Friday, December 31, 2010
If you (and by this I mean the non-existent readers I make this shout out to) are wondering why I decided to suddenly return to this blog with a stream of reviews of movies released since last summer, it is because a. I just remembered I had created this blog, in all honesty and b. I have these reviews from the column in my local newspaper in which they are printed. Now you can enjoy them without knowing anything about my column in the paper. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. (And sorry that they seem to be in reverse, date-wise.)
The Town
“The Town,” Ben Affleck’s latest directorial endeavor, shows a kind of craftsmanship that’s been hiding in Affleck behind the likes of “Paycheck.” In “The Town,” Affleck succeeds both as an actor and a director. Part of you is a little peeved that he didn’t have the decency to expose his excellence in recent years. The other part is too entertained to care.
The movie, set in Charlestown, centers on Doug MacRay (Ben Affleck), the kind of upstanding criminal that movie audiences love. MacRay and his cronies, which include Jeremy Renner as James, MacRay’s trigger-happy best friend, rob banks and the first robbery we witness culminates in their kidnapping of the bank manager, Claire (Rebecca Hall). She is later set free and for a time, the men concern themselves with their cash. However, MacRay finds himself falling for the quietly beautiful and damaged Claire. Of course, she doesn’t know he’s the one of the men who kidnapped her.
On the other side of things is Jon Hamm as Special Agent Adam Frawley, an FBI agent who’s made it his mission to put our antiheroes behind bars.
Affleck and Hall are both appealing and there’s a subtle honesty in their courtship that makes the love story at the heart of “The Town” affecting. You know where they’re headed but that doesn’t make the journey any less engaging.
Renner is quickly proving to be an actor to keep your eye on. The possibility for overstatement in his performance is huge, but Renner hints at just enough vulnerability to let you know that James is human. Hamm, on the other hand, is given a thankless part. Morality has never looked or sounded this repugnant.
The script, co-written by Affleck as well, is tense and smart, deftly mixing action and romance in a way that is unexpectedly refreshing. The action scenes are well filmed, raising your pulse without compromising the movie’s grittiness to become something out of a John Woo film. There’s hard-earned suspense in the proceedings and even with a lack of gunplay, Affleck mines some wonderful anxiety in his scenarios.
One scene, in which the fighting Irish tattoo on the back of James’s neck proves to be an almost dangerous tell-all, is unbearably suspenseful. Affleck doesn’t monitor the scene for a time and his lack of control gives the scene a terrifying sense of possibility.
If I haven’t heaped enough praise on Affleck yet, allow me to commend his directorial skills as well. He lends the film a needed sense of plausibility and he gets close to his actors, wanting us to care about them. The only time his vision gets away from him is toward the end, when the movie gets a little sappy. But the film’s too quick and lean to let you dwell on its shortcomings. Of which there are few.
The movie, set in Charlestown, centers on Doug MacRay (Ben Affleck), the kind of upstanding criminal that movie audiences love. MacRay and his cronies, which include Jeremy Renner as James, MacRay’s trigger-happy best friend, rob banks and the first robbery we witness culminates in their kidnapping of the bank manager, Claire (Rebecca Hall). She is later set free and for a time, the men concern themselves with their cash. However, MacRay finds himself falling for the quietly beautiful and damaged Claire. Of course, she doesn’t know he’s the one of the men who kidnapped her.
On the other side of things is Jon Hamm as Special Agent Adam Frawley, an FBI agent who’s made it his mission to put our antiheroes behind bars.
Affleck and Hall are both appealing and there’s a subtle honesty in their courtship that makes the love story at the heart of “The Town” affecting. You know where they’re headed but that doesn’t make the journey any less engaging.
Renner is quickly proving to be an actor to keep your eye on. The possibility for overstatement in his performance is huge, but Renner hints at just enough vulnerability to let you know that James is human. Hamm, on the other hand, is given a thankless part. Morality has never looked or sounded this repugnant.
The script, co-written by Affleck as well, is tense and smart, deftly mixing action and romance in a way that is unexpectedly refreshing. The action scenes are well filmed, raising your pulse without compromising the movie’s grittiness to become something out of a John Woo film. There’s hard-earned suspense in the proceedings and even with a lack of gunplay, Affleck mines some wonderful anxiety in his scenarios.
One scene, in which the fighting Irish tattoo on the back of James’s neck proves to be an almost dangerous tell-all, is unbearably suspenseful. Affleck doesn’t monitor the scene for a time and his lack of control gives the scene a terrifying sense of possibility.
If I haven’t heaped enough praise on Affleck yet, allow me to commend his directorial skills as well. He lends the film a needed sense of plausibility and he gets close to his actors, wanting us to care about them. The only time his vision gets away from him is toward the end, when the movie gets a little sappy. But the film’s too quick and lean to let you dwell on its shortcomings. Of which there are few.
The Social Network
People will tell you that “The Social Network” is the definitive movie of this year, possibly of this current generation. It will turn heads; realign planets, save our youth from moral degradation. In truth, however, “The Social Network” is just a good little movie. Its aspirations to be great prove to be both its source of success and failure.
The movie concerns Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg), the Harvard student who created Facebook. Zuckerberg begins by humiliating his former girlfriend on his blog and then creating a website in which students can rate the attractiveness of female Harvard undergraduates. He sends his website around campus, and it proves to be a hit.
His success catches the attention of Cameron Winklevoss and Tyler Winklevoss, both played by Armie Hammer in a terrific dual performance. They want him to create a dating website for Harvard students; he takes their idea and molds it into the social network now known as Facebook. He co-founds Facebook with Eduardo (Andrew Garfield), the woefully unassuming best friend who loses almost everything. And to heighten the tension is Justin Timberlake as Sean Parker, creator of the website Napster and contributor to Facebook. Parker is a hopelessly arrogant entrepreneur and his inclusion into Facebook’s development creates more conflict than anticipated.
The story is interspersed with lawsuits filed against Zuckerberg by the Winklevosses and Eduardo respectively. Zuckerberg stole his ideas from the brothers and the credit from Eduardo. The narrative device is well employed but also shopworn. I’ll be glad when screenwriters gain back the confidence to frame these kinds of stories in a more straightforward manner.
Eisenberg, playing Zuckerberg as a kind of selfish letch whose being smart is his ruination, is perfect for the role, capturing a young-minded indifference familiar to today’s society. Timberlake is (surprise!) pretty good as Parker. You can say whatever you like about his musical abilities; he proves here he can be something of an actor. But its in Garfield that “The Social Network” finds someone worth caring about. Garfield, a sensitive actor, connects to emotions the audience can relate to. It was nice of the movie to throw us a bone.
David Fincher, as director, melds everything together in a way that makes sense. But something has to be said for my missing of the zest he brought to earlier pictures, such as “Fight Club” and “Seven.” Those movies weren’t nearly as respectable as “The Social Network,” but they also had more life.
Aaron Sorkin, screenwriter, will probably win an Oscar for his work. His dialogue is fast, funny, and clever and his characterizations are interesting and intelligent. But his script is also slow and uneventful at times and his statement on youth culture is obvious. The last scene of the film, reflecting sadly on the fragmented conditions of our social lives, is as relevant as it is superficial.
“The Social Network” is a good movie; one just wishes it had taken more chances.
The movie concerns Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg), the Harvard student who created Facebook. Zuckerberg begins by humiliating his former girlfriend on his blog and then creating a website in which students can rate the attractiveness of female Harvard undergraduates. He sends his website around campus, and it proves to be a hit.
His success catches the attention of Cameron Winklevoss and Tyler Winklevoss, both played by Armie Hammer in a terrific dual performance. They want him to create a dating website for Harvard students; he takes their idea and molds it into the social network now known as Facebook. He co-founds Facebook with Eduardo (Andrew Garfield), the woefully unassuming best friend who loses almost everything. And to heighten the tension is Justin Timberlake as Sean Parker, creator of the website Napster and contributor to Facebook. Parker is a hopelessly arrogant entrepreneur and his inclusion into Facebook’s development creates more conflict than anticipated.
The story is interspersed with lawsuits filed against Zuckerberg by the Winklevosses and Eduardo respectively. Zuckerberg stole his ideas from the brothers and the credit from Eduardo. The narrative device is well employed but also shopworn. I’ll be glad when screenwriters gain back the confidence to frame these kinds of stories in a more straightforward manner.
Eisenberg, playing Zuckerberg as a kind of selfish letch whose being smart is his ruination, is perfect for the role, capturing a young-minded indifference familiar to today’s society. Timberlake is (surprise!) pretty good as Parker. You can say whatever you like about his musical abilities; he proves here he can be something of an actor. But its in Garfield that “The Social Network” finds someone worth caring about. Garfield, a sensitive actor, connects to emotions the audience can relate to. It was nice of the movie to throw us a bone.
David Fincher, as director, melds everything together in a way that makes sense. But something has to be said for my missing of the zest he brought to earlier pictures, such as “Fight Club” and “Seven.” Those movies weren’t nearly as respectable as “The Social Network,” but they also had more life.
Aaron Sorkin, screenwriter, will probably win an Oscar for his work. His dialogue is fast, funny, and clever and his characterizations are interesting and intelligent. But his script is also slow and uneventful at times and his statement on youth culture is obvious. The last scene of the film, reflecting sadly on the fragmented conditions of our social lives, is as relevant as it is superficial.
“The Social Network” is a good movie; one just wishes it had taken more chances.
Hereafter
It’s almost impossible to get mad at a film Clint Eastwood directs anymore. The much-respected director has pulled off enough startlingly wonderful films in recent years that it would seem in bad taste to tell him that one of his movies just wasn’t very good. Unfortunately, “Hereafter” just isn’t very good. But you get the sense that it’s the movie that’s letting Eastwood down, and not the other way around.
The film tells three stories: one concerns a former psychic turned factory worker named George Lonnegan (Matt Damon) whose brother tries to rope him back into the psychic trade. Another story centers on Marie Lelay (Cécile de France), a French television journalist who survives the 2004 tsunami while in Thailand and tries to recompose a life that’s been marked by death. And in the last story we have Marcus (Frankie McLaren), a 12-year-old boy living in England whose twin brother, Jason, has just died.
For a film about death — a broad, boundless topic — Peter Morgan’s script has surprisingly little to say. I respect his desire to avoid presumptions, but one feels that he’s not even trying. None of the stories seem to say anything about death; they simply revolve around its concept in order to have some needed thematic connection. There’s some spare otherworldly imagery, but the film doesn’t want to commit to any singular vision of death and in this way it begins to lose credibility. Toward the end, the film tries to tell you to enjoy being alive. As pleasant as this notion is, it would be nice of a film about death to be about death for once.
Damon is good here; painting a restrained portrait of a man whose fear of his connection to death has kept him from living at all. France, unfortunately, is more hit and miss. We see her transformation, but we don’t experience it. The film implies that Marie is a guarded person, but it’s France’s own guardedness that won’t let us see past this.
Eastwood as director does what he can and his rendering of the tsunami is powerful. Eastwood is not known for special effects of any kind and the fact that he employs special effects with such aplomb is surprising. But Eastwood has let the philosophical weightiness of Morgan’s script get the better of him. The sense of intimacy he lent to “Million Dollar Baby” would have benefited “Hereafter” enormously, instead the movie begins to feel distant rather than deliberate.
The film’s slack pacing and general melancholy attempted profoundness does not help either. However, by the time each story has been properly interwoven, there’s a kind of an odd silliness to the whole thing. Eastwood usually makes gritty and intimate films. A movie this Hollywood is so not Eastwood and there’s something both fascinating and frustrating in his directorial escape from the conventions he has established for himself. It’s nice to see Eastwood working outside of his comfort zone; one just wishes he had picked a better script.
The film tells three stories: one concerns a former psychic turned factory worker named George Lonnegan (Matt Damon) whose brother tries to rope him back into the psychic trade. Another story centers on Marie Lelay (Cécile de France), a French television journalist who survives the 2004 tsunami while in Thailand and tries to recompose a life that’s been marked by death. And in the last story we have Marcus (Frankie McLaren), a 12-year-old boy living in England whose twin brother, Jason, has just died.
For a film about death — a broad, boundless topic — Peter Morgan’s script has surprisingly little to say. I respect his desire to avoid presumptions, but one feels that he’s not even trying. None of the stories seem to say anything about death; they simply revolve around its concept in order to have some needed thematic connection. There’s some spare otherworldly imagery, but the film doesn’t want to commit to any singular vision of death and in this way it begins to lose credibility. Toward the end, the film tries to tell you to enjoy being alive. As pleasant as this notion is, it would be nice of a film about death to be about death for once.
Damon is good here; painting a restrained portrait of a man whose fear of his connection to death has kept him from living at all. France, unfortunately, is more hit and miss. We see her transformation, but we don’t experience it. The film implies that Marie is a guarded person, but it’s France’s own guardedness that won’t let us see past this.
Eastwood as director does what he can and his rendering of the tsunami is powerful. Eastwood is not known for special effects of any kind and the fact that he employs special effects with such aplomb is surprising. But Eastwood has let the philosophical weightiness of Morgan’s script get the better of him. The sense of intimacy he lent to “Million Dollar Baby” would have benefited “Hereafter” enormously, instead the movie begins to feel distant rather than deliberate.
The film’s slack pacing and general melancholy attempted profoundness does not help either. However, by the time each story has been properly interwoven, there’s a kind of an odd silliness to the whole thing. Eastwood usually makes gritty and intimate films. A movie this Hollywood is so not Eastwood and there’s something both fascinating and frustrating in his directorial escape from the conventions he has established for himself. It’s nice to see Eastwood working outside of his comfort zone; one just wishes he had picked a better script.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1
Things get serious in “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1,” for better or worse, and you find yourself in deeper and darker territory. Gone is Chris Columbus’s whimsical vision of J.K. Rowling’s much beloved books. Director David Yates is going for full-fledged opera here and so it seems almost criminal that he’s let his work be chopped in half. However, there’s still enough Potter movie magic to keep audiences coming back for more.
The movie concerns the first half of the novel on which it’s based. It begins with a now Voldemort-fearing magical world. Our heroes, Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe), Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) and Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) have skipped out on their last year at Hogwarts, a school for wizardry and magic. Instead, they’re intent on finding and destroying the rest of the seven horcruxes that dark lord Voldemort (Ralph Feinnes), put his soul into.
Their quest is complicated by the Ministry of Magic, which has gone corrupt in wake of Dumbledore’s death. It soon becomes hard to distinguish which force is worse: the Ministry of Magic drones or Voldemort’s disciples, the Death Eaters.
The movie, which clocks in at an impressive 146 minutes, is perhaps too faithful to its source material and is slow at times. If some of Rowling’s novel was a tad tedious, we forgave it. She had earned the right to any material we found needless. For cinematic purposes, however, there’s no need to witness the camping segment of the plot in its entirety. The benefit of condensing the books into films was the need to edit for time and relevance. That’s not evident here.
That being said, “Harry Potter” is still an entertaining and exciting rollick. The special effects are big and bold, and the film doesn’t make them the focal point either. But one can’t help get lost in the dizzyingly, wonderfully realized chase scene that has not one, but a multitude of Potters making their way overhead London. The camerawork alternates between sweeping and intimate and the animated segment is unusual and gorgeous. The settings are also painstakingly realized. The black tiled, futuristic interiors of the Ministry of Magic dungeon are fascinating in their cold beauty.
It’s also comforting to see Yates trust his movie enough to get dark. Among the many of its scary pleasures, a run in with an old woman who might be the key to finding a horcrux is perhaps the most intense and the mostly absurdly exhilarating.
Acting has never been a concern of mine in Potter films, and there’s nothing here that should make this inclination any different. However, I did find myself beginning to miss the movie veterans that usually surround our young heroes. Alan Rickman is appropriately menacing but underutilized. Maggie Smith as Professor McGonagall is not present whatsoever, which is something of a disappointment.
There’s some splendid moviemaking here, and the last image is strong enough to make you almost forget that you’re watching half of a film.
The movie concerns the first half of the novel on which it’s based. It begins with a now Voldemort-fearing magical world. Our heroes, Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe), Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) and Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) have skipped out on their last year at Hogwarts, a school for wizardry and magic. Instead, they’re intent on finding and destroying the rest of the seven horcruxes that dark lord Voldemort (Ralph Feinnes), put his soul into.
Their quest is complicated by the Ministry of Magic, which has gone corrupt in wake of Dumbledore’s death. It soon becomes hard to distinguish which force is worse: the Ministry of Magic drones or Voldemort’s disciples, the Death Eaters.
The movie, which clocks in at an impressive 146 minutes, is perhaps too faithful to its source material and is slow at times. If some of Rowling’s novel was a tad tedious, we forgave it. She had earned the right to any material we found needless. For cinematic purposes, however, there’s no need to witness the camping segment of the plot in its entirety. The benefit of condensing the books into films was the need to edit for time and relevance. That’s not evident here.
That being said, “Harry Potter” is still an entertaining and exciting rollick. The special effects are big and bold, and the film doesn’t make them the focal point either. But one can’t help get lost in the dizzyingly, wonderfully realized chase scene that has not one, but a multitude of Potters making their way overhead London. The camerawork alternates between sweeping and intimate and the animated segment is unusual and gorgeous. The settings are also painstakingly realized. The black tiled, futuristic interiors of the Ministry of Magic dungeon are fascinating in their cold beauty.
It’s also comforting to see Yates trust his movie enough to get dark. Among the many of its scary pleasures, a run in with an old woman who might be the key to finding a horcrux is perhaps the most intense and the mostly absurdly exhilarating.
Acting has never been a concern of mine in Potter films, and there’s nothing here that should make this inclination any different. However, I did find myself beginning to miss the movie veterans that usually surround our young heroes. Alan Rickman is appropriately menacing but underutilized. Maggie Smith as Professor McGonagall is not present whatsoever, which is something of a disappointment.
There’s some splendid moviemaking here, and the last image is strong enough to make you almost forget that you’re watching half of a film.
127 Hours
Danny Boyle’s latest, the sweeping, splendid “127 Hours,” is a grueling but rewarding exercise in arty grit. Boyle, a pop realist who seems committed to re-energizing movies, has made a movingly brutal film that makes “Slumdog Millionaire” look like “Bambi.”
Here, Boyle fully commits to the bleak beauty of his material. Even when his camera is peppering the story with a kind of manic artistry, Boyle keeps the movie grounded in the dark predicament of his protagonist.
The movie concerns the true story of Aron Ralston (James Franco), an American hiker and amateur daredevil who, in 2003, went hiking in Utah for some sporty solitude. While climbing, a boulder falls on his arm and traps him there. Ralston, shocked, is trapped there for five days (with a limited resource of food and water) before cutting off his right arm.
