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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Elysium

Posted on August 22, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Count me a fan of director Neil Blomkamp’s 2009’s District 9, which brought a refreshing reinvention to the dystopian sci-fi film with a keen visual sense, a new accomplished performer at the center (Sharlto Copley), and the social resonance of South Africa’s war on apartheid underneath the entire set-up. Count me less of a fan of Elysium.

Elysium is bigger, grander in scale, and has Oscar-winning performers in Matt Damon (yes, I know that his Oscar was for writing, but he’s one of our best and one of our most underrated—see The Informant!) and Jodie Foster. Instead of aliens vs. the government, we have earthlings stuck in a ravaged post-everything’s-gone-wrong landscape on our planet vs. the rich and entitled living in a Mercedes-Benz-logo-shaped space station in the sky (known as Elysium) that looks like the better parts of the Florida coast. But the film is simultaneously more and less. The budget is bigger and the effects are better (and they were already good in District 9), but the surprise and freshness of the earlier film doesn’t inform our viewing of Elysium, and it shows rather large cracks.

There wasn’t a great deal of subtlety in District 9’s opposing forces, but the main character carried us from one side to the other in his personal journey, and we grew with him in our understanding of the plight of the have-nots. We don’t find that here. We find the eminently likable Matt Damon as Max, one of the have-nots, so we are positioned as a have-not from the get-go. Apparently Elysium is where the beautiful people live. We know that because they have big houses and nice big lawns, and—get this!—they speak French! They also have complete control of the ultimate in health care in their special healing pods. Without giving away too much, Max gets very sick and needs one of the pods; therefore, he’ll do anything to get to Elysium. There are side plots that hinge on governmental overthrows and Inception-esque brain robbing, but this is an “I want to keep on living” film at its narrative core.

This part of the film is exciting, and makes for a rousing action film. The hand-held camerawork is overused throughout, and the action scenes often don’t get their timing right, adding awkward mental notes when one is not supposed to be thinking about such things. But it’s the weight of what surrounds those scenes that drags the film down and consistently compromises its value artistically.

Rich and/or powerful means evil here, and shades of grey are apparently not allowed. William Fitchner plays a high-up reptilian bureaucrat in an unnecessary near-coma. That’s bad enough, as we know he’s able to bring shading to any of his characters. What’s worse is Blomkamp’s man Copley, here a raving mercenary and wild-eyed killing machine who shows none of the intelligence of his District 9 character, and is one-dimensional, brutal, and half-incomprehensible. But the biggest and most unexpected misstep is Jodie Foster. She is, in a word or two, pretty awful. She practically twirls her mustache in every other scene, and her apparently post-dubbed dialogue features a kind of generic upper class accent that simply doesn’t work and that is distracting in the actress’s apparent priority of accent over acting, which is somewhere on the level of a college performer just starting out. Seeing that Matt Damon appears to be directing himself as he relies on his standard array of acting tools (yet somehow making those work), it appears that the focus of Blomkamp’s efforts wasn’t the acting. Considering the talents of all he had in the cast, that’s the big tragedy of the film.

Blomkamp, clearly worried about the box office, is trying to insist that this film isn’t political. If this isn’t political, The Passion of the Christ wasn’t religious. Elysium (the place) is where the 1% live, the inability to go there is the immigration issue, the healing pods are universal health care, and apparently the 99% all speak Spanish along with English. Could that be….dare we say it…. Mexico? Unlike District 9, where the apartheid message was thoroughly but gently infused into the proceedings and had the advantage of a great historical victory behind it, Elysium pulls in too-obvious political connections with its story, which results in a heavy-handedness and raises questions that the film is nowhere near capable of answering. In that arena, the film falls somewhere between simplistic and downright silly.

Still, the ride is a fun one, and Blomkamp has a sense of place that rivals Fernando Meirelles (The Constant Gardener), Guillermo del Toro (Pan’s Labyrinth) and Danny Boyle (Slumdog Millionaire). Let’s hope that future endeavors will shuck oversimplified political agendas and pay a little more attention to the good actors he may have at his disposal.

