work. That makes them interesting, important, occasionally silly, and never completely predictable.

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2017: Thoughts on Oscar

Posted on February 6, 2017 by Mark DuPré

This year’s nominations are anything but shocking, though you’d think there was drama galore according to some reports. But that’s just an attempt to wring some strum und drang from what is a pretty normal year.

Yes, it’s a big deal to have a picture win 14 nominations, as La La Land did. And while the number of nominations doesn’t predict the final total (1977’s The Turning Point and 1985’s The Color Purple both had 11 nominations and went home empty-handed), it’s likely La La Land will do well—though with two films nominated for Best Song, it’s sure to lose at least one in that category. Though it’s not a runaway smash, it’s a solid hit, and the timing of its rise as well as its worth will likely seal its win for Best Picture.

Side comment: It was good to see the generally under-appreciated Hell or High Water get a nomination for Best Picture. A modern western, it’s also a solidly made film with a great original screenplay (nominated) and solid performances, including Jeff Bridges with another nomination.

All of the films have their strengths, though some of the sentimental favorites (Lion, Hidden Figures, and even Arrival) don’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hades. But a nomination brings attention and dollars, and these are films worthy of both.

The only category that has suddenly gotten interesting is Best Actor. It’s been considered a lock up until now for Casey Affleck for his magnificent performance in Manchester by the Sea. But with Denzel Washington’s win at the Screen Actors Guild Awards for Fences, things are looking different. Denzel is deeply loved by the Academy, and Casey is an acquired taste, or even one who leaves a bad taste. I love Denzel, and would love to have coffee with him, while I’m not eager to share a caffeine moment with Casey. But I’m one of the few who thinks that Denzel, while a good actor who can occasionally touch being very, very good, he isn’t a great actor, and can be, yes, overrated. (If more than a few folks read this, I’d get hate mail for this statement. But no worries.) Affleck’s performance is one for the ages, and the fact that he hasn’t always behaved and doesn’t have the loyalty of other performers shouldn’t make a difference. I hope it doesn’t.

The Best Actress category brings me to one of my pet peeves. It’s the use of the word “snub.” Media coverage loves to create drama and exaggeration where there isn’t any, and the use of this word is very rarely accurate. For example, we are to believe that Amy Adams was “snubbed” because she didn’t get the expected nomination for Arrival. Or Hugh Grant for Best Supporting Actor for his excellent work in Florence Foster Jenkins (a must-see), or even perennial favorite Tom Hanks for Sully. It makes for fun speculation as to why someone got in and someone didn’t, but few folks are actually snubbed.

The reason Hanks didn’t get nominated is that he was merely solid, and the other male performances in that category were better. Same for Hugh Grant, though it would have been nice to see him get a nomination for what might be his best work. The speculation for Amy Adams is that her “slot,” a ridiculous idea, was taken by either Ruth Negga for Loving or La Streep for the aforementioned Florence Foster Jenkins. Negga has been getting solid buzz for a long time, and since race has been a big issue this past year (as if it hasn’t for the previous several hundred?), the nomination is also a respectful tip of the hat to the subject of interracial marriage. (Hollywood loves to pat itself on the back for its political correctness, and nominations like this are both deserving and feel-good at the same time.) Meryl Streep’s Golden Globe speech may well have locked in her Oscar nomination this year. But for those who don’t think her work here was special, think again. Streep has never been strong in comedies, and she shines here, though she plays the “straight woman” part rather than the one knowingly generating the laughs. Plus her technical work—singing off-key so precisely with just the right edge of self-deception—is a triumph right up there with Eddie Redmayne’s work with the growing physical debilitation of his character in his Oscar-winning role in The Theory of Everything, or Colin Firth’s combination speech impediment/stammer in The King’s Speech. Streep’s was a masterful performance made all the more amazing by how effortless it looked. Try thinking of anyone else in that role and you’ll realize how very good she was here.

Of course neither she nor Negga will win. But Negga’s nomination is the award itself, and 20 for Streep is a nice, historic round number. And Amy Adams should thank the Academy. Some have posited that the gratitude should be for not placing her on the list of those who are nominated for X number of times and haven’t won. They’re right that Amy wouldn’t have won this year anyway, and therefore escapes said list. I’m suggesting that her not being nominated makes her next nomination that much stronger. People love her, and the next strong performance—barring an amazing performance elsewhere—is practically guaranteeing her a win.

