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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The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

Posted on December 14, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Yes, it’s true. The second in the series is a better film than the first. It’s leaner, tougher and grittier—the elements the first lacked to its detriment. And yes, it helps if you have seen the first one. (In fact, don’t bother seeing it until you either see the original or read every plot point you can.)

First and foremost is the star, on which everything else hinges. Jennifer Lawrence, still fresh from her Oscar win for last year’s Silver Linings Playbook, is one of America’s best young actresses. She’s not a perfect fit for the role, neither physically nor temperamentally. But she has pulled the character of Katniss into herself, and brings well-tuned acting skills and a protected, stubborn determination to the role. She is also a facial chameleon, and ranges from almost plain to pretty to classically beautiful in the Liz Taylor/Cleopatra mold, depending on the often overdone make-up. She has a fierce personal authority that works beautifully for the film, and once again proves her talent and range. The film and the franchise can rest happily on those athletic shoulders.

Everyone else performs at a high level, at least nearly everyone. Josh Hutcherson seems to have relaxed into his role as Peeta, and if he doesn’t exactly own the screen when with Lawrence, Liam Hemsworth is a sold presence as Gale, the young love Katniss left behind and left undefined. Donald Sutherland is smooth without being oily, and Elizabeth Banks and Woody Harrelson show a few more colors than they were able to in the first film. Seeing an actor of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s stature was a bit disconcerting until the end of the film [semi-spoiler alert], when we see that his character will grow in importance in the upcoming two films.

The inestimable Stanley Tucci demonstrates once again why he is so highly regarded in the acting community. His show host could easily have been over-the-top satire, with some justifiable furniture chewing and a slight wink to the audience letting us know what fun he is having with the role. But he never even ventures close to that. He stays in character, even when his different interviewees throw his character in a number of uncomfortable directions. It’s a high-wire act and he executes it almost flawlessly.

The only performance that doesn’t quite work is that of Jena Malone, who seems to be struggling as she moves from child to grown-up roles. As with her character in television’s Hatfields & McCoys’ miniseries, she seems to try too hard to be angry and her attempts at sexing things up in that series and this film remind one unpleasantly of another child star (in this case, a musical one) whose moves into an adult identity are bumpy and far too sexualized for comfort.

Moving away from director Gary Ross, director of the original, was a good idea. It’s understandable that one has to be careful with a Young Adult classic about killing children; too much reality on the screen would alienate the audience you expect to draw. But Ross’s film was too soft, with little edge. Francis Lawrence proved a better choice. His action scenes are sharper, and his camera and cutting are judicious in showing and not showing us the beatings and killings. Instead of softening a scene, he shows us just enough of it for us to get what’s going on without misbalancing the film with a visual orgy of violence.

Perhaps the biggest change coming from the move into a stronger, harder mode is the effect of the showmanship aspect of the games. In the first film, the hosts, the costumes, the exaggerated carnival-barker delivery, and the outlandish costumes and effects delivered to the audience came off as silly and extravagant, and the whole conceit of the games themselves seemed mocking but dystopian and belonging to a feared future. Now, perhaps due to the harder edge of the film or even the disposition of this author, the games, the hype, the glitter all fall somewhere between biting satire and frightening socio-political commentary. When one steps back from our society and sees how the Kardashians, Instagram, Pinterest, and practically all “reality” television can be a dumb dazzling distraction from the real issues of life, what’s going on in the film is less prophetic and “possible” than a simple allegory of the America of our own times.

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Gravity

Posted on October 27, 2013 by Mark DuPré

In spite of its financial and critical success, Gravity isn’t the best film of the year. We have a few months to go, but right now Captain Phillips holds that place. Yet there is nothing in all of film that looks quite like Gravity, and its spare narrative allows us to look with even greater wonder at the visuals in the film.

You have to go back to 2001: A Space Odyssey to find a film set in space that provides the sheer awe of Gravity’s visuals. In some ways, it also reminded me of the Lumière Brothers’ L’arrivée d’un train en gare de La Ciotat, the famous 1896 film that showed a train arriving at a station and allegedly provoked the audience to something of a fearful frenzy. For now, Gravity is the bookend to that impactful 50-second short, with hushed amazement replacing that film’s panic. Director Alfonso Cuarón and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki have immersed us in as believable a space world as we’ve ever seen. Cuarón, whose masterful Children of Men majored in long unedited scenes that brought us into the world of his film, goes one better here. His 17-minute first shot, uninterrupted, is simply breathtaking, and allows us to immerse ourselves in a new and different world, to soak in all the details and splendor of deep space. (To my film students: Bazin would have loved this!)

