The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part Two

Posted on December 23, 2015 by Mark DuPré

It’s only been a month since the last installment of The Hunger Games was released, but in the dominant glow of the latest Star Wars film, it seems much longer ago than that. Part of the reason for that is not only the buzz over The Force Awakens, but the end-of-the-year buzz over the other Oscar bait released at this time, all of which tends to suck the air out of the critical and popular room and cause us to forget anything earlier than two weeks ago. The other reason is that the trilogy-tuned-into-four f-i-n-a-l-l-y c-a-m-e t-o a h-a-l-t s-o s-l-o-w-l-y.

This last entry brought things to a conclusion, succeeding in wrapping up most loose ends. But it did so with little excitement and more time taken than it should have; in fact, things rather limped to an conclusion at a tired, methodical pace. There was only one real shocking moment, but that had more to do with the startling beginning of an essentially inconsequential “fight” scene with horrible creatures than anything to do with the main plot. It’s as if our emotional investment in this film is spent on minor moments rather than major issues.

More than ever, however, Jennifer Lawrence shows her star power and acting skills. Though there is a certain deadness to the character of Katniss at this point in her life and struggle, Lawrence still holds the screen and her thought-filled, elongated scenes with internal life and focus. Even in her calm and stillness, she holds attention when surrounded with the minor stars, partly because they aren’t in enough of the film to have an impact, and when they do, they surround her as insects around a light. Jeffrey Wright, Elizabeth Banks, Stanley Tucci and Woody Harrelson—these are actors who can dominate when given half a chance, but their time in the film is so limited that there is no danger of moving our attention away from center (AKA, Katniss). Again, it’s as if the energy of the film is being deliberately tamped down in deference to the stoicism of our lead.

Only Donald Sutherland could balance the scales with his powerful performance in these film as President Snow. [Spoiler alert] But here he is weakened almost from the start, and he presents less and less of a challenge to Katniss and to Lawrence as the film goes on. This continues to keep the focus on our central character, but it also robs the film of the energy of its central conflict. Having the great Philip Seymour Hoffman die during the film’s making also damaged the film, as one of his possibly strongest scenes apparently turned into a letter that was read (can you feel the energy draining out of the film as you read this?) by a third party to Katniss. Even the talented Julianne Moore (who joins her Oscar-winning and Oscar-nominated “older actress” sisters Kate Winslet and Glenn Close as great female dystopian leaders) is less than compelling, and [another spoiler alert] her ultimate fate is painfully predictable to even those of us who haven’t read the books.

Then there is the Peeta-Gale issue, which yes, gets resolved. But like the fates of Snow and Coin (Moore), it’s almost perfunctory rather than engaging or even dramatic. Both men seem to actually fade away as the film progresses, and even though one is the ultimate “winner,” one begins to wonder what the legendary Katniss sees in either one other than a childhood friendship. (There is a rather nice “real or not real” trope that is used well in the second half of the film, though, and at least makes the moment of choice verbally interesting if not dramatically satisfying.)

I don’t know if the film was quoting or paying homage to previous film classics, but the comparison between those films and this only reflected negatively on the newer film. Is the way Panem is treated visually only coincidentally like that of Nuremberg in Triumph of the Will, and if so, why is that 1934 film horrifying in its cinematic monumentalism while this one simply looks like a triumph of CG? Is The Third Man being quoted in the sewer scenes, and if so, why is that older British film so much more suspenseful than Mockingjay, Part Two?

The film is admittedly well photographed, with a clear preference for stillness rather than action—perhaps a telling sign of why this film ended up so lethargic at times.

For one who is no longer a Young Adult, and is a non-reader of the books, the final chapter here at least provides closure with the main questions of who will live and die, who will win and who will reign, and which of two unengaging characters will end up with our heroine. Yet the drawn-out pace and lack of dramatic tension throughout leads to the thought that, except perhaps for the financial benefit of its makers, the series should have remained a trilogy.

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Spotlight

Posted on December 15, 2015 by Mark DuPré

Spotlight was supposed to be the critical hit of the year. It was supposed to be our era’s All the President’s Men. It’s got the greatest cast since…whatever. Apparently the awards are not working out that way at this point, a few “Best Film” awards and cast awards notwithstanding. That’s a pity, as between the new Star Wars film and the other end-of-year films, there’s a chance that it will be ignored.