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Blue Jasmine

Posted on August 22, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Every year there is at least one master class in acting for us to enjoy, and for those interested, to study. In previous years, it’s been provided by Streep, Day-Lewis, Penn, or Philip Seymour Hoffman. This year, it’s supplied before the Oscar season (i.e., autumn) by the stunning performance of Cate Blanchett in Woody Allen’s newest film, Blue Jasmine. Happily, that performance is only the central pillar in one of Allen’s best films, certainly his best in years (yes, and that includes the more accessible but bumpier Midnight in Paris).

Blanchett may or may not snag an Oscar for this, but it’s still a performance for the ages. There are other actresses who might have played the part, but few if any could give it the combination of burnished entitlement, insecurity, self-deception, and brittle fragility that Blanchett provides her character. The film is Allen’s take on A Streetcar Named Desire, and similarities abound in the film’s story line and the internal struggles of the main character. But Jasmine (the character’s chosen name in place of her given name of Jeanette) isn’t Blanche DuBois, though she finds herself in somewhat similar circumstances. No Southern belle, she’s the wife of a Bernie Madoff-style character who has lost his fortune and has put his once-pampered wife out onto the streets with nothing but a few plush items, some expensive habits, and few survival skills.

Like Blanche, Jasmine moves in with her sister, Ginger. Unlike Stella, however, Ginger [played with a dead-on American accent and a touch of her own self-deception by English actress Sally Hawkins (Happy-Go-Lucky)] has an ex and a current boyfriend, neither of which is interested in Jasmine. The story meanders in and out of the Streetcar narrative, and it ultimately forms a parallel work that becomes much more of a late Woody Allen than any kind of modern take on a major mid-century film.

Allen is in old and new territory here. As usual, he features women well and often, and as (almost) always, his female performances are unusually strong and deeply felt. Blanchett’s Jasmine is only the newest—albeit one of the best—performances of an actress in an Allen film. The clash of cultures is also a recurring feature in his films, and the contrast between the soft lighting and colors of Jasmine’s New York life (including a vacation home to die for) with the overly bright and colored life of Ginger and San Francisco as is jarring as Annie Hall’s New York, LA, and Wisconsin. (There’s a slight and funny homage to that film in the name of the doctor that Jasmine first works for in the Bay Area—a Dr. Flicker who shares his name with the doctor that tried to bring the young Alvy Singer out of his youthful depression.)

What’s old and yet fresh is another reminder of Annie Hall–the structure of the film. Non-linear but not in the least confusing, Allen (or his editor) lets the story bounce gently back and forth from the present to Jasmine’s wealthy past, taking us into this memory and that. Annie Hall was structured around Alvy’s (Woody Allen) telling his story with Annie (Diane Keaton) as well as various other women in his life. The cutting there was more Eisensteinian in nature, and the contrasts between now and then (and New York and LA) were more pronounced and sharply humorous. Here we cut back to Jasmine’s memories as breezily as she moved through the large, high-ceilinged rooms she once inhabited, and the moves into the past are more of a reflection of what the character is experiencing, whether consciously or not. Allen was greatly responsible for bringing the actual rhythms of stand-up comedy to film, especially with Annie Hall. Here he softens the jumps, removes the satire, and allows us to experience Jasmine’s past with a combination of Blanche DuBois’ gauzy self-denial and a genuine sense of empathy for her present condition.

What’s completely new is Allen’s apparent newfound appreciation of the emotional and financial plight of the middle class living outside of Manhattan. Perhaps his trips overseas and his European films—and his advancing years—have provided him with a softening toward those not in upper middle class apartments arguing about issues far from the pressing concerns of most Americans. Here, Ginger’s ex, played surprisingly well and with the right combination of hurt and bluster by Andrew Dice Clay (of all people) is still reeling from the bad financial advice that Jasmine and her husband gave them that forever destroyed their chance of financial stability. Ginger’s current boyfriend, played with edge and sympathy by Bobby Cannavale in the Stanley Kowalski role, isn’t a brute or a one-note wonder, but a regular guy with some anger issues who’s just trying to make his way in the world—in his “career” and his relationships. Allen doesn’t make fun of him as he might have a few decades ago, and perhaps due to Cannavale’s inherent likeability, he has our sympathy even as he acts out in ways we wouldn’t want to see in our own homes. Cannavale has become an actor to watch, on stage and on screen, and this is one for the acting résumé. He can be rough, kind, sweet and dangerous, and can play both smart and not quite as smart as he thinks he is. No one else quite has this combination of inherent traits and external skills, and he’s not done developing yet.

