Like all patriotic Americans, I lent a helping hand (or glued eyeball) over the 3-day weekend to aid Hollywood's biggest box office take ever by seeing not one by three movies in a row on Christmas day. Like all respecting Jews, I interposed these screenings with Chinese food. Or so I thought, until a surprise crab cake snuck into the mix, botching 15 years of vegetarianism and certainly any semblance of Judaism.
This is the sixth year I have participated in a holiday Trifecta. It is not for the faint of heart or tight of wallet. In some yuletide delusion I added three bucks to my ticket to It's Complicated in order to select my seat and have concession service (marked up from the stand right outside the theatre). Note the theatre was 1/4 full. The seat preference would have been mine for free. I ordered not a single cheesy pretzel. Que sera sera.
The line-up (much discussed, highly-anticipated) turned out to be sort of average.
Avatar (in 3-D, yes, I get it, better experience) was such a wash of a million films I'd seen (TwilightFerngullyDanceswithWolvesPochantasStarshipTroopersYearOneHarryPotter) that I couldn't be in awe of it. I actually nodded off after my morning caffeine wore off and I was lulled to sleep by James Horner's score, soaring panoramas of swooping crane/teradactyls. If I were planning to fix this movie I would 1-make it shorter, tighter by about 40 minutes (three extra endings were unnecessary), 2-enhance some of the sub-plots (e.g. the Sigourney Weaver characer, the backstory with the scientist brother, the competition with the tribesman or the other nerdy scientist), 3-provide some overall context for what the mystical mineral would provide for this world. We weren't given a context for Pandora other than it was dangerous. I wanted to understand what made this world unique, desirable, needed contrast. 4-the dialogue. Classic Cameron. But sometimes (especially with hardened military commander) was just bad. While I appreciate that I am not the demographic for this film which screams teenage boy, I am certainly a fan of the epics and could have easily gotten aboard if I had deemed the trip worthwhile.
It's Complicated -- while not bad struck me as sort of inconsequential. All the principal actors were fine -- Streep, Baldwin, Martin, Krasinski... I guess middle-class middle-aged women will see this and feel hopeful? Vindicated? Not sure. There is something always missing with Nancy Myers films for me (What Women Want, Something's Gotta Give) and I think its a bit of self-awareness that separates the romantcized world view (your own personal Dean and Deluca, a garden, squeaky clean kids) from something more relatable or even funny. It's too much so we don't believe it. It was a funny contrast -- male Avatar and female It's Complicated. But perhaps not as funny as the line-up of a friend who marathoned The Road with A Squeakquel. Yikes.
Sherlock Holmes -- in a word, gay. If the Ambiguously Gay duo SNL sketch took place in the early twentieth century in London...well, here you are. Downey Jr. and Law are amusing in their pairing, some good special effects sequences (especially where Holmes forecasts fights or discovers key clues), but it was a little too rambling and maybe needed some additional wry dialogue (little "gotcha" moments. Set itself up very obviously for a sequel/franchise. We'll see if they can make it work.
Until next time, the balcony is closed.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Nine and Crazy Heart
Two films:- Star studded cinematic musical revival centered on an Italian film director struggling with writers' block and the women who unlock him
- Low-key character piece about a has been country singer negotiating addictions and the woman who rediscovers him
Why they soar?
Nine, with an ensemble filled with every hot actress of now (Marion Cotilliard, Penelope Cruz) with leading ladies of the past (Judi Dench, Sophia Loren). Not to mention Daniel Day-Lewis who slips seamlessly into every role (Guido? Bill the Butcher? John Proctor? There may be blood, but there should be Oscars...always) Crazy Heart, with a cast of hot actors/resses of now (Colin Ferrell, Maggie Gyllenhaal) and legends of the past (Robert Duvall, Jeff Bridges).
Because art and the creation of art is inherently performative. We like seeing inebriated Bad Blake strum his guitar because he is in his element and actually producing some great tunes. We get characterization and a concert. In Nine, the production numbers which fuel the production of the film within the film are cinematic grandeur (Chicago director Rob Marshall is up to all of his old tricks, songs are contained within the characters' heads rather than displayed as bursts of spontaneous emotion) and also reveal Guido's past liasons which have led to his current predictament.
Why they falter?
Writers' block is internal. The only person the male protagonist has to fight with is himself. He may project/displace his tortured anxieties but it doesn't lead to equal interplay. Mostly it provides one-sided whining about missing muses.