It’s not the new All the President’s Men, as some have claimed. It doesn’t have the texture, breadth or depth of that film. But its theme is easily as important, and it’s perhaps the best-acted, intelligent, adult film of the year. For those not yet familiar with it, this is the true story of an investigative team of journalists within The Boston Globe who set their sights on a story of sexual abuse by Catholic priests in the Boston diocese. The story begins with an investigation of one priest who seemed to have been protected (i.e., moved around when he got caught), and then unfolds in horrifying layers to indicate a systemic cover-up within the entire Catholic hierarchy in the area.

The film is lean, clean, stripped down, and uncomplicated. The story—not the special effects, or grand camerawork, or even scenery-chewing actors—is the star here, and it’s enough to carry the film through with an intensity that pulls us in in the first few minutes. The film is directed by Tom McCarthy (best known for writing The Station Agent and Million Dollar Arm) and co-written by McCarthy and Josh Singer.

It looks and feels like a film directed by a writer. It’s a bit overwritten at times in that the main actors say those “tell me more about that” statements to get the viewer up to speed, or they ask questions that they should already know the answers to, all for our sake as viewers. It’s a tough balance when there are complexities and subtleties to the story, but the film seemed a bit on the literal and explanatory side at times. The camera movement and mise-en-scène of cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi, who did more dramatic photographic work in Silver Linings Playbook and especially The Warrior, is here more subdued and submitted to the forward motion of the plot. Unlike those two films, too, the color palette is more realistic and reflective of a normal office set-up. Less exciting, but in good service to the focus on the investigators.

What’s getting all the attention, aside from the theme of the film, is the acting. Michael Keaton has already won a Best Actor Award from the New York Film Critics Circle, and for some mysterious reason, Rachel McAdams was picked for a Best Supporting Actress Award nomination from her peers in the Screen Actors Guild. She was solid, to be sure, and put forth more intelligence than charm and screen presence, which is difficult considering how much of the latter two qualities she possesses. But why the guild passed over the other actors is confusing. Thankfully, they are nominated by the guild as a cast, but that’s a tough category this year (see The Big Short, Straight Outta Compton and Trumbo.)

If I had to pick a standout in this excellent group, it may well be Liev Schreiber (television’s Ray Donovan), who plays the new boss from out of town who is less than welcome at first but brings the necessary outsider perspectives needed to push the story through to its grand conclusion. He underplays beautifully, which adds a great contrast to the other actors, and adds another level of complexity to the overall story.

There isn’t a weak link in the cast. Keaton is smart and intense, John Slattery is solid, the irreplaceable Stanley Tucci adds another great character to his repertoire, Jamey Sheridan has never been better, Billy Crudup is slick but never sleazy, and Brian d’Arcy James (a Broadway legend but probably best known for TV’s Smash) should be thanking his lucky stars every night that he had the opportunity to join this cast for this film (and he’s nearly as good as the others, but with just a little less screen presence).

The always fascinating Mark Ruffalo has the official lead in the cast, and brings his unique presence to the film. He is the hothead, and his trademark intensity is on hand to complement the character’s concerns and actions. Ruffalo is a presence like Bill Murray, not in the comedy sense, but in the sense that he tends to always be in another film than every else, and he seems to break out of the mise-en-scène like a solo actor in an old movie with a matte shot behind him of the other actors. On one hand, it works for a character not in synch with the rest of his team at times, but for someone who always threatens to punch through the screen, underplaying seems to serve him best (see Foxcatcher for a fine example).

Without overplaying his hand, McCarthy lets us know that we are all guilty of some level of complicity in the cover-up. There were those who coolly and knowingly put politics or expediency before the safety of children, and there were others who, to one degree or another, essentially ignored the story at one stage or another—for almost understandable reasons: Who would have imagined the scope? Who would have had the ability to connect the dots early on? There is plenty of guilt to go around, but we are moved and challenged rather than slimed.

The film falters in a few ways. Slattery’s character seems as if there is more to the story of his decisions and reactions, but nothing comes of it; it seems as if something was left on the cutting room floor (or archived). The dedication to the story-chasing is probably reflective of the journalists’ focus, but the leanness unfortunately makes the film pale a bit in comparison to All the President’s Men, a comparison that is inevitable considering the two stories—and even the presence of Ben Bradlee (Jason Robards) in the older film and Ben Bradlee Jr. (Slattery) in the newer one. Perhaps a little more rounding of the characters’ lives or emotions might have made for a stronger film.