Alec Baldwin is an obvious but not always successful choice as the husband. As much as Jasmine shows a deep but fractured soul, Baldwin’s character seems to have no soul, and the actor doesn’t suggest one. He plays smooth and unctuous without seeming too slimy, but his persona (including previous roles in films, his 30 Rock experience and his reputation as a newsmaker for all the wrong reasons) is larger than his character, and we can never stop remembering that we’re watching Alec Baldwin.

Peter Sarsgaard, always a joy to watch and more talented than he’s generally given the opportunity to demonstrate, leaves his usual dark shadings behind with this character in a performance as smooth as aged wine. Unfortunately, it’s a part of the weakest story line in the film. His character’s appearance on the scene is coincidental to a Dickensian extent, and the developing of his relationship with Jasmine is rushed and simply unbelievable when viewed too closely. It’s the one part of the film that stumbles.

Overall, however, the film is more palpable, more real, and more fully realized than any Allen film since Match Point. Even apart from the gem that is Blanchett’s performance, the film is a joy to behold, and we watch with as much concern for the characters as admiration for Allen’s skill as a filmmaker. Yet the core, and the film’s shining glory, is Blanchett. Her Jasmine is complicated, yet fully realized. She provides Jasmine with an internal life that is at once beautiful and frightening to behold, and it puts to shame those actors who rely on externals when portraying wounded characters. From an audience point of view, Jasmine is difficult, appalling, maddeningly entitled, broken, and real. From a performance point of view, Blanchett’s character is a parade of pleasures. She owns the film from beginning to unsettled end, and captures us in the process.

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Lee Daniels’ The Butler

Posted on August 19, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Lee Daniels’ The Butler is nearly a critic-proof film. Its subject matter—a real-life butler who served a number of presidents in the White House—has been tied inextricably into the greater battle for civil rights for African-Americans. That’s the source of its power, and is at the core of some of its weaknesses.

The film is definitely inspirational, more than well acted, and touching. It’s the story of personal overcoming, of doing more than surviving—all coupled with an agonizing struggle against racial prejudice and hatred. Wrapping the two together turns a human story into a political one, diluting the human drama at the expense of a rallying cry, and creating a strong defense against criticism in the process.

First, that awkward title. Apparently the Warner Bros. 1916 silent film—a comedy short, no less—called The Butler is still such a part of our collective artistic consciousness that we’d be confused by a 2013 color and sound film of the same name. Seriously, I have no idea why that couldn’t be worked out amicably, but I am tempted to sue Warners myself for having foisted such an awkward title on the American public. To paraphrase Mr. Knightly to Emma in Emma, “Badly done, Warners. Badly done.”

The film’s strengths are obvious and subtle. What’s obvious are the many fine and several OK actors. First is the national treasure known as Forest Whitaker, last enjoying an Oscar for playing Idi Amin in The Last King of Scotland. He’ll likely be nominated again here for his role as Cecil Gaines, the butler. These two performances show the breadth as well as the depth of this great actor; no two characters could be more diametrically opposed. It’s simultaneously subtle and passionate, and while he is not always helped by the script, he breathes life and shading to his character at every turn.

As anyone who has read Word One about this knows, the most influential and possible richest woman in the world is playing Cecil’s wife Gloria. Much has been made of her return to acting, and her presence certainly can’t be ignored. For a celebrity, Oprah is a real actress, and her performance here respects both the material and the character. But one can’t for a second pretend that we’re not watching OPRAH! acting. Happily, she is good enough to keep the distraction to a minimum. As in her last outing in The Color Purple, she’ll likely be nominated for an Oscar because she’s Oprah. Whether she will deserve the award or nomination remains to be seen at this point.