Abusive personalities are tiresome. How interesting is it to see drunks puking over the toilet? Awakening in debilitating stupors? No wonder neither main female love interest (Maggie and Marion) agree to return to them. Who wants to be subject to that emotional recklessness? Meanwhile I found the child abandonment scene in Crazy Heart to be completely manipulative, sheer plot device to impose conflict. Cheating.
What we take away?
The music. Both films have terrific and infectious soundtracks which capture a mood or engage an emotion that support otherwise simple scripts. Do I currently have Be Italian on repeat? Yes. Do I recognize that Cinema Italiano is completely Marty Yeston's plea for a Best Original Song nom? Yes. Doesn't change a thing.
However, I don't forecast humming either tune come next year. But I'll sing the films' praises for a little bit.
Union Square Xmas market...get your hot cider for $2. Perfect holiday fare with this double billing.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Lovely Bones and Twilight: New Moon
I am embarrassed that I am reviewing these films in tandem, but frankly, they deserve it.
Peter Jackson should not have gotten the rights to direct the adaptation of a novel told from the perspective of a 14 year old girl. What about Peter Jackson says girl? Or subtlety? Instead of a thoughtful and uplifting meditation on relationships formed out of loss, we are presented with a 70s music video, purely fanciful without any backbone and zero journey. No one changes in the story. The narrative lives in "the in between," like a piece of performance art rather than working with the novel's arch (the very title, the Lovely Bones, suggests growth, rebuilding). This failed to find a rhythm, to engage us in storytelling, to avoid the cliches (starcrossed lovers, dissatisfied housewife, the crazy grandmother, the creepy neighbor) which the novel did so grandly. There were so many cringe-worthy scenes both in dialogue and in CGI. I am sad to discourage others from seeing this. But frankly, read the book and imagine what could have been.
On that note, don't read the book or see the movie of Twilight New Moon. Like really? What?! Maybe you are supposed to just laugh. To ogle Robert Pattinson in all his sparkles. Ignore the inconsistencies (like even though vampires can fly and appear instantly, they drive fancy cars and take planes to get places in an emergency), the angsty set-ups (the adrenaline junkie who jumps off cliffs, drives motorcycles, wakes up in the middle of the night screaming for six months over her ex-boyfriends, and the boy who relentlessly pursues her after being rebuffed a million times and turns into a werewolf), the filmmaking that seems more in sync with Mighty Morphin Power Rangers than a Hollywood blockbuster. Hmmm...but there is an audience for this shlock. A big one. Third biggest opening weekend ever. And you can't walk by a bookstore or billboard in Times Square without seeing signage. Someone is taking sexually repressed teen vampires seriously. And then you consider, which would I rather see at the end of a long day at high school, this or A Serious Man? Right. This is no Harry Potter. It is the Jonas brothers gone goth. Easy, pure and brainless.
The Oscar noms will be here before we know it. And I am ready. However, if either of these films show up on the list it's a rough road ahead.
Peter Jackson should not have gotten the rights to direct the adaptation of a novel told from the perspective of a 14 year old girl. What about Peter Jackson says girl? Or subtlety? Instead of a thoughtful and uplifting meditation on relationships formed out of loss, we are presented with a 70s music video, purely fanciful without any backbone and zero journey. No one changes in the story. The narrative lives in "the in between," like a piece of performance art rather than working with the novel's arch (the very title, the Lovely Bones, suggests growth, rebuilding). This failed to find a rhythm, to engage us in storytelling, to avoid the cliches (starcrossed lovers, dissatisfied housewife, the crazy grandmother, the creepy neighbor) which the novel did so grandly. There were so many cringe-worthy scenes both in dialogue and in CGI. I am sad to discourage others from seeing this. But frankly, read the book and imagine what could have been.
On that note, don't read the book or see the movie of Twilight New Moon. Like really? What?! Maybe you are supposed to just laugh. To ogle Robert Pattinson in all his sparkles. Ignore the inconsistencies (like even though vampires can fly and appear instantly, they drive fancy cars and take planes to get places in an emergency), the angsty set-ups (the adrenaline junkie who jumps off cliffs, drives motorcycles, wakes up in the middle of the night screaming for six months over her ex-boyfriends, and the boy who relentlessly pursues her after being rebuffed a million times and turns into a werewolf), the filmmaking that seems more in sync with Mighty Morphin Power Rangers than a Hollywood blockbuster. Hmmm...but there is an audience for this shlock. A big one. Third biggest opening weekend ever. And you can't walk by a bookstore or billboard in Times Square without seeing signage. Someone is taking sexually repressed teen vampires seriously. And then you consider, which would I rather see at the end of a long day at high school, this or A Serious Man? Right. This is no Harry Potter. It is the Jonas brothers gone goth. Easy, pure and brainless.