The Academy is grateful to Fences for providing it an opportunity to give the much-loved Viola Davis an Oscar for Fences. Of course she is excellent. But that’s almost not the point. She pretty much always is, and the Academy wants to give an Oscar so badly they can taste it. The only regret here is that Michelle Williams’ stunning work in Manchester by the Sea may be left in the shadows. Williams’ and Affleck’s last scene together in the film is nearly overwhelming and may be the best two-person scene this past year. But watch for the immediate standing ovation for Davis when she wins.

Best Animated Film has a lot of strong contenders: Kubo and the Two Strings, and the popular Moana and Zootopia. Should be interesting to see who comes out on top.

Apparently we are far enough away from the Holocaust that it no longer dominates the documentary category. Instead, race relations has taken its place: I am Not Your Negro, 13th, and O.J.: Made in America are all in the running.

Two final thoughts:

It was nice to see the genuinely odd and original Lobster get a nomination for screenplay. It was better written than directed, but it’s good to see that the oddness of its central idea didn’t keep folks from noticing the freshness of its script.

Also, it’s not always the case that the film destined to win Best Picture (La La Land) has so many technical nominations as well as the usual writing, directing and acting ones. It’s certainly a contender for Best Cinematography, Best Costume Design, Best Editing, Best Production Design, Best Sound Mixing, and Best Sound Editing. It’s an unusually strong film that can capture nominations in all those categories.

Predictions? Soon….

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Jackie and Hidden Figures

Posted on January 30, 2017 by Mark DuPré

I spent a good portion of my weekend in the early 1960s. First, Jackie, the impressionistic, rather cool story of Jacqueline Kennedy during and shortly after John Kennedy’s assassination in 1963. Most attention has been paid to Natalie Portman’s masterful performance, which just a short while ago was the favorite for her second Oscar (not so much anymore). Certainly, it’s a technical triumph on the order of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s performance in Capote and Colin Firth’s in The King’s Speech. Both involved digging deeply into the character while conquering a major vocal challenge: Truman Capote’s voice was, shall we say, unique, and the king in The King’s Speech had both a stammer and a speech impediment. Portman, Hoffman, and Firth all rose to the challenge by making their speech part of their characters, and not an affectation or odd, unattached characteristic.

Jackie is deliberately Brechtian in its direction and screenplay, and even in the central performance. The film is structured around an interview (think The Usual Suspects without the fun), but moves forward and backward in its presentation of a woman, soaked in grief and anger, who is nevertheless engaged in setting the country’s memory of her husband’s short time in office in Camelot amber. Even the interview, the viewer’s home base, is made somewhat uncomfortable by its distancing cinematography and mise-en-scène. The rest of the time, we are thrown around as in an amusement park ride, from this moment in time to that, and from this reaction to that outburst to the back-and-forth of funeral plans. Fortunately, Portman holds this together with her performance, for the film doesn’t seem to have a specific point of view other than to demonstrate the grieving, controlling, deeply wounded, intelligent, articulate woman who was once our First Lady.

There is something of a dramatic arc in the film’s depiction of the central events surrounding the assassination, including the swearing in of LBJ, Jackie’s state of shock, her crafting the theater of the funeral, and the packing up of the family’s belongings to make way for the new White House occupants. There are also flashbacks to Jackie’s famous television tour of the White House. The big moment, though, comes in a flashback toward the end of the film, as Jackie once again remembers the gruesome details of the actual shooting, which is presented in a manner that’s not exploitative but is nonetheless gruesome and hard to watch.

This is first and last Portman’s film, and will be the definitive Jackie “biography” for a long time. But a few other notes: The actor playing John Kennedy, Caspar Phillipson, is a bit short for the part, but looks a great deal like him, which has resonance for those of us old enough to have been paying attention to the presidency. Also, Peter Sarsgaard really doesn’t look a lot like Bobby Kennedy, but this terrific actor owns the part, and makes his scenes with Portman the highlight of the film, be they scenes of tender protection or angry accusation. Billy Crudup (the interviewer/writer), Greta Gerwig (Jackie’s friend and confidante) and the late John Hurt (Jackie’s priest) are all solid.

Ultimately, the film is more pieces than a whole, but the viewer is left with the strong impression of Jackie as a powerful, conflicted presence who masterfully crafted a perception of her husband that has lasted over half a century and is in little danger of fading. We’re also left with the idea that Portman is an extraordinary actress.

