Second Thoughts and Two Laments: Philip Seymour Hoffman and “Alone Yet Not Alone”

Posted on February 5, 2014 by Mark DuPré

Philip Seymour Hoffman

I awoke Sunday morning happy to be a Rochesterian. Our own Renee Fleming was going to be singing the National Anthem at the Super Bowl, and we were all basking in that reflected glory. Then the news came: Philip Seymour Hoffman, another Rochesterian and our “other great artist,” was found dead.

This is a loss hard to put into words. I am in agreement with the New York Times’ A. O. Scott that PSH was our finest American actor. I know of no other better, and only Daniel Day-Lewis, in my opinion, is a better actor. (We’re talking the difference between genius and somewhere between brilliant and genius, so the distinction is thin.)

The first reactions were shock, sadness, anger—at him, at drugs, at the loss. All that could have been—all those great performances we’re going to be denied. Thoughts of River Phoenix and Heath Ledger fill my head. I easily could go on and on.

But my second thought is that at least we have some great performances to cherish. This semester, I’d already selected Capote as my film during the week focusing on acting—a happy coincidence. But there are many others as well. I could go into several of them, but I’ll just focus on one. As excellent as Joaquin Phoenix was in The Master, I think PSH’s performance was one for the ages. I will quote A. O. again: It may take the world a while to catch up with that journey into dark, uncharted zones of the American character, but once it does it will discover, in Lancaster Dodd, an archetype of corrupted idealism, entrepreneurial zeal and authentic spiritual insight.”

Hoffman had a way of digging into his characters that few other actors could approach. He went places other actors are not even aware of. His Lancaster Dodd will long be studied, when enough people take the time and the challenge to dig into the character and see what an original he was and how brilliantly brought to life by the actor. This was one of the great American performances in recent years, and with PSH’s work in Capote, may be his best. He was an American treasure, and now he’s gone.

“Alone, Yet Not Alone”

My first thoughts on the rescinding of this fine song from being Oscar nominated are that Hollywood is again showing its anti-Christian bias (which one would have to be blind or in a state of massive self-denial to not see). After its nomination, it was determined by the Academy that the song’s composer Bruce Broughton, a former governor and executive committee member of the music branch of AMPAAS at the time, had improperly contacted other branch members by e-mail solicitation for support. Since it is easy for my Christian brothers and sisters to quickly jump on a bandwagon—anti-Christian bias being so blatant among so many in Hollywood—that I had to think a while and get past any first reactions and do some digging.

I did. After taking some time, reading some more, and considering the Academy’s thinking and action, I have determined this: it is completely anti-Christian bias at work. This is the little engine of a song that apparently could. It’s a “nice” song, with a real musical structure, good words and a lovely melody line. There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that it will win—it’s a foregone conclusion that Frozen’s “Let It Go” is going to win. So it’s not like this little sweet song from an independent faith-based film is going to pose any threat to the Disney machine here. “Let It Go” is a lock, and it’s a good song. No problem there.

But if you is going to fault Broughton for simply calling attention to the presence of his song on the accredited song list of possible nominees, then you are going to have to take Shakespeare in Love’s Best Picture Oscar and give it to Saving Private Ryan, and you’re going to have to take Juliet Binoche’s Supporting Actress Oscar back and give it to Lauren Bacall. That’s just for starters, and you’re only just beginning with Harvey Weinstein. Applying the same principle to HW would take the Academy a year to get things straight if they were consistent here.

As a Christian and a film person, I’m greatly disappointed by the Academy. It’s clear that they don’t really know how to handle faith issues in mainstream Hollywood. It’s a matter of great humor and consistent disappointment with this viewer. But to go out of the way to bump this film off the list (and not even add another one they might have deemed more worthy for some reason) when nearly every other player in Hollywood is guilty of far more than informing their friends and associates about the presence of a song on a list—this is hypocrisy of the highest order. To paraphrase Mr. Knightley rebuking Emma in the Gwyneth Paltrow film of the same name, “Badly done, Academy. Badly done.”

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Nebraska

Posted on January 31, 2014 by Mark DuPré

Nebraska tells the story of an old man, Woody Grant (Bruce Dern), wanting to get from Billings, Montana to Lincoln, Nebraska to claim the so-called million-dollar prize he thinks he has won in the mail in one of those magazine subscription come-ons. But really, it’s barely about that.

It’s a road movie about a father (Dern) and a son (Will Forte) who do something akin to bonding on their way to Lincoln. It’s a visual study of the stark landscape of middle America. It’s an examination of greed, of family dynamics of every stripe, of leanness and meanness of soul. It’s also a film about marriage, old age, regret, and the pain of inaction.

That description sounds exhausting, but the film is subtle and soft-pedaled in its consideration of all these issues. Yet there is also something sad, and something a bit sour about the film. It’s quite stunning in its black-and-white cinematography, but it has neither the lovely nostalgia or The Last Picture Show or The Artist, nor the beauty of a modern city as seen in Manhattan. The images of Nebraska, while formally exquisite, are not beautiful; they are stark, but not in a way that draws you into their beauty.

