Film stuff by Mark

The last installment of the Batman trilogy may not be looked at simply as a film for a while. The slaughter on opening night will likely be associated with the film for many a viewer and non-viewer. The real violence in Colorado that night has also made the film both a target and an example of violence in films, and has bent the loftier discussions of the film and its meaning in that one direction.

The relationship between images of violence and violence in society will be a subject of conversation as long as there is film, and the chicken-and-egg tension (is the film a reflection of or catalyst to social violence?) will always be fodder for columnists and thesis-writers in both the and sociology camps.

But The Dark Knight Rises is first and foremost a film, and more specifically, the final installment of an intelligently conceived reboot. It’s finely acted, perhaps more structurally sound (though too long by 20 minutes), and richer and deeper and in some ways more frightening than its predecessors.

How many acting Oscar winners and nominees can YOU put in a film? We have the central trio of Batman/Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale, Oscar for The Fighter), Alfred (Michael Caine, double Oscar winner for Hannah and Her Sisters and The Cider House Rules), and the inestimable Morgan Freeman as Fox (surprisingly, just one for Million Dollar Baby). Then there is Marion Cotillard (Oscar for one of the great film performances of all time in La Vie en Rose). And don’t forget Gary Oldman as Commissioner Gordon (nominated for Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy) and Anne Hathaway (nominee for Rachel Getting Married). Thomas Hardy as Bane either introduces the viewer to a future Oscar winner or reminds us again of what a powerful performer and presence he is. Lastly, Joseph Gordon-Levitt is growing into a solid and authoritative screen presence and making us forget he was ever on television when he was younger. He’s the heart of the film (a great concept, clever and thoughtful at once) and the maturing actor carries it on his ever-widening acting shoulders.

The film resembles Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life in one big way: It reaches farther than it can grasp, but its reach is breathtaking. Writer/director Christopher Nolan connects the film to the previous two narratively and emotionally, and then expands its scope nearly to the breaking point. Nolan continues the story of parental loss and isolation, and brings it to a satisfying but slightly facile conclusion. But it’s a conclusion that ultimately keeps the film a personal story of Wayne and his alter ego to the end, while using the issues and surrounding socio-political world created here to comment on our own society without turning the film into a screed. What is frightening is not the violence so much as the possibility that the film is a prophecy of where we’re going. As a society, we’re poised somewhere between Paris in 1789 and either 1917 Russia or 1933 America. Nolan doesn’t seem to take sides in the film, but acknowledges the greed of the rich, the class envy of the not-so-rich, the dangers of anger fueled by equal parts inequity and entitlement, and the folly of those who think that a “real people’s revolution” won’t quickly devolve into a dictatorship. What occurs in Nolan’s world is acceptable to us as viewers because we don’t live in Gotham, and this is something of a superhero movie, but the societal and governmental breakdown demonstrated is a little too close for comfort at times.

Technically, the film is as stunning to look at as the others, and the action scenes are less confusing and more clearly edited. The second half of the film wanders and begins to lose the first half’s energy, and may well be the film’s biggest weakness. For those who complain about the film’s villain Bane (Hardy), well, it’s hard to imagine how best to follow up Heath Ledger’s Joker. Nolan evidently didn’t want to repeat the issue of chaos while bringing the series to a conclusion, so he opts for “pure evil,” as Bane is called. Nolan pulls a 180 from the Joker to Bane. The Joker was external, crazy, a Fauvist nightmare motivated by an insane anarchy. Bane is brutal, far less demonstrative, crude, and monochromatic, and as played by Hardy (a physical beast here), he functions well as a one-on-one worthy opponent of “the Batman.” (I love it that they keep the “the,” unlike Facebook.) Batman could have snapped the Joker in two; it’s all he can do to stand his ground with Bane.

When the dust clears over the opening night tragedy, The Dark Knight Rises will merit and receive many second looks. As a rewarding and enjoyable conclusion to a powerful, well-reconceived trilogy, it’s a strong example of how to expand on and conclude what precedes it. As a possible prophecy about what is occurring and what may occur in society, culture and government, it’s scarier than the bloodiest horror movie.

Most of the talk surrounding Brave has been focused on gender and ideology. Merida (voiced by Kelly Macdonald) is a Disney heroine who doesn’t need or want a man, and doesn’t end up with one. For sociologists and ideologues, that’s worthy of a great deal of discussion, and there’s little to add to that discussion at this point. It is refreshing to have that “something new” in a children’s cartoon, but that’s pretty much all there is that’s fresh. Oh, yes, and Merida and her mom, Elinor (Emma Thompson) form the core of the story, making it a coming of age story focused on mom rather than dad.