Yet Spotlight is easily one of the best films of the year, and perhaps the most important one. It’s a showcase of great acting, a defense of the kind of journalism we rarely see, and its theme, while not allowed to resonate with the viewer as it could, is unfortunately always tragic and always current. We don’t get a lot of smart, mature films that handle a strong theme with intelligence and cunning. We need to see them when they come around.

 

 

 

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Creed

Posted on December 12, 2015 by Mark DuPré

Let’s hope that Creed doesn’t get completely lost in the rush of end-of-year films, including major franchise entries such as Mockingjay, Part Two and that upcoming Star Something…. Creed is both nostalgic and original, fresh and old-school. Yes, it can be viewed as the latest in the Rocky series, but considering everything filmed after the original 1976 Best Picture Winner, it would be best to call this Rocky.2. It’s easily the best Rocky film since the original, and it extends rather than drags out the franchise and the concept.

Creed is the story of Apollo Creed’s “love child,” a young man who can’t get fighting out of his system, and can’t yet come to terms with the legacy he possesses. Should he deny it, forget it about it, or embrace it? As he begins to become a real fighter, he enlists the help of the legendary Rocky, whom he has to coax out of retirement to help him. The rest of the story is as clichéd as the previous couple of sentences, but takes nothing away from the film, and in fact provides a great deal of its enjoyment.

This is the next Rocky film, yes, but it’s a film on its own terms. It doesn’t balance yesterday and today completely, and the juggling of themes and moods doesn’t always work, but this is an example of the voice of a fresh, relatively new filmmaker, Ryan Coogler, who succeeds in resurrecting a cinematic myth with respect and creativity.

Creed is played by Michael B. Jordan, known best for a fine turn in Coogler’s previous film (and except for Creed, only other feature) Fruitvale Station, and the unfortunate 2015 version of Fantastic Four, where perhaps 12 people saw him as Johnny Storm. He has clearly spent hours in the gym, and looks something like a fighter, but just not quite one in the same weight class as we are led to believe. Jordan is an intelligent, thoughtful actor, and brings a sensitivity to the role that the casting of a mindless palooka would have missed. He provides a depth to the character that isn’t found in the script, and it adds immeasurably to the film. He’s already won the Boston Online Film Critics Association Award for Best Actor for this one, so he’s far more than just a guy who can look the part.

The big surprise of the film, though, is Sylvester Stallone, who is giving perhaps his best performance in any film, including the original Rocky. (He just won the above group’s Best Supporting Actor Award, as well as a Golden Globe nomination.) His relaxed approach and genuinely touching acting moments may well snag him a sentimental Supporting Actor Oscar nomination—one he’d never win, but one that a nostalgic-feeling branch of the Academy may want to reward him with. He’s clearly not working the nostalgia angle, though, and brings a fresh, modern, and loose feel to his performance. He’s the Rocky we may remember from 40 years ago, but he is re-presented here as a real, tired, but vibrant and believable person.

The music is emblematic of the struggle of the film to combine diverse elements into a single film. The film has to be current yet evoke the legend. It seeks to be respectful, even evocative, of the original Rocky storyline but wants to feel like today. The music that works the best is hip-hop, which has the energy and feel of the life and struggles of Creed and his friends. Then there is a full, lush orchestral sound that seems to try to evoke the ‘70s sound of the early Rocky age. But it seems out of place, and I was at times wondering if we were about to be treated to a chorus of “Come Saturday Morning” from The Sterile Cuckoo. Then there is the full dramatic, orchestral sound of the “big scenes” such as fights, running, and scenes of working out, which are modern replays from the earlier Rockys, and are a bit much, tending to overplay the moment.

The balance of old and new, freshness and deliberate nostalgia, are worthy of some serious study and could easily be the topic of many a film paper. But for the regular filmgoer, this is an enjoyable film on its own as well as a model for how to respect the franchise, evoke the best parts of yesterday, and still be an inventive, entertaining and engaging film.

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The Good Dinosaur

Posted on December 6, 2015 by Mark DuPré

Bottom line: Not so “good.”