The Oscar noms will be here before we know it. And I am ready. However, if either of these films show up on the list it's a rough road ahead.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Manhattan Movie Marathon: Part 2
I wish I could say I am drinking cocoa and watching movies on this blistering Friday in the City. Alas, I am sipping spicy lemonade (Juice Generation on Ninth Ave)at work, cleansing for bad behavior, sleepy from another midnight showing. But first, the rest of my movie marathon reporting
A Serious Man
There is a lot to like here. The Cohen brothers are notorious for dropping you off in conventional circumstances (a university, a bar mitzvah) with nonconformist characters (Richard Kind as the confused outcast brother). As an audience member you are stranded in their misfortunes (e.g. Fargo, Burn Without Reading, No Country For Old Man) but amused by their motives and tactics. The silly with the "Serious." With A Serious Man, we are given the framing device of an ancestral curse which we are to believe explains the unfortunate trajectory of our central character's life. What appears like the "very bad day" of suburban Jewish middle-class professor assumes a more cosmic significance as he places the events in context with a religious identity crisis. There is some great acting and stellar moments -- the essence of the Cohens' ensemble style. I can't put my finger on why this didn't all add up. I think I was somewhat drained by all the rabbis and the ending which fails to complete the journey. I will recommend this to a certain audience.
Up In the Air
This may be in my top five of the year. And why? Because it told so many topical and yet fresh stories. What could have simply been Office Space meets The Accidental Tourist, or sort of an Enron twist on the Jerry Maguire archetype turned out to be about families, relationships, workplace, growing up. Since this was the fourth in my movie marathon I think I am a bit fragmented in my wrap-up so I will see it again and spend less time being swept up by George Clooney (seriously though, is he Cary Grant?) and more thought on how this film works. And doesn't at points (and is forgiven) such as the twist which really seemed like convenient plot point rather than honest character development. Maybe I am being too sentimental in saying this film speaks to this year. That is subjective to one's experience. Maybe if my world outlook were more bleak, I would say Precious.
In the meantime, Juice Generation's Supa Dupa Greens is my drug of choice.
A Serious Man
There is a lot to like here. The Cohen brothers are notorious for dropping you off in conventional circumstances (a university, a bar mitzvah) with nonconformist characters (Richard Kind as the confused outcast brother). As an audience member you are stranded in their misfortunes (e.g. Fargo, Burn Without Reading, No Country For Old Man) but amused by their motives and tactics. The silly with the "Serious." With A Serious Man, we are given the framing device of an ancestral curse which we are to believe explains the unfortunate trajectory of our central character's life. What appears like the "very bad day" of suburban Jewish middle-class professor assumes a more cosmic significance as he places the events in context with a religious identity crisis. There is some great acting and stellar moments -- the essence of the Cohens' ensemble style. I can't put my finger on why this didn't all add up. I think I was somewhat drained by all the rabbis and the ending which fails to complete the journey. I will recommend this to a certain audience.
Up In the Air
This may be in my top five of the year. And why? Because it told so many topical and yet fresh stories. What could have simply been Office Space meets The Accidental Tourist, or sort of an Enron twist on the Jerry Maguire archetype turned out to be about families, relationships, workplace, growing up. Since this was the fourth in my movie marathon I think I am a bit fragmented in my wrap-up so I will see it again and spend less time being swept up by George Clooney (seriously though, is he Cary Grant?) and more thought on how this film works. And doesn't at points (and is forgiven) such as the twist which really seemed like convenient plot point rather than honest character development. Maybe I am being too sentimental in saying this film speaks to this year. That is subjective to one's experience. Maybe if my world outlook were more bleak, I would say Precious.
In the meantime, Juice Generation's Supa Dupa Greens is my drug of choice.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The Manhattan Movie Marathon: Part 1
The bad weather posed problems for a lot of New Yorkers this weekend. But I could ask for no greater climate for my epic (indoor) film challenge -- four movies in 48 hours. On the slate: An Education, Broken Embraces, A Serious Man, and Up in the Air. The theme threading these selections was simply a jumpstart on the approaching Oscar season (all buzz-worthy choices). However, the films linked in other ways, notably their collective meditations on the institution of marriage through perspectives mediated by era, ethnicities, age, and social status.