Directed by Mark Andrews, Brendan Chapman, and Steve Purcell (the last listed as “co-director) and written by Chapman, Brave is the latest Pixar concoction, and is lovely to look at. The scenery, the animals, and especially, Merida’s unruly red crop of hair—all are lovingly rendered and are another step forward in computer animation. It’s a good thing, as the script is a little flat and leans on disappointingly old-hat Disney witchcraft to move things forward. Seriously? A witch? A spell? Almost 75 years after Snow White? And mom turns into (warming: spoiler alert) a bear? A bear?  You’re NOT kidding?

The bear direction the film takes is odd at best and is a jarring turn of events, and a turn that doesn’t resonate with the viewer with much beyond possible mother-bear jokes. It seems a little shoe-horned into the plot. And the witchcraft is so old, so tired an element that I was frankly taken aback at its introduction, as well as disappointed that we can’t seem to escape witchcraft or the supernatural even in a children’s movie.

There are funny lines and some cute situations. Merida’s brothers are equal parts obnoxious and cute (at least in terms of what the plot does with them). And Billy Connolly as dad Fergus adds much-needed humor and warmth, and would steal the show if the script didn’t keep putting him into the stunted-growth category of the adolescent sitcom dads of the last three decades.

All in all, it’s diverting and somewhat fun. But the heroine, while anything but lame, is trapped in a story rigged with supernatural trappings that disappoint parents looking for something without a witch and spells, and borders on the lame for those hoping for a story that matched the freshness of its modern approach to its lead character. The film is the opposite of its heroine: She’s not concerned about her looks, and is fresh, energetic and original. The film is gorgeous, a little bland, and beyond it’s “don’t need a man” story thread, surprisingly unoriginal.

This is your kinder, gentler Spider-Man. That’s neither a compliment nor a complaint. It’s just a quick description of the reboot.

There’s nothing really new here except the emphasis. This Spider-Man film is more down-to-earth, closer to its protagonists, lighter in tone, and slower in pace. Its weaknesses are its inevitable sense of déja vu (we’ve seen him get bitten and seen Uncle Ben die before), its lack of the original’s visual appeal, and its occasional tendency to drag. It’s also too long.

What makes it work to the extent that it does are its two leads. Andrew Garfield (Mark Zuckerberg’s best friend Eduardo in The Social Network and a Tony nominee for Broadway’s Death of a Saleman) gives a star-making turn as Peter Parker that turns Tobey Maguire’s Peter inside out. Maguire took Peter’s life events and turned them inward, artfully exhibiting Peter’s angst and existential pain. Garfield is as bright as Maguire was dark. Garfield’s Peter has his own pain, but it’s a more recognizable and individual adolescent awkwardness. Garfield is all puppy-dog eyes and a killer smile that’s used both genuinely and as his character’s attempt to make people think everything’s OK. Either way, it works, and completely lacks the creepiness of the smiles of some other Hollywood stars that might be getting a third divorce. Every mom will want to take this boy home and feed him.

Garfield, like Maguire, is years too old to play Peter, but he moves like a high-schooler trying to make his way awkwardly into adulthood. He nails down a believable self-consciousness in his speech (especially with Emma Stone’s Gwen Stacy) and head movements that’s both charming and familiar to anyone who has passed through the teenage years. Garfield’s scene of asking Gwen for a date without either one of them being specific about it could become a classic in the “how to dance around a subject without ever mentioning it” category.

Stone is every bit Garfield’s equal. The actress (also too old to play her character) brings her normal delightful persona to the character, but unlike the earlier Mary Jane, this girl is smart and assertive and indispensable. She learns early on who Peter really is, and becomes something of an active partner with him—an improvement as well as something of a relief over the original. Garfield may use his eyes and smile to nail down his character. Stone doesn’t have to try; her eyes are already as big as a Keane painting, and director Marc Webb (nope, not going there) gives her the tender close-ups that help keep the film so deeply connected to the emotional lives of its two leads. As others have noted, the chemistry between the two leads is the best special effect of the film. You can’t help but root for them as individuals and as a couple, and the greatest enjoyment of the film is just that. (But that short skirt on a science intern—seriously?)