Don’t worry. I’m not spoiling anything. As you’ll see, Boyle’s film isn’t about what happens, but why. Ralston, confident but selfish, confronts his own demons while trapped, and they come in the form of family, friends and acquaintances he never gave much consideration to. The film, however, isn’t about punishment but redemption. Ralston needs to see how much his life is worth before finding the strength to take his own arm.
The film spends most of its time on Franco, who is up for the challenge. Franco is nothing short of wonderful, inhabiting Ralston’s terror and regret with a kind of naturalistic, un-showy poetry that gets right to the heart of “127 Hours.” The film isn’t much interested in other people, which is fine, in some ways, because the film isn’t about them but about their importance to Ralston.
Anthony Don Mantle’s cinematography is oddly beautiful and the most startling shots come when not focused on the Utah terrain. A flashback to a sort of winter rave party is so unusual and evocative, the film feels fleetingly sentimental.
Boyle’s direction is characteristically overloaded but his intensity is used to good effect, giving his film an immediate, unshakeable sense of urgency. Boyle goes down water tubes, sidles across landscapes, falls into blue waters alongside its characters. But he settles down, too, letting his scenes speak for themselves. One scene, in which Ralston tries to recapture a fallen knife, is low-key but almost unbearably suspenseful.
The scene in which Ralston cuts off his arm is unflinching and will be too intense for some to stomach. However, the film wouldn’t have had as much of an impact had it not portrayed the scene with such brutal honesty.
When the last act arrives, Ralston makes his way across the Utah terrain, and the film’s profound sense of liberation and existential anguish is given magical beauty by the band Sigur Ros, blaring on the soundtrack. Ralston, bloody and battered, finally understands the preciousness of life and his understanding is treated with awe-inspiring honesty. We’re left breathless in wake of his redemption, which, after 95 minutes, is hard-earned.
Here, Boyle fully commits to the bleak beauty of his material. Even when his camera is peppering the story with a kind of manic artistry, Boyle keeps the movie grounded in the dark predicament of his protagonist.
The movie concerns the true story of Aron Ralston (James Franco), an American hiker and amateur daredevil who, in 2003, went hiking in Utah for some sporty solitude. While climbing, a boulder falls on his arm and traps him there. Ralston, shocked, is trapped there for five days (with a limited resource of food and water) before cutting off his right arm.
Don’t worry. I’m not spoiling anything. As you’ll see, Boyle’s film isn’t about what happens, but why. Ralston, confident but selfish, confronts his own demons while trapped, and they come in the form of family, friends and acquaintances he never gave much consideration to. The film, however, isn’t about punishment but redemption. Ralston needs to see how much his life is worth before finding the strength to take his own arm.
The film spends most of its time on Franco, who is up for the challenge. Franco is nothing short of wonderful, inhabiting Ralston’s terror and regret with a kind of naturalistic, un-showy poetry that gets right to the heart of “127 Hours.” The film isn’t much interested in other people, which is fine, in some ways, because the film isn’t about them but about their importance to Ralston.
Anthony Don Mantle’s cinematography is oddly beautiful and the most startling shots come when not focused on the Utah terrain. A flashback to a sort of winter rave party is so unusual and evocative, the film feels fleetingly sentimental.
Boyle’s direction is characteristically overloaded but his intensity is used to good effect, giving his film an immediate, unshakeable sense of urgency. Boyle goes down water tubes, sidles across landscapes, falls into blue waters alongside its characters. But he settles down, too, letting his scenes speak for themselves. One scene, in which Ralston tries to recapture a fallen knife, is low-key but almost unbearably suspenseful.
The scene in which Ralston cuts off his arm is unflinching and will be too intense for some to stomach. However, the film wouldn’t have had as much of an impact had it not portrayed the scene with such brutal honesty.
When the last act arrives, Ralston makes his way across the Utah terrain, and the film’s profound sense of liberation and existential anguish is given magical beauty by the band Sigur Ros, blaring on the soundtrack. Ralston, bloody and battered, finally understands the preciousness of life and his understanding is treated with awe-inspiring honesty. We’re left breathless in wake of his redemption, which, after 95 minutes, is hard-earned.
Black Swan
Bold, unsettling, beautiful and disturbing, Darren Aronofsky's “Black Swan” leaves you stunned, beaten and breathless.
The film, a disorienting descent into the depths of hell, gets under your skin and refuses to leave. It's an exhilarating roller coaster ride, a dark character study, a feverish psychological thriller, all of them as engrossing as they are repellent. It reminds us of the enormous impact movies can have, their power to shock, delight, disturb and challenge. And the film also leaves you clinging to dear life, you're challenged to keep watching even as you want to turn away.
The film stars Natalie Portman as Nina Sayers, an obsessive, tightly-wound ballerina whose vying for the lead role in her company's latest rendition of “Swan Lake.”
The company's director, Thomas (Vincent Cassel) believes Nina to be perfect for the role of the white swan queen, her innocence and fragility perfectly suiting the tragic heroine. However, in Thomas' rendition of the much-celebrated ballet, the white and black swan queens are going to be performed by the same ballerina.
Nina's sexual repression and timidity are completely wrong for the part of the black swan queen, whose self-realized sexuality is far outside of Nina's comfort zone. Nina trains obsessively for the role, but her opportunity is also threatened by a sensual newcomer, Lily (Mila Kunis) whose unashamed sexuality would make her perfect for the role of the black swan queen. Nina, already coming undone by the pressures of her training, begins having gruesome visions, and her rivalry with Lily takes dark and unexpected turns.
There's so much happening in “Black Swan,” it would be impossible to get into all of it in one review. The film is about many things: repression, obsession and narcissism are just a few among many. It's not always subtle about its symbolism either; Aronofsky, who also directed the critically praised “The Wrestler,” takes his vision to the extreme.
Portman gives the best performance of her career and delves into a deeper and darker side of herself I didn't know she had. She captures Nina's repression and timidity with astonishing ease but she goes further, finding a kind of ugly obsession in Nina that's utterly devastating. This is the kind of transformation Oscar nominations were made for.
Kunis is slinky and sexy as Lily, and she gets some of the movie's most acidly humorous lines. Barbara Hershey also appears as Nina's domineering mother, but her character is given little complexity and Hershey becomes the monster looming in the back of the frame.
The score and cinematography are beautiful. Some of the visuals are stunning, including a scene in a nightclub in which pulsing strobe lights leave the viewer feeling dizzy with sensory overload.
By the time “Black Swan” revs up to its screeching finale, Aronofsky has taken his movie into such tricky, complicated territory, you have to give him credit for having so much confidence in his work. His confidence makes “Black Swan” an engrossing and unnerving thrill ride every step of the way.
The film, a disorienting descent into the depths of hell, gets under your skin and refuses to leave. It's an exhilarating roller coaster ride, a dark character study, a feverish psychological thriller, all of them as engrossing as they are repellent. It reminds us of the enormous impact movies can have, their power to shock, delight, disturb and challenge. And the film also leaves you clinging to dear life, you're challenged to keep watching even as you want to turn away.
The film stars Natalie Portman as Nina Sayers, an obsessive, tightly-wound ballerina whose vying for the lead role in her company's latest rendition of “Swan Lake.”
The company's director, Thomas (Vincent Cassel) believes Nina to be perfect for the role of the white swan queen, her innocence and fragility perfectly suiting the tragic heroine. However, in Thomas' rendition of the much-celebrated ballet, the white and black swan queens are going to be performed by the same ballerina.
Nina's sexual repression and timidity are completely wrong for the part of the black swan queen, whose self-realized sexuality is far outside of Nina's comfort zone. Nina trains obsessively for the role, but her opportunity is also threatened by a sensual newcomer, Lily (Mila Kunis) whose unashamed sexuality would make her perfect for the role of the black swan queen. Nina, already coming undone by the pressures of her training, begins having gruesome visions, and her rivalry with Lily takes dark and unexpected turns.
There's so much happening in “Black Swan,” it would be impossible to get into all of it in one review. The film is about many things: repression, obsession and narcissism are just a few among many. It's not always subtle about its symbolism either; Aronofsky, who also directed the critically praised “The Wrestler,” takes his vision to the extreme.
Portman gives the best performance of her career and delves into a deeper and darker side of herself I didn't know she had. She captures Nina's repression and timidity with astonishing ease but she goes further, finding a kind of ugly obsession in Nina that's utterly devastating. This is the kind of transformation Oscar nominations were made for.
Kunis is slinky and sexy as Lily, and she gets some of the movie's most acidly humorous lines. Barbara Hershey also appears as Nina's domineering mother, but her character is given little complexity and Hershey becomes the monster looming in the back of the frame.
The score and cinematography are beautiful. Some of the visuals are stunning, including a scene in a nightclub in which pulsing strobe lights leave the viewer feeling dizzy with sensory overload.
By the time “Black Swan” revs up to its screeching finale, Aronofsky has taken his movie into such tricky, complicated territory, you have to give him credit for having so much confidence in his work. His confidence makes “Black Swan” an engrossing and unnerving thrill ride every step of the way.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Inception
Seeing Leonardo DiCaprio, equipped with furrowed brow and an expression of typical puzzlement, you might think you were being forced to watch Shutter Island again. Good news. This film is Christopher Nolan’s Inception, a better, brainier film. Nolan, the man behind 2008’s The Dark Knight, tackles blockbuster with ambition. Is it possible to make a summer film entertaining and smart, he asks? The answer is yes.
The subject of the film is dreams and ideas. DiCaprio is Dominic Cobb, a suitably intense Extractor, someone who enters the dreams of others and steals their secrets. After a prolonged dream-within-a-dream sequence in which Cobb and his crew, Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levvit) and Nash (Lukas Haas), attempt to steal the secrets of Saito (Ken Wanatabe), the actual act of inception comes into play. Saito wants to plant an idea in the brain of his corporate rival’s son, Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy), so the boy will destroy his father’s empire, thereby preventing a “worldwide energy monopoly.” As you might have guessed, there are some complications. Cobb must enlist the help of dream architect Ariadne (Ellen Page, as reliable as ever), to create an authentic dream world. They begin deliberation but outside forces threaten the operation’s success. Robert’s brain is programmed to fight the foreign presence. Cobb’s dead wife, who still exists in his own mind and who enters dreams alongside him, threatens to undermine their entire operation.
Nolan toys with the idea that the whole film may be a dream within a dream. This notion is amiable but underutilized. The script is clever and efficient, even if the film runs about 2 and ½ hours. For a film about ideas, however, the presence of Cobb’s wife (Marion Cotillard) feels surprisingly generic. It’s an interesting sub-plot without being a very refreshing one.
DiCaprio is given the thankless task of creating a character out of very little material. His performance essentially consists of some bereaved glances and his character pales in comparison to the personalities that surround him. Gordon-Levvit’s performance, on the other hand, is deliciously deadpan. He cracked a smile maybe once during the film.
The set pieces are, for the most part, wonderful. The highlight comes in the form of a zero gravity fight scene between Arthur and his opponents in a hotel hallway. It borrows some from The Matrix but is oddly more elegant.
The visuals are absolutely stunning and this is where Nolan whole-heartedly succeeds. He creates a world. The stark beauty of fluttering past old homes that Cobb and his wife lived in is surprising. Nolan does not merely rely on his special effects either. He uses them to grand effect, but never loses sight of the human story at heart.
Nolan may be such a successful writer/director because he uses blockbuster trappings to tell a story, rather than let expensive CGI dominate the film’s relevance (Avatar, anyone?). Inception may not be a perfect film, but at least it’s not mere cinematic lethargy.
The subject of the film is dreams and ideas. DiCaprio is Dominic Cobb, a suitably intense Extractor, someone who enters the dreams of others and steals their secrets. After a prolonged dream-within-a-dream sequence in which Cobb and his crew, Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levvit) and Nash (Lukas Haas), attempt to steal the secrets of Saito (Ken Wanatabe), the actual act of inception comes into play. Saito wants to plant an idea in the brain of his corporate rival’s son, Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy), so the boy will destroy his father’s empire, thereby preventing a “worldwide energy monopoly.” As you might have guessed, there are some complications. Cobb must enlist the help of dream architect Ariadne (Ellen Page, as reliable as ever), to create an authentic dream world. They begin deliberation but outside forces threaten the operation’s success. Robert’s brain is programmed to fight the foreign presence. Cobb’s dead wife, who still exists in his own mind and who enters dreams alongside him, threatens to undermine their entire operation.
Nolan toys with the idea that the whole film may be a dream within a dream. This notion is amiable but underutilized. The script is clever and efficient, even if the film runs about 2 and ½ hours. For a film about ideas, however, the presence of Cobb’s wife (Marion Cotillard) feels surprisingly generic. It’s an interesting sub-plot without being a very refreshing one.
DiCaprio is given the thankless task of creating a character out of very little material. His performance essentially consists of some bereaved glances and his character pales in comparison to the personalities that surround him. Gordon-Levvit’s performance, on the other hand, is deliciously deadpan. He cracked a smile maybe once during the film.
The set pieces are, for the most part, wonderful. The highlight comes in the form of a zero gravity fight scene between Arthur and his opponents in a hotel hallway. It borrows some from The Matrix but is oddly more elegant.
The visuals are absolutely stunning and this is where Nolan whole-heartedly succeeds. He creates a world. The stark beauty of fluttering past old homes that Cobb and his wife lived in is surprising. Nolan does not merely rely on his special effects either. He uses them to grand effect, but never loses sight of the human story at heart.
Nolan may be such a successful writer/director because he uses blockbuster trappings to tell a story, rather than let expensive CGI dominate the film’s relevance (Avatar, anyone?). Inception may not be a perfect film, but at least it’s not mere cinematic lethargy.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Almost Famous
Don't let the presence of Kate Hudson discourage you from seeing Almost Famous, Cameron Crowe's beautiful and rewarding ode to music, growing up, and lost love. Hudson seems to be pivotal to misconceptions concerning this wonderful film, because, yes, we know, the films she's starred in as of late, well, suck. However, if you can believe it, Hudson is perhaps the brightest of Almost Famous's many stars. She's adorable, alluring, wispy, and yet with the capacity to completely break your heart. Kind of like the film itself.
The film centers on William (Patrick Fugit), a wonderfully unassuming rock n' roll afficianado who spends the length of the film trying to convince people he isn't so innocent. Nice try, Will. But the fact that he remains so is part of the film's point. He is younger than all the kids in his high school, over-protective mother Elaine (Francis McDormand) putting him in school two years ahead of schedule. William soon catches the attention of Rolling Stone magazine who is unaware that William is all but 15 years old. They want him to write of a Black Sabbath concert but he settles in with an aspring rock group, Stillwater, instead. The assignment is simple: get an interview with guitarist Russel (Billy Crudup). The journey is decidedly more challenging.
On the way he meets Penny Lane (Kate Hudson) a "band-aid" and not a groupie. She's confident, mysterious, and has a kind of youthful charm that he falls head over heels for. The scene in which the two attempt to share some honesty by saying their respective ages is hilarious, and gives insight into both of their characters. Anyway, Penny is in love with Russell, who is unavailable and has a girlfriend at home. They have an on-and-off relationship on the road, which comes to a stop when the tour stops. Penny, Russel, and William form a interesting little love triangle and it takes all of them a while to see that at least one of the others is using them to some end.
As the interview gets repeatedly postponed, the trip gets longer, Elaine becomes more and more worried and alone. William vows only to miss one test. Yeah, not so much.
The fact that love-smothering, hyper intellectual, drug-resisting Elaine would allow her son go on tour with a rock n' roll band is well, implausible. And the character of Elaine is very much a caricature, yet McDormand, a capable actress, infuses the character with enough genuine emotion to make Elaine seem authentic, even likable. Her "don't take drugs" shtick is funny, but her breakdown over the phone as she tries to tell William she loves him is unexpectedly affecting.
Fugit has enough boyish grace that we come to love him even if his character is little changed by the time the credits roll. Crudup is wonderful, bringing an ego-centric repulsiveness and yet earnest magnetism to Russell. The scene in which he calls up Penny Lane speaks volumes about his character, a very flawed person trying to be better than he possibly is. Phillip Seymour-Hoffman stars also, as Lester Bangs, a riotous rock critic who acts as the film's moral compass. As always, Hoffman is terrific and makes a small role seem bigger than it was probably ever intended. But the standout is Hudson, the wide-eyed seductress, creating an indelible character. Penny has an always-fun-no-hurt mentality that doesn't hold up against her love for Russell, she's a fragile heart that we can assume has had its fair share of pain. There is a scene on plane I will not give away that she so magnificently performs it's astounding. Who knew she could be this good?
The script is poignant and wistful, funny and sad. The dialogue is polished, while only occasionally being showy. It's well-written rather than well-rehearsed. There are some credibility issues, a scene in which a plane becomes a tell-all confessional is a little too convenient, but Almost Famous likes toying with realism and magical movie escapism. Not everything that happens will seem plausible, but boy will it touch you in some way.
Crowe's direction is wonderful, providing some nice touches like the creative opening credits which lend the film a sense of legacy. The credits feel recognizable. He frames the film with care but doesn't overstep his directorial boundary.
When all is said and done, there are so many moments to treasure in Cameron Crowe's Almost Famous. Forget the spectacle of Titanic, the cloying sentimentality of Forrest Gump, or the preachy profoundness of Crash. Almost Famous is the real deal. It's what films were meant to be in the first place.
The film centers on William (Patrick Fugit), a wonderfully unassuming rock n' roll afficianado who spends the length of the film trying to convince people he isn't so innocent. Nice try, Will. But the fact that he remains so is part of the film's point. He is younger than all the kids in his high school, over-protective mother Elaine (Francis McDormand) putting him in school two years ahead of schedule. William soon catches the attention of Rolling Stone magazine who is unaware that William is all but 15 years old. They want him to write of a Black Sabbath concert but he settles in with an aspring rock group, Stillwater, instead. The assignment is simple: get an interview with guitarist Russel (Billy Crudup). The journey is decidedly more challenging.
On the way he meets Penny Lane (Kate Hudson) a "band-aid" and not a groupie. She's confident, mysterious, and has a kind of youthful charm that he falls head over heels for. The scene in which the two attempt to share some honesty by saying their respective ages is hilarious, and gives insight into both of their characters. Anyway, Penny is in love with Russell, who is unavailable and has a girlfriend at home. They have an on-and-off relationship on the road, which comes to a stop when the tour stops. Penny, Russel, and William form a interesting little love triangle and it takes all of them a while to see that at least one of the others is using them to some end.
As the interview gets repeatedly postponed, the trip gets longer, Elaine becomes more and more worried and alone. William vows only to miss one test. Yeah, not so much.