Hidden Figures is this year’s The Blind Side or The Help—not because of subject matter (race) as much as they are all well made, feel-good movies that were popular and don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of winning Best Picture, in spite of their nomination in that category. Hidden Figures tells the story of three brilliant black women who by virtue of mathematical skill made it into the inner workings of NASA in the early 1960’s and were instrumental in getting our astronauts into space. Facing sexism and racism, the three triumph by virtue of their brains and determination.

The basic facts of their trials and successes are the heart of the story. The three main white characters, however, are either composites of several real people, or were created to represent certain racial and sexist attitudes of the times. (Beware of the “Based on true events” line in the first few moments of the film, or other similar lines in other films.) Yet the story is both heartbreaking and encouraging, and unlike the stories of Red Tails and Free State of Jones, the film version of the events of a great and important story will be contained in a solid and entertaining film that won’t be quickly forgotten.

The “triumph over obstacles” element of the film is at the heart of the film, but the film relaxes enough to include family, romance, the challenges of the space program—especially in light of the Soviet competition—and of course, race in America circa 1961. As enjoyable and as easily watchable as the film is, the institutional racism of the country provokes sadness, anger and deep regret, and is therefore an important if mild reminder of our great national sin. This is a film that should be seen to keep us aware of our recent history, even if the context of the rest of the story threatens to soften its impact.

The film is smooth and goes down easily. The separate bathroom theme is overplayed and stretched out far too long with one character, and doesn’t make the point as much as dilutes it. But that’s the film’s only overstatement. Performances are strong. In a weaker Best Actress year, lead actress Taraji P. Hensen might have copped a nomination for a solid performance. Octavia Spencer is one of the most likeable actresses around, but her nomination here is likely based more on the part and her likability than on meeting the demands of a difficult part (such has her Oscar-winning part in The Help). It’s interesting that the three main white characters, even the two more insensitive ones, are played by relatable actors—Jim Parsons and Kirsten Dunst—that we could never dislike even while we aren’t tracking with their attitudes. That’s worth an analysis all its own.

The story and treatment of the film will make it enjoyable and long-lived. Other than being the feel-good film of the year, the presentation of racism (even more than sexism) here is a fascinating entry in the lineup of films that address the darker issues of our country’s past. Some could argue that these themes are not addressed with the judgmentalism and edge needed—a point. Others could argue that the treatment is realistic and just sharp enough to be taken in by today’s viewer in a way that sticks—also a point. Talk amongst yourselves….

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Quick thoughts on the Golden Globe Awards

Posted on January 9, 2017 by Mark DuPré

Meryl Streep is one of our greatest actresses, and I have the utmost respect for her talents. In my mind, she is one of a small handful of genius actors. It makes me ache to see her fall into the usual trap of feeling that she has to use a platform created by her talents to speak her political mind—no matter what she said. Just accept the award graciously, Meryl, and compliment your other actor friends. You’re just feeding the all-too-common idea that filmmakers are entitled rich people who are above the rest of the hoi polloi and need to be taught the higher perspectives. And no, it wasn’t brave to say what nearly everyone else in the echo chamber–I mean the room—already believes. And I also think Donald Trump’s tweet response was think-skinned, defensive, childish and completely wrong on every level.

I was grateful to see a few women dressed modestly. For a group that supposedly would view themselves as opposed to the exploitation of women, it’s remarkable how many women present themselves wearing tight and/or cleavage-revealing outfits. The irony is dizzying.

The loss of what was expected to be Mahershala Ali’s supporting actor award for Moonlight to Aaron Taylor-Johnson for Nocturnal Animals was completely unexpected.

Not sure if Tom Hiddleston’s award for “The Night Manager” was deserved. But Hugh Laurie’s award for the same show certainly wasn’t. It belonged to Sterling K. Brown for his portrayal of Christopher Darden in “The People vs. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story.” Perhaps the British background of these two actors was the deciding factor for these “foreign press” members of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. All these performances were good. It’s just that Brown’s was excellent.

Steve Carell and Kristen Wiig (go, Rochester!) had by far the best and funniest presentation of the evening. It was a master class of comedy and timing.