What’s also obvious but which works much less successfully is the parade of famous faces in cameo roles. The supporting work of many of our best actors is more than fine: Cuba Gooding, Jr.; Terrance Howard; David Oyelolo, and even Lenny Kravitz. It’s the cameos that lend gravitas and distraction. Wait, isn’t that legend Vanessa Redgrave? Yes, it is, but that’s OK, because she’s a world-class actress who disappears in her roles. Robin Williams as Eisenhower? Far too distracting. James Marsden as John Kennedy—that one works, as Marsden is not as famous as he should be, and he disappears into the part as much as he can. John Cusack as Nixon? Live Schreiber as LBJ? Alan Rickman as Reagan? Jane Fonda as Nancy Reagan? Their presence adds weight to the film as well as political street cred to their personae, but is a constant distraction (“Wow, look how much Jane looks like Nancy!”) Mariah Carey as Cecil’s mother? While she was more than fine in Lee Daniels’ Precious, her presence here is part of the Parade of Stars that keep impressing us with their participation while continually pulling us out of the film.

The more subtle success of the film is one that it also tends to overplay. The film’s brilliant point is that what a White House butler accomplished in both his life and work is every bit as distinctive and progressive as the more active civil rights workers of the ‘50s and ‘60s. Happily for politics but unhappily for art, the film overplays that hand in two ways. One, it ties in Gaines’ story to that of his son, who becomes a kind of Forrest Gump of the civil rights movement. The contrast and tension of the two stories is regularly demonstrated by cross-cutting between the elegant world of the White House and the rough-and-tumble realities of the beatings, harassments and outright violence against the civil rights workers. The cutting is effective in suggesting ironic contrast, but the film isn’t quite sure what it wants to be saying. We don’t disrespect Cecil and what he’s doing; we actually admire it. We also respect his son and the efforts of all those struggling against discrimination and segregation. The contrast is a little too easy to make and yet not quite precise enough in what it’s suggesting. The film’s stance could have been clarified in the specific tensions between father and son, but again, there is heat without a lot of light in those exchanges as son moves further into revolutionary causes, and various strains arise between father and son. What remain, though, are a respect for the efforts of both, and a distaste for disrespecting one’s elders and the move by some from resistance to violence. The contrast between the approaches of father and son strains a bit as Gaines evolves realistically as a man growing through middle age while his son and girlfriend are given an increasingly caricaturist presentation as they lose their individuality to slogans instead of dialogue and a parade of clichéd hats and hairstyles.

The other tension that nearly breaks the film is the climax of the film, where the two strands—Gaines’ life and the civil rights struggle—come together in the election of President Obama. The election of a half-black man is a ready-made and obvious culmination connecting the life of a White House butler and the struggle of the African-American to achieve parity on every level with whites. Perhaps too ready-made. On a cultural and political level, every white American should see this and get some insight into the black experience in America. On a film level, the ending overplays its hand and comes off as a rousing advertisement for the current president, after working so hard to present the previous executive leaders as real people who figure prominently but temporarily into the life of our central character. For those watching the parade of presidents and who are completely sympathetic with the civil rights movement, yet have reservations about this president’s policies, the knee-bending at the end of the film is a bit much and nearly tears the story away from Gaines’ life. Happily there is a Hail Mary pass at the end that refocuses the film back on Gaines, but the damage has already been done, and it leaves the film frayed at the edges.

The film is strongest when it stays personal, and sets its personal story within the context of what’s happening OUT THERE. While the son’s story and efforts could have been supportive and evocative with Gaines’ personal story in the forefront, instead it takes up too much time and focus, and more is clearly less here. Ironically, a more subtle and quieter presence of the son’s civil rights work would have resulted in a stronger and more powerful film. As it stands, Lee Daniels’ The Butler will be remembered for Oprah, too much star power, and a commanding, for-the-ages central performance.

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The Wolverine

Posted on August 9, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Full disclosure: I’m not a comic book geek, nor a superhero fan, and not even a particular fan of the popular Wolverine character. So maybe that’s what accounts for a rather tepid response to this film, an admittedly superior film to its predecessor, X-Men Origins: Wolverine—not a particularly difficult feat. From the feedback I’m getting from my graphic novel-loving friends, this one hews more to the “true story” of the tormented hero, digging both into his heart and into a classic Wolverine tale.