The fact that love-smothering, hyper intellectual, drug-resisting Elaine would allow her son go on tour with a rock n' roll band is well, implausible. And the character of Elaine is very much a caricature, yet McDormand, a capable actress, infuses the character with enough genuine emotion to make Elaine seem authentic, even likable. Her "don't take drugs" shtick is funny, but her breakdown over the phone as she tries to tell William she loves him is unexpectedly affecting.
Fugit has enough boyish grace that we come to love him even if his character is little changed by the time the credits roll. Crudup is wonderful, bringing an ego-centric repulsiveness and yet earnest magnetism to Russell. The scene in which he calls up Penny Lane speaks volumes about his character, a very flawed person trying to be better than he possibly is. Phillip Seymour-Hoffman stars also, as Lester Bangs, a riotous rock critic who acts as the film's moral compass. As always, Hoffman is terrific and makes a small role seem bigger than it was probably ever intended. But the standout is Hudson, the wide-eyed seductress, creating an indelible character. Penny has an always-fun-no-hurt mentality that doesn't hold up against her love for Russell, she's a fragile heart that we can assume has had its fair share of pain. There is a scene on plane I will not give away that she so magnificently performs it's astounding. Who knew she could be this good?
The script is poignant and wistful, funny and sad. The dialogue is polished, while only occasionally being showy. It's well-written rather than well-rehearsed. There are some credibility issues, a scene in which a plane becomes a tell-all confessional is a little too convenient, but Almost Famous likes toying with realism and magical movie escapism. Not everything that happens will seem plausible, but boy will it touch you in some way.
Crowe's direction is wonderful, providing some nice touches like the creative opening credits which lend the film a sense of legacy. The credits feel recognizable. He frames the film with care but doesn't overstep his directorial boundary.
When all is said and done, there are so many moments to treasure in Cameron Crowe's Almost Famous. Forget the spectacle of Titanic, the cloying sentimentality of Forrest Gump, or the preachy profoundness of Crash. Almost Famous is the real deal. It's what films were meant to be in the first place.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Death Proof (2007)
Grindhouse cinema was largely popular from the 60's-80's. These films that encompassed Grindhouse depicted the seedier underworld of cinema and tackled zombies, vampires, serial killers, sexploitation, etc. They were shlock films, derided by critics at the time, and their only popularity existed in the form of drive-ins and midnight showings. Some have become cult classics, others have vanished from the cinematic radar. Some have been re-evaluated for their artistic merit and yet again, others are as fiercely criticized now as they were at the time of their release. And some live on through the scope of movie geek directors. Like Quentin Tarantino. Tarantino decided to pay loving tribute to these films with his own, Death Proof. A killer car movie (no, not like Christine) about psychotic men, fierce, sympathetic women, and a whole lota revenge. It's far from a perfect film, but boy, once it gets cookin', it's a whole hell of a lot of fun.
The film is about Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) a charismatic stuntman who drives a mean set of four wheels. He's got this terrible scar and though seemingly likable at first, is kind of creepy. Well, you don't know the half of it. The film begins with a group of women, Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito), Jungle Julia Lucia (Sydney Tamiia Poitier), and Shanna (Jordan Ladd). Their exchange inside a car is long-winded and aimless and I started to lose faith in the film right then and there. Quentin Tarantino is known for his stylized dialogue which I usually much enjoy. This exchange felt like a wannabe Tarantino trying to simulate his well-worded magic. But anyway: Our three girls talk about men and the cabin in which they plan on staying for a vacation. Jungle Julia is actually a well-known radio personality and has decided to have a little fun with her friend Arlene. Whoever goes up to Arlene first and recites a stupidly in-detail initiation code will be serviced by a lap dance. Why is this important to the story? Wait. So our girls are at the bar and they're talking and drinking. Then comes along Stuntman Mike, he wants to cash in on the lap dance opportunity. Arlene lies to him at first, claiming someone already had been serviced. But he sees through her lies and she ultimately, yes, gives him a lap dance. Well, at the end of the fateful night, Pam (Rose McGowan) needs a ride home, Mike offers, she gets in his car, which, eerily enough, separates the driver's and passenger's seat by a glass wall. It soon becomes clear that Mike is a psychopath, turning away from where Pam was hoping to go, and driving at extreme speeds. She pleads, he kills her. Then our merry group of girls are driving, drunk and singing along to a song blaring on the radio, not noticing Stuntman Mike revving his car right towards them. Story short. They all die as well. How bad on the gore factor? Gruesome.
So we're introduced to another set of women, Zoe Bell as herself, Abernathy Ross (Rosario Dawson), Kim Mathis (Traci Thomas), and more briefly Lee Montgomery (Mary Elizabeth Winstead). This is more like it. These women are awesome. Abernathy is the uptight mothering type who hates that everyone thinks she's no fun. Kim is the excessively cussing badass one who carries a gun. Zoe is a daredevil with no notion of caution or self-care. Lee is well, not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed. They're perhaps all stereotypes but Tarantino likes playing with their conventionality and making them more interesting by turns. Stuntman Mike starts by stalking them and then, when he has the chance, terrorizing them with his mean wheels. But, think again Mike. You messed with the wrong chicks.
By the second half of Death Proof Tarantino had me won over. The first half is kind of perfunctory, as if Tarantino is just biding time until he can get to the really juicy stuff. But that's one half of the film right there. The second half is better-acted, better-written, more suspenseful, and generally all-around more fun. The dialogue picks up, becoming more recognizable to the QT trained ear. These women start to sound like the women of QT's world. Thank god.
The first half is not without its merits. This part of the film is allowed to be the most stylish in its simulation of the poorly filmed Grindhouse style. The film is scratched and blotched to interesting, if not entirely authentic effect. There are some nice performances too. Ferlito brings a needed strength and vulnerability to Arlene. Mike's delving into her pain of not being so thouroughly eyed-at by men gives Ferlito a good chance to be reflexive. She pulls it off surprisingly well. Russell also holds our attention throughout the film. Especially, maybe, in the first half, where he has to appear likable, dangerous, and mysterious, and then suddenly, psychotic, sadistic, and wild.
But the case must be made, this part of the film suffers from poor pacing. There's a lot of gab-gab-gab and the gab isn't even that fresh. One's mind begins to wander. The addition of Quentin Tarantino as the bar owner felt unnecessary. Eli Roth is thrown randomly into the film with no purpose. The film appears to just be gliding along.
But that second half. Oh boy. The performances courtesy of our second batch of women are terrific. Dawson is the stand-out, making Abernathy a sympathetic control-freak trying to let her hair down. When she stated "Fuck that shit. Let's kill this bastard." I couldn't help but grin. Bell is funny and courageous and decidedly a bad decision maker. That look she has when pops up and says "I'm ok!" is priceless. Thomas is wonderfully kickass, a stunt woman who likes living on the edge but also has the sense to realize when doing so is perhaps too dangerous. Winstead is given less of a part and less screen time, but her exchange between a creepy sex-hungry hillbilly is priceless (all she has to say is "Gulp"- we get the picture). The film's style is also apparent. The segment begins in black and white, beautiful in its own right. Then, at an opportune time, we switch to color, a clever choice.
The exchange between the girls at a coffee shop is successful Tarantino dialogue, and I sighed a big sigh of relief. He hadn't lost his touch after all. As always, there are the movie references and the endless profanity. It was wonderful.
When Stuntman Mike decides to play a game with our girls, this is when the films goes into hyper-drive. Zoe has decided to play Ship's Mast, an incredibly misguided stunt of strapping two belts to the sides of a car and sitting on the hood, holding onto dear life, while your friend drives. Guess when Mike decides to make an entry? Well, his game is all that more terrifying because we actually care about Zoe. The scene continues for a while but you're too breathless to notice. Oh god! What are you girls going to do? Well, the answer is, when things start to settle down, to take revenge. Kim has already shot the sadistic driver and they chase after them with their car, treating him to the same torment he put them through. The female revenge plot is awesome and well-planned. Everyone who watches this film wants to see that Bastard die and our heroines kick some misogynistic ass.
The ending is amazing, abrupt but just so well-earned and female empowerment-esque, and self-aware. Tarantino knows the kind of film he's paying homage to. That's why the ending works. It's ridiculous by any standard and awesome by Grindhouse standard.
The film is about Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) a charismatic stuntman who drives a mean set of four wheels. He's got this terrible scar and though seemingly likable at first, is kind of creepy. Well, you don't know the half of it. The film begins with a group of women, Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito), Jungle Julia Lucia (Sydney Tamiia Poitier), and Shanna (Jordan Ladd). Their exchange inside a car is long-winded and aimless and I started to lose faith in the film right then and there. Quentin Tarantino is known for his stylized dialogue which I usually much enjoy. This exchange felt like a wannabe Tarantino trying to simulate his well-worded magic. But anyway: Our three girls talk about men and the cabin in which they plan on staying for a vacation. Jungle Julia is actually a well-known radio personality and has decided to have a little fun with her friend Arlene. Whoever goes up to Arlene first and recites a stupidly in-detail initiation code will be serviced by a lap dance. Why is this important to the story? Wait. So our girls are at the bar and they're talking and drinking. Then comes along Stuntman Mike, he wants to cash in on the lap dance opportunity. Arlene lies to him at first, claiming someone already had been serviced. But he sees through her lies and she ultimately, yes, gives him a lap dance. Well, at the end of the fateful night, Pam (Rose McGowan) needs a ride home, Mike offers, she gets in his car, which, eerily enough, separates the driver's and passenger's seat by a glass wall. It soon becomes clear that Mike is a psychopath, turning away from where Pam was hoping to go, and driving at extreme speeds. She pleads, he kills her. Then our merry group of girls are driving, drunk and singing along to a song blaring on the radio, not noticing Stuntman Mike revving his car right towards them. Story short. They all die as well. How bad on the gore factor? Gruesome.
So we're introduced to another set of women, Zoe Bell as herself, Abernathy Ross (Rosario Dawson), Kim Mathis (Traci Thomas), and more briefly Lee Montgomery (Mary Elizabeth Winstead). This is more like it. These women are awesome. Abernathy is the uptight mothering type who hates that everyone thinks she's no fun. Kim is the excessively cussing badass one who carries a gun. Zoe is a daredevil with no notion of caution or self-care. Lee is well, not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed. They're perhaps all stereotypes but Tarantino likes playing with their conventionality and making them more interesting by turns. Stuntman Mike starts by stalking them and then, when he has the chance, terrorizing them with his mean wheels. But, think again Mike. You messed with the wrong chicks.
By the second half of Death Proof Tarantino had me won over. The first half is kind of perfunctory, as if Tarantino is just biding time until he can get to the really juicy stuff. But that's one half of the film right there. The second half is better-acted, better-written, more suspenseful, and generally all-around more fun. The dialogue picks up, becoming more recognizable to the QT trained ear. These women start to sound like the women of QT's world. Thank god.
The first half is not without its merits. This part of the film is allowed to be the most stylish in its simulation of the poorly filmed Grindhouse style. The film is scratched and blotched to interesting, if not entirely authentic effect. There are some nice performances too. Ferlito brings a needed strength and vulnerability to Arlene. Mike's delving into her pain of not being so thouroughly eyed-at by men gives Ferlito a good chance to be reflexive. She pulls it off surprisingly well. Russell also holds our attention throughout the film. Especially, maybe, in the first half, where he has to appear likable, dangerous, and mysterious, and then suddenly, psychotic, sadistic, and wild.
But the case must be made, this part of the film suffers from poor pacing. There's a lot of gab-gab-gab and the gab isn't even that fresh. One's mind begins to wander. The addition of Quentin Tarantino as the bar owner felt unnecessary. Eli Roth is thrown randomly into the film with no purpose. The film appears to just be gliding along.
But that second half. Oh boy. The performances courtesy of our second batch of women are terrific. Dawson is the stand-out, making Abernathy a sympathetic control-freak trying to let her hair down. When she stated "Fuck that shit. Let's kill this bastard." I couldn't help but grin. Bell is funny and courageous and decidedly a bad decision maker. That look she has when pops up and says "I'm ok!" is priceless. Thomas is wonderfully kickass, a stunt woman who likes living on the edge but also has the sense to realize when doing so is perhaps too dangerous. Winstead is given less of a part and less screen time, but her exchange between a creepy sex-hungry hillbilly is priceless (all she has to say is "Gulp"- we get the picture). The film's style is also apparent. The segment begins in black and white, beautiful in its own right. Then, at an opportune time, we switch to color, a clever choice.
The exchange between the girls at a coffee shop is successful Tarantino dialogue, and I sighed a big sigh of relief. He hadn't lost his touch after all. As always, there are the movie references and the endless profanity. It was wonderful.
When Stuntman Mike decides to play a game with our girls, this is when the films goes into hyper-drive. Zoe has decided to play Ship's Mast, an incredibly misguided stunt of strapping two belts to the sides of a car and sitting on the hood, holding onto dear life, while your friend drives. Guess when Mike decides to make an entry? Well, his game is all that more terrifying because we actually care about Zoe. The scene continues for a while but you're too breathless to notice. Oh god! What are you girls going to do? Well, the answer is, when things start to settle down, to take revenge. Kim has already shot the sadistic driver and they chase after them with their car, treating him to the same torment he put them through. The female revenge plot is awesome and well-planned. Everyone who watches this film wants to see that Bastard die and our heroines kick some misogynistic ass.
The ending is amazing, abrupt but just so well-earned and female empowerment-esque, and self-aware. Tarantino knows the kind of film he's paying homage to. That's why the ending works. It's ridiculous by any standard and awesome by Grindhouse standard.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Friday the 13th (1980)
Friday the 13th is bad by many standards: as a serious slasher film, as a so-bad-its-good-slasher film, as one of the "defining" slasher films. It's just bad. Why did I love this movie then? Friday the 13th is kind of lovingly made even though it was only put together in an attempt to cash in on the success of Halloween. Friday the 13th is your proto-typical teens-in-the-woods-being-stalked-by-deranged-killer movie. There's a dark forest, a full moon, a conglomeration of horny teenagers, and a murderer with a bone to pick. There is nothing new here. Nothing very original, or at least by modern standards. Yet the film is kind of deliciously fun in this bad 80's way. Don't expect to be won over in favor of this movie based on my review. I just want to opinion-spout.
The film begins in 1958, opening on a cabin full of oh-so-pleasant camp counselors at Camp Crystal Lake. Two of them (they're not important enough to get into the actors names here) have been make googly eyes at each other, and once GIRL stops strumming that guitar in what appears to be a nightly ritual of group sing-a-longs, she meets BOY and they make their way to a different cabin to, well, ya know...(and if you don't, it's sex). But before they can get down to business, our killer sneaks into the cabin and kills them both. Fast forward to Friday, June 13, 1980. Annie (Robbie Morgan) is an all too eager (that's not meant to present her as the possible killer, she really is just so happy and eager it is quite vomit-inducing) girl whose headed out to Camp Crystal Lake as a counselor. She hitches out a ride with Enos (Rex Everheart), but not before being freaked out by the town weirdo Ralph (Walt Gorney) who warns her against going to Camp Crystal Lake. She doesn't listen, naturally, but it's not long into the car ride before Enos starts up with the not-so-cryptic warnings. Of course she doesn't listen. Guess what? She's the first to die.
The other counselors are already at the camp, and we have: Ned (Mark Nelson)- the undersexed goofball, Jack (Kevin Bacon)- the guy whose personality is unclear because he's too busy being oggled at by the camera, Bill (Harry Crosby)- Yeah, I really was given nothing to work with concerning his character, Marcie (Jeannine Taylor)-the uh, slut, maybe? not really, oh, who cares, Brenda (Laurie Bartram)- the kind of viper-ish one, and Alice (Adrienne King), the nice girl. It's not too hard to guess which one survives. Our teens goof off, shoot arrows too close for comfort at their fellow counselors, kill snakes, and play strip monopoly. It's a grand old time before people starting getting killed.
There are some early scenes that are laughable in how poorly conceived they are. The scene in which the camp's owner Steve Christy (Peter Brouwer) interacts with Alice is unintentionally hilarious. Why in the world is it necessary for there to be some suggestion of a sexual history between the two? It is not further mentioned in the film, it's never explained or delegated importance. It's just this idea kind of floating in the waters of Camp Crystal Lake. There is no reason for it to exist. I also love the film's method of foreshadowing like when Ned shoots an arrow near Brenda as she's setting up the archery range. Oh my, I wonder how she's going to die?
The film builds until the point where it feels it can then let loose and just shove an axe through any pimple-free face that emerges into the next creepy doorway. The buildup didn't bore me, as I found the glorious 80's homespun quality to the film refreshing.
The death scenes are gory and uninspired, but at the time were considered new and daring. There's an axe to the face, slitting of the throat, stabbing, arrows, decapitations. Oh, and and an arrow to the throat in the film's just-so-completely-terrific scene where Kevin Bacon gets his after getting some. I loved how transparent the film was in its statement that "SEX=DEATH. Get the picture?". Again, I had to give the movie props for being so utterly obvious. More ambitious pictures would have tried to bury the statement in seeming irony and nuance and reflexiveness. Not this movie. If you're going to have sex, you're going to get an arrow to the throat. Capuche?
The atmosphere, although nothing to write home about, is effective. Woods, dark cabins, shadows, lakes, it all works. The scene in which Marcie goes to the bathroom and is met by the murderer whose just picked off her boyfriend is surprisingly creepy.
The climax is just plain terrible, devolving into a bitch-slap-fest more than anything else. I don't want to ruin the surprise, so I'll just leave it at that.
Oh, what of the acting and script you ask? Sigh. The performances are pretty boring, especially King who creates one of the least interesting, relatable, or likable survivor girls I've seen in a long time. She just smiles and screams her way through the film. I was hoping the killer would take pity on the audience and knock her off too. No such luck. Morgan, although in the film for such a short amount of time, was just so, so bad and completely annoying. But I guess I have to thank somebody for making the choice to not make her our heroine.
The script is...oh, fuck it, who really cares? This is a slasher flick. You accept certain truths and move on.
The ending is a shameless rip-off of Carrie and yet jolting in it's moronic way.
I liked this film for all the reasons I panned it. Reviewing esteemed movies all the time gets tiresome. I like biopics and Academy Award winners along with the best of em'. But sometimes I just want to watch a fun movie. Friday the 13th fit that bill. It had some effective scenes (Annie in a car with the killer was unexpectedly eerie, or the scene in which Alice locks herself in a closet to hide herself from the killer, and the doorknob suddenly turning above her head), some nice creepy atmosphere (creepy, dingy bathroom, forest illuminated by light in background) and some good laughs (mostly unintentional but hey, I'm not picky). That's all I wanted. That's all I got.
