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.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
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.
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