The seven awards for La La Land were a record. Not only did the film win the most Golden Globes in history, but it won in every category in which it was nominated. But these awards are probably not necessarily going to be the predictor of this year’s Academy Awards. La La Land was the obvious choice in the comedy/musical category. How could that be compared fairly to Manchester by the Sea or Moonlight? Apples and oranges. It may be that we have a revisit to the films from 1951, when the vote between dark and serious films—A Streetcar Named Desire and A Place in the Sun—may have split the vote and given the top award to the musical An American in Paris.

The Best Actress/Drama award to French legend Isabelle Huppert may be a bellwether of a shift away from Natalie Portman’s portrayal of Jackie Kennedy in Jackie. Or, again, it may be the “foreign press” aspect again, though there has been talk for months that Huppert deserves the award. She will certainly be nominated.

Casey Affleck deserves the Best Actor/Drama award, and he’ll win the Oscar. Sorry, Ryan G. Not your year, so be content with the Golden Globe and be glad they divide the Best Acting awards.

Viola Davis’ award for Fences signals her receiving the Oscar this year for the same performance.

Damien Chazelle, winner of Best Screenplay and Director for La La Land and just shy of 32 years of age, is now officially Hollywood’s new wunderkind. Whiplash wasn’t a fluke, but a sign of what was to come.

Can’t argue with the two awards for The Crown. Well worth the visit.

Best Miniseries or TV Film and Best Actress for Sarah Paulson for “The People vs. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story” might have been the most deserved awards of the evening.

Mel Gibson has officially made his comeback with Hacksaw Ridge.

Sophia Vergara is a lovely woman, but she looked and acted rather ridiculous.

I can’t comment on the many awards for relatively new television shows, as I can’t begin to keep up with them. And I wonder how many voters can….

The chiropractors in the Los Angeles area were likely quite busy today with all the patting on one’s back that went on last night. Can we please just rein it in and stick to filmmaking and gratitude?

Lastly, the Golden Globes only recently have scaled the walls of respectability. Their history is as a compromised small group of easily influenced Eurocentric voters. Their present isn’t a whole lot different.

 

 

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La La Land

Posted on January 9, 2017 by Mark DuPré

I haven’t seen Moonlight yet (I live in Rochester, New York, not a major city, and it takes awhile for films to get here at times), but La La Land may well be the best film of the year. It’s not perfect, but it reaches higher, and succeeds more, than any other film I’ve seen this year except perhaps Manchester by the Sea.

Director/screenwriter Damien Chazelle (Whiplash) has done the near-impossible. He’s not just created a musical, but he’s created a modern cinematic context where anyone but the most cynical can accept the conceits of the classic musical—that folks can sing and dance in the real world, occasionally being joined by others, and of course, with lots of orchestral background. No one has tried that, at least with this level of success, in years.

Its numbers are dazzling at times (a word I use precisely), especially the first number that obliterates the viewer’s skepticism by virtue of the number’s audacity and demonstration of talent and cinematic artistry. And Chazelle tries to dazzle several other times, and usually succeeds. He does it with camera movement, pacing, editing, lighting, and color. He quotes so many classic Hollywood and French musicals that I lost count, or just happily gave up trying and let myself just enjoy the whole experience. There are nods to Singin’ in the Rain, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, many a Vincente Minnelli film, especially An American in Paris (there is lots of “Minnelli red”), The Red Balloon, the non-musicals Rebel Without a Cause and Casablanca, and the entire Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers canon—for starters.

But a viewer doesn’t have to have any background to enjoy the film, as Chazelle has successfully reinvented every element of the musical so that it resonates today; knowing what he might be quoting or paying homage to is simply an added layer of enjoyment. He opens the film with a classic musical approach that brings in singers and dancers over a large physical space—in this case a stretch of Los Angeles road—then approaches most other numbers differently. Lovers express their emotions. An audition that prompts a personal story leads into a song. There are “what if?” reveries. And there are more realistic songs performed as songs within the context of the film by Ryan Gosling, who plays a jazz pianist, and John Legend, who plays a compromised version of himself.

The casting is just about perfect. Gosling and Emma Stone, the female lead, each has a strong screen presence on their own, and an insane chemistry between them. (This is their third film, after the popular Crazy, Stupid, Love and the far-less-popular Gangster Squad.) Their easy-going connection makes every scene believable, every action acceptable.