The film begins in 1958, opening on a cabin full of oh-so-pleasant camp counselors at Camp Crystal Lake. Two of them (they're not important enough to get into the actors names here) have been make googly eyes at each other, and once GIRL stops strumming that guitar in what appears to be a nightly ritual of group sing-a-longs, she meets BOY and they make their way to a different cabin to, well, ya know...(and if you don't, it's sex). But before they can get down to business, our killer sneaks into the cabin and kills them both. Fast forward to Friday, June 13, 1980. Annie (Robbie Morgan) is an all too eager (that's not meant to present her as the possible killer, she really is just so happy and eager it is quite vomit-inducing) girl whose headed out to Camp Crystal Lake as a counselor. She hitches out a ride with Enos (Rex Everheart), but not before being freaked out by the town weirdo Ralph (Walt Gorney) who warns her against going to Camp Crystal Lake. She doesn't listen, naturally, but it's not long into the car ride before Enos starts up with the not-so-cryptic warnings. Of course she doesn't listen. Guess what? She's the first to die.
The other counselors are already at the camp, and we have: Ned (Mark Nelson)- the undersexed goofball, Jack (Kevin Bacon)- the guy whose personality is unclear because he's too busy being oggled at by the camera, Bill (Harry Crosby)- Yeah, I really was given nothing to work with concerning his character, Marcie (Jeannine Taylor)-the uh, slut, maybe? not really, oh, who cares, Brenda (Laurie Bartram)- the kind of viper-ish one, and Alice (Adrienne King), the nice girl. It's not too hard to guess which one survives. Our teens goof off, shoot arrows too close for comfort at their fellow counselors, kill snakes, and play strip monopoly. It's a grand old time before people starting getting killed.
There are some early scenes that are laughable in how poorly conceived they are. The scene in which the camp's owner Steve Christy (Peter Brouwer) interacts with Alice is unintentionally hilarious. Why in the world is it necessary for there to be some suggestion of a sexual history between the two? It is not further mentioned in the film, it's never explained or delegated importance. It's just this idea kind of floating in the waters of Camp Crystal Lake. There is no reason for it to exist. I also love the film's method of foreshadowing like when Ned shoots an arrow near Brenda as she's setting up the archery range. Oh my, I wonder how she's going to die?
The film builds until the point where it feels it can then let loose and just shove an axe through any pimple-free face that emerges into the next creepy doorway. The buildup didn't bore me, as I found the glorious 80's homespun quality to the film refreshing.
The death scenes are gory and uninspired, but at the time were considered new and daring. There's an axe to the face, slitting of the throat, stabbing, arrows, decapitations. Oh, and and an arrow to the throat in the film's just-so-completely-terrific scene where Kevin Bacon gets his after getting some. I loved how transparent the film was in its statement that "SEX=DEATH. Get the picture?". Again, I had to give the movie props for being so utterly obvious. More ambitious pictures would have tried to bury the statement in seeming irony and nuance and reflexiveness. Not this movie. If you're going to have sex, you're going to get an arrow to the throat. Capuche?
The atmosphere, although nothing to write home about, is effective. Woods, dark cabins, shadows, lakes, it all works. The scene in which Marcie goes to the bathroom and is met by the murderer whose just picked off her boyfriend is surprisingly creepy.
The climax is just plain terrible, devolving into a bitch-slap-fest more than anything else. I don't want to ruin the surprise, so I'll just leave it at that.
Oh, what of the acting and script you ask? Sigh. The performances are pretty boring, especially King who creates one of the least interesting, relatable, or likable survivor girls I've seen in a long time. She just smiles and screams her way through the film. I was hoping the killer would take pity on the audience and knock her off too. No such luck. Morgan, although in the film for such a short amount of time, was just so, so bad and completely annoying. But I guess I have to thank somebody for making the choice to not make her our heroine.
The script is...oh, fuck it, who really cares? This is a slasher flick. You accept certain truths and move on.
The ending is a shameless rip-off of Carrie and yet jolting in it's moronic way.
I liked this film for all the reasons I panned it. Reviewing esteemed movies all the time gets tiresome. I like biopics and Academy Award winners along with the best of em'. But sometimes I just want to watch a fun movie. Friday the 13th fit that bill. It had some effective scenes (Annie in a car with the killer was unexpectedly eerie, or the scene in which Alice locks herself in a closet to hide herself from the killer, and the doorknob suddenly turning above her head), some nice creepy atmosphere (creepy, dingy bathroom, forest illuminated by light in background) and some good laughs (mostly unintentional but hey, I'm not picky). That's all I wanted. That's all I got.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The Greatest Horror Movies Ever
A celebration of those oozing, brooding, spine-tingling, pseudo-comic films that we love to hate and hate to love. I'll do a different piece concerning horror films around Halloween time, believe me, I can get plenty o' mileage in the scary movie department. But I've been in a very horror-movie-loving mood lately so I wanted to do this piece. The films I've chosen represent the many conventions and archetypes of horror movies: the gory, the stupid, the suspenseful, the ridiculous, the crazy. They're all terrific.
Halloween (1978)- The definitive slasher flick. Halloween is all glorious atmosphere and slow-build suspense. A white, featureless mask. A butcher knife. And a parade of unsuspecting, unfortunate teens.
The Evil Dead (1981)- More of a comedy than anything else, The Evil Dead gives B-movies a good, bloody name. Terrifically violent, memorably disgusting, occasionally jolting, and utterly crazy/hilarious.
Psycho (1960)- Proves horror movies can be both sophisticated and terrifying. Hitchcock's direction is amazing, Anothony Perkin's performance iconic, and the score utterly unforgettable. Damn you for ruining showers, Hitchcock. Damn you!
The Haunting (1963)- A bang on the door. The sound of a woman's laugh. Some cold, meticulously crafted statues. The Haunting makes the point that these elements are all you need to scare the pants off your audience.
A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)- One, two, Freddy's coming for you...That nursery rhyme still haunts my dreams. Craven's intelligent gem of a slasher pic is every bit as awesome as it was in the 84. Because Craven actually cared enough to make Nightmare stylish rather than just gory, his film has stood the test of time. Scares, suspense, deadly mattresses. What's better?
Scream (1996)- A spoof that is as much what it's spoofing as it is a sly commentary. Teens can apparently be aware of the slasher conventions, but that doesn't mean this knowledge will really be put to good effect. Gory and funny by turns.
The Exorcist (1973)- There were sensational rumors of audience members collapsing, throwing up, needing therapy. Amazingly, the film lived up to its hype. There are images that I believe will be forever engrained in my head.
Carnival of Souls (1962)- Little know but creepily atmospheric and wonderfully odd, this B movie about a woman who survives a car crash and comes upon a strange little town was inexplicably effective in getting under my skin. The pale faced man is coming for you...
Wait Until Dark (1967)- Although this is a thriller more than anything else, the film is undeniably scary. The intensely wrought climax will have you on the edge of your seat, biting your nails, you know the drill...
Blood and Black Lace (1964)- Just because I must respect the Italian horror god, Mario Bava, I've put Blood and Black Lace on the list. Dramatically inert but visually stunning, Bava's pre-slasher craze horror flick is well-directed and surprisingly brutal.
Don't Look Now (1973)- The ending hits you like a plate of falling glass and the film, deliberately paced and startlingly well-crafted, is like a creepily hazy dream. You'll never look at a little girl in a red raincoat the same way again.
Creepshow (1982)- Creepy-crawly good fun, Creepshow is so beautifully stylish and stupid and nostalgic it's impossible not to love (actually, that's a lie but these are my opinions, right?) The film is completely tact-less and ambition-less and that's why it's so great. It's just simple-minded, gory enjoyment.
The Silence of the Lambs (1991)- A serial killer thriller that made horror films more respected and accessible, this highly lauded film won five Academy Awards including Best Picture. It's more suspenseful than scary, but Hannibal remains cinema's creepiest, most sophisticated, most intelligently sadistic villain ever. With fava beans, wow, that's just...
Trick r' Treat (2008)- This film just made me happy. Werewolves, zombies, creepy sack boys, vampires, lollipop knives...This movie had it all! The look is stylish, the script well-constructed, and the performances unexpectedly eager. A celebration of Halloween that is perhaps not as good as but close to the level of John Carpenter's Halloween.
Honorable mentions:
The Shining
The Leopard Man
The Changeling
Among others...
Halloween (1978)- The definitive slasher flick. Halloween is all glorious atmosphere and slow-build suspense. A white, featureless mask. A butcher knife. And a parade of unsuspecting, unfortunate teens.
The Evil Dead (1981)- More of a comedy than anything else, The Evil Dead gives B-movies a good, bloody name. Terrifically violent, memorably disgusting, occasionally jolting, and utterly crazy/hilarious.
Psycho (1960)- Proves horror movies can be both sophisticated and terrifying. Hitchcock's direction is amazing, Anothony Perkin's performance iconic, and the score utterly unforgettable. Damn you for ruining showers, Hitchcock. Damn you!
The Haunting (1963)- A bang on the door. The sound of a woman's laugh. Some cold, meticulously crafted statues. The Haunting makes the point that these elements are all you need to scare the pants off your audience.
A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)- One, two, Freddy's coming for you...That nursery rhyme still haunts my dreams. Craven's intelligent gem of a slasher pic is every bit as awesome as it was in the 84. Because Craven actually cared enough to make Nightmare stylish rather than just gory, his film has stood the test of time. Scares, suspense, deadly mattresses. What's better?
Scream (1996)- A spoof that is as much what it's spoofing as it is a sly commentary. Teens can apparently be aware of the slasher conventions, but that doesn't mean this knowledge will really be put to good effect. Gory and funny by turns.
The Exorcist (1973)- There were sensational rumors of audience members collapsing, throwing up, needing therapy. Amazingly, the film lived up to its hype. There are images that I believe will be forever engrained in my head.
Carnival of Souls (1962)- Little know but creepily atmospheric and wonderfully odd, this B movie about a woman who survives a car crash and comes upon a strange little town was inexplicably effective in getting under my skin. The pale faced man is coming for you...
Wait Until Dark (1967)- Although this is a thriller more than anything else, the film is undeniably scary. The intensely wrought climax will have you on the edge of your seat, biting your nails, you know the drill...
Blood and Black Lace (1964)- Just because I must respect the Italian horror god, Mario Bava, I've put Blood and Black Lace on the list. Dramatically inert but visually stunning, Bava's pre-slasher craze horror flick is well-directed and surprisingly brutal.
Don't Look Now (1973)- The ending hits you like a plate of falling glass and the film, deliberately paced and startlingly well-crafted, is like a creepily hazy dream. You'll never look at a little girl in a red raincoat the same way again.
Creepshow (1982)- Creepy-crawly good fun, Creepshow is so beautifully stylish and stupid and nostalgic it's impossible not to love (actually, that's a lie but these are my opinions, right?) The film is completely tact-less and ambition-less and that's why it's so great. It's just simple-minded, gory enjoyment.
The Silence of the Lambs (1991)- A serial killer thriller that made horror films more respected and accessible, this highly lauded film won five Academy Awards including Best Picture. It's more suspenseful than scary, but Hannibal remains cinema's creepiest, most sophisticated, most intelligently sadistic villain ever. With fava beans, wow, that's just...
Trick r' Treat (2008)- This film just made me happy. Werewolves, zombies, creepy sack boys, vampires, lollipop knives...This movie had it all! The look is stylish, the script well-constructed, and the performances unexpectedly eager. A celebration of Halloween that is perhaps not as good as but close to the level of John Carpenter's Halloween.
Honorable mentions:
The Shining
The Leopard Man
The Changeling
Among others...
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Prince of Tides
I feel like I've been pretty sympathetic in my reviewing so far. The only real review of a movie that I hated was Cabin Fever. So it's my time to take out my cinematic dagger and thrust it through the cold heart of Barbra Streisand's The Prince of Tides. Streisand's well-proportioned disaster is one of those well-meaning Lifetime movies that the Academy takes pity on. It features big stars, gets an actress-turned-director to film the thing, it's based on a celebrated novel. Well, none of these credentials actually go into making a halfway decent film. The Prince of Tides is so thoroughly derivative and uninteresting it made me want to cry. Yeah.
The film begins with some oh-so-pleasant-no-wait-BORING shots of South Carolina. It was all orange skies, pristine lakes, tall grass. Nothing you couldn't find in your typical 99 cent calender from Walgreens. Already I was worried. Our protagonist is Tom (Nick Nolte), an unemployed football coach who is sent to New York to help his twin sister's psychiatrist after his sister attempts suicide. There's this whole complicated past, that Tom will only begrudgingly elude to at first. Tom is short with psychiatrist Susan Lowenstein (Streisand) at first. She's inquisitive, he's defensive. However, Susan demands that the sessions are necessary in order to help Tom's sister, Savannah, to get better. As you might have guessed, these sessions really become Tom's personal therapy sessions more so than an attempt to help Savannah.
There's a twist here I bet you weren't expecting: Tom and Susan fall in love. What's the problem? He's married. What's the set up? His wife (Blythe Danner) is dissatisfied and having an affair with a man that wants to marry her. What's Susan's problem? She's married. What's the set up? Her husband is a royal jerk. Bingo! Now these two can fall in love without feeling too much regret! God, what a wonderful set-up! If only it hadn't been used in countless other films.
There's also this terrifically wonderful sub-plot about Lowenstein's son, Bernard (Jason Gould), an indifferent and bitterly caustic young man that Tom comes around to teaching football to. It wasn't enough to have Tom and Susan emotionally pecking at one another, now we have to watch Nolte pep-talk an unhappy teen into being a winner? What did we do to deserve this?!!!
The sessions are of little interest, proving to be like poorly written episodes of In Treatment. There's talk of an abusive step-father and other traumas that will not be discussed here to preserve certain, big game changing moments. The memories are stinging, their treatment in the film lacks bite.
Nolte does accomplished work with a character that never felt fully developed. Yeah, we understand he uses sarcasm to hide his pain. He's suppressed. He's angry. He's also strangely proto-typical and difficult to connect to. Nolte's self-aware rants concerning his unwillingness to discuss his emotions feel painfully awkward because he never feels quite real. His break down scene is efficient yet my heart didn't reach out to this man. But it desperately, desperately should have. Streisand delivers what may be the most cliched representation of a psychiatrist I've ever seen. I kept expecting her to lie Nolte out on a couch and nod her head approvingly. As her performance stands, she lacks subtlety or even just some plain insipid enjoyment. She's not even fun to watch while being a misinterpretation, she's just there. Standing there, sitting there. Speaking there. Her anger at Tom for his unwillingness to express himself is just plain annoying. Her presence at a party feels out of place, her attraction to Tom seems misguided, the idea that she has a son feels oddly unrealistic. The scene in which Susan and Tom (SPOILERS!) embrace for the last time didn't make me feel anything at all. Streisand didn't bring any new emotions to this interaction, settling for pure, uncontroversial ones. She's sad, she's strong, she hurts. I barf.
Perhaps the two best performances are courtesy of George Carlin, Savannah's flamboyant neighbor, and Blythe Danner, as Tom's wife. Danner finds a wealth of pain and heartbreak and yet joy in opportunities that will ultimately set her free as Sallie. Her conversation with Nolte over the phone is as close to emotional weight as the film gets. Carlin just has fun with the role, as that gay New Yorker neighbor we all know. Carlin isn't, say, nuanced, but at least he infuses the film with some good energy. Jeroen Krabbe as Lowenstein's pompous husband is suitably unlikable but there is no development of character. He merely serves the purpose of being hated by the audience. But maybe it isn't the acting, maybe it's the fault of the...
SCRIPT!!!! That terrible, terrible script. The film is almost literally broken up into segments. "First we have the conflict between Susan and Tom, then their period where he opens up, then we need the part where he divulges TERRIBLE PAST, then Susan and Tom go onto their love montage. That's good, right?" The film is so thoroughly predictable in its treatment of the story and it's supposed emotions it puts say, The Notebook to shame. Much of this, I guess, can be blamed on the book on which this movie is based, but Becky Johnston and Pat Conroy (the author, yes, so I can't imagine the book being much better) as screenwriters fail to transition the book to the screen successfully. The script is one of those faithful adaptations that does nothing interesting or imaginative with the source material. The dialogue is choppy, the characterization stilted, and the story arch contrived.
Streisand is perhaps a more competent director than actress in this film, but alas, her direction isn't even very inspired. She thinks if she puts together a sappy, typical romance movie, no one will notice because audiences have been eating those up for years. We did notice. We want our money back.
Worst of all, The Prince of Tides isn't even any fun. I could choose to not mind a mediocre film if the film was at least self-aware of its mediocrity. Terms of Endearment, anyone? But The Prince of Tides seems unwilling to admit that it's anything less than pure cinematic gold. Funny, it seemed like bronze to me.
The film begins with some oh-so-pleasant-no-wait-BORING shots of South Carolina. It was all orange skies, pristine lakes, tall grass. Nothing you couldn't find in your typical 99 cent calender from Walgreens. Already I was worried. Our protagonist is Tom (Nick Nolte), an unemployed football coach who is sent to New York to help his twin sister's psychiatrist after his sister attempts suicide. There's this whole complicated past, that Tom will only begrudgingly elude to at first. Tom is short with psychiatrist Susan Lowenstein (Streisand) at first. She's inquisitive, he's defensive. However, Susan demands that the sessions are necessary in order to help Tom's sister, Savannah, to get better. As you might have guessed, these sessions really become Tom's personal therapy sessions more so than an attempt to help Savannah.
There's a twist here I bet you weren't expecting: Tom and Susan fall in love. What's the problem? He's married. What's the set up? His wife (Blythe Danner) is dissatisfied and having an affair with a man that wants to marry her. What's Susan's problem? She's married. What's the set up? Her husband is a royal jerk. Bingo! Now these two can fall in love without feeling too much regret! God, what a wonderful set-up! If only it hadn't been used in countless other films.
There's also this terrifically wonderful sub-plot about Lowenstein's son, Bernard (Jason Gould), an indifferent and bitterly caustic young man that Tom comes around to teaching football to. It wasn't enough to have Tom and Susan emotionally pecking at one another, now we have to watch Nolte pep-talk an unhappy teen into being a winner? What did we do to deserve this?!!!
The sessions are of little interest, proving to be like poorly written episodes of In Treatment. There's talk of an abusive step-father and other traumas that will not be discussed here to preserve certain, big game changing moments. The memories are stinging, their treatment in the film lacks bite.