This outing has Logan/Wolverine drawn out from his self-imposed exile in the wilderness into the bright colors, whirling action, and evil deeds of some Japanese criminals. Apart from specific memories the plot stirs in the hearts of the true fan, the story is the simple classic of a hero/superhero discovering his true calling and giving himself over to it. That arc is the foundation of the film and what holds it together. In between isolation and acceptance, there are a lot of fights, a good deal of personal agonizing, and some uncomfortable acting.

The one scene that will likely be referred to over all others is the fight atop a bullet train. It’s original, spellbinding, fresh, and as unbelievable as every other fight scene in a Marvel or DC Comics film. But it’s fun.

Of course the film stars Hugh Jacked-Man, who is given every opportunity to have his shirt off. (If I looked like that, though, I’d be writing this shirtless as well.) He’s nearly as buff as Henry Cavill in Man of Steel, and the physique is a special effect in and of itself. (Though a distracting one: sometimes you can only think of all the hard work it took to look like that, which takes you right out of the film every time.) I’m a fan of the man, and the camera does love him. But I’ve never quite been as much of a fan of the actor. Some are lauding the return to Wolverine’s dark gruffness here, but I never had the feeling that he completely nailed the part, in spite of this being his umpteenth outing as the character. Jackman can do action sequences well, though, and certainly knows how to wear the character’s heart either on his sleeve or far behind his eyes—an important ability in a film that highlights Wolverine’s emotional journey as much if not more than his call back into action.

It’s a violent film when you add it up, but director James Mangold (Walk the Line, 3:10 to Yuma) keeps Logan’s slicing and dicing j-u-s-t out of camera range many times, keeping down the gore while still providing enough visual and aural information to let us know how much flesh is being punctured and slashed. While the action sequences (the train-top fight excepted) are not especially well constructed, this approach maintains the focus on Logan and keeps us both in the film and close to the character at the same time—a welcome change in an action film with this many deaths.

Once in Japan, though, there are two-and-a-half weaknesses that are as surprising as they are disappointing. There is an animé sprite come to life played by Rila Fukushima, a triangle-faced dyed-red-haired pixie who moves the action along. Unhappily, she is a first-time actress, and her performance outside of the action scenes is an awkward combination of mugging and OK if not always successful attempts at genuine acting. She’s a strong visual presence, however, and she adds color and energy. Also a first-time actress is the center of the intrigue as well as Logan’s possible love interest. She is played by Tao Okamoto, and her acting is weak and underplayed, but she has a solid screen presence that helps hold together the nearly overdone intrigue swirling about her. Lastly, there is a truly awful character played awfully: the Viper, played embarrassingly by Svetlana Khodchenkova, whose character doesn’t fit the film, and whose overdone “performance” is clichéd and laughable. She nearly ruins the film.

Then there is the third act, which turns into Wolverine Meets the Transformers. Don’t get me started on that. Just remember the earlier part of the film when you get to that point.

Because it’s an improvement over the previous Wolverine film, and because there is a return to the character’s roots, and because the Asian setting guarantees hundreds of millions in additional foreign box office, and because Jackman and Wolverine are a beloved combination, we likely haven’t seen the last of the films focused on this tortured superhero. In some ways, this is another international action production cobbled together with the requisite action sequences, foreign bad guys and comic-book characters come to life. But Jackman’s sympathetic portrayal, and the film’s steady emphasis on Logan’s hurting heart, serve to elevate and differentiate The Wolverine from the pack.

Note: There’s a preview of X-Men: Days of Future Past, which feature’s Wolverine’s next appearance, that comes in the middle of the end credits—don’t miss it.)

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Fruitvale Station

Posted on August 1, 2013 by Mark DuPré

Yes, a star is born. There are plenty of good reasons to see and experience Fruitvale Station. But perhaps the greatest pleasure is watching the birth of a star—Michael B. Jordan. The film, a favorite at Cannes and Sundance, is an accomplished bit of filmmaking in itself. But it will likely be remembered as the film that made Jordan a star and let the film-going public know that there is an actor of talent to watch, we hope, for a long time to come.