Webb, who has only previously directed (500) Days of Summer, certainly seemed a strange choice for director of an action series reboot. He brings in some fresh air in his eschewing of too many CGI effects, sticking to more old-fashioned action choreography that helps keep the film closer to the real world. But his pace is far too slow far too often, especially in the non-action, non-two-leads scenes. But the action scenes are at least clear and generally not confusing, and he is wise to give the scenes between Garfield and Stone all the time they need. Perhaps it was this more personal character connection seen in his previous film that won him the directing job.

One of the changes that works is Peter’s more gradual embracing of his new “talents” after he’s bitten. We get to see the hesitant first explorations of his new arachnoid powers, which are both more humorous and down-to-earth (pun intended). And instead of seeing Peter move from being gravity-bound to high-flying so quickly, we get to see the steps in-between–and the joy that Peter experiences as he gains ability and experience.

One of the changes that doesn’t work is how quickly Garfield’s Peter recovers from Uncle Ben’s death. Tobey Macquire’s angst in the first film of the trilogy worked because the film gave him ample time to suffer. This film, less concerned with dark feelings of regret and anguish, moves too quickly and a little unrealistically to the next step. This Peter arrives at the same point of answering his call to responsibility, but it’s  less deeply personal commitment here.

Webb’s overall style is sweet comparied to Sam Raimi’s dark. Raimi, the previous trilogy’s director, had a sleek visual style and energy that Webb can’t come close to. Raimi’s films pondered the big issues, and his characters suffered physically and emotionally, the leads pulling away from one another as they internalized. Webb’s characters here do the opposite. Problems are personal and physical, not existential. Spider-Man may get hurt physically, but either Aunt May or Gwen provide the necessary comfort, and both male and female leads here turn to one another instead of isolating and drawing inward. Webb has a few nice visual moments, but his canvas comes most alive with four young eyes and two sweet smiles.

Martin Sheen and Sally Field had huge shoes to fill playing Uncle Ben and Aunt May, following the indelible performances of Cliff Robertson and, especially, Rosemary Harris. Sheen brings his paternal authority and strength in his time on–screen, and Field surprises by covering her brittle sweetness with tough and touching mother-bear concern and care. Yes, she’s a well-known star, but here she’s an actress first.

Rhys Ifans is probably best known as Hugh Grant’s roommate in Notting Hill, where he gave one of the great supporting comedy performances of recent years. He’s fine in the central serious role here, but his character is a confusing one, ricocheting between good guy and villain, and raising more questions than answers in terms of his relationship with Peter’s father. Again, in terms of the villain, nothing really new here.

For a summertime movie, The Amazing Spider-Man is solid entertainment and is a showcase for two young actors that have stellar careers ahead of them. If a viewer is into the comics and the “real” backstory, there may be some disappointments and been-there-seen-that. For the rest of us, it’s a pleasant ride.

Wes Anderson (The Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Darjeeling Limited, The Royal Tenenbaums, Rushmore) is a critics darling, and many are falling all over themselves to proclaim this his best yet. It may be, but I’m not among that group, as hard as I tried to love Moonrise Kingdom. It’s perhaps Anderson’s most Andersonian, or phrased another way, perhaps not his best, but perhaps his most.

What is wondrous is his equal treatment of the preteen leads. Even within the thin air of an Anderson picture, his leads—two so-called “troubled kids” in what they call love—breathe with freshness and reality. Kara Howard (Suzy) and Jared Gilman (Sam) manage to transcend the Anderson straightjacket of style and resonate as people who happen to be young, acting their age and experiencing emotions both intensely real and breathtakingly naïve. While Anderson and the script lean more toward respecting the integrity of the young lovers’ feelings and actions over those of the adults, the film never presses that point so heavily that it becomes a screed on the innocence and contrasting purity of youth.

How one enjoys/respect an Anderson film depends on how one views his style. Moonrise Kingdom is as formalist as a mainstream film comes that’s not set in outer space, has aliens, or exists in the heated brain of a dreamer or psychopath. Some call his style precious, others, twee. Moonrise Kingdom just misses becoming both, leaning instead toward the delightfully formalist. The geometric patterns of camera movement almost uncomfortably pull the viewer out of the narrative at times, but the energy of plot and character keep the film moving forward at a quick enough pace that the style finally becomes of a piece with what’s occurring in the story; those moments of confluence are lovely.