Nolte does accomplished work with a character that never felt fully developed. Yeah, we understand he uses sarcasm to hide his pain. He's suppressed. He's angry. He's also strangely proto-typical and difficult to connect to. Nolte's self-aware rants concerning his unwillingness to discuss his emotions feel painfully awkward because he never feels quite real. His break down scene is efficient yet my heart didn't reach out to this man. But it desperately, desperately should have. Streisand delivers what may be the most cliched representation of a psychiatrist I've ever seen. I kept expecting her to lie Nolte out on a couch and nod her head approvingly. As her performance stands, she lacks subtlety or even just some plain insipid enjoyment. She's not even fun to watch while being a misinterpretation, she's just there. Standing there, sitting there. Speaking there. Her anger at Tom for his unwillingness to express himself is just plain annoying. Her presence at a party feels out of place, her attraction to Tom seems misguided, the idea that she has a son feels oddly unrealistic. The scene in which Susan and Tom (SPOILERS!) embrace for the last time didn't make me feel anything at all. Streisand didn't bring any new emotions to this interaction, settling for pure, uncontroversial ones. She's sad, she's strong, she hurts. I barf.
Perhaps the two best performances are courtesy of George Carlin, Savannah's flamboyant neighbor, and Blythe Danner, as Tom's wife. Danner finds a wealth of pain and heartbreak and yet joy in opportunities that will ultimately set her free as Sallie. Her conversation with Nolte over the phone is as close to emotional weight as the film gets. Carlin just has fun with the role, as that gay New Yorker neighbor we all know. Carlin isn't, say, nuanced, but at least he infuses the film with some good energy. Jeroen Krabbe as Lowenstein's pompous husband is suitably unlikable but there is no development of character. He merely serves the purpose of being hated by the audience. But maybe it isn't the acting, maybe it's the fault of the...
SCRIPT!!!! That terrible, terrible script. The film is almost literally broken up into segments. "First we have the conflict between Susan and Tom, then their period where he opens up, then we need the part where he divulges TERRIBLE PAST, then Susan and Tom go onto their love montage. That's good, right?" The film is so thoroughly predictable in its treatment of the story and it's supposed emotions it puts say, The Notebook to shame. Much of this, I guess, can be blamed on the book on which this movie is based, but Becky Johnston and Pat Conroy (the author, yes, so I can't imagine the book being much better) as screenwriters fail to transition the book to the screen successfully. The script is one of those faithful adaptations that does nothing interesting or imaginative with the source material. The dialogue is choppy, the characterization stilted, and the story arch contrived.
Streisand is perhaps a more competent director than actress in this film, but alas, her direction isn't even very inspired. She thinks if she puts together a sappy, typical romance movie, no one will notice because audiences have been eating those up for years. We did notice. We want our money back.
Worst of all, The Prince of Tides isn't even any fun. I could choose to not mind a mediocre film if the film was at least self-aware of its mediocrity. Terms of Endearment, anyone? But The Prince of Tides seems unwilling to admit that it's anything less than pure cinematic gold. Funny, it seemed like bronze to me.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Greatest Lead Female Performances...Ever
Some won Oscars, some didn't. In the end, it doesn't matter. These are just terrific performances courtesy of some of the finest actresses working today. Note: I have not seen all the movies in the world, I haven't even seen all the movies that won Oscars for Best Actress. This is the list I have made with my current understanding of great female performances-
Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice
Streep could practically score an Oscar win by simply winking at the screen by now's time. However, Streep's talent is also undeniable. Her work in Sophie's Choice is indelible, easily one of the greatest performances in cinema. As Sophie, Streep is tragic, warm, self-destructive, and likeable. She's full of contradictions and Streep folly embodies a woman who bares a past too horrific to live with. The accent, those eyes that communicate a pain that is unbearable, unspeakable. I'll never forget this performance.
Holly Hunter in The Piano
Hunter tackles a not-so-easy task of conveying limitless emotion without a word of spoken dialogue. As the mute Ada, a woman married off to a man living in New Zealand, Hunter encompasses Ada's rage and passion in a world that expects women to be silent. That face, so pale and deathly beautiful, is a canvas for which Hunter paints her emotions. She expresses so much, evidenced in a scene in which her desire for a local man leads her to physically assault him, a violent show of passion that she never allots words to. She doesn't have to. We hear her perfectly fine.
Charlize Theron in Monster
I won't lie, I didn't think Theron would be able to pull it off. I read the reviews, I listened to the endless praise. I was still skeptical. Just goes to show you how stupid I can be and how judge mental people can be. Theron's performance as Aileen Wuornos, the first female serial killer explodes on the screen with such an incredible force of rage, aching loneliness, sadness, self-loathing, and yes, even a glimmer of hope, that Theron threatens to burn up the screen. She's so in character, not just physically (although she really is virtually unrecognizable), but emotionally, it's frightening. Holy shit. That's all I have left to say.
Marlee Matlin in Children of a Lesser God
As the deaf Sarah Norman, a former student and current janitor at a deaf educational school, Matlin proves that not age nor experience can always predict a gem of a performance. Matlin, the youngest woman to ever win the Oscar for Best Actress, is so thoroughly alive as the beautiful, angry, unapologetic, and yet magnetic deaf woman. Like Hunter, she never speaks a word but her face betrays every flash of anger, sorrow, and insecurity. It is entirely evident why William Hurt falls in love with her. I did.
Sissy Spaceck in In the Bedroom
There are those performances that make you think "God! How did that not win an Oscar?!" This is one of those performances. Spaceck is the cold, controlling, and bitter Ruth whose destructive anger over her son's murder threatens to consume her. The fight scene between her and Tom Wilkinson as her husband, Matt, is one of the most impressive showcases of acting I've seen in a long time. Our heart breaks for her after she breaks down and yet many of Matt's points are valid (although blaming her for his death? Come on? Way to be an ass!)
Liza Minelli in Cabaret
Liza Minelli, that diva that's now engraved in my memory as Lucille 2 in Arrested Development, so surprised me with how good she is here. Maybe it's because she has to be part drama queen diva. Yet Minelli digs depper, past the razzle dazzle, and finds a wealth of insecurity and volatile emotion in Sally, a nightclub singer who falls for a bisexual writer from Britain. Those eyes cast downward give us insight into the wounded soul that Sally actually is. The costumes and her kind of flip attitude towards everything can't hide the pain.
Anne Bancroft in The Graduate
Mrs. Robinson, essentially the template for modern day Cougars, is more than a sex deprived old housewife. Cold, emotionally distant, overbearing, persistent, and terribly lonely and self-conscious of her age, Bancroft makes Mrs. Robinson not a character we can say we particularly like but we can perhaps understand her motivations and admit she's irrevocably interesting.
Giulietta Masina in Nights of Cabiria
Quite possibly the most depressing film I have ever seen, Nights of Cabiria is really a showcase for Masina who is so thoroughly amazing she took my breath away. Cabiria is a prostitute trying to make ends meet, and her life is one long depressing spiral downwards. Masina understands both Cabiria's magneticism and yet alienating demeanor. She's abrupt, angry, rude, and yet has this earnest sense of hope and possibility which is attractive. The last scene, in which she walks away, defeated, alone, is so depressingly beautiful it hurts. Cabiria picks herself up once again. How? That's beyond me.
Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream
As you might have seen in my Oscars article, I'm very fond of this performance. Burstyn gives a performance of so much emotional depth and truth it's hard to believe she's even acting any longer. The red dress monologue, her final realization of the disarray in which her life is committed to, she broke my heart.
Katharine Hepburn in The Lion in Winter
Ok, so, I kind of hated the film itself, but my pal, Katharine, is just astonishing in the role of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Fiercely intelligent, independent, and cuttingly observant, she makes painful observations of those around them and doesn't often apologize. Yet somehow we like her. Maybe because she's Katharine Hepburn. Oh well.
Laura Dern in Inland Empire
Dern was grossly overlooked for her epic performance in David Lynch's Inland Empire. Dern has the task of playing multiple women; an ambitious actress, the character she's playing, an unhappy housewife, a hardened prostitute. These women could be different people onto themselves, or aspects of the same woman, or representations of the archetypes of womanhood. Dern taps into every emotion: rage, sorrow, hope, paranoia, disappointment, elation. She just keeps going and going and going. Her performance is frightening in its scope.
Diane Keaton in Annie Hall
Ditzy Annie is also affable, warm, and yet insecure, occasionally cold and uninviting. Keaton has a comedian's wit and yet also uncovers the more complex and biting emotions in Annie. I just love Diane Keaton.
Louise Fletcher in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
As the cold, unapologetic, passive aggressive, spiteful, vindictive, and monstrous Nurse Ratchet, Fletcher creates one of cinema's greatest villains. She never actually raises her voice, maybe once, but it's that cold, calculated stare that sends a chill down your spine. Ratchet considers herself too respectable for human displays of emotion. Her explanation that the polls are closed is perfectly leveled and yet you can just hear the spite dripping from her mouth.
Naomi Watts in Mulholland Dr.
I initially hated her performance for the first hour and a half or so. I thought "God! What a fake!" and then the film turns on its head and Watts switches from gratingly ambitious Betty to the bitter, angry, and disappointed Diane. Her performance as Diane is revelatory and then I began to piece the film together, and came to realize that her annoying performance as Betty wasn't bad at all, the work of a talented trickster who easily dupes simple-minded reviewers.
Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity
As the slinky, sexy, coldly manipulative and monstrously quick-witted Phyllis Dietrichson, Stanwyck is all brooding femme fatale and evil seductress. Her exchange about speed limits with boy-toy Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) is, needless to say, not about speed limits, and is so piercingly acted you can't help but smile.
Elizabeth Taylor in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Destructive rage, bad manners, contempt, spite, disillusionment and yet clinging to one enormous illusion. This is the character Taylor has to capture and she's simply marvelous. As frumpy housewife Martha, Taylor taps into emotions so cuttingly painful it hurts to look at her. The last scene in the film breaks your heart more than you thought you could break your heart for such a person.
Ok, because this list is getting really long I'll post honorable mentions at the bottom, great performances that I don't have much space to get into here:
Honorable Mentions:
Annette Bening in American Beauty
Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth
Helen Hunt in As Good As It Gets
Laura Linney in You Can Count On Me
Faye Dunaway in Bonnie and Clyde
Holly Hunter in Broadcast News
Kathy Bates in Misery
Jessica Tandy in Driving Miss Daisy
Ellen Burstyn in Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore
The list could go on and on but I will stop here...for now.
Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice
Streep could practically score an Oscar win by simply winking at the screen by now's time. However, Streep's talent is also undeniable. Her work in Sophie's Choice is indelible, easily one of the greatest performances in cinema. As Sophie, Streep is tragic, warm, self-destructive, and likeable. She's full of contradictions and Streep folly embodies a woman who bares a past too horrific to live with. The accent, those eyes that communicate a pain that is unbearable, unspeakable. I'll never forget this performance.
Holly Hunter in The Piano
Hunter tackles a not-so-easy task of conveying limitless emotion without a word of spoken dialogue. As the mute Ada, a woman married off to a man living in New Zealand, Hunter encompasses Ada's rage and passion in a world that expects women to be silent. That face, so pale and deathly beautiful, is a canvas for which Hunter paints her emotions. She expresses so much, evidenced in a scene in which her desire for a local man leads her to physically assault him, a violent show of passion that she never allots words to. She doesn't have to. We hear her perfectly fine.
Charlize Theron in Monster
I won't lie, I didn't think Theron would be able to pull it off. I read the reviews, I listened to the endless praise. I was still skeptical. Just goes to show you how stupid I can be and how judge mental people can be. Theron's performance as Aileen Wuornos, the first female serial killer explodes on the screen with such an incredible force of rage, aching loneliness, sadness, self-loathing, and yes, even a glimmer of hope, that Theron threatens to burn up the screen. She's so in character, not just physically (although she really is virtually unrecognizable), but emotionally, it's frightening. Holy shit. That's all I have left to say.
Marlee Matlin in Children of a Lesser God
As the deaf Sarah Norman, a former student and current janitor at a deaf educational school, Matlin proves that not age nor experience can always predict a gem of a performance. Matlin, the youngest woman to ever win the Oscar for Best Actress, is so thoroughly alive as the beautiful, angry, unapologetic, and yet magnetic deaf woman. Like Hunter, she never speaks a word but her face betrays every flash of anger, sorrow, and insecurity. It is entirely evident why William Hurt falls in love with her. I did.
Sissy Spaceck in In the Bedroom
There are those performances that make you think "God! How did that not win an Oscar?!" This is one of those performances. Spaceck is the cold, controlling, and bitter Ruth whose destructive anger over her son's murder threatens to consume her. The fight scene between her and Tom Wilkinson as her husband, Matt, is one of the most impressive showcases of acting I've seen in a long time. Our heart breaks for her after she breaks down and yet many of Matt's points are valid (although blaming her for his death? Come on? Way to be an ass!)
Liza Minelli in Cabaret
Liza Minelli, that diva that's now engraved in my memory as Lucille 2 in Arrested Development, so surprised me with how good she is here. Maybe it's because she has to be part drama queen diva. Yet Minelli digs depper, past the razzle dazzle, and finds a wealth of insecurity and volatile emotion in Sally, a nightclub singer who falls for a bisexual writer from Britain. Those eyes cast downward give us insight into the wounded soul that Sally actually is. The costumes and her kind of flip attitude towards everything can't hide the pain.
Anne Bancroft in The Graduate
Mrs. Robinson, essentially the template for modern day Cougars, is more than a sex deprived old housewife. Cold, emotionally distant, overbearing, persistent, and terribly lonely and self-conscious of her age, Bancroft makes Mrs. Robinson not a character we can say we particularly like but we can perhaps understand her motivations and admit she's irrevocably interesting.
Giulietta Masina in Nights of Cabiria
Quite possibly the most depressing film I have ever seen, Nights of Cabiria is really a showcase for Masina who is so thoroughly amazing she took my breath away. Cabiria is a prostitute trying to make ends meet, and her life is one long depressing spiral downwards. Masina understands both Cabiria's magneticism and yet alienating demeanor. She's abrupt, angry, rude, and yet has this earnest sense of hope and possibility which is attractive. The last scene, in which she walks away, defeated, alone, is so depressingly beautiful it hurts. Cabiria picks herself up once again. How? That's beyond me.
Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream
As you might have seen in my Oscars article, I'm very fond of this performance. Burstyn gives a performance of so much emotional depth and truth it's hard to believe she's even acting any longer. The red dress monologue, her final realization of the disarray in which her life is committed to, she broke my heart.
Katharine Hepburn in The Lion in Winter
Ok, so, I kind of hated the film itself, but my pal, Katharine, is just astonishing in the role of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Fiercely intelligent, independent, and cuttingly observant, she makes painful observations of those around them and doesn't often apologize. Yet somehow we like her. Maybe because she's Katharine Hepburn. Oh well.
Laura Dern in Inland Empire
Dern was grossly overlooked for her epic performance in David Lynch's Inland Empire. Dern has the task of playing multiple women; an ambitious actress, the character she's playing, an unhappy housewife, a hardened prostitute. These women could be different people onto themselves, or aspects of the same woman, or representations of the archetypes of womanhood. Dern taps into every emotion: rage, sorrow, hope, paranoia, disappointment, elation. She just keeps going and going and going. Her performance is frightening in its scope.
Diane Keaton in Annie Hall
Ditzy Annie is also affable, warm, and yet insecure, occasionally cold and uninviting. Keaton has a comedian's wit and yet also uncovers the more complex and biting emotions in Annie. I just love Diane Keaton.
Louise Fletcher in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
As the cold, unapologetic, passive aggressive, spiteful, vindictive, and monstrous Nurse Ratchet, Fletcher creates one of cinema's greatest villains. She never actually raises her voice, maybe once, but it's that cold, calculated stare that sends a chill down your spine. Ratchet considers herself too respectable for human displays of emotion. Her explanation that the polls are closed is perfectly leveled and yet you can just hear the spite dripping from her mouth.
Naomi Watts in Mulholland Dr.
I initially hated her performance for the first hour and a half or so. I thought "God! What a fake!" and then the film turns on its head and Watts switches from gratingly ambitious Betty to the bitter, angry, and disappointed Diane. Her performance as Diane is revelatory and then I began to piece the film together, and came to realize that her annoying performance as Betty wasn't bad at all, the work of a talented trickster who easily dupes simple-minded reviewers.
Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity
As the slinky, sexy, coldly manipulative and monstrously quick-witted Phyllis Dietrichson, Stanwyck is all brooding femme fatale and evil seductress. Her exchange about speed limits with boy-toy Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) is, needless to say, not about speed limits, and is so piercingly acted you can't help but smile.
Elizabeth Taylor in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Destructive rage, bad manners, contempt, spite, disillusionment and yet clinging to one enormous illusion. This is the character Taylor has to capture and she's simply marvelous. As frumpy housewife Martha, Taylor taps into emotions so cuttingly painful it hurts to look at her. The last scene in the film breaks your heart more than you thought you could break your heart for such a person.
Ok, because this list is getting really long I'll post honorable mentions at the bottom, great performances that I don't have much space to get into here:
Honorable Mentions:
Annette Bening in American Beauty
Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth
Helen Hunt in As Good As It Gets
Laura Linney in You Can Count On Me
Faye Dunaway in Bonnie and Clyde
Holly Hunter in Broadcast News
Kathy Bates in Misery
Jessica Tandy in Driving Miss Daisy
Ellen Burstyn in Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore
The list could go on and on but I will stop here...for now.
Terms of Endearment
Is it possible to love a movie that you don't believe is worthy of its Best Picture prize? Yes, as evidenced by Terms of Endearment, James L. Brook's sappy, female friendly sob fest. It's kind of a soggy film, all Hollywood sentiment and glorious throwback to the comedy-tragedies of earlier times. As a piece of art, it's pure fluff. As entertainment, it's smashing.
James L. Brooks wrote, directed, and produced the film, and his stamp is all over it. Brooks is a terrific writer, one who understands people, how they think and feel and talk. Terms of Endearment is about two people, two women, Aurora Greenway (Shirley MacLaine) and her daughter Emma (Debra Winger). Aurora is overbearing, critical, unapologetic, unforgiving. Emma is warm, passionate, and goofy. They're mother and daughter and they're friends. However, their relationship hits a bump when Emma decides to get married to the unambitious Flap (Jeff Daniels). Aurora disapproves, believing that the choice to marry Flap will be the mistake of Emma's life. Emma decides to go through with the marriage anyway and moves out of the house. Flap's job takes him, Emma, and their son away from the southern home in which Emma grew up. Emma and Aurora's relationship therefore evolves through phone conversations and scattered visits, as the film tracks their respective lives and their tenuous bond over the course of many years.