Fruitvale Station is the true, heart-breaking and maddening story of the last day and death of Oscar Grant, a 22-year-old San Francisco Bay area resident with a serious girlfriend, a young daughter, a sketchy job history, an on-and-off relationship with selling drugs, and a mother who loves him and that he loves right back. There’s nothing special about Oscar, and there’s everything special about him, at least the way Jordan and writer/director Ryan Coogler present him. He’s conflicted, complicated, not quite grown up, and comes across as a real human being in every scene. He loves his girlfriend, and is fiercely loyal, except when he’s not. He needs to work, but loses a job by showing up late once too often. He’s kind, thoughtful, and lies easily. He is presented in the film as beginning to put his drug-selling past behind him, which adds a high degree of tragic irony to the last altercation that leads to his untimely end.

The film is done in a strongly realist way, with the camera going right to the edge of tolerable shakiness. We feel as if we’re simply observing real people living real lives, without a lot of moralizing or politicking, a feat in itself. The ending is all the stronger for the lack of a high horse or overheated visual presentation. Since the film begins with the real video cell phone footage of Grant’s death, there is a layer of doom that overlays everything we see. But the humanity and life of the characters and what they do is so palpable that it almost fights against the inevitable climax, adding a creative tension throughout the film that’s both personally disturbing and artistically exciting to experience. [Spoiler alert] The only near misstep is a scene with a dog that is mirrored later in the film, and soaks the main character in a martyrdom that is unnecessary; perhaps less would have been more here.

In a film of strong performances, Jordan stands out, and for more reasons than being the lead. He registers as deeply felt and real while at the same time unsure of what his character is thinking and feeling at times. Oscar is just 22 and is sure of only a few things: he loves his mom and daughter. After that he’s mostly loyal to the mother of his child, enjoys his friends, doesn’t know what he wants to do, and is finding growing up difficult. Jordan captures all of that and more. In a mostly slice-of-life film, Jordan succeeds as presenting us with the most life-like character in the film.

Octavia Spencer, Oscar winner for The Help and a co-producer her, nails her character almost as firmly as Jordan, though a bit of her Help character seems to slip in now and then in the early scenes, threatening ever so slightly to distract the viewer and thin out her character. But mostly, she inhabits the role with ease and strength, especially as the dramatic demands grow. Melonie Diaz as Grant’s girlfriend is solid and gives a near-showcase performance herself. But this will be remembered primarily as the film that will kick-start Jordan’s already promising career.

One rare but happy result of the realist approach to the film is the presentation of Spencer’s character as a Christian believer. Her speech and her quick and muttered prayers when facing stress are refreshingly true to life, and her two praying scenes (grace at dinner and prayers for Oscar’s recovery when it’s already too late) are afforded the kind of respectful treatment that Hollywood generally doesn’t know how to handle. Generally these kinds of scenes apparently can’t be done without mockery or presenting a kind of laughable generic “Christianity” that no one practices (except in the minds of irreligious screenwriters who clearly haven’t a clue). I can’t remember the last time I saw a Christian character presented with respect and without irony or suspicion in a mainstream Hollywood film outside of Tyler Perry’s work, and here the acting is much better. Her character’s treatment adds one more level of reality to a film that depends on it for its power.

As a polemic on any number of issues, the film lands a bit on the soft side, and again, may be all the more powerful for it. It could have been grittier and angrier, and the actual murder could have been more directly and bitterly presented. Like the grainy cell images in the beginning, we don’t see everything that happened and don’t exactly know how things went from bad to worst. But the effect is that Oscar’s humanity is elevated in the process. He’s not reduced to an issue, or a cog in a message machine. Some may argue with that approach. But it takes the film up one more notch in what it refuses to do, and therefore in what it succeeds in doing for Oscar’s humanity and his memory.

One final note [and possible spoiler]: the arrival of Kevin Durand as the first police officer we see at the beginning of what we know is the final sequence. It’s the kind of set-up for a twist that is artful and shocking at the same time. Just look at Durand–he must be the bad guy, right? It’s one more good move in a film that should be studied as an example of an issue film that can take a different, perhaps more effective, approach to controversial material.

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