Probably the best part of this latest Pixar film was the marketing decision to release it during the long Thanksgiving weekend, when its competition consisted of more grown-up offerings. TGD is just OK at best, and borderline offensive (I think) at times. It’s weak Pixar, to be kind, and occasionally little more than glorified Saturday morning television fare.

First, the strengths. The backgrounds are beautiful, and sometimes genuinely stunning and breathtaking. The film’s rendering of water is exquisite. Water is notoriously difficult to get right in animation, especially when one is attempting something close to realism over visual poetry.

Unfortunately, the artistry of the main animal characters isn’t up to the level of the backgrounds, and its shows. Sometimes it doesn’t matter, and other times, it’s painfully obvious.

The story is generic, but that’s not the problem. On paper, most of the great Pixar or Disney films sound simplistic in terms of plot. The problem with The Good Dinosaur is that it’s essentially one-dimensional. Pixar films are known to resonate with both children and adults, and with meaning that touches the heart, the mind and the memory banks. TGD is children’s fare, and while certain sequences have their own excitement, the Toy Story adult/child vibe or the Inside Out multi-level richness is absent. It’s cute, but won’t reward multiple viewings in the same way.

There are also a few…let’s call them…challenges with the film. The first is the preceding cartoon is “Sanjay’s Super Team,” which may challenge parents not acquainted with Hindu gods to explain what’s going on to their children.

Some of the other challenges involve the main film’s evolutionary stance. It’s not unusual to see something like “65 Million Years Ago” or some such dating in a modern film. But the treatment of the little “feral human” and his (spoiler alert) ultimate family unit as half-humans somewhere up the chain between knuckle-draggers and full human beings may not jive with many parents’ view of how we got here on this Earth.

Perhaps most in-your-face offensive is the seeming occasional satire of Christianity, which is a bit jarring in a children’s film. One of the more nasty critters is fond of using the phrase “the storm provides” in an obvious pun on “the Lord provides.” That could have been cute and a funny variation. But with the other “revival” activities surrounding the use of that phrase [one of the other creatures gets a “relevation,” (revelation) in a kind of ecstatic experience] the religious references are more cutting and offensive than quaint or creative. It’s hard not to find the combination merely a fun twist of phrase.

The film was known to have replaced its original director and to have delayed its release date by a year. Perhaps that accounts for the problems with the film. For younger children, it might prove a diversion. It certainly won’t become a classic.

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Spectre

Posted on November 23, 2015 by Mark DuPré

The latest Bond film is beautiful to look at, well acted, and a bit disjointed. In spite of some well-done action scenes, it’s surprisingly laidback. It’s not quite limp, but it clearly lacks the dramatic tension of its immediate successor Skyfall.

Daniel Craig is back again for his fourth and, some are saying, his last outing as the British loose cannon/spy. He’s been the right man for the reboot of the series, and he’s a good actor, not just a good Bond. His trademark intensity is a little tamped down this time around, and that’s a loss, as it accounts for a great deal of the energy—and enjoyment—of the most recent Bond films. Craig seems a little tired this time around. Understandable at this point, but less interesting.

The plot? Does it matter? Spectre reaches way back into the Bond legend to old villains and conspiracies, but it’s not enough to ratchet up the tension to the requisite levels. Christoph Waltz as the bad guy is a cliché at this point (I’m sure it seemed genius when someone first thought of it.) He’s, to use a word with multiple implications, “fine.” But he’s not spine-tingling or strange or intriguing. He’s just CW pulled out of a Tarantino film and told to bring it down a notch.

Much has been made of the oldest Bond “girl,” the international star Monica Belluci, one of cinema’s great beauties. (For Americans, they know her best as Mary Magdelene in The Passion of the Christ.) Yes, she was 50 (51 now) and older than Craig. But her cinematic treatment hedges many a bet. She’s presented as a possibly grieving widow, dressed head to toe in elegant, fashionable and complimentary black. She even has a veil over her (slightly wrinkled?) face when we meet her, and she has a good deal of makeup on. Yes, she’s older than every other Bond females. But she’s also an international beauty who is lovingly dressed and photographed, and she is dismissed from the picture almost as quickly as she arrives. It’s the slightest tip of the hat to an acknowledgement of age (for Bond and for the audience), but more likely a reach to the international market.