The images, like the characters, seem to be viewed at something of an uncomfortable and slightly uncomprehending distance. Director Alexander Payne (The Descendants, Sideways), a Nebraska native himself, apparently finds nothing attractive or genuinely respectable about what we see or whom we get to know. It’s a world that purports to be real, even if the lower class, workaday world and its inhabitants is in its final stages in America. But except for Bruce Dern’s performance, everyone and everything seems a few degrees removed from reality. The film clearly doesn’t love the characters, but neither does it judge them completely. No one, and no place, emerges unscathed, but the scathing is slight and is more of a veneer through which we view everything rather than any harsh indictment. It can be read—and has been—as a snobbish look of a bicoastal artist at the lives of these sometimes silly, sometimes stubborn, often small people. It’s not that condescending, but neither is it embracing of anything.

This is presented to the masses as Bruce Dern’s movie, and his last best chance at a Best Actor Oscar. But he really shares the lead with his movie son, played by SNL’s Will Forte, who holds his own in a part that has him playing emotionally dead while being challenged to actually move forward and provide patience and direction for his doddering old dad. Dern is by far the best thing in the film, and takes what could be a tired cliché of the doddering old fool, and turns him into a real person, sometimes flashing hints of touching depth and real humor. Dern is apparently desperate to win his first Oscar for this, but two things work against him. This is the kind of classic old age performance that traditionally wins Oscars for respected actors like Dern. But his character isn’t likable enough to garner the necessary sympathy, and Dern himself isn’t loved enough to overcome that either. It’s looking to be Matthew McConaughey’s year in any event, and McConaughey is far more liked in Hollywood.

June Squibb, Oscar-nominated (for the first and likely last time) plays Woody’s wife. Squibb is the kind of actress whose mien and delivery are just a few degrees off center. Her character is almost the embarrassing “old woman with the potty mouth talking about sex too much” that Betty White has patented so uncomfortably in recent years. But she’s a good actress, and she transcends the limitations of the character. Still, she is a strong dash of vinegar with an otherworldly edge in a film that doesn’t need either.

Perhaps the one big overstep is the pair of cousins David (Forte) encounters on his way to Lincoln. They are simply boobs and fools (with an aura of sexual deviance provided by a description of their behavior), and could belong in the Coen brothers’ Fargo. There would have been good-natured humor around such characters in that film. Here they pull the film in the director of the kind of judgment of Middle Americans that the filmmakers insist is not their goal. They aren’t realistic, or even borderline in a way that might have been creative, but are simply buffoons.

Except for these cousins, though, there is a consistency of tone, look and acting ability that makes Nebraska a respectable work of art. It will likely be remembered as Dern’s finest hour, and fine showcase for a few others. Beyond that, though, it rings slightly false and leaves a bit of an unpleasant aftertaste.

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12 Years a Slave

Posted on January 19, 2014 by Mark DuPré

Simply put, 12 Years a Slave is the best film of the year, for a myriad of reasons. I’m even more impressed after the second viewing. It’s beautifully shot, with nearly pitch-perfect acting, and a rhythm all its own. Perhaps it’s the one great film in a year of many very good ones.

Where to start? The cinematography occasionally reminds of Terence Malick’s films, with all the stunning nature shots. But director Steve McQueen is far more interested than Malick in story and structure. His camera (cinematography by Sean Bobbitt) presses in close, sometimes uncomfortably so, yet also lingers, sometimes lovingly, sometimes thoughtfully, sometimes painfully. McQueen isn’t afraid to let shots last a long time, nearly just short of the shot length of an avant-garde film—except his shots don’t call attention to themselves, but allow the story to build in tension and resonate with greater power and meaning. His long shots allow us to feel and absorb the horror of what we’ve just seen, and [spoiler alert] in the case of the near-hanging of Solomon Northrup, the lead character, the length of the shot is used to tell a story and unveil more of slavery’s horror than mere words ever could.

The acting is first-rate throughout. In all the ink spilled on Chiwetel Ejiofor’s performance as Northrup, one thing that can slip by is how perfectly fit into the narrative he is. Northrup is an educated, polite, intelligent man, but he’s less a great hero than an admirable survivor. It would have been easy to portray him as a classic hero, and casting a larger-than-life personality like Denzel would have injured the film. I expected the film’s lead character to be “bigger,” and happily, he wasn’t. Ejiofor’s performance is real, beautifully modulated, and all the more powerful for not trying to be. He never overplays, and stays true to the character he creates. Most performances that win awards and get plaudits are those that pop out of the screen (all the leads in American Hustle), are surrounded by a film that sets the performance up on a pedestal (Streep in Sophie’s Choice) or are simply so much better than the performances around them (Christopher Plummer in Beginners). Ejiofor fits so snugly into the film that he’ll only win awards from smaller groups that can see how fine his work is.

The villain parts are usually considered the juiciest to play, and Best Supporting Actor nominee Michael Fassbender might have chewed a plantation-full of scenery with all the options his wicked slave owner character gave him. He doesn’t, and the performance is perhaps even better than Ejiofor’s. His character is angry, tormented, unhappy, and cruel beyond understanding at times. Yet Fassbender demonstrates once again why he is the man of the moment in terms of screen acting. He hits every note clearly and purposefully—anger, being lost in a drunken stupor, making his many points about his power as a husband and slave owner, and occasionally, when he threatens to unravel. It’s not only powerful for what it is; it’s noteworthy for the many clichés it avoids. This one will be studied for years once people get over the impact of it.