First up:
An Education -- this plucky British import penned by Nick Hornby (About a Boy, High Fidelity) has the morality of a John Patrick Shanley play combined with the slickness of the 60s drama Mad Men. Before I start issuing my own Oscars for this phenom ensemble (Alfred Molina, Carey Mulligan, Peter Saarsgard and all the supporting actors turn in first rate stylized performances), I want to look at what is being said here about marriage.
First we have Jenny's protective parents -- crippled by their lower-middle class sensibilities, simply hopeful for the possibility of upward mobility and excitement. Marriage to them is a necessity, an expectation, the financially responsible thing to do.
Helen and Danny -- the playboy pals of young Jenny's older boyfriend. For them marriage is a joke -- not sure if they ever reveal their own marital status, too busy throwing back the booze and stealing paintings from the homes of senile ladies. I categorized Danny as gay a few times, though that might not change any of his relationships. I briefly considered a plot twist involving a reveal of his feelings for David.
Then we have all these prudish schoolteachers overly cautious of their students affairs, who we are to believe live the life of nuns.
So Jenny is given only a few models for behavior -- the boredom and domestic unrest of her parents, the freedom of Helen and Danny's relationship (drinks, flashy cars, clothes, and jazz clubs), and then spinsterhood. Ultimately she learns the only person she can rely on is herself and marriage/another person will never be a replacement for a life's education.
I certainly enjoyed this film. Just as Jenny got to float through these opulent environments, playing hooky from a more tiresome reality, I too savored the escape. But we all know we will have to confront our obligations eventually. Hard to be Audrey Hepburn day in and out.
Broken Embraces, the latest by Spanish film auteur Pedro Almodovar, seduces us with noirish intrigue and love triangles from the first shot. Marriage here plays less of a role than attraction, romantic jealousy and obsessive revenge. Sex, violence and filmmaking seem to link all the characters' dangerous activities. No one is married but certainly everyone has several key obligational relationships. Penelope Cruz as Lena uses marriage as a lure for the mogul Martel to finance her film activities, meanwhile she sleeps with the director. Without giving too much away, everyone seems to be connected by one tryst or another. Almodovar paints a society in complete anarchy devoid of social institutions, where players simply screw each other over for personal or professional gain.
With elements of Matchpoint (Woody Allen) and some of the voyeurism of the Hitchcock canon (maybe North by Northwest or Rear Window), Broken Embraces is certainly a slick little film with a lot of tricks. Highly recommended.
Back tomrw with more from the marathon...nourished by the Love Coffee truck and Whole Foods vegan scones (a wonderful combo if you are willing to brave the epic "Express" lines on a Sunday in Union Square). But first a minor complaint:
Dear Fellow Film-Goers, If the film hasn't started yet. I mean, if the film hasn't started with preview coming attraction trailers, you actually can't shush me, or direct me to sit all the way back in my seat. Don't snap at me, or my friends during the film. Don't tell me where I can and cannot place my bag. Or yell at me for checking my watch. I understand you are angry about $12.50 for a film and feel you have acquired certain rights with your ticket. You are telling me. I paid $3.75 for a first-run movie in Ohio last week. However, you don't get to be rude. That doesn't come with your stub. The great thing about seeing a movie in the theatre vs. on your netflix cue is that collective audience experience as we all observe humanity in performance. Don't be a spoil sport. If you don't like people, stay at home and get premium cable.
First up:
An Education -- this plucky British import penned by Nick Hornby (About a Boy, High Fidelity) has the morality of a John Patrick Shanley play combined with the slickness of the 60s drama Mad Men. Before I start issuing my own Oscars for this phenom ensemble (Alfred Molina, Carey Mulligan, Peter Saarsgard and all the supporting actors turn in first rate stylized performances), I want to look at what is being said here about marriage.
First we have Jenny's protective parents -- crippled by their lower-middle class sensibilities, simply hopeful for the possibility of upward mobility and excitement. Marriage to them is a necessity, an expectation, the financially responsible thing to do.
Helen and Danny -- the playboy pals of young Jenny's older boyfriend. For them marriage is a joke -- not sure if they ever reveal their own marital status, too busy throwing back the booze and stealing paintings from the homes of senile ladies. I categorized Danny as gay a few times, though that might not change any of his relationships. I briefly considered a plot twist involving a reveal of his feelings for David.