It’s been a while since the immersive experience has been the primary component of a film. (And yes, you should only see this in 3D IMAX. Take the trouble and expense—it will be worth it.) Avatar and Hugo were 3D successes artistically, and knocked our eyeballs out at times, but there were stories to be told in those films that kept pulling us back into what was happening. With Gravity, what happens is not the plot that affects the characters, but our experience as viewers. As widescreen and “stereophonic sound” were the lures to get people back into theaters after WWII and the arrival of television, the look and experience of Gravity is being successful in bringing people out of their homes and away from even their big screen TVs. We still want to say, “Wow!”

Perhaps the leanness of the plot that works to keep us gaping at the visuals is one of the problems of the film. Certainly, Cuarón’s insistence on the appearance of uninterrupted realism costs him dramatically at times; there are moments when the film would have benefited from something of a stronger editing pattern over the action, which plays out just a bit too often in real time. And since Cuarón isn’t afraid to go with dream/fantasy in one sequence, perhaps a flashback or two might not have hurt, especially when it comes to key moments of Ryan’s past.

The other problem, well noted by others at this point, is the screenplay. A lean survival story is clearly the goal, the better to keep you visually entranced, my dear. But some of the words that Ryan (the trouper Sandra Bullock) has to say are a bit embarrassing, though Bullock works hard to make them real. Matt Kowalski’s (George Clooney) often-silly dialogue makes sense when you finally see what he’s up to, and some of Ryan’s responses to what happens help ground the film in a realism it needs to have. But some of her expressed thoughts are clearly for us as viewers only, and others don’t quite land well on either the ear or the brain.

The other problem is what isn’t there. Spoiler alert: Except for the power shot of Ryan near the end that suggests triumphant human survival over obstacles, we have a simple survival story, and that’s all. There are perhaps a few too many obstacles at times, but the story is a slender one with no pretense at profundity. Kubrick’s 2001 virtually shook with meaning, possibilities, suggestions, and questions. Gravity has none of those things, and is the lesser for it.

Bullock is following an amazing trajectory as an actress. After being American’s Sweetheart and the successor to Julia Roberts as rom-com queen, she shocked her fans and film people alike with a spot-on performance in The Blind Side. Nothing she’d done prepared viewers for the precision and depth of that performance. Here, as the fourth/fifth/sixth choice for lead, Bullock bring her Everywoman smarts and charm to the part, coloring it as only she could. Angelina Jolie would have had more obvious intellect and edge; Natalie Portman would likely have been more vulnerable. Bullock brings reality rather than edge, vulnerability, or gravitas, and slides perfectly into the astronaut suit and our expectations. The female lead has to own the entire film, and Bullock does. She works hard physically, and finds the truth of each of her acting moments. She’s moving into American treasure territory here, and another Oscar nomination is surely in her future.

Gravity is somewhat like 2011’s Tree of Life, a near-masterpiece that just missed the mark by a few inches. Gravity could have been this year’s masterwork, but most of us will happily settle for an extremely well made film that takes us to a place we’ve never seen or experienced before. Whatever you do, don’t wait for the DVD. This isn’t

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Five Supporting Performances that Don’t Get the Attention They Deserve

Posted on October 19, 2013 by Mark DuPré

I’m taking a break from reviews and analyses to touch on five supporting performance over the years that haven’t gotten the attention they deserve. They are all over the place in time and style, but they are all worthy of enjoyment and even study. Leave me a comment if you agree, disagree or have another suggestion!

Rhys Ifans in Notting Hill

It’s hard to steal a film away from Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant, but Ifans pretty much sets a new high standard here for what a supporting actor is supposed to do. He plays nebbishy Hugh Grant’s character’s roommate, and he’s touching, clueless, and hysterically funny. His presence in every scene adds dimension and color to the other characters, especially the two leads. He’s the maddening yet lovable young man here, which could be a cliché in someone else’s hands. He stays firmly in character, even when his actions are borderline cartoonish. His quick interactions with Grant are so delightful that you almost don’t notice how masterfully they’re done. A comic gem for the ages.