Holding her own with these two is newcomer Lupita Nyong’o, who gives a stunning performance as Patsy. This is the Best Supporting Actress performance of the year, no matter who won the Golden Globe or who wins the Oscar. Nyong’o, like Ejiofor, stays within the confines of the film and never calls attention to her talent, but she is the find of the year. This is such a mature performance it’s hard to believe that she is so young. Yes, it’s a star-making role, but it’s also one of the best performances in any film in recent years.

Benedict Cumberbatch (PBS’s Sherlock and Star Trek Into Darkness) is excellent as a kind slave owner, and doesn’t have the kind of moments that might call attention to how very good he is in the part. True kindness is hard to portray with accuracy, especially in a film as full of cruelty as this.

The storytelling is expert. McQueen (or is it the screenwriter John Ridley?) seems to be offering a straightforward and classically structured narrative. But the film flows smoothly backwards and forwards, with flashbacks so psychologically connected that you forget the forward momentum of the story is being interrupted. And the music is at times spare, powerful and almost as cutting edge as There Will be Blood. Hans Zimmer (Inception) is a film treasure, and his work here, like the acting, is powerful in how it supports the overarching aims of the work without calling specific attention to its many strengths.

There are a few small glitches. One is the casting of everyone’s friend Paul Giamatti in the role of a slave trader. Giamatti is a good-to-excellent actor, but his persona as Mr. Nice Guy is just too strong to keep believability here. And Paul Dano as a cruel plantation manager tends to riff on his character rather than inhabiting it. Next to Fassbender’s work, it looks less lived in than displayed. Brad Pitt is quite fine in a small but pivotal part, and necessary as he is one of the film’s producers. His presence tends to take the viewer out of the film, but his character is quite welcome to the viewer, and his acting is good enough to keep the distraction to a minimum.

There is also something of a missed opportunity in its treatment of Christianity and slavery. Ford (Cumberbatch), the first slave owner, is portrayed as a genuine Christian believer and a kind, generous and thoughtful man. The scenes of him sharing from the Bible at group gatherings raise the issue of how a real believer could not only accept but live within that evil system. In his own writings, Northrup praises Ford’s kindness but raises the paradox of how a true Christian could also be a true slaver. The film does tend to offer subtlety rather than explicitness at several points, in story as well as imagery, but the issue is not addressed as clearly as it could be. John Newton, the slave trader author of the hymn Amazing Grace, was radically converted but took years to be convinced of slavery’s evils. That’s a topic well worth exploring, and the film bypasses its chance to even rub up against the issue, falling instead into a subtle but real, and too modern, anti-Christian stance.

It’s not enough that Epps (Fassbender) twists scripture out of context for his own diabolical ends, but he continually puts things in a (skewed) Biblical context, even when his thinking is anything but. Epps is clearly the villain and Ford a kind master, but their Biblical expressions and “preaching” tend to put them both unfairly in the same hackneyed category of the (yawn) Biblical hypocrite. It may take the viewer watching Amazing Grace (on the ending of slavery in Britain) once or more to get a little perspective and clarity on the role of genuine Christianity in the abolition of slavery in the West.

12 Years a Slave may well be the third film in a trilogy that its very presence creates. Though the director, cinematographer, and three male leads are all British, this is a film about America. You can’t understand America and film in America if you haven’t seen Birth of a Nation (1915) and Gone with the Wind (1939), films that continually and rightly provoke unending discussion on the role of slavery in our history and its depiction in our films. 12 Years a Slave will likely be the next film that will be spoken of in the same breath as those. It’s already provoked a great deal of discussion and criticism for how it addresses its themes. To some, it’s either too much this or not enough that, or its (true) story line fits into a cultural narrative that delights some and perturbs the sensibilities of others. It is and will undoubtedly remain a lighting rod and Rorschach test on every issue connected with race and slavery in America.

This is a film that every adult American should see.* It’s not definitive; no film addressing such an issue ever could be. It’s also not easy to watch. The violence is actually more restrained than reported, but McQueen doesn’t shy back from showing the horrors of all aspects of slavery. It’s often uncomfortable and just as often shocking, in its revelations of its characters’ perspectives as well as its images. The slave owner’s wife’s comments to a just-purchased slave mother newly separated from her children, for example, are as appalling as the physical violence in the film, and just as telling of slavery’s horrors. The film stands in stark contrast to Django Unchained, which is a whole other kind of film, but which uses America’s history of slavery as a cover for an indulgent bloodbath of violence with no redeeming aim in mind.

12 Years a Slave is disturbing, intellectually challenging, and exquisitely beautiful all at the same time. It’s a feast of good storytelling, camerawork, mise-en-scène, editing, acting, music, and direction. It’s a satisfying narrative and a troubling film all at once, and will be endlessly debated. It’s what art should do, and be.

* My writings are not meant to be reviews or recommendations. But I feel the need to mention that the graphic nudity in the film might be off-putting for many. It’s in the style of Amistad–straightforward, completely asexual, and meant to be dehumanizing. Would likely be too much for younger viewers and may be too distracting or disturbing for many adults.