The plot is sufficient with little that is decidedly new or refreshing, and the film isn't trying to be anything but a shameless tearjerker. The bond of mother and daughter has been explored in many films but perhaps not as entertainingly as it is here. Aurora and Emma are decidedly imperfect human beings, a fact that the movie wears on its sleeve. They are sympathetic, though, and eminently likable. The performances are wonderful, with MacLaine getting the far juicier role. As Aurora, that critical gaze could bore a hole through the most hardened soul. However, McLaine also let's us see Aurora's vulnerability and aching loneliness. The scenes between her and her neighbor, former astronaut Garrett Breedlove (Jack Nicholson) are searingly honest, such as when Aurora brings him up to her room and her ultimate succumbing to her desires are unplanned and yet ultimately satisfying. The scenes towards the end in which Aurora deals with her daughter's cancer are heartbreaking. The incredible anger she possesses is frightening. When Emma's son badmouths his ill mother, Aurora starts hitting the boy until he begins to cry. And then Aurora begins to cry as well. McLaine let's us see so much of the character in this one moment. A woman who tries to be too solid to shed tears even when it's the only thing she can think of humanly accomplishing. However, her performance does border on the over-acting category at times, such in the scene when Aurora yells at her pregnant daughter "Why should I be happy about being a grandmother!". MacLaine delivers the line with so much camp zest it's hard to take her seriously. Although her role is juicier, it's not necessarily better. Winger, ultimately, was the film's greatest performer, delivering a performance of great wit and compassion. Unlike MacLaine's Aurora, Emma is grounded and far more relatable. The scene in which she tearily tells her mother "Momma, that's the first time I stopped hugging first. I like that." is just magnificent. Winger also performs her deathbed scenes with volatile emotion and yet grace. She goes from seemingly strong, to angry, to sad, to understanding. Whereas other performers would treat the subject matter flatly wistful and sad and beautiful, Winger tries to uncover all of the emotions that would be carried with such a burden. The scene in which she says goodbye to her kids is COME ON- HEARTBREAKING! Don't try to pretend it isn't. As a girl learning to assert herself after breaking free from the constraints of an overbearing mother, Winger lets loose a woman whose emotions are confused and yet human. Nicholson's performance is too familiar to be truly great. He's got some great lines but we more or less get we've come to know about Nicholson as an actor. He does show some warmth and sensitivity, especially towards the end, which makes his performance better than initially presumed. The last scene, in which he attempts to console one of Emma's sons, is magnificent in how much he is able to communicate about his character. The man does not know how to console and he goes about it awkwardly. But the fact that he tries, that he cares, shows growth and yet stability. He's always been a caring man, he's always just though he was too proud to show it. The supporting characters such as Daniels as Flap and John Lithgow, as Emma's brief extra-marital lover, are terrific and have developed personalities of their own.
The script is funny and sad, blending comedy and tragedy deftly. The dialogue is just great, such interaction below being witty and hilarious:
Garrett Breedlove: You're just going to have to trust me about this one thing. You need a lot of drinks.
Aurora Greenway: To break the ice?
Garrett Breedlove: To kill the bug that you have up your ass.
Or others being honest and occasionally hurtful:
Emma Horton: [to her son] OK, you're allowed to say one mean thing to me a year. That'll do until you're 10.
The script's plot as stated before is somewhat nonexistent. The film just kind of moves along with little conflict albeit character interactions. Then the film suddenly becomes a cancer deathbed weepy. The choice to kill off Emma is, well, uncreative and just plain out-of-the-blue. I prepared myself to hate the film after this point. It seemed like the kind of film that didn't know how to end and therefore chose to simply wrap up the film with a painful death and a tidy resolution. Well, maybe that's true. But surprisingly, it worked. It didn't feel that disjointed and ultimately was poignant rather than being reminiscent of a Lifetime movie. Maybe it's because the film has so thoroughly developed its characters and its dialogue that the film feels too sophisticated to be a truly stupid Hollywood flick. A film less polished would have failed with such a plot point. Terms of Endearment is about two lives, one of which happens to come to a short end. We forget that this is really a story anymore. We come to believe we're just watching two lives.
The film's score is beautiful and undeniably cheesy. The cinematography is occasionally beautiful. When Emma rides away from her mother, the camera is placed outside the window as we pull away and there's this incredible sense of excitement that pervades the film. It's quite magical.
Why, if I spent this entire review lauding the film, do I rob it of its Best Picture validity? Terms of Endearment is one of those films I think is lovely without being great. It's corny and yet it's just so gloriously aware of its cornball movie aspirations. It wants nothing more than two invite these two women into our lives and just make us feel something. I'm unashamed to say that I laughed and cried. That I came to care. And that I came to terms. (Clever, huh?)
James L. Brooks wrote, directed, and produced the film, and his stamp is all over it. Brooks is a terrific writer, one who understands people, how they think and feel and talk. Terms of Endearment is about two people, two women, Aurora Greenway (Shirley MacLaine) and her daughter Emma (Debra Winger). Aurora is overbearing, critical, unapologetic, unforgiving. Emma is warm, passionate, and goofy. They're mother and daughter and they're friends. However, their relationship hits a bump when Emma decides to get married to the unambitious Flap (Jeff Daniels). Aurora disapproves, believing that the choice to marry Flap will be the mistake of Emma's life. Emma decides to go through with the marriage anyway and moves out of the house. Flap's job takes him, Emma, and their son away from the southern home in which Emma grew up. Emma and Aurora's relationship therefore evolves through phone conversations and scattered visits, as the film tracks their respective lives and their tenuous bond over the course of many years.
The plot is sufficient with little that is decidedly new or refreshing, and the film isn't trying to be anything but a shameless tearjerker. The bond of mother and daughter has been explored in many films but perhaps not as entertainingly as it is here. Aurora and Emma are decidedly imperfect human beings, a fact that the movie wears on its sleeve. They are sympathetic, though, and eminently likable. The performances are wonderful, with MacLaine getting the far juicier role. As Aurora, that critical gaze could bore a hole through the most hardened soul. However, McLaine also let's us see Aurora's vulnerability and aching loneliness. The scenes between her and her neighbor, former astronaut Garrett Breedlove (Jack Nicholson) are searingly honest, such as when Aurora brings him up to her room and her ultimate succumbing to her desires are unplanned and yet ultimately satisfying. The scenes towards the end in which Aurora deals with her daughter's cancer are heartbreaking. The incredible anger she possesses is frightening. When Emma's son badmouths his ill mother, Aurora starts hitting the boy until he begins to cry. And then Aurora begins to cry as well. McLaine let's us see so much of the character in this one moment. A woman who tries to be too solid to shed tears even when it's the only thing she can think of humanly accomplishing. However, her performance does border on the over-acting category at times, such in the scene when Aurora yells at her pregnant daughter "Why should I be happy about being a grandmother!". MacLaine delivers the line with so much camp zest it's hard to take her seriously. Although her role is juicier, it's not necessarily better. Winger, ultimately, was the film's greatest performer, delivering a performance of great wit and compassion. Unlike MacLaine's Aurora, Emma is grounded and far more relatable. The scene in which she tearily tells her mother "Momma, that's the first time I stopped hugging first. I like that." is just magnificent. Winger also performs her deathbed scenes with volatile emotion and yet grace. She goes from seemingly strong, to angry, to sad, to understanding. Whereas other performers would treat the subject matter flatly wistful and sad and beautiful, Winger tries to uncover all of the emotions that would be carried with such a burden. The scene in which she says goodbye to her kids is COME ON- HEARTBREAKING! Don't try to pretend it isn't. As a girl learning to assert herself after breaking free from the constraints of an overbearing mother, Winger lets loose a woman whose emotions are confused and yet human. Nicholson's performance is too familiar to be truly great. He's got some great lines but we more or less get we've come to know about Nicholson as an actor. He does show some warmth and sensitivity, especially towards the end, which makes his performance better than initially presumed. The last scene, in which he attempts to console one of Emma's sons, is magnificent in how much he is able to communicate about his character. The man does not know how to console and he goes about it awkwardly. But the fact that he tries, that he cares, shows growth and yet stability. He's always been a caring man, he's always just though he was too proud to show it. The supporting characters such as Daniels as Flap and John Lithgow, as Emma's brief extra-marital lover, are terrific and have developed personalities of their own.
The script is funny and sad, blending comedy and tragedy deftly. The dialogue is just great, such interaction below being witty and hilarious:
Garrett Breedlove: You're just going to have to trust me about this one thing. You need a lot of drinks.
Aurora Greenway: To break the ice?
Garrett Breedlove: To kill the bug that you have up your ass.
Or others being honest and occasionally hurtful:
Emma Horton: [to her son] OK, you're allowed to say one mean thing to me a year. That'll do until you're 10.
The script's plot as stated before is somewhat nonexistent. The film just kind of moves along with little conflict albeit character interactions. Then the film suddenly becomes a cancer deathbed weepy. The choice to kill off Emma is, well, uncreative and just plain out-of-the-blue. I prepared myself to hate the film after this point. It seemed like the kind of film that didn't know how to end and therefore chose to simply wrap up the film with a painful death and a tidy resolution. Well, maybe that's true. But surprisingly, it worked. It didn't feel that disjointed and ultimately was poignant rather than being reminiscent of a Lifetime movie. Maybe it's because the film has so thoroughly developed its characters and its dialogue that the film feels too sophisticated to be a truly stupid Hollywood flick. A film less polished would have failed with such a plot point. Terms of Endearment is about two lives, one of which happens to come to a short end. We forget that this is really a story anymore. We come to believe we're just watching two lives.
The film's score is beautiful and undeniably cheesy. The cinematography is occasionally beautiful. When Emma rides away from her mother, the camera is placed outside the window as we pull away and there's this incredible sense of excitement that pervades the film. It's quite magical.
Why, if I spent this entire review lauding the film, do I rob it of its Best Picture validity? Terms of Endearment is one of those films I think is lovely without being great. It's corny and yet it's just so gloriously aware of its cornball movie aspirations. It wants nothing more than two invite these two women into our lives and just make us feel something. I'm unashamed to say that I laughed and cried. That I came to care. And that I came to terms. (Clever, huh?)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Capote
Capote is a profoundly quiet film. The story it concerns, the seemingly random murder of a Kansas family in 1959, was perhaps sensational. Capote, however, is going for gritty, kind of taciturn reality. Complacent and yet never passive, Capote is terrific film-making.
Of course, you've heard the endless, unrivaled praise for Hoffman's delicate and sharp performance. You probably don't want to hear me go on about it. Well, too bad. Hoffman undergoes a transformation similar to other actors along the lines of Nicole Kidman in The Hours and Jamie Fox in Ray. The high-pitched voice, the diminutive build, the charismatic and yet alienating nature. Truman Capote was almost a work of fiction himself, as he admits to early in the film, reviling against those who have pegged him inaccurately as a result of his mannerisms. Hoffman nails the voice and even the size, a trick of the camera no doubt, and yet somehow Hoffman makes us believe it is of his own doing. As if he made himself smaller out of sheer concentration. He makes Capote a showman and a freak, a flamboyant soul with a dark underbelly that allows him to understand the killers without pardoning their actions. The scenes in which he sits in Perry Smiths's (Clifton Collins Jr.) cell are magnificently performed. Hoffman's sympathetic stare reveals layers about Capote, the darkness, the humanity, and the realization of the terrible tragedy in falling love with a person that it is absolutely necessary not to fall in love with. And yet his seeming powerlessness to do anything about this tragedy.
The film opens with a friend of the Clatter family entering their farm house and finding the bloodshed there. The four of them, mother and father plus the daughter and son, have been killed. There is minimal music, the camera simply follows the girl as she finds the bodies in their respective places. It's a scene of enormous power. It's quiet, small, and yet wracked with tension. The tension of a misfortune that penetrates the sleepy nature of a town that knows nothing of misfortune. The camera then jumps to Capote at a party, in celebration of the publishing of his novella Breakfast at Tiffany's. Later we see Capote read the news article that briefly covers the murder of the Clatter family in Kansas. Capote, sensing a goldmine of a story, goes to Kansas with friend Harper Lee (Catherine Keener) in an attempt to learn more of the tragedy. The Kansas Bureau of Investigation lead detective Alvin Dewey (Chris Cooper) is not keen in helping the forward and rather self-important Capote, but that changes when Capote meets with his wife (Amy Ryan) and Alvin warms up to Capote, thereby allowing him a further, more detailed investigation of the crimes. The rest of the film follows Capote meeting with Perry Smith, one of the murderers, in an attempt to understand the murders, and writing his book In Cold Blood. Smith is a man of great personal tragedy, a fact that Capote relates to and finds intriguing. Collins Jr. uncovers the sensitive and scarily attractive side to Smith, which the film nails as being the reasons for Capote's immediate attraction to him.
The supporting performances are all, for the most part, understated. Keener's performance shows integrity and intelligence, and yet is also remote and with little vitality. Perhaps it is just the woman she is portraying, but Keener fails to make an interesting character. Collins Jr. as stated before is nuanced and gets right to the heart of this volatile soul. The film, as brought up by the criminal's sister, seems to suggest that he may be more manipulative than he seems. Collins Jr. gives little indication, a choice that is perhaps more maddeningly effective than insipidly frustrating. Cooper is dependable as always, a role that he could practically sleep walk through.
The direction is polished and unaffected. Bennett Miller doesn't over exert his control, and thankfully allows the film to simply be. Capote is decidedly unfussy and to-the-point. It was rather refreshing to watch a director have enough confidence in his performers and his script that he doesn't feel the need to step into directorial overdrive.
The script is very good, factual and stinging in its pegging of the emotions behind such a story. Some of the dialogue was very good, including a quote along the lines of "It's as if we grew up in the same house but while he went out the back door, I went out the front", in Capote's explanation of his sympathizing with Smith. However, there are times the script drags, a little too quiet and straight forward. Capote's interactions with his lover (Bruce Greenwood) are going for realism and yet they feel unnecessary.
The cinematography is terrifically lonely, a feat that only heightens the tension of the film. Adam Kimmel drowns the film in melancholy, a choice that is effective. The long shots of trains passing, reeds swaying gently are coldly beautiful. They reflect the increasing isolation of Capote himself.
What does the film have to say about the nature of the crime and Truman Capote? Capote did try to humanize a crime that was inhumane and yet his treatment was never, could never be, as humane as warranted. Capote was never truly honest in how he approached the interviews with Perry, the way he covered the two men's stories. He watched the consequences of the crime be dealt with, and he was a mere member of the audience. He wrote a book detailing the crimes, but in the larger scheme, he did little to affect the outcome of these men's lives. The last shot, of Capote on a plane, finally, consequently isolated, we get the sense he has learned the price that a good story comes at.
Of course, you've heard the endless, unrivaled praise for Hoffman's delicate and sharp performance. You probably don't want to hear me go on about it. Well, too bad. Hoffman undergoes a transformation similar to other actors along the lines of Nicole Kidman in The Hours and Jamie Fox in Ray. The high-pitched voice, the diminutive build, the charismatic and yet alienating nature. Truman Capote was almost a work of fiction himself, as he admits to early in the film, reviling against those who have pegged him inaccurately as a result of his mannerisms. Hoffman nails the voice and even the size, a trick of the camera no doubt, and yet somehow Hoffman makes us believe it is of his own doing. As if he made himself smaller out of sheer concentration. He makes Capote a showman and a freak, a flamboyant soul with a dark underbelly that allows him to understand the killers without pardoning their actions. The scenes in which he sits in Perry Smiths's (Clifton Collins Jr.) cell are magnificently performed. Hoffman's sympathetic stare reveals layers about Capote, the darkness, the humanity, and the realization of the terrible tragedy in falling love with a person that it is absolutely necessary not to fall in love with. And yet his seeming powerlessness to do anything about this tragedy.
The film opens with a friend of the Clatter family entering their farm house and finding the bloodshed there. The four of them, mother and father plus the daughter and son, have been killed. There is minimal music, the camera simply follows the girl as she finds the bodies in their respective places. It's a scene of enormous power. It's quiet, small, and yet wracked with tension. The tension of a misfortune that penetrates the sleepy nature of a town that knows nothing of misfortune. The camera then jumps to Capote at a party, in celebration of the publishing of his novella Breakfast at Tiffany's. Later we see Capote read the news article that briefly covers the murder of the Clatter family in Kansas. Capote, sensing a goldmine of a story, goes to Kansas with friend Harper Lee (Catherine Keener) in an attempt to learn more of the tragedy. The Kansas Bureau of Investigation lead detective Alvin Dewey (Chris Cooper) is not keen in helping the forward and rather self-important Capote, but that changes when Capote meets with his wife (Amy Ryan) and Alvin warms up to Capote, thereby allowing him a further, more detailed investigation of the crimes. The rest of the film follows Capote meeting with Perry Smith, one of the murderers, in an attempt to understand the murders, and writing his book In Cold Blood. Smith is a man of great personal tragedy, a fact that Capote relates to and finds intriguing. Collins Jr. uncovers the sensitive and scarily attractive side to Smith, which the film nails as being the reasons for Capote's immediate attraction to him.
The supporting performances are all, for the most part, understated. Keener's performance shows integrity and intelligence, and yet is also remote and with little vitality. Perhaps it is just the woman she is portraying, but Keener fails to make an interesting character. Collins Jr. as stated before is nuanced and gets right to the heart of this volatile soul. The film, as brought up by the criminal's sister, seems to suggest that he may be more manipulative than he seems. Collins Jr. gives little indication, a choice that is perhaps more maddeningly effective than insipidly frustrating. Cooper is dependable as always, a role that he could practically sleep walk through.
The direction is polished and unaffected. Bennett Miller doesn't over exert his control, and thankfully allows the film to simply be. Capote is decidedly unfussy and to-the-point. It was rather refreshing to watch a director have enough confidence in his performers and his script that he doesn't feel the need to step into directorial overdrive.
The script is very good, factual and stinging in its pegging of the emotions behind such a story. Some of the dialogue was very good, including a quote along the lines of "It's as if we grew up in the same house but while he went out the back door, I went out the front", in Capote's explanation of his sympathizing with Smith. However, there are times the script drags, a little too quiet and straight forward. Capote's interactions with his lover (Bruce Greenwood) are going for realism and yet they feel unnecessary.
The cinematography is terrifically lonely, a feat that only heightens the tension of the film. Adam Kimmel drowns the film in melancholy, a choice that is effective. The long shots of trains passing, reeds swaying gently are coldly beautiful. They reflect the increasing isolation of Capote himself.