Neither is what would be called a serious singer or dancer, though they can each carry at tune, and Stone especially has some good moments, especially in “Audition (The Fools Who Dream)” near the end of the film. Considering that Gosling was with Justin Timberlake, Christina Aguilera, and Britney Spears as part of The Mickey Mouse Club in their youth, I expected a slightly higher level of expertise in song and dance. But their level of talent works here in unexpected ways.

I generally bemoan the use of “actors who sing” making film musicals with challenging or beautiful music. Perhaps the most egregious example in recent years has been Tim Burton’s Sweeney Todd, which featured two very good actors—Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter—who could carry a tune, but not the beauty of the songs they sang. Having heard the stage version, I was aware of the exquisite tones and harmonies I was missing, even as the performers acted their parts well.

La La Land could have had that discrepancy, except that the film itself is about dreams, and the work in reaching for them. Chazelle has taken the American musical (and its French homages) and reconstituted it as a kind of dream itself that one can only reach for, and quote, and attempt to fit oneself into. Gosling’s and Stone’s characters are striving, and they’re reaching for something, and their falling short of Gene Kelly, Judy Garland or Astaire/Rogers actually works for the film. In their singing and dancing, they are fitting themselves into the dream, and their “good enough” quality adds to their honoring of the dream they’re aspiring to. There were moments where the key Gosling was singing in was too low, but then Stone comes in with a harmony and you realize that anything in a higher key wouldn’t sound right for her. Another thing the “good enough” musical performances do is keep this soaring film grounded in the reality of its characters. Gosling shouldn’t be Howard Keel, and Stone shouldn’t be Kathryn Grayson. Those lovely voices would wrench the viewer right out of the film and the world Chazelle has so meticulously created, and would have snapped the suspension of our disbelief, a situation so challenging to create and sustain.

For Gosling, there has to be a creative tension between how directly the film shows him playing the piano. As a serious pianist myself, I’m often in pain by how older film try to portray piano playing. Classic choices have been not to show the hands at all, and to try and simulate the movement of hands and shoulders from a distance; that’s been done relatively well and unbelievably badly. Or…sometimes the actor learns the notes and plays as close an approximation as possible. That’s the case here, and Gosling deserves all the props for his hard work. But the playing he’s doing is complex jazz, ornamented with difficult runs up and down the keyboard. He does his best, and it’s good, but the decision to show his hands isn’t always successful. Perhaps it takes a pianist to see it, but it’s clear that what he’s seeming to play is often not what we’re hearing. (But he fooled a piano-playing friend of mine, so perhaps I’m in the tiny minority, and after all, who cares?)

Another reason the film and its wildly different musical approaches succeed is that there is a strong central theme about following one’s dreams—a theme handled with respect and an acknowledgement of the struggles and sacrifices that often need to be made. Unlike other films with this theme, however, there is no judgment on those pursuing those dreams. There are real losses when there is a dream to gain, and the film doesn’t back away from this—another element that grounds the film in a certain realism. There is no “we can have it all” that we find in the most naively romantic musicals of the past. Not every relationship lives “happily ever after,” and the film recognizes the reality of that.

Aside from the theme, Chazelle also tends to use a common musical trope, only in a slightly more cynical way. Classic musical numbers have often ended with an interruption (“Shall We Dance?” from The King and I) or a shared experience—often a laugh—that brings us back into the story. Musical numbers here don’t tend to end while in the midst of a flight of fancy (and Chazelle flies pretty high), but in down-to-earth disappointments, frustrating realities, or crude communications. We’re brought right back into the real world of the film and its characters, and the numbers and their dazzle or whimsy are hermetically sealed off, preventing the non-musical world of the film from being compromised.

The songs too are varied and catch the ear. A few will live on beyond the film, and even with the rest, you will leave the theater with one or more of them in your head.

There is much more that could be said and analyzed in La La Land, and I may do that in a future entry. I certainly intend to see the film again and try to see what I know I must have missed the first time around.

The more sociological and political among us might point to this moment as one where our country needs the optimism and joy found in this film. That might be true, and I will leave to others to evaluate it in that context. From a purely filmic viewpoint, it can be said that Chazelle has accomplished a reinvention of the American musical while still paying homage to its past, being simultaneously nostalgic yet without a whiff of staleness. Yes, it’s a good story, told well, with solid acting—all those things. But Chazelle has shown us what can be done with this genre, and how to take nearly every element of a classic musical and make it work in a modern context. Yes, it will be studied for years. But don’t let that bother you. Just go out and enjoy it.

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