Then we have all these prudish schoolteachers overly cautious of their students affairs, who we are to believe live the life of nuns.
So Jenny is given only a few models for behavior -- the boredom and domestic unrest of her parents, the freedom of Helen and Danny's relationship (drinks, flashy cars, clothes, and jazz clubs), and then spinsterhood. Ultimately she learns the only person she can rely on is herself and marriage/another person will never be a replacement for a life's education.
I certainly enjoyed this film. Just as Jenny got to float through these opulent environments, playing hooky from a more tiresome reality, I too savored the escape. But we all know we will have to confront our obligations eventually. Hard to be Audrey Hepburn day in and out.
Broken Embraces, the latest by Spanish film auteur Pedro Almodovar, seduces us with noirish intrigue and love triangles from the first shot. Marriage here plays less of a role than attraction, romantic jealousy and obsessive revenge. Sex, violence and filmmaking seem to link all the characters' dangerous activities. No one is married but certainly everyone has several key obligational relationships. Penelope Cruz as Lena uses marriage as a lure for the mogul Martel to finance her film activities, meanwhile she sleeps with the director. Without giving too much away, everyone seems to be connected by one tryst or another. Almodovar paints a society in complete anarchy devoid of social institutions, where players simply screw each other over for personal or professional gain.
With elements of Matchpoint (Woody Allen) and some of the voyeurism of the Hitchcock canon (maybe North by Northwest or Rear Window), Broken Embraces is certainly a slick little film with a lot of tricks. Highly recommended.
Back tomrw with more from the marathon...nourished by the Love Coffee truck and Whole Foods vegan scones (a wonderful combo if you are willing to brave the epic "Express" lines on a Sunday in Union Square). But first a minor complaint:
Dear Fellow Film-Goers, If the film hasn't started yet. I mean, if the film hasn't started with preview coming attraction trailers, you actually can't shush me, or direct me to sit all the way back in my seat. Don't snap at me, or my friends during the film. Don't tell me where I can and cannot place my bag. Or yell at me for checking my watch. I understand you are angry about $12.50 for a film and feel you have acquired certain rights with your ticket. You are telling me. I paid $3.75 for a first-run movie in Ohio last week. However, you don't get to be rude. That doesn't come with your stub. The great thing about seeing a movie in the theatre vs. on your netflix cue is that collective audience experience as we all observe humanity in performance. Don't be a spoil sport. If you don't like people, stay at home and get premium cable.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
The weather outside is frightful and film blogging isn't as spiteful
How did we already get to Oscar season? Pretty soon we'll be marathoning Elizabethan costume dramas and Clint Eastwood war movies just to pick up a spare nomination or two. Thankfully the fall provided a few brainless popcorn flicks before we have to pretend to have our thoughts provoked again:
2012
Not sure why this film snuck into the autumn gravitas lineup when it clearly belongs to the class of Day After Tomorrow May/June releases. No matter, I wasn't fooled Mr. Emmerich. The world will end if the government is unable to prevent a geological armageddon discovered by an Indian scientist. Easy enough. Or is it. So many terrible subplots, so cheesy they upset my lactose racism. Why the failed novelist played by John Cusack couldn't lift a boombox to the heavens to stop the madness I don't know. Nor do I know what happens to the tyrant Oliver Platt's character in the final frames. Perhaps he was such an oily politician that he floated away on an ice flow in the Himalayas (a horrible place to put a giant arch if you ask me). Check your cynicism at the door and marvel in the CGI global takeover. You probably won't like this film, so might as well be amused.
Zombieland
Woody Harrelson sure had a busy fall and surprises us with this shockingly delightful campy flick where armageddon means zombie takeover. The only hope for human civilization is a ragtag bunch of outcasts -- a geek, a babe, her kid sis, and a muscled-freak (Mr. Harrelson). And also Bill Murray in one of the best performances of his career. I am going to go out on a limb and call this one of my favorites of the year. Why? Because it is resourceful, doesn't portend to be anything it is not, but a self-effacing horror spoof. The opening sequence about the rules of survival in ZLand is a riot and the fun doesn't stop there, but in each little awkward zing.
And how about the latest fantastic animated film?