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2014 Oscar Noms: Scattered Thoughts

Posted on January 17, 2014 by Mark DuPré

All the speculation is over. The Oscar nominations are in, and the shocked, shocked reactions and harrumphs are being expressed all over the media and blogosphere. Here are mine:

This was a fairly predictable year for nominations, and happily, an especially rich one for films. The usual suspects got their multiple nominations: American Hustle, Gravity and 12 Years a Slave (this last one the best mainstream film of the year). American Hustle’s coattails were especially long, with four acting nominations, some which may well have “knocked out” some other expected nominations. For instance, Christian Bale, a generally underrated actor until recently, was swept along with the film’s other nominations as Best Actor. If we think in terms of slots, he might well have taken Tom Hanks’ place, who may have done the best work of his career in Captain Phillips. Strange goings on, here. And Bradley Cooper, who won a Best Supporting nod, has given us a performance in American Hustle that is definitely attention-grabbing, but an acquired taste.

And if Bradley is in, perhaps that is why Daniel Brühl, who was the best thing in Rush, is out. But this is Jared Leto’s year, (Dallas Buyers Club) so it’s a moot point in terms of winners.

Gravity, which will likely win Best Director for Alfonso Cuarón, racked up 10 nominations, most of which fell into the technical categories. Logical, of course, and deserving.

Tom Hanks’ omission might have been the big story in the Best Actor category, but what about Robert Redford, giving the performance of his career in All is Lost, and receiving no nomination? And after winning Best Actor from the New York Film Critics Circle, the most prestigious award-giving group in the country? Perhaps this is Bruce Dern’s year (Nebraska) after all.

Earlier this year, I thought we could have three out of five black performers in the Best Actor category. What about Forest Whitaker in Lee Daniel’s The Butler? Or Idris Elba for Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom? Or Michael B. Jordan for Fruitvale Station? At one time, these performances seemed like locks, or at least strong possibilities.

I can understand how Leonardo DiCaprio’s wildly energetic performance in The Wolf of Wall Street snagged a nod, and those coattails have swept up Jonah Hill in the supporting category. But Best Picture and a Best Director nomination for Scorsese? Those wouldn’t have been on my ballot. And yes, Scorsese is a legend and easy to nomination, but Paul Greengrass is a brilliant director (Captain Phillips) and deserved the recognition.

The Best Supporting Actress category is the same as the Golden Globes. Jennifer Lawrence won there for American Hustle, but I hope Lupita Nyong’o wins for 12 Years a Slave. Nothing against Lawrence, but she’s beginning to look like the go-to girl for too much these days. She was very good in American Hustle, but Nyong’o is probably better. Oprah was “supposed” to get a nod for Lee Daniel’s The Butler, but didn’t. She can be a very good actress for a talk show host and businesswoman extraordinaire, but the other performances were stronger, that’s all. The complaining here reminds me of The Color Purple, which got 11 Oscar nominations, including one for Oprah, and ended up winning none. People screamed. But it’s simple: It was good enough to get nominated in each category, but in each category, there was a stronger contender. It’s not rocket science or racism.

There are nine nominations for Best Picture. I enjoyed Philomena, but have a hard time believing it belongs in the list. But perhaps it’s the feel-good pick, like The Blind Side was a few years ago. Not sure Dallas Buyers Club should be there, either.

Frozen is going to win Best Animated Film. That’s a lock. But as my best buddy Clint Morgan pointed out, not seeing Pixar in this category is a change.

Inside Llewyn Davis was practically ignored by the Academy, a big omission and sure to give everyone associated with it a punch in the gut. It was nominated for cinematography, however, which calls attention to the category. 12 Years a Slave, a beautifully shot film, was left out of that category (to make room for Prisoners, perhaps, shot by legendary Roger Deakins?)

A Best Actress category without Emma Thompson (Saving Mr. Banks)? Almost shocking, but who would be dropped to make room? Judi Dench? She’s a favorite? Meryl, with her new record for nominations? Is she nominated on the strength of her name this time?

And who ever knows how the Academy picks its Best Song nominations. Some things are better left a mystery….

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Diary of a Country Priest (French, 1951)

Posted on December 30, 2013 by Mark DuPré

I tell my film students to give themselves over to whatever film they’re watching; let the film draw you into its world and take you for whatever ride it wants. Perhaps no film is more challenging for a modern audience to do that with, yet would be so rewarded for, as Robert Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest (1951, released in the U.S. in 1954). Austere, pure, esthetic, quiet, powerful, and exploring places of the mind and soul that most of us back away from. If you don’t engage in it, it’s slow and boring. If you do, it could be transcendent.

As with many foreign films, specifically French films, it is more of a character study than a riveting story. Or should I say that it begins as a character study and then moves into another realm entirely. If film could ever be said to express the soul, then this film does, along with Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc, which this film strongly resembles.

I cannot write a normal analysis of the film. For one, it must be experienced. No description of the plot or even the film’s justly praised cinematography would give the viewer a proper preparation. This is a spiritual journey that goes deeper than most people choose to go when viewing a film, especially if escape or entertainment is the goal. The first challenge is that Bresson presents us with a world of life in the French countryside that most of us cannot relate to. Though set squarely in the 20th century, the milieu geographically and spiritually seems almost medieval at times. If not for the presence of modern vehicles, it would be difficult to place this film chronologically.