The same, of course, goes with the casting of Léa Seydoux, fresh off the controversial Blue is the Warmest Color, but who also appeared in smaller roles in The Grand Budapest Hotel, Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol and Midnight in Paris. She is there because she is a young, lovely French star who will help to guarantee the expected heavy international gross. She is, like Waltz, “fine.” She and Craig go through the necessary paces, but the electricity is low wattage at best.

Each sequence seems to have an identity and feel all its own unconnected with a strong momentum; the film just doesn’t have the forward drive of its predecessors. Sam Mendes is back as director, but the cinematographer isn’t Skyfall’s legendary Roger Deakins, who created beautiful imagery that dazzled one minute and hypnotized the next. The new DC is Hoyte Van Hoytema, best known for Interstellar, Her, and Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. He brings a burnished yellow tone to much of the work, and occasionally rivals the word “Prince of Darkness” Gordon Willis’s work on The Godfather Part Two. The “looks like one take” work of the first sequence is stunning, but what it’s photographing is less than exciting. There is beauty, and there is efficiency. There’s just little excitement.

The script and story credits include seven people, and perhaps therein lies the problem. It could easily have cranked up (spoiler alert) the personal connection of CW’s Blofeld, but the film does with those possibilities what it does with the rest of the film: it pulls back when it ought to press in. The film is observed rather than felt or experienced. That fine for an art film, less fine for a Bond.

The new crowd gets mixed reviews. Ralph Fiennes, one of the best actors working today, just doesn’t quite fit as the new M, and Dame Judi Dench is most sorely missed; when a video of her has more draw and pizzazz than the “real” presence of an actor of Fiennes’ stature, you know something is missing. Ben Whishaw is always an addition, but isn’t given enough to do. The same with Naomie Harris, who should have, and could easily carry, a more expansive role.

The film has all the requisite parts, and it is the sum of its parts, but no more. It has exciting action sequences, varied and beautiful settings, and characters that could have been fascinating. But a Bond film, or any good film, ought to be more than that. If one is a fan, then this is a worthy entry. Skyfall resonated, and on many levels. Spectre resonates a bit, but more quietly and with a smaller impact. If Craig is done, it’s a decent, if not grand, swan song.

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Bridge of Spies

Posted on November 14, 2015 by Mark DuPré

The newest Spielberg film is out, and while it’s second-level Spielberg, that means it’s only better than 95 percent of what else is out there. Bridge of Spies is based on the true story of an American lawyer’s defense of a Soviet spy (a plot that grows more intriguing in phases). This Cold War tale puts Spielberg squarely back in the “our great American director” category again, and the film can be listed alongside Amistad, Munich, Lincoln, and Saving Private Ryan, though it’s not as good as the last three in that list.

To avoid spoilers, I’ll only mention (for those who can remember that event) that the Gary Powers story is folded in, as well as other all-but-forgotten intrigues of the era, causing the film to unfold in layers—perhaps one of its strongest aspects.

The star is Spielberg favorite Tom Hanks, firmly ensconced in his modern-Jimmy-Stewart role, even more specifically the Stewart of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Like that 1939 film, this film presents its leading man giving a stirring speech before one of the three branches of our government (the Supreme Court instead of the Senate). Hanks is solid if not especially great, which pretty much goes for the rest of the film. Bridge of Spies is solid, in almost every definition of the word. It’s solid in that it’s an accomplished film, with nary a misstep, and it’s deftly acted and directed. The film is also solid where it needed to be a little more fluid, or risky. For a film about spying and risk, it plays safe where it needn’t have.

The other main actor in the film besides Hanks is one of the greatest English-speaking actors of the age, Mark Rylance, who has yet to become a popular film star. (He’s already a stage legend.) The relatively young winner of three Tony Awards, Rylance is perhaps best known for his recent work as Thomas Cromwell in the British television series Wolf Hall, though he will likely break through in recognizability, if not in popularity, with the lead in Spielberg’s next film, The BFG. Here he plays Soviet spy Rudolph Abel in a performance that redefines understatement. As with his Cromwell performance, Rylance turns silence and stillness into something that crackles with subliminal energy. We should be happy that at least some of his work is being recorded.