What does the film have to say about the nature of the crime and Truman Capote? Capote did try to humanize a crime that was inhumane and yet his treatment was never, could never be, as humane as warranted. Capote was never truly honest in how he approached the interviews with Perry, the way he covered the two men's stories. He watched the consequences of the crime be dealt with, and he was a mere member of the audience. He wrote a book detailing the crimes, but in the larger scheme, he did little to affect the outcome of these men's lives. The last shot, of Capote on a plane, finally, consequently isolated, we get the sense he has learned the price that a good story comes at.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Really Short Reviews
Because I've seen and continue to see so many movies, I thought I would try rapid, really short reviews of a handful of movies that I have less to say about because realistically, am I really going to get all the films I've seen down in full review form any time soon? Let's try and see how it goes:
Jezebel (1938)- Pre-Scarlett O'Hara Hollywood melodrama. A lot of frilly costumes and grandiose sets, attention to detail being obvious but humanity or real emotion apparently being mistaken for big studio budget. A boring and unnecessary film, sporting a rare miss-fire performance from Bette Davis.
Being John Malkovich (1999)- Clever and showing ingenuity but also a little smug and self-important. The women, Catherine Keener and Cameron Diaz, shine. The men, John Cusack and yes, John Malkovich, are not as interesting. The script is terrific, if a little grating in its self-proclaimed QUARKINESS, but the film itself feels light-weight.
Charade (1963)- A faux-Hitchcock that's just about as good. Audrey Hepburn and Carey Grant are at their delightfully sumptuous best. A cocktail of a movie, fun and eye-catching, yes, not extremely memorable and kind of frilly, but hey, truly enjoyable entertainment.
Child's Play (1988)- Deranged doll terrorizes family. Yeah, I thought this film was going to be better than it was. As it stands, it's an insipid, mindless slice-and-dice of little interest to anyone, albeit a true horror fan of the supposed "classics". Alex Vincent's performance as our young hero was like listening to a cat get dragged across a blackboard. Unpleasant. The film, worst of all, isn't scary, or inversely, bad enough to be truly funny.
Inferno (1980)- Visually stunning but lacking a cohesive or credible story. Only check this one out if you're a fan of Dario Argento's. Dreamy, eye-catching visuals are burdened with grade Z acting and Keith Emerson's grating score. A kind of half sequel to Argento's better Suspiria, check that film out if you're looking for at least a little more meat on your candy colored bone.
Paranormal Activity (2009)- A Blair Witch rip-off that is better paced and yet stilled managed to be un-engaging at times. Often, actually. The performances are not as raw or as genuine as those in The Blair Witch Project, but they're surprisingly naturalistic. The film has some moments worth savoring, but not quite enough to validate the film's need to exist.
Sherlock Holmes (2009)- Robert Downey Jr. has fun in the lead but it's unfortunate how obvious it is that Rachel McAdams and Jude Law try hard to make something interesting out of characters lifeless on the page. The film's mildly entertaining but isn't spectacularly dumb nor terribly smart. So it just kind of sits there. And hey, that isn't real London scenery! That's all CGI!
The Da Vinci Code (2006)- Religious broohaha run amok. Yawn. Hanks's performance is without enthusiasm and the direction is perfunctory and typical. What can I say, I hated this film.
Do these work?
Jezebel (1938)- Pre-Scarlett O'Hara Hollywood melodrama. A lot of frilly costumes and grandiose sets, attention to detail being obvious but humanity or real emotion apparently being mistaken for big studio budget. A boring and unnecessary film, sporting a rare miss-fire performance from Bette Davis.
Being John Malkovich (1999)- Clever and showing ingenuity but also a little smug and self-important. The women, Catherine Keener and Cameron Diaz, shine. The men, John Cusack and yes, John Malkovich, are not as interesting. The script is terrific, if a little grating in its self-proclaimed QUARKINESS, but the film itself feels light-weight.
Charade (1963)- A faux-Hitchcock that's just about as good. Audrey Hepburn and Carey Grant are at their delightfully sumptuous best. A cocktail of a movie, fun and eye-catching, yes, not extremely memorable and kind of frilly, but hey, truly enjoyable entertainment.
Child's Play (1988)- Deranged doll terrorizes family. Yeah, I thought this film was going to be better than it was. As it stands, it's an insipid, mindless slice-and-dice of little interest to anyone, albeit a true horror fan of the supposed "classics". Alex Vincent's performance as our young hero was like listening to a cat get dragged across a blackboard. Unpleasant. The film, worst of all, isn't scary, or inversely, bad enough to be truly funny.
Inferno (1980)- Visually stunning but lacking a cohesive or credible story. Only check this one out if you're a fan of Dario Argento's. Dreamy, eye-catching visuals are burdened with grade Z acting and Keith Emerson's grating score. A kind of half sequel to Argento's better Suspiria, check that film out if you're looking for at least a little more meat on your candy colored bone.
Paranormal Activity (2009)- A Blair Witch rip-off that is better paced and yet stilled managed to be un-engaging at times. Often, actually. The performances are not as raw or as genuine as those in The Blair Witch Project, but they're surprisingly naturalistic. The film has some moments worth savoring, but not quite enough to validate the film's need to exist.
Sherlock Holmes (2009)- Robert Downey Jr. has fun in the lead but it's unfortunate how obvious it is that Rachel McAdams and Jude Law try hard to make something interesting out of characters lifeless on the page. The film's mildly entertaining but isn't spectacularly dumb nor terribly smart. So it just kind of sits there. And hey, that isn't real London scenery! That's all CGI!
The Da Vinci Code (2006)- Religious broohaha run amok. Yawn. Hanks's performance is without enthusiasm and the direction is perfunctory and typical. What can I say, I hated this film.
Do these work?
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Harold and Maude
A comedy about suicide and inappropriate relationships! Ok, so it doesn't sound on paper like the beautiful and heart-breakingly poignant film that it is. But "Harold and Maude" truly is a cinematic treasure!
Harold Chasen (Bud Cort) is a deeply troubled young man who is introduced to the audience in the midst of yet another feigned suicide attempt. Mother (Vivian Pickles) walks into the room just as Harold hangs himself. She begins with an exasperated scolding and then carries on a perfectly normal conversation with the suffocating Harold. Dinner plans are questioned as Harold turns increasingly pale. Already, the audience is aware that this is by no means your normal comedy.
Harold's attempts are often and scarily real. When Mrs. Chasen sets Harold up on a date, he has some fun by pretending to light himself on fire. His humor runs morbid and so does the humor of the film's. Harold is obsessed with death, going to the funerals of people he's never met. He drives a hearse and he doesn't have any friends. Then comes along Maude (Ruth Gordon). She's a chatty, quirky old woman who also likes funerals and meets up with Harold during a service. He thinks she's nuts, she thinks he's swell. The term "unlikely pair" does begin rattling in your brain.
Maude is persistent and Harold finds her vivaciousness attractive. She's way beyond his years yet she's more of a free spirit than he could ever hope to be. He comes over for tea and their relationship is initially platonic. But Harold makes that step and comes back to see Maude and what evolves is a relationship that is marked by both love and desire.
Gordon is terrific but it's really Cort who carries the film on his slender shoulders. As the depressive Harold, he taps into a soul so lonely and desperate for love that it stings. The scene in which he tells Maude the reasons behind his attempts is marvelously performed. Vivian Pickles as his cold and selfish mother is also wonderful. That look of sheer exasperation and boredom she has when looking at Harold is completely true to her character.
The script by Colin Higgins is wistfully comic and yet tragic, delving headfirst into the differing age dynamics of the time. The scene in which Mrs. Chasen fills out Harold's dating service form is both funny and sad, communicating the destructive force a parent can have if the child's wishes are ignored. Some of the characterization could use tweaking (as much as I loved Gordon in this film, her character seems to be taken straight out of the manic-pixie-dream-girl handbook) but that's a minor quibble. Higgins cuts right to the heart of the 70's, the kind of aimless indetermination that prompted such teens as Harold to act rashly to finally feel something.
Hal Ashby as director deftly balances biting dark comedy and satire with genuine emotion. The film has been compared to the likes of The Graduate, yet Ashby's direction is a lot less flashy and pronounced. Whereas The Graduate benefited from its stylistic, showy directorial style, Harold and Maude equally benefits from its directorial restraint.
The soundtrack is terrific, Cat Stevens lending the film a necessary buoyancy and reflexiveness. His songs are hopeful without being treacly.
The film concludes with a montage that is carefully orchestrated and emotionally explosive. Harold, baring the inevitable scars of tragedy, finally values what it means to live.
Harold Chasen (Bud Cort) is a deeply troubled young man who is introduced to the audience in the midst of yet another feigned suicide attempt. Mother (Vivian Pickles) walks into the room just as Harold hangs himself. She begins with an exasperated scolding and then carries on a perfectly normal conversation with the suffocating Harold. Dinner plans are questioned as Harold turns increasingly pale. Already, the audience is aware that this is by no means your normal comedy.
Harold's attempts are often and scarily real. When Mrs. Chasen sets Harold up on a date, he has some fun by pretending to light himself on fire. His humor runs morbid and so does the humor of the film's. Harold is obsessed with death, going to the funerals of people he's never met. He drives a hearse and he doesn't have any friends. Then comes along Maude (Ruth Gordon). She's a chatty, quirky old woman who also likes funerals and meets up with Harold during a service. He thinks she's nuts, she thinks he's swell. The term "unlikely pair" does begin rattling in your brain.
Maude is persistent and Harold finds her vivaciousness attractive. She's way beyond his years yet she's more of a free spirit than he could ever hope to be. He comes over for tea and their relationship is initially platonic. But Harold makes that step and comes back to see Maude and what evolves is a relationship that is marked by both love and desire.
Gordon is terrific but it's really Cort who carries the film on his slender shoulders. As the depressive Harold, he taps into a soul so lonely and desperate for love that it stings. The scene in which he tells Maude the reasons behind his attempts is marvelously performed. Vivian Pickles as his cold and selfish mother is also wonderful. That look of sheer exasperation and boredom she has when looking at Harold is completely true to her character.
The script by Colin Higgins is wistfully comic and yet tragic, delving headfirst into the differing age dynamics of the time. The scene in which Mrs. Chasen fills out Harold's dating service form is both funny and sad, communicating the destructive force a parent can have if the child's wishes are ignored. Some of the characterization could use tweaking (as much as I loved Gordon in this film, her character seems to be taken straight out of the manic-pixie-dream-girl handbook) but that's a minor quibble. Higgins cuts right to the heart of the 70's, the kind of aimless indetermination that prompted such teens as Harold to act rashly to finally feel something.
Hal Ashby as director deftly balances biting dark comedy and satire with genuine emotion. The film has been compared to the likes of The Graduate, yet Ashby's direction is a lot less flashy and pronounced. Whereas The Graduate benefited from its stylistic, showy directorial style, Harold and Maude equally benefits from its directorial restraint.
The soundtrack is terrific, Cat Stevens lending the film a necessary buoyancy and reflexiveness. His songs are hopeful without being treacly.
The film concludes with a montage that is carefully orchestrated and emotionally explosive. Harold, baring the inevitable scars of tragedy, finally values what it means to live.
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Worst Oscar Winners...Ever
Ok, because I'm bored by the Scream I review I was currently working on, I've decided to compile this list instead. Yeah, so even though its nowhere near Oscar time, I wanted to compile this list of the worst Oscar decisions ever. Long list, I know, but I trimmed and trimmed until the length was acceptable. You may agree or disagree, these are, anyway, just opinions. The Oscars are known for making some terrific decisions (American Beauty, anyone?) and some really, really bad ones. Today we're going to be celebrating those decisions that have truly made me want to chuck something at the screen in hopes that it will break the television-watcher barrier and knock some sense into those air-headed ninkumpoops. And here we go:
1. Forrest Gump Wins Best Picture
I'm sorry, but yes, I am one of those in the minority that has a deep hatred for this film. No wait, I take that back. The film isn't interesting enough to warrant any true emotions. Forrest Gump is like Oscar-baiting inspirational porn. Tom Hanks wins the Oscar for playing it friendly. Way to go, Academy!
2. Ellen Burstyn doesn't win for Requiem for a Dream
Yeah, you remember that terrific, harrowing, tragic performance of Ellen Burstyn as drug-addicted Sarah Goldfarb? Well, her performance lost to a miniskirt and leopard print (Sorry Julia Roberts, but it had to be said.). It just goes to show, it isn't about who has the best performance. It's who had the sassiest wardrobe.
3. Gladiator wins Best Picture
Gladiator is popcorn flick entertain. Nothing else. Seems that's all voters wanted in 2000. Unfortunately, other great films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Requiem for a Dream lost out on the chance to nab top prize.
4. Guess Who's coming to Dinner Wins Best Original Screenplay
The film that used an ice-cream metaphor for white-black relations took home the prize for Best Original Screenplay in 1967. Yay! Pro racial acceptance! Hey, wait, that movie wasn't very good. Oh well, we'll give it an award anyway.
5. Crash Wins Best Picture
Racism is bad! Ok, so Crash is actually deeper than the sentiment I've just reduced it to. But not by much. And it beat out Brokeback Mountain, the most moving and heartbreaking romances to be released in years. That damned "we're all connected theme"- It wins Oscars, I tell you, whether the film was that good or not (see Babel).
6. Gwyneth Paltrow Wins for Shakespeare in Love
Not to rag on Gwen, but seriously, come on Academy! Can we try to make decisions next time when we're not on crack? Gwen's performance was fine but Cate Blanchett stole the show with her fiery performance as Queen Elizabeth in Elizabeth.
7. The Prince of Tides gets nominated for Best Picture
I couldn't believe it. That sappy, long-winded movie with scenery of the CVS postcard variety got nominated for top prize. The film was like a bad dream. Maybe the Academy nominated in hopes that then it would go away.
8. Jessica Lange beats out Teri Garr in Tootsie
The sweet, unbelievably nice woman (Jessica Lange) wins an Oscar for being unbelievably nice and pretty. The frustrated, complicated, far more interesting woman (Teri Garr) gets shut out because she's, well, complicated. We're the Academy! We award appearances!
1. Forrest Gump Wins Best Picture
I'm sorry, but yes, I am one of those in the minority that has a deep hatred for this film. No wait, I take that back. The film isn't interesting enough to warrant any true emotions. Forrest Gump is like Oscar-baiting inspirational porn. Tom Hanks wins the Oscar for playing it friendly. Way to go, Academy!
2. Ellen Burstyn doesn't win for Requiem for a Dream
Yeah, you remember that terrific, harrowing, tragic performance of Ellen Burstyn as drug-addicted Sarah Goldfarb? Well, her performance lost to a miniskirt and leopard print (Sorry Julia Roberts, but it had to be said.). It just goes to show, it isn't about who has the best performance. It's who had the sassiest wardrobe.
3. Gladiator wins Best Picture
Gladiator is popcorn flick entertain. Nothing else. Seems that's all voters wanted in 2000. Unfortunately, other great films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Requiem for a Dream lost out on the chance to nab top prize.
4. Guess Who's coming to Dinner Wins Best Original Screenplay
The film that used an ice-cream metaphor for white-black relations took home the prize for Best Original Screenplay in 1967. Yay! Pro racial acceptance! Hey, wait, that movie wasn't very good. Oh well, we'll give it an award anyway.
5. Crash Wins Best Picture
Racism is bad! Ok, so Crash is actually deeper than the sentiment I've just reduced it to. But not by much. And it beat out Brokeback Mountain, the most moving and heartbreaking romances to be released in years. That damned "we're all connected theme"- It wins Oscars, I tell you, whether the film was that good or not (see Babel).
6. Gwyneth Paltrow Wins for Shakespeare in Love
Not to rag on Gwen, but seriously, come on Academy! Can we try to make decisions next time when we're not on crack? Gwen's performance was fine but Cate Blanchett stole the show with her fiery performance as Queen Elizabeth in Elizabeth.
7. The Prince of Tides gets nominated for Best Picture
I couldn't believe it. That sappy, long-winded movie with scenery of the CVS postcard variety got nominated for top prize. The film was like a bad dream. Maybe the Academy nominated in hopes that then it would go away.
8. Jessica Lange beats out Teri Garr in Tootsie
The sweet, unbelievably nice woman (Jessica Lange) wins an Oscar for being unbelievably nice and pretty. The frustrated, complicated, far more interesting woman (Teri Garr) gets shut out because she's, well, complicated. We're the Academy! We award appearances!
Scream
I wanted to give this film a hug. Sure, it's about a serial killer stalking and slashing teens to ribbons. But hey, who said lovely films could only be about marshmallow clouds and fluffy bunnies?
Scream, directed by Wes Craven, is the slasher flick that the slasher industry needed. By the time of its release, slasher flicks' popularity had gone way done, done in by stupid, mindless factory made products the studios had been pouring out throughout the 80's. Then came Scream, Craven's little horror wake-up call. Written by Kevin Williamson, the guy who penned Dawson's Creek and I Know What You Did Last Summer, Scream seemingly came out of nowhere. And boy did it revolutionize the slasher sub-genre. It's a nifty little comedy about a teen girl being stalked by a masked murderer. Who would of thought such a thing would be good?
The plot concerns Sydney (Neve Campbell), your proto-typical good girl whose all white night gowns and earnest pony tails. When her slightly greasier boyfriend, Billy (Skeet Ulrich), sneaks into her bedroom window for some late-night nookie, she settles on a "PG-13" response. Meaning Billy gets to see her breasts, and ironically, we the audience, do not. Sydney's mom died in a horrible manner, you can tell by the way her friends and colleagues keep subtly half-mentioning it (do they not understand the concept of tact?). We learn that Sydney's mom was brutally raped and murdered, arguably the worst crime up to date until high schooler Casey (Drew Barrymore) and her boyfriend are gutted by our masked assailant. That brings us to the present, as the fictional town of Woodsboro, California attempts to apprehend the killer before they strike again. As you might have guessed, the town isn't terribly successful in its pursuit. It first would appear that Sydney is the apple of the murderer's eye simply because she's virginal. But there appears to be some connection between the murder of her mom and the killer's motivations. Story short: murder ensues.
Surprisingly, Scream is well-written for a slasher flick. This is, in fact, a horror-comedy, one that satirizes slasher flicks while abiding by its conventions. Williamson understands slasher flicks and he exploits their conventionality to terrific effect. When one girl meets up with the killer in the garage, believing him to be her boyfriend, she quips "No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!". The teens in Scream have seen slasher flicks themselves and therefore understand "the rules" involved. One of the rules, which entails never saying "I'll being right back", is hilarious in how dead-on it is. If I could impart one piece of advice to the characters in a horror movie, it would be never to utter that doomed expression. The film's plot, though conventional, twists in interesting ways that both stick to and yet subvert slasher expectations. The film likes the possibility of being the kind of film that it makes fun of and yet also having the knowledge to set it apart.