The second reason for my lack of objectivity is the struggle of the priest, both inside and out. This writer is a full-time pastor, and I have experienced, and am currently experiencing, several of the same struggles of the priest. No, I’m not doubting my faith, and I don’t share his physical struggles. But the doubting as to one’s effectiveness is an occasional struggle for one in my position. Also, the priest as Rorschach test for his community led to laughs and shivers of recognition. Everyone in the community looks at him differently, judging him on the basis of what they observe, or think they do, and what they might have heard, or misheard. No one “gets” him, and as he moves forward step by faithful step, he ends up stirring the pot of the community’s various issues—from an adulterous Count to a couple of troubled young girls. In spite of his own doubts, he is the only one who even comes close to understanding who he is and why he does what he does.

Happily (spoiler alert), he has an intense and deeply spiritual conversation with someone that goes deep into the heart and soul, and changes a life. It’s the kind of experience any pastor lives for in terms of shepherding his flock, and it was a joy to share the experience with him. Almost immediately after that, another shared experience occurred as he was misquoted on that same successful conversation, wrongly accused in terms of intention, and castigated for stepping over his boundaries. I am not Catholic and don’t share the martyrdom context that the leads gives himself in this film, so I could only watch at something of a distance as he suffered and absorbed the blows. The “passion” of Jesus becomes the model for the priest’s spiritual journey, and while I share an understanding of the dying of the Lord inside His followers, my own life is balanced by an understanding of the effects of His resurrection.

But believer or not (director Bresson was agnostic), this is a film worth giving oneself over to. If you’re impatient and/or only like action movies, wait a couple of decades. But see it eventually. Give yourself to it. Let its pace take you over, and don’t worry that its acting doesn’t feel modern or Method. [The lead actor, or more accurately, non-actor Claude Laydu, set the way for Hanks, Bale and McConaughey by fasting through the filmmaking, and it shows.]

Those who most enjoyed this year’s Gravity were those that allowed themselves to be drawn into its world, and they reaped its rewards. If you have the inclination and the time, let Diary of a Country Priest take you on its journey of the soul. I usually recommend seeing films in a groups, and approximating the experience at a theater. But as most would only be able to see this at home, I recommend seeing it alone. It will take you to new places, and its ending is sublime.

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Philomena

Posted on December 28, 2013 by Mark DuPré

In the midst of noise, overused special effects and all that Oscar bait sits Philomena, a small-to-medium sized film of great talent, beautiful moments, some confusing turns and the inimitable Judi Dench.

Philomena tells the true story of a woman being raised in a convent who has a child out of wedlock. The child is eventually “sold” to a couple who raise him as their own. Toward the end of her life, Philomena would like to connect with him and ask some questions. The story, for a variety of reasons, is picked up by an ex-BBC reporter who can use the break the story might provide for him. And off we go.

It’s pretty much that simple, except for two strengths: its female lead, Ms. Dench, who can do almost nothing wrong on film, and a moment of grace toward the end that is almost astonishing. Ms. Dench is a delight to watch in anything, and a wavering Irish accent is about the only quibble I might have (though as an American, I might be unfamiliar with how strong such an accent might be when one is speaking softly or strongly). It’s an especial triumph in that Dench is playing someone quite a bit less intelligent than herself (think of her role as M in the Bond series), and yet doesn’t signal her own personal intelligence nor she condescend in any way in portraying this woman. Her character is simple on the surface, a good Catholic, and as her reporter friend arrogantly points out, the product of a certain number of limited educational experiences. Yet though the film doesn’t shy away from what could be seen as resident silliness in her personality, there is more to her that is revealed as the film progresses. She is clear and forthright when others are not, because that is who she is. And in all her simplicity, she has something the reporter does not.

There has been some ink spilled about the religious aspects of the film, and they among the weakest parts of the film. The reporter (a fine Steve Coogan) is an atheist, and quite anti-Catholic and anti-faith in general. The nuns are portrayed as liars and greedy manipulators bound by an unhealthy attitude toward sex (yawn), though there are exceptions that apparently only prove the rule. It’s one of the more intriguing aspects of the film that Philomena continues her strong Catholic faith even in the face of its abuses by the religious involved in her case. Yet in spite of her dogged faith in the religion of Rome, she runs into information about her son that one would think she would wrestle with. Yet there is total acceptance of something that would be difficult for many a person of her age and background, especially one of a strong Catholic faith. Yet the film doesn’t have Philomena question it, or even deal with the issue. It’s a curious turn of events, and is a bump in the cinematic road of the film.

The film takes an unexpected course when Philomena finds out about her son earlier than we think she will, and the film changes focus, opening new pathways for her and the reporter to explore. One pathway is a plot point, and stays right on the surface; the other buries itself underneath. It’s the true climax of the film when that hidden journey—one of extending forgiveness—makes it way to the surface. The film shimmers with grace as Philomena, the victim of so much bad treatment and sadness, extends the gift of forgiveness to someone seemingly unworthy of it. That act and her dialogue with the reporter in that scene are moments that lift the film to an entirely new level.

Under director Stephen Frears’ (The Queen) hand, the performances are uniformly solid. The story is deftly told, with equal parts humor and poignancy. As a character study by one of our great actresses, the film succeeds. And in spite of its occasional intriguing twists and questionable turns, the film ascends at the end while keeping its lovely lead’s feet squarely on the earth.