Fantastic Mr. Fox
A kids film of the highest order -- smart, lovable, satirical, and true to the source text. Wes Anderson and Noah Baumbach have found a kindred spirit in the work of Roald Dahl, a snarky genre of underdogs outwitting witless authorities, and the barnyard/forest world they create is simply sensational, further enhanced by all-star animal voices and textured by a unique score. We root for all the characters in this piece and relate to the domestic conflict, the cousin rivalry, the desire to be "wild animals" rather than mature adults. This is a fresh film and hopefully a new precedent for the family audience.
Or the latest tearjerker championed by Oprah?
Precious
Could not have disliked more...I quote my friend, a fellow film buff with whom I agree on most movies, "I felt so used, but i also feel like ive never seen mariah carey act before, and she looked like shit, and monique was sort of wonderful but the story was trite and cliche and had no reason to be told except to kick you in the stomach and then provide an unearned and, I think, irresponsible sense of hope." Precious to me seemed like the kind of film seen by the American middle class to make them feel connected to a class of people they will never interact with. They leave the theatre savaged by this emotional freeforall and some how feel better/more socially conscious because they have experienced this 2 hour roller coaster. I am sure many people will fight me on this point, but I think Precious doesn't serve anyone. Sure it is visceral, graphic, and likely an accurate portrayal, but what does it accomplish but shoving a morality play down our gullets. I felt manipulated.
On the coffee front, these days I am chugging Starbucks, but recently discovered Think Coffee on the Bowery and can't sing its praises enough. The service is the slowest, but the brew is delightful and accompanied by a lot of fun pastries and hearty sandwiches. Plus there is plenty of space to spread out and unwind post-Precious.
2012
Not sure why this film snuck into the autumn gravitas lineup when it clearly belongs to the class of Day After Tomorrow May/June releases. No matter, I wasn't fooled Mr. Emmerich. The world will end if the government is unable to prevent a geological armageddon discovered by an Indian scientist. Easy enough. Or is it. So many terrible subplots, so cheesy they upset my lactose racism. Why the failed novelist played by John Cusack couldn't lift a boombox to the heavens to stop the madness I don't know. Nor do I know what happens to the tyrant Oliver Platt's character in the final frames. Perhaps he was such an oily politician that he floated away on an ice flow in the Himalayas (a horrible place to put a giant arch if you ask me). Check your cynicism at the door and marvel in the CGI global takeover. You probably won't like this film, so might as well be amused.
Zombieland
Woody Harrelson sure had a busy fall and surprises us with this shockingly delightful campy flick where armageddon means zombie takeover. The only hope for human civilization is a ragtag bunch of outcasts -- a geek, a babe, her kid sis, and a muscled-freak (Mr. Harrelson). And also Bill Murray in one of the best performances of his career. I am going to go out on a limb and call this one of my favorites of the year. Why? Because it is resourceful, doesn't portend to be anything it is not, but a self-effacing horror spoof. The opening sequence about the rules of survival in ZLand is a riot and the fun doesn't stop there, but in each little awkward zing.
And how about the latest fantastic animated film?
Fantastic Mr. Fox
A kids film of the highest order -- smart, lovable, satirical, and true to the source text. Wes Anderson and Noah Baumbach have found a kindred spirit in the work of Roald Dahl, a snarky genre of underdogs outwitting witless authorities, and the barnyard/forest world they create is simply sensational, further enhanced by all-star animal voices and textured by a unique score. We root for all the characters in this piece and relate to the domestic conflict, the cousin rivalry, the desire to be "wild animals" rather than mature adults. This is a fresh film and hopefully a new precedent for the family audience.
Or the latest tearjerker championed by Oprah?
Precious
Could not have disliked more...I quote my friend, a fellow film buff with whom I agree on most movies, "I felt so used, but i also feel like ive never seen mariah carey act before, and she looked like shit, and monique was sort of wonderful but the story was trite and cliche and had no reason to be told except to kick you in the stomach and then provide an unearned and, I think, irresponsible sense of hope." Precious to me seemed like the kind of film seen by the American middle class to make them feel connected to a class of people they will never interact with. They leave the theatre savaged by this emotional freeforall and some how feel better/more socially conscious because they have experienced this 2 hour roller coaster. I am sure many people will fight me on this point, but I think Precious doesn't serve anyone. Sure it is visceral, graphic, and likely an accurate portrayal, but what does it accomplish but shoving a morality play down our gullets. I felt manipulated.