Amy Ryan is one of our most talented actresses, and she is either wasted or miscast (or both) as Hanks’ character’s wife. Full disclosure: I didn’t pay much to attention to her character at first and thought, “If only Amy Ryan had been cast in this part, she would really have done something with it.” In her next scene, of course, I realized it was Amy Ryan, and was simultaneously embarrassed and disappointed. The part doesn’t give her much to do beyond being “the wife.”

The script is basic and just serviceable. It all unfolds with little surprise but (here I go again) solid craftsmanship. It’s credited to Matt Charman and a couple of guys called Ethan and Joel Coen. Charman is mostly known for his TV work, and I’m still wondering what the Coen brothers brought to the table here.

The cinematography is by the legendary Janusz Kaminski , Spielberg’s go-to, who did the camerawork for Lincoln, War Horse, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Munich, War of the Worlds, The Terminal, Catch Me if You Can, Minority Report, Amistad, and Schindler’s List (to name a few!) It is beautifully done, and is probably the most accomplished part of the film.

The film makes a record of an event that would be have been easy to forget, and we can credit Spielberg with being our great war—including Cold War—filmmaker of record. The stories of the Amistad, what happened with the Israelis athletes at the 1972 Olympics, what Lincoln did to get the Thirteenth Amendment passed–these may well have been relegated to the dustbin of history, as Oscar Schindler’s story may have been, if not having joined Spielberg’s oeuvre. While Bridge of Spies is not the most exciting of his films—the slow and deliberate pace only has some advantages—it is a good if not great film, and one that captures a moment in time with excellence.

For those who think that action and suspense only come with dramatic movements and noise, let it be known that Spielberg can create nail-biting suspense with people waiting on a bridge, slowly walking on said bridge, and awaiting a phone call. Great moments do not a great film make, but this director’s work is always worthy of study, and for those especially interested in American history, it’s worth a view of his latest.

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Clouds of Sils Maria

Posted on November 10, 2015 by Mark DuPré

Though the film is fascinating in several aspects, I saw this film for one reason: to see if all the hype about Twilight’s Kristen Stewart was legitimate. A young actress who became something of a laughingstock for her limited expressions has won the French equivalent of the Oscar (the César) for Best Supporting Actress. Can that happen? Are the French just crazy here, as in the Jerry Lewis mode?

No, they’re not. Stewart, who began to erase her Twilight persona with a sensitive performance in last year’s Still Alice (the film that won Julianne Moore her Oscar), completely nails her part here in this French/German/Swiss production. If not worthy of the award (and I wouldn’t know), it’s certainly worthy of attention and of giving this young actress another much more serious look.

The film itself is undoubtedly worthy of greater attention than I will pay here. It’s a feast for the eyes, and I wish I’d seen it on the big screen; some of the images are stunning. It’s also a treatise on age, perspective, Hollywood, art, the theatre, and human foibles in general. There are mysterious elements that will keep people guessing and second-guessing for years. There are echoes of Juliette Binoche’s own life and career all the way through the film (she has the female lead) that could provide grist for the real life/art life mill for ages.

Binoche’s character is asked to take the part of the older woman in a play in which she performed the young girl part years ago. Stewart plays her young assistant, so the parallels begin. (Real life has the director of Clouds, Olivier Assayas, being the cowriter of the film that brought Binoche to stardom years ago. And the parallels continue.) Of course, Binoche is exquisite, as she belongs to that rarified category of actresses who can almost do no wrong on film (see also Judi Dench and Helen Mirren, among others). Her scenes with Stewart are nearly hyper-realistic and ring with connection and truth.

So if you’re interesting in stunning cinematography, meditations on aging, questions of identity, and even questions of “what’s real here and what might not be?” this is worthwhile. As a showcase for an actress that was a joke a few years ago and who is proving herself to be an accomplished performer with great potential, it’s a must-see.

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Sicario

Posted on October 19, 2015 by Mark DuPré

This is going to be a short one. I read the great reviews and decided to see Sicario, the story of, as described by IMDB, “an idealistic FBI agent [who] is enlisted by an elected government task force to aid in the escalating war against drugs at the border area between the U.S. and Mexico.”