The dialogue is clever, maybe not to the extent to which others may have hyped it up. Sydney once says "Why can't I be a Meg Ryan movie? Or even a good porno." This line is funny and knowing, successfully creating a kind of comic lining to the film. However, other moments, although smart and perceptive, are possibly a little too obvious and glib, such as "Never say 'who's there?' Don't you watch scary movies? It's a death wish. You might as well come out to investigate a strange noise or something." The line is funny and yet it betrays a weakness within the film: unreality. The film is decidedly unrealistic but its these moments that remind us of the extent to which it is. Its unreality is not necessarily a good thing.
The performances are uniformly fine, with Courtney Cox making a convincing viper-like reporter bitch. David Arquette, as the simple-minded yet big-hearted police deputy Dwight is entertaining and his performance is irresistable in this goofy, man-boy kind of way. Campbell is by no means fantastic but she's given little to work with and what she is given she orchestrates effectively. Mathew Lillard is deliciously stupid and contempt-able in turns as Stuart "Stu" Marcher, the kind of chauvinistic, obnoxious frat boy character that every slasher movie teen group is incomplete without. His performance is infused with enough manic energy to almost make us forgot that he's essentially a character-type taken right out of the slasher flick book of conventions. But it's Jamie Kennedy as the knowing, horror-movie crazy Randy, that really made the movie for me. His performance and character are funny and just so in-joke-y/awesome movie referential. He was kinda terrific.
Is the movie scary, you ask? Surprisingly, yes, for some of it. I will admit, the first 15 minutes or so are terrifying, vicious, and they set the tone for the film almost immediately. Williamson uses the killer-on-the-phone gimmick to effect that rivals 1979's When A Stranger Calls. Drew Barrymore, possibly the biggest star in the movie is killed off in a brutal and horrifying manner, in presumably what is a homage to Psycho. Other moments in the film such as when Sid meets up with the killer in the girls bathroom at school also builds dread appropriately. The ending is just all-out-insane, taking the idea of a slasher climax to the extreme. The scene in which Sid locks herself in a car only to discover the killer has the keys is suspenseful and really showed some ingenuity. Other scenes such as the garage door demise fail to be scary yet they are really playing up the comedy angle anyway. It's hard to find an appropriate balance of laughs and shrieks. Scream is amazingly adept at maintaining this balance.
Craven as director, gives the film flair and deals with the content respectfully. Jokes harkening back to his own previous slasher ventures are funny because you know the director must have found them amusing as well. A throw-away line about the Nightmare on Elm Street sequels sucking is laugh out loud funny if you know anything about horror movies or Craven as a director. His direction has always been relatively polished and that is no less evident here.
Scream perhaps isn't the scariest horror film or funniest comedy you'll ever see. In that regard, its middling entertainment. But Scream is also aware that slasher flicks were only ever middling entertainment to begin with, and so it fits the slasher oeuvre soundly and neatly. A true, blood-splattered gem.
Scream, directed by Wes Craven, is the slasher flick that the slasher industry needed. By the time of its release, slasher flicks' popularity had gone way done, done in by stupid, mindless factory made products the studios had been pouring out throughout the 80's. Then came Scream, Craven's little horror wake-up call. Written by Kevin Williamson, the guy who penned Dawson's Creek and I Know What You Did Last Summer, Scream seemingly came out of nowhere. And boy did it revolutionize the slasher sub-genre. It's a nifty little comedy about a teen girl being stalked by a masked murderer. Who would of thought such a thing would be good?
The plot concerns Sydney (Neve Campbell), your proto-typical good girl whose all white night gowns and earnest pony tails. When her slightly greasier boyfriend, Billy (Skeet Ulrich), sneaks into her bedroom window for some late-night nookie, she settles on a "PG-13" response. Meaning Billy gets to see her breasts, and ironically, we the audience, do not. Sydney's mom died in a horrible manner, you can tell by the way her friends and colleagues keep subtly half-mentioning it (do they not understand the concept of tact?). We learn that Sydney's mom was brutally raped and murdered, arguably the worst crime up to date until high schooler Casey (Drew Barrymore) and her boyfriend are gutted by our masked assailant. That brings us to the present, as the fictional town of Woodsboro, California attempts to apprehend the killer before they strike again. As you might have guessed, the town isn't terribly successful in its pursuit. It first would appear that Sydney is the apple of the murderer's eye simply because she's virginal. But there appears to be some connection between the murder of her mom and the killer's motivations. Story short: murder ensues.
Surprisingly, Scream is well-written for a slasher flick. This is, in fact, a horror-comedy, one that satirizes slasher flicks while abiding by its conventions. Williamson understands slasher flicks and he exploits their conventionality to terrific effect. When one girl meets up with the killer in the garage, believing him to be her boyfriend, she quips "No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!". The teens in Scream have seen slasher flicks themselves and therefore understand "the rules" involved. One of the rules, which entails never saying "I'll being right back", is hilarious in how dead-on it is. If I could impart one piece of advice to the characters in a horror movie, it would be never to utter that doomed expression. The film's plot, though conventional, twists in interesting ways that both stick to and yet subvert slasher expectations. The film likes the possibility of being the kind of film that it makes fun of and yet also having the knowledge to set it apart.
The dialogue is clever, maybe not to the extent to which others may have hyped it up. Sydney once says "Why can't I be a Meg Ryan movie? Or even a good porno." This line is funny and knowing, successfully creating a kind of comic lining to the film. However, other moments, although smart and perceptive, are possibly a little too obvious and glib, such as "Never say 'who's there?' Don't you watch scary movies? It's a death wish. You might as well come out to investigate a strange noise or something." The line is funny and yet it betrays a weakness within the film: unreality. The film is decidedly unrealistic but its these moments that remind us of the extent to which it is. Its unreality is not necessarily a good thing.
The performances are uniformly fine, with Courtney Cox making a convincing viper-like reporter bitch. David Arquette, as the simple-minded yet big-hearted police deputy Dwight is entertaining and his performance is irresistable in this goofy, man-boy kind of way. Campbell is by no means fantastic but she's given little to work with and what she is given she orchestrates effectively. Mathew Lillard is deliciously stupid and contempt-able in turns as Stuart "Stu" Marcher, the kind of chauvinistic, obnoxious frat boy character that every slasher movie teen group is incomplete without. His performance is infused with enough manic energy to almost make us forgot that he's essentially a character-type taken right out of the slasher flick book of conventions. But it's Jamie Kennedy as the knowing, horror-movie crazy Randy, that really made the movie for me. His performance and character are funny and just so in-joke-y/awesome movie referential. He was kinda terrific.
Is the movie scary, you ask? Surprisingly, yes, for some of it. I will admit, the first 15 minutes or so are terrifying, vicious, and they set the tone for the film almost immediately. Williamson uses the killer-on-the-phone gimmick to effect that rivals 1979's When A Stranger Calls. Drew Barrymore, possibly the biggest star in the movie is killed off in a brutal and horrifying manner, in presumably what is a homage to Psycho. Other moments in the film such as when Sid meets up with the killer in the girls bathroom at school also builds dread appropriately. The ending is just all-out-insane, taking the idea of a slasher climax to the extreme. The scene in which Sid locks herself in a car only to discover the killer has the keys is suspenseful and really showed some ingenuity. Other scenes such as the garage door demise fail to be scary yet they are really playing up the comedy angle anyway. It's hard to find an appropriate balance of laughs and shrieks. Scream is amazingly adept at maintaining this balance.
Craven as director, gives the film flair and deals with the content respectfully. Jokes harkening back to his own previous slasher ventures are funny because you know the director must have found them amusing as well. A throw-away line about the Nightmare on Elm Street sequels sucking is laugh out loud funny if you know anything about horror movies or Craven as a director. His direction has always been relatively polished and that is no less evident here.
Scream perhaps isn't the scariest horror film or funniest comedy you'll ever see. In that regard, its middling entertainment. But Scream is also aware that slasher flicks were only ever middling entertainment to begin with, and so it fits the slasher oeuvre soundly and neatly. A true, blood-splattered gem.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Jennifer's Body
Ok, ok, so Diablo Cody’s latest, quipster, pop-culture reference laden endeavor Jennifer’s Body is not all that good. But who said it had to be?
Cody, the woman who penned 2007’s Juno, has become a hipster-icon of sorts. Juno was about a teen girl’s unexpected pregnancy, and the emotional speed bumps along the way (why am I even explaining this film to you, the media wouldn’t let you forget this film if you tried). Jason Reitman’s direction gave the movie flair but it was Cody who gave the movie its heart. The dialogue was pure, unadulterated perfection. Lines such as “I've taken like three pregnancy tests, and I'm forshizz up the spout” still circulate the vocabulary of earnest, Juno-fanatic teens.
A lot of expectation surrounded Jennifer’s Body. A teen horror flick written by Diablo Cody? Megan Fox as a man-eating succubus? It sounded too good to be true. And it is, sort of. The film is not as clever or well written as Juno and not as scary as other teen horror flicks, say Scream. But if you leave your inflated expectations at the door, you might find you like this little, silly horror-comedy romp. I certainly did.
The film stars Amanda Seyfried as Anita “Needy” Lesnicki (an unfortunate nickname if I’ve ever heard one), the geeky best friend to queen bee Jennifer (Megan Fox). They’ve been friends since childhood, or as Needy puts it “Sandbox love never dies.” Needy’s dating the adorably unassuming Chip (Johnny Simons), who cannot understand the bizarre relationship of Needy and Jennifer. One night Jennifer and Needy go out to a local pub to listen to the indie rock band, Low Shoulder, that Jennifer is “stalking”. Needy overhears the band members talking about Jennifer, and she mistakes them for creepy, sex-hungry predators. Not quite. Somehow a fire gets started and Needy and Jennifer narrowly escape. The leader singer of the band, who mysteriously made it out of the bar without a scratch, offers the girls a ride in the band’s creepy van, which Needy later labels “an 89 rapist.” Needy refuses but Jennifer, who appears frighteningly drugged or empty, or a combination of both, joins them.
Needless to say, things don’t get better from here on out. Jennifer shows up at Needy’s house sometime after getting into the band’s van. She’s covered in blood and proceeds to throw up some black substance in a moment so disgusting it borders on being comic. Jennifer abruptly leaves Needy, who is understandably freaked. The next day Jennifer is back at school and seemingly fine. Again, needless to say, something is weird. Well, I’ll just tell you up front: Jennifer has been turned into a succubus, who feeds on men to settle her generous appetite. How’d she turn out that way? Well, indie rock bands, it seems, sacrifice virgins to Satan when they want to get rich. Low Shoulder wasn’t counting on the fact that Jennifer “hasn’t been a virgin since junior high.” Long story short: sacrifice goes awry, and instead of dying, Jennifer is possessed by a very hungry demon.
What does that mean for the male population of their high school? Well, I think you get the picture. What proceeds is a gory, rapid-pace send up of high school, Needy spouting such lines as, “I mean, she’s actually evil. Not high school evil.” The dialogue comes quick, some of it soars and some of it falls flat. One of Cody’s inventions is the use of “jell-o” to mean jealous, something Jennifer calls Needy. It’s an interesting idea but it doesn’t actually sound too great as its being said. Very few lines were as noteworthy as the plethora of quotes found in that other Diablo Cody movie that I’ve now vowed to stop mentioning.
One problem with Jennifer’s Body is that it’s never very scary. I understand the desire to balance the horror with comedy. But that means there has to be some of both. I found myself laughing on numerous occasions. But I was never scared. Even the scene in which Jennifer shows up at Needy’s place unexpectedly failed to be frightening. Dramatic music cues only work so often. I don’t want to spoil the scene but trust me; there isn’t much to spoil. What the film does contain is gore, not abrasively so but enough to please horror aficionados. The film doesn’t shy away either, we see plenty of re-distributed organs lying all over the place. A scene in which Jennifer seduces a thickheaded jock in the forest surrounding their high school is actually very funny. It seems animals of all sorts know when someone is about to get the axe on their territory.
The plusses: Seyfried is great. She makes Needy insecure and confused, she’s sympathetic but is ultimately willing to stick up for herself. Those big eyes opened wide in fear, you also get the impression that this girl is finally able to see what her teen friend has become. It’s a terrible realization, and Seyfried perfectly captures the pain and strength in having to accept this fact. The film is also genuinely funny. One scene, in which Needy and Chip are having sex, received the biggest howls from the audience of any other scene. Needy, seeing visions of the victims of Jennifer, becomes increasingly frightened and Chip mistakes her excitement for sexual pleasure.
The not so good: well, I can’t say that Fox is particularly good. She’s necessarily bitchy and unlikable, but she’s also void of any subtlety or nuance. When Jennifer is meant to betray one moment of insecurity towards the end of the film, Fox’s delivery was flat. However, she accomplishes what the film’s advertising campaign meant to highlight in the first place: sex appeal. Jennifer the character is supposed to be nothing more than a walking, insecure, and bitchy hormone anyway.
Karyn Kusama’s direction is effective, not particularly polished, but not oppressive. What she fails to do is give the movie the necessary baggage. The film does feel slight. You begin to forget many of the scenes that weren’t especially dramatic.
Jennifer’s Body is by no means perfect. But it has moments of charm. The woman-empowerment message gets lost in the muddle of one-liners and Megan Fox body shots, but the film’s aspirations aren’t completely squandered. It’s certainly more enjoyable than spending some actual time in your high school.
Cody, the woman who penned 2007’s Juno, has become a hipster-icon of sorts. Juno was about a teen girl’s unexpected pregnancy, and the emotional speed bumps along the way (why am I even explaining this film to you, the media wouldn’t let you forget this film if you tried). Jason Reitman’s direction gave the movie flair but it was Cody who gave the movie its heart. The dialogue was pure, unadulterated perfection. Lines such as “I've taken like three pregnancy tests, and I'm forshizz up the spout” still circulate the vocabulary of earnest, Juno-fanatic teens.
A lot of expectation surrounded Jennifer’s Body. A teen horror flick written by Diablo Cody? Megan Fox as a man-eating succubus? It sounded too good to be true. And it is, sort of. The film is not as clever or well written as Juno and not as scary as other teen horror flicks, say Scream. But if you leave your inflated expectations at the door, you might find you like this little, silly horror-comedy romp. I certainly did.
The film stars Amanda Seyfried as Anita “Needy” Lesnicki (an unfortunate nickname if I’ve ever heard one), the geeky best friend to queen bee Jennifer (Megan Fox). They’ve been friends since childhood, or as Needy puts it “Sandbox love never dies.” Needy’s dating the adorably unassuming Chip (Johnny Simons), who cannot understand the bizarre relationship of Needy and Jennifer. One night Jennifer and Needy go out to a local pub to listen to the indie rock band, Low Shoulder, that Jennifer is “stalking”. Needy overhears the band members talking about Jennifer, and she mistakes them for creepy, sex-hungry predators. Not quite. Somehow a fire gets started and Needy and Jennifer narrowly escape. The leader singer of the band, who mysteriously made it out of the bar without a scratch, offers the girls a ride in the band’s creepy van, which Needy later labels “an 89 rapist.” Needy refuses but Jennifer, who appears frighteningly drugged or empty, or a combination of both, joins them.
Needless to say, things don’t get better from here on out. Jennifer shows up at Needy’s house sometime after getting into the band’s van. She’s covered in blood and proceeds to throw up some black substance in a moment so disgusting it borders on being comic. Jennifer abruptly leaves Needy, who is understandably freaked. The next day Jennifer is back at school and seemingly fine. Again, needless to say, something is weird. Well, I’ll just tell you up front: Jennifer has been turned into a succubus, who feeds on men to settle her generous appetite. How’d she turn out that way? Well, indie rock bands, it seems, sacrifice virgins to Satan when they want to get rich. Low Shoulder wasn’t counting on the fact that Jennifer “hasn’t been a virgin since junior high.” Long story short: sacrifice goes awry, and instead of dying, Jennifer is possessed by a very hungry demon.
What does that mean for the male population of their high school? Well, I think you get the picture. What proceeds is a gory, rapid-pace send up of high school, Needy spouting such lines as, “I mean, she’s actually evil. Not high school evil.” The dialogue comes quick, some of it soars and some of it falls flat. One of Cody’s inventions is the use of “jell-o” to mean jealous, something Jennifer calls Needy. It’s an interesting idea but it doesn’t actually sound too great as its being said. Very few lines were as noteworthy as the plethora of quotes found in that other Diablo Cody movie that I’ve now vowed to stop mentioning.
One problem with Jennifer’s Body is that it’s never very scary. I understand the desire to balance the horror with comedy. But that means there has to be some of both. I found myself laughing on numerous occasions. But I was never scared. Even the scene in which Jennifer shows up at Needy’s place unexpectedly failed to be frightening. Dramatic music cues only work so often. I don’t want to spoil the scene but trust me; there isn’t much to spoil. What the film does contain is gore, not abrasively so but enough to please horror aficionados. The film doesn’t shy away either, we see plenty of re-distributed organs lying all over the place. A scene in which Jennifer seduces a thickheaded jock in the forest surrounding their high school is actually very funny. It seems animals of all sorts know when someone is about to get the axe on their territory.
The plusses: Seyfried is great. She makes Needy insecure and confused, she’s sympathetic but is ultimately willing to stick up for herself. Those big eyes opened wide in fear, you also get the impression that this girl is finally able to see what her teen friend has become. It’s a terrible realization, and Seyfried perfectly captures the pain and strength in having to accept this fact. The film is also genuinely funny. One scene, in which Needy and Chip are having sex, received the biggest howls from the audience of any other scene. Needy, seeing visions of the victims of Jennifer, becomes increasingly frightened and Chip mistakes her excitement for sexual pleasure.
The not so good: well, I can’t say that Fox is particularly good. She’s necessarily bitchy and unlikable, but she’s also void of any subtlety or nuance. When Jennifer is meant to betray one moment of insecurity towards the end of the film, Fox’s delivery was flat. However, she accomplishes what the film’s advertising campaign meant to highlight in the first place: sex appeal. Jennifer the character is supposed to be nothing more than a walking, insecure, and bitchy hormone anyway.
Karyn Kusama’s direction is effective, not particularly polished, but not oppressive. What she fails to do is give the movie the necessary baggage. The film does feel slight. You begin to forget many of the scenes that weren’t especially dramatic.
Jennifer’s Body is by no means perfect. But it has moments of charm. The woman-empowerment message gets lost in the muddle of one-liners and Megan Fox body shots, but the film’s aspirations aren’t completely squandered. It’s certainly more enjoyable than spending some actual time in your high school.
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