On the coffee front, these days I am chugging Starbucks, but recently discovered Think Coffee on the Bowery and can't sing its praises enough. The service is the slowest, but the brew is delightful and accompanied by a lot of fun pastries and hearty sandwiches. Plus there is plenty of space to spread out and unwind post-Precious.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Invention of Lying, Bright Star, Where the Wild Things Are, and This is It
Reading Variety this morning with a steaming cup of Joe, I was reminded of 1) the marathon movie season about to land like holiday calories, 2) my own negligence with the blog. Figured it was time for a few tardy reports.
Invention of Lying -- the little that could have and didn't starring Ricky Gervais as a hapless documentary screen writer stuck in a Truman Show utopia paralyzed by persistent honesty. What could have had tremendous comedic possibilities (esp given Gervais' gifts, the premise, the cast of some of the funniest and/or most charismatic actors) is very much a dull and formulaic wash. Bummer. Not an Oscar contender for sure.
Bright Star -- a fictionalized account of the relationship between Romantic poet John Keats and his muse. While I quite literally did write home about this film (by way of a Facebook message to my high school Brit lit teacher), I am not going to put it in the running for anything more serious than a Saturday afternoon outing with your book club. It's a lovely Jane Campion film with good intentions, period costumes, and about as much titillation as Twilight.
Where the Wild Things Are -- this may be the biggest disappointment of recent history. I don't think I have been as excited for a movie since Sex and the City for pretty much the same reasons -- cherished childhood lore turned cinematic adaptation. Granted I encountered the book and the tv show at different phases in my life, but the attachments are equally potent. I couldn't wait to see them imagined on the big screen -- an extension of worlds which I loved exploring at a younger age. In both cases, I felt gyped and depressed. Rather than uplifting visits to my old fictional stomping grounds, these films were tainted by the filmmakers' agendas. In the case of Sex and the City, the goal of "what's next?" for these women, imagining a cruel follow-up in the big city -- the travails of the sagging single lady. For Wild Things, the world of childhood empowerment and gleeful playtime is a commentary on domestic strife, totalitarianism, the effects of divorce on children. Certainly director Spike Jonze is gifted with the lens, the visuals are incredible, the music by Karen O and the Kids is perfect hipster longing, but the story just isn't being told with the right motive. Spike's defense, "this is a story about childhood, not for children" doesn't hold for me. There is a way of speaking to children about adult issues in a smart way, without boring or disenfranchising them. Instead of fanciful whimsy, Wild Things conjured a bit of hipster tedium. The moral of both of these endeavors: it's impossible to wrestle the sacred cows without leaving your mark. Be gentle and do what they tell you do.
This Is It -- The Michael Jackson concert documentary was fascinating and my top pick of this set. Mostly because the dancing and singing was captivating and unlike anything I can ever imagine actually being staged. This concert, MJ's last, was going to be the end all be all, not only of his illustrious King of Pop career, but also of pop music period. I left the theatre thinking, there is no way a concert could ever match what MJ was intending to do in this impossible four month tour of this pyrotechnic superbowl halftime show except two hours long feat. Then the following two evenings I attended the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame 25th anniversary benefit at Madison Square Garden. Just to name a few names present on stage: Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Jeff Beck, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Simon and Garfunkel, Ozzy Osbourne, U2, Metallica, Sting, Patti Smith, Bonnie Raitt, Crosby Still Nash, Black Eyed Peas, Lou Reed, John Legend, Lenny Kravitz, Mick Jagger. Momentous.
Invention of Lying -- the little that could have and didn't starring Ricky Gervais as a hapless documentary screen writer stuck in a Truman Show utopia paralyzed by persistent honesty. What could have had tremendous comedic possibilities (esp given Gervais' gifts, the premise, the cast of some of the funniest and/or most charismatic actors) is very much a dull and formulaic wash. Bummer. Not an Oscar contender for sure.
Bright Star -- a fictionalized account of the relationship between Romantic poet John Keats and his muse. While I quite literally did write home about this film (by way of a Facebook message to my high school Brit lit teacher), I am not going to put it in the running for anything more serious than a Saturday afternoon outing with your book club. It's a lovely Jane Campion film with good intentions, period costumes, and about as much titillation as Twilight.