What threatens to derail the film is his treatment of adults and his casting. Anderson seems to be developing a Woody Allenesque reputation; that is, he has his favorites, plus some of the “big guns” want to work for him as well.  Here the enviable cast includes Edward Norton, Bruce Willis, Anderson favorite Bill Murray, and Frances McDormand (Oscar winner for Fargo) in the lead non-children roles. Norton fits his role perfectly, providing the right balance of realism and slight exaggeration. Bruce Willis, an underused, underappreciated and underchallenged actor, does the near-impossible, playing someone with less intelligence than himself with believability, a character struggling to find understanding and then expression of what he’s feeling and beginning to think. It’s a tender performance that helps holds the film together, and will likely be ignored come Award-time.

I get it that many in Hollywood wait until the men are 60 and the women are nearly 40 before reproducing, but that’s not the norm in the rest of the world. It strains credibility to have 62-year-old Bill Murray play someone with such young children, and to have 55-year-old Frances McDormand be the mom. I get that in an Anderson film, the actors are all riffing on their characters rather than playing them. But it might have helped the film to cast some age-appropriate actors as the parents. It would also have helped to give the adults some of the relational integrity that the kids possess. The young ones connect believably, with their sincerity, confusion, curiosity and growing perspectives providing the relational glue. Murray’s and McDormand’s characters live in the same house as husband and wife, but not in the same universe. Even with the clear strains in the relationship, it might have helped to showing something connecting these two other than parenthood. And (near spoiler alert), McDormand’s other relationship in the film is as far-fetched as her marriage seems to be. When we’re allowed, yea, encouraged, to respect and believe the central relationship of the film, it’s more disappointment than irony to not believe any of the others.

Lastly, the embarrassment of casting riches becomes a problem. We just get used to having these big stars and/or respected actors playing all these roles when the film throws us a number of curves—oh, look, that’s Jason Schwartzman (and isn’t he a Coppola and wasn’t he in…?), and OMG, that’s not really [insert name of famous gangster/tough guy star here], is it? A Brechtian style that pulls away from the story is one thing; playing “Guess what star is right around the corner?” threatens to take the film from merely heightened reality to an Anderson version of the “anything goes” end of Blazing Saddles.

There is a lot here to respect, especially in the script by Anderson and Roman Coppola. There are ironies and observations about youth and love, marriage and parenting that will likely fill many a film-school paper in the near future. The story is solidly constructed, providing a foundation for a presentation style that surrounds everything else in the film in quotation marks.

Delightful, brilliant, precious, too self-conscious? It’s really all in the heart and mind of the beholder. For this one perhaps more than most other films, the critics have reported—you’ll have to decide.

I find myself in an unusual position in regard to the latest box office phenomenon. I haven’t read the books, and don’t intend to (no time and no interest, in that order). I approach it not looking for how well it hewed to the best sellers, or even for how it speaks to us to day vis-à-vis reality shows, politics or Young Adult female role models. I’m viewing it, simply, as a film.

As a film that is a stand-alone, it works for the most part. It’s well cast, well acted, generally well directed and looks good. The film lives or dies with Jennifer Lawrence, and it does both, in a way. What’s generally right either hangs on her shoulders or is reflected in her performance and casting.

There has been some talk about how Lawrence is—can you believe the terminology?—too fat for the role. Jennifer is a lovely, medium-figured young actress of impressive skill and sensitivity. Aside from the real harm that could be done to female tweens or teens in calling someone like Lawrence by that term, under it all is a genuine criticism that extends beyond the actress’s form. Knowing nothing other than the general plot before seeing the film, I expected that Katniss would share the same “lean and hungry look” as Shakespeare’s Cassius (Julius Caesar). For better or for worse, Lawrence has a soft, rounded look that doesn’t quite reflect the struggles of someone in her character’s position.

That wouldn’t be too noticeable if the entire film hadn’t followed the same pattern. It’s a little soft where it should be lean and strong, and rounded where it should be edgy. People are working hard to survive, and then they are picked in a diabolical cross between Survivor and Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery to fight one another to the death. For whatever reason, that upside down, grossly unfair world is presented as is. There’s hardly a note of anger or opposition, or even an attempt to escape. It’s “just the way things are.” There is a little historical explanation of how things got to this point, but it’s a hermetically sealed world, not resonating with ours in any internal way. Only near the end, when Cato (Alexander Ludwig) talks about himself just before his death, do we hear anything that connects us emotionally with the present.

The film’s strengths are also its weaknesses. Lawrence is clearly an actress to watch (see her Oscar-nominated turn in Winter’s Bone), and she has the uncanny ability to contain several off-times contradictory emotions at one time. She can look brave, fearful, insecure, and full of wonder all at once. She’s an acting first cousin to Carrie Mulligan. Yet that refusal to lock down on just one emotion sends some scenes soaring while over the course of the film leaves Katniss without the power and edge that the movie suggests she possesses. Based solely on the film, Katniss seems as if she should be more dark and specific than emotionally removed, which is how she is often played.