I was most interested in seeing Emily Blunt go in another direction from her earlier work. As always, she is solid, but it is Benicio Del Toro who, again, steals the show. I could tell you now beautifully it’s shot by the legendary Roger Deakins, or how Blunt proves once again (after Edge of Tomorrow) that she can play tough in addition to funny (The Devils Wears Prada) and musically talented (Into the Woods).

We could spend some time on that fact that this is just the latest entry into the “drugs are bad and the war on drugs is hell” category. It’s like Traffic in some ways, or The Counselor or Requiem for a Dream in certain other ways. I could even go into detail about what a mess the film is structurally, and how confusing it is in terms of who I am supposed to be following.

But the big question that remains for me after viewing it is, “Who is this movie for?” We already know Blunt can play tough, and that Josh Brolin has become a solid actor. We know that Del Toro seems to lift every film he’s in, and has an inimitable screen presence. I already know that Deakins is an artist of the first rank. We already know that the war on drugs isn’t going to be won, and that the good guys aren’t always good and the bad guys have hearts and families, too.

The film touches on all these things, but never melds them together into a cohesive vision. I thought when Del Toro seemed to take over the film that we might see a kind of Marion Crane-to-Normal Bates in Psycho type of shift of audience allegiance. No chance. We’re never allowed in enough. There is a kind of descent-into-hell journey toward the climax that is visually intriguing, but it doesn’t resonate as much as just looks great.

If we want to see another great supporting performance by Del Toro or want to view another example of a great cinematographer’s work, see Sicario. If not, you’re in good company.

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The Martian

Posted on October 12, 2015 by Mark DuPré

Intelligent, well-crafted Hollywood films are supposed to be narrowly focused and possess a mid-sized budget—think All the President’s Men, The Social Network, and Moneyball. Space films are supposed to be bloated and/or full of dangerous other-worldly creatures. Then came Gravity, a smart technical triumph and gorgeous to look at, but rather thin plot-wise.

Some directors are also supposed to “lose it” a little at the end of their careers. Think Clint Eastwood, who seemed to slip from his pedestal with J. Edgar and Jersey Boys. Then came American Sniper, a deeply accomplished film looking and feeling as if were the product of a much younger man.

Ridley Scott, director of classics such as Alien, Blade Runner, and Gladiator, seemed to be slipping too with the lumpy, awkward Exodus: Gods and Kings and the overblown and unmoving Prometheus. Yet he too has bounced back with an intelligent, big-budget The Martian, making his stamp on the space film as he did with horror, dystopia and the sword-and-sandal film.

Then along comes The Martian, directly by the legendary Ridley Scott. The Martian gives us Matt Damon as astronaut Mark Watney, left behind for dead by his fellow crewmembers after a hurried escape from Mars. The film follows his attempts at survival while the returning crew and his associates back on the ground try to figure out how they could possibly effect a rescue.

It used to be that actors put in hard-to-believe situations or otherworldly scenarios tended to declaim rather than act; perhaps they or their directors felt that the intensity of the delivery made up for the unreality of the situation. But since LOTR and the most recent batch of superhero films, we now expect actors to give their all and add three-dimensional emotional reality to their scenes.

The quality of the acting here in The Martian is so assured that we never question what’s happening on screen. With Damon, Jessica Chastain, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Kate Mara, Jeff Daniels, the underappreciated Michael Peña, Sean Bean and Kristen Wiig, we have a cast of mostly familiar faces, but they are some very talented faces. Chastain, who I feel normally can do no wrong, may be a bit too isolated/introverted for the crew leader, and Wiig, making an obvious take-me-seriously-as-a-dramatic-actress move here, brings nothing new or interesting to a character that just seems to stand around looking worried and distracted. Everyone else is solid if not a little predictable in terms of casting (cough—Jeff Daniels).

The lead and the strength of the film is Damon. I often ask, “Who else could have done this role as well?” Well, there are many good actors his age that could do the work, but none have the persona necessary to make us care enough to carry the film. The plot is Cast Away on Mars to some extent, and perhaps to a greater extent, Damon is this generation’s Tom Hanks. As an audience, we couldn’t possibly care more for an actor’s survival. Plus Damon brings the dramatic heft, charm and humor necessary for the part. One either connects with an audience or one doesn’t. Damon does it in spades.