Ifans was nominated for a BATFA Best Supporting Actor Award for this, so at least the Brits had their heads in the right place.

Carey Mulligan in Bleak House (2005)

Anna Maxwell Martin, Charles Dance and Gillian Anderson garnered the majority of the praise for their lead performances here, and justly so. But the real treasure here in this fine miniseries is the young Carey Mulligan. For those paying attention to emerging actresses, it was 2009’s An Education that brought Mulligan to the attention of the American film public (she was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for that, and won several other Best Actress awards from other groups). Some might know her from Pride and Prejudice (she played Kitty), Drive, Shame, or The Great Gatsby.

In Bleak House, she plays the young Ada Clare, who falls in love with Richard Carstone. They are in line, possibly, to inherit a great deal of money, but Richard becomes tortured with vain hopes that the English legal system isn’t about to help him with, and ends up wasting precious years holding onto a dream. But Mulligan is a revelation here, and shows why so many hopped on her acting bandwagon in the years to follow. When she is young, fresh, and untouched by life’s tragedies, she’s real and immature without being foolish. Later, when she holds on to her love for Richard as he moves from fixation to obsession, she enters new territory. Her eyes show unfailing love, a hope that’s increasingly unfounded, and a desperate determination to keep her growing discouragement at bay while she stubbornly attempts to love this man past his sick fascinations. It’s lovely, heartbreaking, and a wonder. Her ability to hold several emotions in suspension at once—at varying levels—is something few can do well, and worthy of study by anyone wanting to grow as an actor.

Anna Faris in Just Friends (2005)

The only nominations this performance has received are Best Kiss, Choice Hissy Fit, and Choice Liplock. It’s another “choice” example of how comedy is nearly always undervalued, and how terrific comedy performances often don’t get their due.

I will confess from the start that this film is a guilty pleasure. It’s the perfect Ryan Reynolds vehicle, and his scenes with his brother always make me laugh. Faris plays Britney Spears, I mean, Samantha James, a blonde ditz with minimal talent, maximum ego, and a desire to be taken seriously as an artist. It’s hard to get tone right in comedies, especially when you have other comic talents that have their own special brand of attitude and comic flavor, such as Reynolds, Amy Smart, and Julie Hagerty. Faris blends in and more than holds her own in this performance, which is the only one in the film based completely on a consistent parody that doesn’t go too far. She contributes more to the overall enjoyment of the film than she gets credit for. No one else is doing what she’s doing in this film, yet unlike a Bill Murray performance, for example, her performance blends in seamlessly with the others. Her character certainly gives the other characters something to play off of, which is a gift of script. But she elevates her character above what’s on the page without ever distracting or upstaging—and that’s hard to do when your character is outrageous to begin with. There’s a lot going on comically in this film, but keep your eyes on Faris the next time (or first time) you see it.

Madame Konstantin in Notorious (1946)

Hitchcock’s post-war masterpiece is remembered mostly for its star power—the two biggest names in the world at the time, Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. The supporting role of Claude Rains won an Oscar nomination. All three are excellent and memorable, but there’s a fourth player here that shouldn’t be ignored.

Born Leopoldine Eugene Amelie Konstantin in the former country of Austria-Hungary in 1886, Mme Konstantin had been acting in films since at least 1910. Her Hollywood career began and peaked in this role as the mother of Claude Rains’ character. She is subtle and biting, smooth and cruel, conniving and elegant. When she is plotting against Alicia (Bergman), she nearly bursts with well-contained venom, expressing herself with barely contained sarcasm. When she is rebuking her son and trying to rescue him from his poor choices, she moves into a hard-core administrative mode laced with derision. What son wouldn’t want to hear his mother comfort him with the reassuring words that “We are protected by the enormity of your stupidity?” Thanks, Mom—that helps.

Her entire performance is a joy to behold, but her response to hearing that her son has made a major error in judgment and is in danger is a classic. She did a little TV work after Notorious, but no more films. What a loss! This film is worth viewing for too many reasons to mention, but the presence of Madame Konstantin is certainly one of the strongest.

And now for the pièce de résistance:

Delores Gray in It’s Always Fair Weather (1955)

Who? In what film?