The world of the film suffers from the same problem as Lawrence. The material is necessarily dark, but the film leans towards a lovely, even painterly, palette, making the world prettier and softer than the events taking place in it—without exploring that irony. The action sequences work and then they don’t. Whether it was to keep the PG-13 rating or not, the scenes of teens dying are dispatched quickly, with a camera deliberately placed around the event rather than on it. The horror remains in the mind rather than on the eye, which keeps the rating and a distance from the carnage. Since teens slaughtering teems is anathema to most viewers, this keeps the film from a possible tipping point. Yet it turns out that almost all of the action sequences are treated in this same generalized manner. Having virtual air quotes around the teen killings seems to have a purpose, but keeping the viewer as unengaged in the other action sequences merely works to disconnect us from the film.

The scenes in the Capital are disconnected as well. Yes, there is beautiful food and an exquisite presentation of it, but the contrast with life back in District 12 is left largely unexplored. The costumes and behavior of the TV personnel suggests The Fifth Element, but without a context that makes any sense of it or comments on it for us. There is no sting to the outfits or over-the-top actions of these people, as they exist in their own unrelatable world.

Beside Lawrence, the casting seems spot on. Josh Hutcherson as Peeta fits nearly perfectly here. He’s strong enough physically (and made more so to our unbelieving eyes by the script’s insistence on his bakery muscles) as well as emotionally, but not strong enough that he doesn’t need rescuing by our heroine. He and Lawrence have no problem carrying the film. Happily, the obvious Team Peeta/Team Gale ridiculousness that will undoubtedly replace the Twilight boy-girl-boy conflict once the final film in that series comes and goes is only suggested here; we are all granted a temporary reprieve.

Stanley Tucci as TV host Caesar Flickerman (what a name!) proves once again, as if needed, that he can do anything. He gives a small acting master class for anyone with eyes to see. Donald Sutherland has a small part (for now?) in what could easily have been cast with an obvious heavy such as Malcolm McDowell. He brings humanity and depth in a small (for now?) but crucial role. He could have phoned in this part and no one might have noticed. Thankfully, he didn’t. As has been noted, Elizabeth Banks (Effie Trinket—quel nom encore une fois!) is nearly unrecognizable, but nails the part without taking it too far. Lenny Kravitz is not really an actor, but he brings some welcome breathing room and quiet life into the film with a gentle understated performance. Woody Harrelson’s casting is a near-cliché, but after his first sequence, he moves into a specificity that takes the role beyond the usual and expected.

Director Gary Ross may just be too soft for the material. Seabiscuit and Pleasantville are not necessary the first films one would look at to find a director suitable for this material. Rumors fly that in spite of the box office, that Ross would be replaced for the sequel. I don’t mean to damn him with faint praise, but his work here is “fine.” Time will tell if that is enough for the future.

Like Crazy (2011) is an indie film about young love and young lovers.  She’s an English student, he an American one. They fall in love, make one big wrong decision (among many smaller stupid ones), and then get bounced around by the repercussions of the decision.

Felicity Jones as Anna has received the majority of the attention (various “Breakthrough” awards) for her performance, but Anton Yelchin (Star Trek) as Jacob has had his deserved share of attention. She looks a little as if she could eat him for breakfast, but they are almost equal on the screen. I’d recite the plot if it made any difference, but it’s mostly not so much of a plot as a series of plot devices.

What struck me most about the film, aside from the solid acting, was its self-conscious mise-en-scène and near addiction to jump cuts. Sometimes it’s fresh; at other times merely distracting and bumpy. What might interest most of its target audience is the presence of Hunger Games star Jennifer Lawrence (known to the rest of us as Oscar nominee for Winter’s Bone) in a minor but significant part as Jacob’s other love interest.

Perhaps I’m just getting old, but a part of me wants to screen this for every young person in the target age bracket and say, “See what one stupid decision to not obey the law can do to mess up your life?!” Or, “Look at what happens when you get emotionally and physically involved too early—such complications, such confusion!” The contrivance of the bad decision creates situations that both strain credibility and our tolerance for these two characters. We are set up to believe that this is a great love attacked by circumstances. But it turns out that instead we have a quick, medium-depth love compromised by a stupid decision that’s entirely their fault, and further compromised by a lack of patience, emotional immaturity and a profound inability to think.