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American Hustle

Posted on December 26, 2013 by Mark DuPré

In some ways, American Hustle reminded me of Joe Wright’s 2012 version of Anna Karenina. Wright burst onto the international scene with a thoughtful and wildly entertaining Pride and Prejudice in 2005, followed by 2007’s Atonement, which was occasionally too formalistic for its own good. Full disclosure: I show the incredible one-take beach sequence in my film class in our session on camera movement. It’s a stunning sequence, but the technical triumph of the shot is so wondrous it takes many viewers out the film altogether in their awareness and admiration for all that went into making that happen. It was brilliant, and perhaps too self-consciously so. The touching and occasionally powerful story of Atonement was often lost in his technical virtuosity.

Wright continued his growing emphasis on the more formal structural elements of film in Anna Karenina, which nearly sacrificed story and feeling altogether in its too-strong conceit of the stage instead of realistic and natural-looking sets. The artificiality of the theatrical setting overwhelmed the story. It was a failed experiment, and we can only hope that Wright the stylish storyteller will return to us.

American Hustle is not dissimilar, with acting replacing the theatrical setting. I cannot recall a film where the actors seem to pop off the screen as much as this film. The actors dominate, even overpower, every scene in the film, occasionally subsuming their characters at times. Director David O. Russell gives a great deal of freedom to his actors, he knows how to cast talented people, and he gets award-winning performances. No wonder actors love working with him.

Russell’s The Fighter (2010) won Best Supporting Oscars for Christian Bale and Melissa Leo. Both were excellent performances, but they were part of a tapestry of storytelling that never lost its focus. It remained a story of two pugilist brothers within the context of a dysfunctional family. Russell’s next film was the critically acclaimed Silver Linings Playbook (2012), which was slightly overpraised. Its acting was rightly hailed, with Oscar nominations for all four leads and a win for current It Girl Jennifer Lawrence. Russell pulled Robert DeNiro back from the brink of self-satire, gave Jacki Weaver the performance opportunity of her career, and pulled Bradley Cooper into the realm of “serious actor,” a surprise move to most familiar with his work up until then, But there was a slight lack of focus in the film, and it was perhaps most reflected in the acting, which was barely kept within the confines of character for everyone but Weaver (who stayed completely within the boundaries of her character). Since the story was about what two damaged people went through individually and as a couple, any quirks, overreaches and slight thespian misfires could all be classified as aspects of their troubled characters. It was funky and energetic, and its leads were appealing and sympathetic, and seemed as fresh as a bright blue sky after a rain.

American Hustle goes one step further. It starts Oscar winners Lawrence and Bale, and nominees Cooper, Amy Adams, and Jeremy Renner. No dearth of talent here. Nearly everyone plays against type: Bale is fat and unattractive, Adams plays things up smart and seductive, Renner is intense but rather nice, and Lawrence is the anti-Katniss—all outlandish spunk with equal parts vulnerability and cluelessness. (Cooper doesn’t have a type yet to play against.) Spoiler alert: There’s also an appearance of another Oscar-winning person that comes as a surprise to both the characters in the film and those of us in the audience. The film is a treasure trove of fully expressive acting. No one is over the top, but all the leads come close. It’s a treat watching them give their all and demonstrate their skill. But ultimately, that is what the film is about. As Wright’s Anna Karenina was ultimately about its setting and its theatrical conceit—and suffered for it—American Hustle is all about the talent of its actors, and is the lesser for it.

The story itself is as dazzling as the acting, and tries desperately to hold the individual scenes together. Ostensibly the film is Russell’s take on the Abscam scandal of the 1970s, and the look and sound of the times are a delight to the eye and ear and give the occasional shudder to those of us old enough to remember those clothes and that music. There are cons and more cons, working where we as viewers can see them, and operating behind the scenes waiting to surprise. The film moves quickly, urging us to keep up. But as my best friend put it, its sum is lesser than its parts. The story barely contains the acting (and occasionally doesn’t), and the plot seems to wrestle consistently for dominance with the demonstration of the skill of its cast.

Can there be too much good acting in a film? No, I don’t think so. But there can be a surfeit of uncontained acting skill. There can be too much of an individual stamp by an actor that sacrifices character to a demonstration of range and possibility. American Hustle is a joyride, and a very good film. But it’s not close to the best of the year, and gives one pause for the direction that this very gifted filmmaker might be taking.

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The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

Posted on December 24, 2013 by Mark DuPré

The good news is that this middle film of the trilogy is a great improvement over The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. Director Peter Jackson has forsaken, thankfully, his use of 48-frames-per-second, which created a plastic, video look to the sets, and has decided to go back to storytelling.

The film’s more pressing narrative and a renewed emphasis on the central character of Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman) all help provide an energy and focus that the first film lacked, and that is often missing from the second part of a three-parter. The sweeping camera movements, meaningful close-ups and humor—elements that made the Lord of the Rings trilogy so successful—are in much better balance here, though Jackson is still too obsessed with hideous creatures and battles that go on too long. But this film reminds us of the other trilogy’s greatness and is a worthy successor to them.