It’s Always Fair Weather is often viewed as the last great MGM musical, coming at the end of the influence of the great Freed Unit within the studio. It’s the third and by far the weakest of the three musicals co-directed by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen (the other two are On the Town and Singin’ in the Rain). It was supposed to be a kind of sequel to the former, but the other two actors aside from Kelly were either no longer in fashion (Jules Munshin) or too difficult and/or too expensive (Frank Sinatra). So Kelly chose two other male dancers and pulled the film strongly in the dance direction.
To keep a musical balance, they needed a singer, somewhat as Georges Guétary was “the voice” in An American in Paris. So they chose the incredibly talented Delores Gray, who had just won the Tony for Best Actress musical for Carnival in Flanders the year before, even though the show ran for just six performances (a record for a Tony-winning performance). Gray, a Broadway, concert, cabaret, and radio star, plays Madeline in the film, the host of a last-night television show (“Midnight with Madeline”) that was reflective of the shows of its time while being eerily like modern reality TV shows. Her character is self-obsessed, ridiculous, a drama queen, and a great singer. It’s the near-perfect comic, satiric performance—years ahead of its time. She nails every line, and creates a character that is as funny today—if not funnier—as it must have been back then.

And her songs! She has two, but they knock it out of the park. The first is during a show rehearsal, when she sings “Music is Better Than Words”. Later, she sings a song during her live TV show that I believe is some kind of parody of “Love, You Didn’t Do Right by Me” that Rosemary Clooney sang the year before in White Christmas. It has the same male dancers dressed in black, but this time hopping around on steroids. And the singer’s disappointment with love is WAY over the top as compared to Clooney’s song. And it’s hysterically funny.

No one had a voice like Gray’s. It was big, completely controlled, and warm at the same time. She had a belt close to Merman’s, and a softness and sweetness close to Alice Faye’s. I’m not aware of anyone else that sounded like her. Between the classic comic turn that just gets better with time and that voice–that voice!–Gray is reason enough to take a look at the film. She made a few more films (e.g., Kismet, Designing Woman, but essentially remained a woman of the theater. We could lament the loss, but having just this one recorded performance is something to be thankful for.

Got a thought about any of this? Let me know!

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Captain Phillips

Posted on October 15, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Captain Phillips is being presented as a Tom Hanks movie. It’s actually a Paul Greengrass film. Greengrass, perhaps best known as the director of the last two Bourne movies, ought to be best known for United 93, a near-brilliant retelling of the 9/11 story of the highjacked plane that landed in Shanksville, PA.

As good as United 93 was, Captain Phillips is even better. Greengrass has a cool, quick, and almost detached approach to the action in his films that helps keep them real and moving along. He never dawdles, and he knows how to cut action scenes almost better than anyone (or has one of the best editors around). As most of us know, the film tells the true story of Captain Richard Phillips, who captained a US-flagged cargo ship that was the first highjacked by pirates in 200 years.

Greengrass’s no-nonsense approach doesn’t work well in the opening sequence, which shows Phillips (Hanks) being taken to the airport by his wife Andrea (Catherine Keener, wasted in the role while still being good in nearly everything she appears in). Since Greengrass has a keep ‘em movin’ approach, we really don’t get to enjoy the relationship between the two, and can merely infer that they love each other and that Phillips is a normal person with a real family. This is one time that he could have dwelt on a few things, taken his time, enjoyed the moment a bit.

But once we get on the ship, Greengrass plays to his strengths. His camera is nearly always moving, documentary-style, and he creates an original blend of the rehearsed and the discovered. For the rest of the film, it’s a near-perfect fit. The man always seems to know where to put his camera for maximum tension, and the camera seems another character at times, caught in the action as much as the captain and crew.

Hanks is Hanks, and then some. I appreciate that he is Mr. America when it comes to movies, much like James Stewart was in the middle of the previous century. I show Road to Perdition as the first film in my college class, and a key part of that film’s success is Mr. Nice Guy playing a hired killer. We as Americans love the guy, and that works almost to a fault here. His persona often threatens to be bigger than his ability to be the character, but you can’t argue with his likability and the associated loyalty and feeling we bring to his character—and in this case, what his character goes through. Happily, Hanks transcends his persona more and more as the film progresses, and he reaches his personal zenith in the last scenes, which show a subtlety and acting depth I didn’t know he possessed. He’ll certainly be nominated for an Oscar, and may well win it, especially with the memory of that last scene being fresh in one’s mind as they leave the theater.