The look, as to be expected from a Scott film, is nothing less than dazzling. Mars, the spacecraft with the escaped crew, and home base all have their unique looks. The Red Planet, shot in the same area in Jordan as Lawrence of Arabia, is breathtakingly beautiful and desolate at the same time. The spacecraft is white, clean and sealed, while home base is dark and densely packed.

The film is a first cousin to Apollo 13 in its love of science (now a verb thanks to the film—God help us!), its optimism and its deadline-driven engineering creativity. In another era it might be called naïve or Reaganesque. It does stand out from most of today’s films in its commitment to both here with the added element of possible rescue. Unlike Gravity, our main character is not alone, and in fact is increasingly supported by the entire world by the end of the film. It earns its unabashed positive enthusiasm and ends up being the epic feel-good film of the year.

Can a film be intimate and huge in scope at the same time? The LOTR films do that well, several of John Ford’s westerns do, as well as Lawrence of Arabia and David Lean’s other pre-Zhivago films. So do many of Scott’s past works, especially Alien and The Gladiator. The Martian is both intimate and sweeping. And unlike many sweeping movies, the narrative moves along at at good clip, giving Scott a solid and energetic script on which to hang his stunning visuals. Add his stellar cast (pun intended) and an emotionally satisfying ending, and Scott may end up with the biggest hit of his career.

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One Way Passage: A Tour Through Yesterday

Posted on September 6, 2015 by Mark DuPré

After recently watching a “minor” work of the great British team of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, “I Know Where I’m Going”, my wife asked me how I enjoyed the 1945 film, most of which was set in the rugged Scottish islands. I responded that though it wasn’t the most enjoyable film in some ways, it was like a visit to another land with interesting people and delightful customs.

That’s similar to how I felt upon revisiting the 1932 classic One Way Passage, directed by Tay Garnett (perhaps known best for 1946’s The Postman Always Rings Twice). That, however, was a trip to another time, another kind of cinema, another set of stars. 1932 was an unusual time in films. Sound was most definitely now a part of film, and a new crew of stars had appeared. This is also known as the Pre-Code years, when films were experimenting with how risqué they could get, and were pressing boundaries until the real enforcement of the Code in 1934.

One Way Passage is surprisingly short film (a scant 67 minutes) that feels much fuller. It won the Oscar for Best Writing, Original Story, a precursor to the Best Original Screenplay Academy Award. To keep spoilers away, I can only say that it involves the meeting of a convicted criminal and a very sick young woman, and what happens after they meet aboard a ship.

It’s an extraordinary film for several reasons. It starts a pre-Thin Man William Powell, who delivers a beautiful performance as the criminal. If you’re only used to seeing him in his later work in the Thin Man series or even Life with Father, this early work is a revelation. His performance is delightful and he makes his character genuinely suave without an ounce of oil.

Even more fascinating is the all-but-forgotten Kay Francis. A clotheshorse extraordinaire at this time in American film, Francis had her best year in 1932, between this film and the Ernst Lubitsch classic Trouble in Paradise. There was no one like her before this, and there certainly has been no one like her since. Watch her for her smooth elegance, or her wardrobe, or her glamorous ennui, or even her inability to pronounce a solid “r,” but watch her. Her career was for a moment in time, and she perhaps more than anyone was destroyed by the infamous 1938 “Box Office Poison” article, which did ultimately little damage to Greta Garbo, Katherine Hepburn, Fred Astaire, Joan Crawford, Mae West, and Marlene Dietrich. Francis’s questionable life choices contributed to her descent at the box office as well, but this was Kay Francis at her lovely peak.

The subplots and supporting players are where the film shows its age—which is simply a descriptive rather than critical comment. The comic relief provided by Frank McHugh is most clearly a trip to another age. His bumbling drunk act and signature laugh can grow tiring quickly, and would never find a place in a more modern film. But it provides insight into what was once thought humorous, and shows us how the role of the supporting comedian has both evolved and in some ways has stayed pretty much the same.
The other supporting player is the wonderful Aline MacMahon (Oscar-nominated 13 years later for Dragon Seed, but a recognizable face for those familiar with ‘30s and ‘40s film). She is almost miscast here, and the narrative arc for her veers into the unbelievable, but she is a comic gem, and is funny and refreshing even now.

Take a trip back in time, especially in film time, and enjoy the lovely story and deft performances in One Way Passage. You’ll definitely enjoy the outing.

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