It’s common to care a little less about the adventures and challenges of a middle film. We know that things can’t be resolved in the film, and there is often a sense of treading water. Not here. There are enough adventures, suspense, escapes and battles to keep the film moving along, with just enough reference to the larger narrative of both The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings to remind us of The Bigger Story.

These kinds of films are not the acting showcases that other kinds of films are (see American Hustle for the latest example). But the film enjoys a commitment to the world of the film by serious actors (Ian McKellen, Martin Freeman, Richard Armitage) who give themselves fully to the material, a happy trend that has strengthened many an “alternative world” or superhero movie of late. The only weak spot is Lee Pace’s Thranduil. Pace has the look and bearing of a movie star and kingly leader, but when he opens his mouth, he simply doesn’t have the gravitas and authority to pull off the character.

Not being invested in the original source material might make it easier to accept Evangeline Lilly as warrior elf Tauriel, an additional serious archer and fighter and possible love interest to Orlando Bloom’s Legolas. She fits into Jackson’s world well, and provides a slight romantic element that simultaneously softens and enriches the film.

With all the improvements over the first film, it’s an added bonus that when Smaug appears, he is simply The. Best. Dragon. Ever. He is introduced subtly and gradually, and we are allowed as viewers to get a sense of his size and power before we see him. When we do, he is a revelation. Voiced by current favorite Benedict Cumberbatch (coincidentally, Masterpiece Theatre’s Sherlock to Martin Freeman’s Watson), he is slick and smart, and completely takes over the film the moment he appears. His appearance completely re-energizes the film, and thrusts it headlong into the sequel, for which we will wait another year.

Jackson makes a bold move in ending the film on a question (in more ways than one) instead of the culmination of a secondary issue or conflict. It’s audacious, and it works. He’s still too in love with the grotesque, and he carries on his adventurous set pieces too long, but Jackson has given us a part two that improves upon the first, and not only sets us up for part three, but makes us eager for it.

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Saving Mr. Banks

Posted on December 23, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Saving Mr. Banks is the story of the creative tug of war between Walt Disney and P.L. Travers, the author and protector of Mary Poppins, which Disney had tried to turn into a film for nearly two decades. It’s soft and sweet and crowd-pleasing, and would threaten diabetic comas if it were not for the central character of Travers and the astringent performance by the eminent Emma Thompson. At least for most of the film, Travers is English to the core in her preferences, unthinkingly blunt and unknowingly harsh in her criticisms of most things American or Disney, and absolutely sure of the rightness of her prejudices.

The single best thing in the film is Thompson, and her performance alone is worth the price of admission and time. Her Travers doesn’t try to be difficult—she simply is. You can almost hear the dragging of her heels on the plane from England to L.A., and in every discussion that pits her vision of the film against Disney’s. If the script didn’t make you aware of her dire financial circumstances, you’d wonder why she would sacrifice a few weeks of her perfect English life to engage in slumming with the plebeians of Hollywood.

The continual friction between author and producer (and the music composers) is the thread that holds this together, though the script tries to offer us another one. The script wants us to follow the deep emotional reasons for Travers’ hesitance and resistance, and structurally, the film ultimately follows that path. But as sentimental and downright teary as that plotline becomes, it’s nowhere near as entertaining as the clash between Travers and the Disney vision of the film. In fact, turning Travers’ journey to America to her journey to her past is probably the weakest part of the film. It diverts us to a series of flashbacks that are too long and too many, and just too dappled in lush sunlight producing halo effects around little Travers, played by a cherub as preternaturally lovely as the older Travers was acerbic. Having the film development process turn into a cathartic experience is just a bit too convenient, and undercuts the lovely and entertaining tension of the Travers/Disney battles.

In fact, those battles are a great study in the reaction. Watching the various Disney personages reacting to Travers is a delight, and rarely overplayed. They give a quick look here, a surprised response there. Thompson reacting to the Wonderful World of Disney is a caustic pleasure, greatly because Thompson neither overplays nor underplays, but simply allows her dread and revulsion to be clearly and succinctly expressed. Apart from Thompson’s performance, it’s these little reactions throughout that are the highlight of the film.

Tom Hanks as Walt Disney does a fine job, but his Disney is perhaps a little too kind, too psychologically Freudian and not quite tough enough to have founded such an empire. While Thompson is clear and well defined, Hanks’ Disney is far less so, which ultimately cedes the film to her, which is only a win. But it might have been more exciting had this Walt Disney been deeper and sharper.

John Lee Hancock (The Blind Side, The Rookie) is a master at presenting PG-13 or even R-rated material in a soft PG light. That could be a criticism, but it’s not. Some films are unnecessarily dark and gritty. Hancock has chosen to go in the opposite direction, and here it works. Travers’ father (Colin Farrell in a solid and change-of-pace performance) was an alcoholic who died an early death. It’s all there, but Hancock doesn’t push our face into the darker aspects of it. The always-solid Paul Giamatti plays a composite character with intelligence and charm, and even his late-in-the-film revelation doesn’t make the film any edgier. While this author usually prefers darker and edgier to lighter and sweeter, sometimes the choice to be gentle and honeyed is just the right approach.