Side note: Hanks never quite nails the New England accent, and puts more energy into the accent than it should have. As well known as the Boston/New England accent is to Americans it’s still one of the greatest challenges of an actor to make is sound second-nature.

Every bit as good as Hanks is Barkhad Abdi as Muse, the leader of the Somali pirates. This is apparently his first film, and he is somewhere between right on the money and amazing. He’s quite the find, and part of the awe of the performance is the knowledge that this is his first time in front of the camera. He’s a match for Hanks in every scene, and adds incredible authenticity to the scene because of his look (he is Somali by background). My only thought is that such a singular presence may not have much of a future in films—How would one cast him beyond this film?—no matter how talented he obviously is. Watching the development of his character from hungry and eager in the opening scenes to a beaten and unraveling state while working hard to maintain a pretense of staying strong—both actor and director deserve praise.

One often-ignored aspect of filmmaking is casting, and this is another example of why this ought to be an awards category. Beyond Hanks, Keener and Abdi, the casting is believable, with faces, attitudes and postures that add to the richness of the film. From the crew—all real-looking and acting—to the Somalis on land and sea to the naval officers all working to rescue Phillips—the attention paid to casting even the smallest parts is something to be greatly admired.

Lastly, the film makes the point that everyone here is acting out of their beliefs and their environments, while still not giving a pass to the violence and treachery of the pirates. That’s a tough and narrow road to walk down, and the film succeeds in presenting both sides without trying to equate the two.

This is an intense ride, and the slowing down of a portion in the middle is a well-needed break that gets one ready for the intensity of the last quarter of the film. Greengrass is the thinking man’s action director, and his urgent, compelling editing and camerawork (along with the driving soundtrack) work together to create a compelling experience and to give us one of the best films of the year so far.

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Rush

Posted on October 7, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Rush is one of those films that many people will get excited about, and will then pretty much disappear. It’s a rush, to be sure, and its surface is generally pretty and shiny and fast moving. When it was over, I felt as if I’d just seen another well-done superhero movie—lots of noise and excitement, good acting, and good-looking people and technology. The adrenaline high will last for a while, but then when you come down, there is little resonance to keep you engaged.

It’s the true-life story of Formula One rivals James Hunt and Niki Lauda. Hunt was British, charming, good-looking, a daredevil, a serious womanizer and a party boy. Lauda was Austrian, serious to a fault, focused, boring, and the death of the party. The main focus is 1976, when the two competed most directly.

The rivalry and strange sort of friendship that developed between the two is the heart of the story, but it’s kept at something of a distance. If you tell the story, you tell of their differences, their antagonism, and their diametrically opposed perspectives and lifestyles. But if you see the story, it’s about cars, noise, racing, exhilaration, drinking and the fast-paced world of the slick ‘70s. The film struggles, sometimes successfully and sometimes not, to blend the two into a coherent whole. Generally, in spite of strong performances and a classic tale of competition, the slickness and noise overpower and dull the human story at the heart of the film’s structure.

Daniel Bruhl (Inglourious Basterds) as Lauda is getting a lot of praise for the humorless and tightly-controlled Lauda, and it’s well deserved. I wonder how much of that praise is connected to the tendency to over-credit performances that tamp down the looks of the actor (see any number of Best Actress wins). Nevertheless, Bruhl and Lauda ground the picture and provide any depth and resonance the picture has.

But as Hunt, Chris Hemsworth (Thor) deserves his share of acclaim. He has the fun role for an actor and star. His character is handsome, fun and has the emotional ups and downs that Lauda (in spite of the terrible things that occur to him) doesn’t demonstrate. But Hemsworth adds depth to a shallow character, making us identify with his pain even when it’s greatly self-inflicted. It would have been easy to stay on the surface with a character like this, but Hemsworth accomplishes the same thing he did in Thor—taking a possible one-dimensional character and breathing life and depth into it while keeping to the legend.

Only Olivia Wilde (House, M.D., The Incredible Burt Wonderstone, an abominable film) as model Suzy Parker, who married Hunt and then was “sold” to Richard Burton, disappoints. The film has them marry far too quickly, which doesn’t help. But Wilde, though very pretty, doesn’t embody the ‘70s model type, and her scenes with Hunt are less than believable.