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Blonde Venus (1932) and Applause (1929)

Posted on December 23, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Sometimes the vagaries of a changing personal schedule can provide opportunities for comparisons that wouldn’t be discernible otherwise. Being a bona fide film nerd, I am always catching up films I haven’t seen at all or in a while. Finishing up a rewrite on my thesis on the trio of Gene Kelly-Stanley Donen musicals, I was eager to take a look at some older musicals to fill in my film gaps. Hence, the recording of 1932’s Blonde Venus on TCM and the Netflix choice of 1929’s Applause.

These may be two “early sound musicals,” but my recollection of them put them on opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of mood and treatment. Seeing them one after another provides an opportunity to see the differences and appreciate the wildly varying approaches to the material. Yet in some ways, the two films resemble the works of two artists told to paint the same subject and coming up with wildly divergent backstories and visual treatments.

Blonde Venus is Marlene Dietrich right between her early roles as actress and her later ones as poseur (she turned into an actor again later). Directed by her mentor Joseph von Sternberg, she plays Helen, a mother of a young son who becomes the mistress of a rich playboy (played with little heat or credibility by a young Cary Grant) to raise money for her husband’s medical treatment. She is also a cabaret performer whose lifestyle compromises her parenting. The plot is ridiculous, with the kind of jerky structure of many an early talkie that contains one short scene after another with just enough information for us to move from point A to point B without a shred of believability. Dietrich’s scenes with Grant’s character have them standing around looking beautiful (both of them) and bored (Dietrich). Von Sternberg admitted he was far less interested in plot than in how his films were photographed. Blonde Venus is beautiful to look at, a fine example of the director’s German expressionist eye. In this case, the plot is the thinnest wire hanger for a series of gorgeously photographed scenes featuring some high cheekbones and blonde hair in a radiant pool of light.

Applause is in many ways the more interesting film. Stage and film legend Rouben Mamoulian’s first film, it’s got a similar story I would never have noticed if not seeing it back to back with Blonde Venus. Helen Morgan plays a burlesque performer, Kitty Darling, who gives up her daughter to a convent school so she can have a better life, as life on the road, as with Dietrich’s character, isn’t good for the kid. Kitty is a sad, self-deceived, broken, zaftig, just about washed up character who is quick to tell herself that everything will be fine when we all know it won’t, and who heartbreakingly bends to the will of her man, a classic user and what the movies used to call a “heel.”

Kitty is hopeful with no reason to be. She is blowsy, sloppy, unfocused, silly, sad, warm, basically kind, and far too dependent upon men. Dietrich’s Helen is cynical with no reason to be, lean, elegant, well-dressed, uses men, and is cold as ice. But both are supportive mothers who make whatever choices they make for the sake of their children. Both Morgan’s and Dietrich’s scenes with their movie children are the true highlights of the films. As mothers, they connect lovingly and realistically with the children, and while acting styles are different, they both come off as mothers who love their offspring.

Both films were considered musicals, but by the standards of today, they are dramas with music. Dietrich has her numbers, which are performances completely unconnected with the film, and serve only to highlight this unique performer. While I understand her mystique, it’s always a surprise to reacquaint myself with her vocal limitations. Whatever “it” is, she sure had it. But she was never much of a singer, and the comparison with Applause puts that in relief. Helen Morgan wasn’t really called upon to deliver a solo performance within the film. The main number, “What Wouldn’t I Do for My Man,” ended up as a solo that same year in Glorifying the American Girl with Morgan torching it up on her traditional perch on a grand piano. In Applause, Morgan sings it matter-of-factly as part of a small scene that nearly swallows up the number. What is obvious in the film, however, even with Morgan playing such a has-been, is that she has the far superior voice to Dietrich. It would take until 1936 for her Julie in Show Boat to highlight her vocally. If she had the drive and sobriety of Dietrich, it would have been fascinating to see what a long-term career might have looked like.

While Blonde Venus is a series of gorgeous photographs, Applause contains the thrill of breaking down barriers in its filming. Film had just been granted sound and a locked-down camera (see Singin’ in the Rain if you haven’t) a couple of years before; Mamoulian was determined to make a film that sounded like a new, modern sound film with the free and flowing look of a silent. So his camera moved and moved, perhaps too much, but always with a sense of breaking new ground. His moving camera lacks the smoothness of a Steadicam film, but even the bumps and jerks feel exciting and trailblazing. There are overhead shots that presage the work of Busby Berkeley years later, though Mamoulian uses them differently. Nearly every shot feels fresh and new. He’s experimenting all over the place, and most of the time it works.

Part of the thrill of Applause is the setting. Blonde Venus takes place in a hothouse world of cabaret sets, one New York apartment, and few other unrealistic sets. Part of the joy of Applause is the beat-up world of burlesque and the near-documentary setting of New York City just before the Great Depression. Blonde Venus takes one to a fantasy world that only Paramount could create in the 1930’s. Applause is raw and feels like a trip back to a real place and time. It’s as imaginative photographically as Blonde Venus, just substituting movement, realism and a touch of poetry for static Teutonic beauty in both its lead and photographic approach.

Blonde Venus will always be important historically because of its two leads. Applause can get lost because its director doesn’t have a consistent, solid place in film history except for hardcore students of the art (a regrettable fact), because its lead didn’t fulfill her acting promise, and because it’s the opposite of a feel-good film. But it’s the better film.

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