Director Ron Howard is an accomplished director, but may never be a great one. Critics seem to love following his development, and the story from Opie to Oscar is a compelling human interest story in the middle of a de-humanizing industry. He deserves at least attention if not praise for not pigeonholing himself and continuing to try new things. His work is usually worthy of a look, as is Rush. It’s a fun ride, but except for Bruhl’s impression on you, will likely be forgotten by the next day.

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The Spectacular Now

Posted on September 22, 2013 by Mark DuPré

The Spectacular Now is one of those movies “they” don’t make much anymore. It’s a small-to-medium-sized film, somewhat like a Woody Allen movie in scope. No aliens, no superheroes, no thrilling chases–in fact, New York and Washington are left completely intact. This is just about people–in this case, high school seniors. It’s like an Allen film in its focus on character, its limited range, and its excellent acting. It’s not like an Allen film in that it’s not cynical, it doesn’t take place in a major city, and it doesn’t wrestle with the moral balance of the universe.

It’s a growing-up film and as such is nearly pitch-perfect. Miles Teller as Sutter and Shailene Woodley as Aimee are as good as it gets in terms of embodying real teenagers. He’s confident/struggling, and leads with laughs, pithy sayings, and a great deal of verbal distraction. She’s more than convinced of her ordinariness than she should be, but is kind, other-centered, and has what we parents call “a good head on her shoulders.” It’s the dance of their personalities at this important juncture in their lives that is at the heart of the film.

Woodley, who should have been Oscar-nominated for being the best thing in The Descendants, absolutely nails her part here. Its strength is not so much in the big dramatic moments as in the thousand-and-one little ways in which she shows us how a real teen thinks and acts. She could have easily executed this as a series of lines, facial expressions and moments. Instead, she embodies her character as completely as any other actress this year, and acts consistently from that place of identification.

Teller has as great a challenge, but with a very different character. It’s his film, and he owns it. Sutter is the one going through the bigger journey here (Aimee develops, but more unfolds and blossoms than changes), and Teller embraces both the brash and the broken with equal ease. This is his star-making turn.

The script is tight and focused, and yet gives us breathing room to ponder at times, about moments, about possibilities, about possibilities. It also refreshingly surprises. [Spoiler alert] Just when we’re sure there is going to be a car accident, we don’t get one. [Semi spoiler alert] Just when we get caught up in an intense discussion, something unexpected happens that literally took my breath (rather loudly) away. (I was grateful I was the only person in the theater at the time.) The only aspect that seemed a little out of place was the role of drinking, which can function as a family bondage issue in the film, but which ultimately weighs the action down.

Supporting performances are nearly as strong as the two central ones. Jennifer Jason Leigh, who seems to age at about half the rate of us mere mortals, plays Sutter’s mom with intensity, pain, and an attempt to pull her child in the opposite direction of her disappointing ex because she sees so much of his dad in him. Bob Odenkirk is as real in his role as Sutter’s boss as Teller and Woodley are in their more expanded roles. The only misstep is Kyle Chandler as Sutter’s father. His acting is fine, but the slight messed-up garb and scruffiness can’t hide the leading-man looks or dull the likability of the actor’s persona. It helps us not to hate him, but that’s all.

The cinematography goes in a few unusual directions. In most romantic comedies or relationship films, directors or cinematographers use a shallow focus to keep our attention on the two main characters, separating them from their physical environments. But instead of shooting our leads singly or together with the requisite soft lighting, we see every scar, facial bump and line of the teenage face. Our focus is on these two, to be sure, but any romanticism is kept to a minimum. There is also a regular use of long takes with reverse tracking shots, allowing us to see the leads’ growing connection while being reminded that no one knows where they’re going, including us as viewers. In today’s chop-chop editing world, this is a refreshing change and also provides us with lessons in what solid uninterrupted acting looks like–a sight not generally enjoyed since the 1950s.

This isn’t for kids. It’s rated R for a reason, with more f-bombs than one can count, and an extended sex scene that shows nothing but indicates nearly everything. But as a story of facing the hurdles of adulthood, it shows the complexity of growing up today with respect for its leads and the layers of their many challenges. It’s a rather small plot and it leaves the viewer with a mixture of anticipation and unsettledness. But the world the filmmaker creates resonates with veracity, and the two central performances are a joy to behold and offer us a promise of many more years of acting pleasure.

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