Where the Wild Things Are -- this may be the biggest disappointment of recent history. I don't think I have been as excited for a movie since Sex and the City for pretty much the same reasons -- cherished childhood lore turned cinematic adaptation. Granted I encountered the book and the tv show at different phases in my life, but the attachments are equally potent. I couldn't wait to see them imagined on the big screen -- an extension of worlds which I loved exploring at a younger age. In both cases, I felt gyped and depressed. Rather than uplifting visits to my old fictional stomping grounds, these films were tainted by the filmmakers' agendas. In the case of Sex and the City, the goal of "what's next?" for these women, imagining a cruel follow-up in the big city -- the travails of the sagging single lady. For Wild Things, the world of childhood empowerment and gleeful playtime is a commentary on domestic strife, totalitarianism, the effects of divorce on children. Certainly director Spike Jonze is gifted with the lens, the visuals are incredible, the music by Karen O and the Kids is perfect hipster longing, but the story just isn't being told with the right motive. Spike's defense, "this is a story about childhood, not for children" doesn't hold for me. There is a way of speaking to children about adult issues in a smart way, without boring or disenfranchising them. Instead of fanciful whimsy, Wild Things conjured a bit of hipster tedium. The moral of both of these endeavors: it's impossible to wrestle the sacred cows without leaving your mark. Be gentle and do what they tell you do.
This Is It -- The Michael Jackson concert documentary was fascinating and my top pick of this set. Mostly because the dancing and singing was captivating and unlike anything I can ever imagine actually being staged. This concert, MJ's last, was going to be the end all be all, not only of his illustrious King of Pop career, but also of pop music period. I left the theatre thinking, there is no way a concert could ever match what MJ was intending to do in this impossible four month tour of this pyrotechnic superbowl halftime show except two hours long feat. Then the following two evenings I attended the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame 25th anniversary benefit at Madison Square Garden. Just to name a few names present on stage: Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Jeff Beck, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Simon and Garfunkel, Ozzy Osbourne, U2, Metallica, Sting, Patti Smith, Bonnie Raitt, Crosby Still Nash, Black Eyed Peas, Lou Reed, John Legend, Lenny Kravitz, Mick Jagger. Momentous.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Fame, Capitalism: A Love Story, and Doma Cafe
Fame, a byproduct of Capitalism? Or just a thinly hatched remake of the 1980s film about life in the New York high school where you are only as good as your last pirouette. My criticisms of this film are many: Why wasn't there more dancing? Why wasn't there more plot? Why did the high schoolers look older than me?
Mostly I spent the 90 minutes comparing my own high school experience in the small town midwest to that of the precocious performing arts students. Fewer rap battles and recording contracts, more football games and teen pregnancies. The stakes were much lower, no one broke out in song at school assemblies. I don't think it ever occurred to me that those four years would make or break any future career. How nice to grow up in a pressure-free passionless bubble! Hopefully one with better dialogue and fewer parents who use "talk to the hand" as a diss. There is nothing wrong with movies like Fame, polluting adolescents with optimism, lessons in discipline. I just wish they would preach a little content.
Capitalism: A Love Story reveals signs of aging from Mr. Moore. Less stunts, more sonatas on the soundtrack. Even his confrontation with the General Motors guards seemed to be an expression of exhaustion, tired of his own antics. But he still knows how to push your buttons/your liberal conscience -- home foreclosures, corporate insurance greed, the Goldman Sachs White House...it makes you sick and angry. I left the theatre suspicious and feeling guilty. How can I help fix things? Can I boycott all the wrong doers? The banks, the products, the services? Impossible, to live in America is to constantly confront evils. Rather than the consumers choosing the best good (the essence of capitalism and the free enterprise system), we are forced to select the least bad. Is it time to pack America in for a more civilized nation? No says Moore, with his big belly and Eastern Michigan ball cap, this is our home and we aren't going anywhere.
Meanwhile, a great find in the west village, independent coffee shop Doma on Perry Street, serving up wine as well as cups of joe and mighty pastries, one of the few places left in Manhattan where you can sit for a long while without sneers or Starbucks. Maybe capitalism will make it a mainstay.
Mostly I spent the 90 minutes comparing my own high school experience in the small town midwest to that of the precocious performing arts students. Fewer rap battles and recording contracts, more football games and teen pregnancies. The stakes were much lower, no one broke out in song at school assemblies. I don't think it ever occurred to me that those four years would make or break any future career. How nice to grow up in a pressure-free passionless bubble! Hopefully one with better dialogue and fewer parents who use "talk to the hand" as a diss. There is nothing wrong with movies like Fame, polluting adolescents with optimism, lessons in discipline. I just wish they would preach a little content.
Capitalism: A Love Story reveals signs of aging from Mr. Moore. Less stunts, more sonatas on the soundtrack. Even his confrontation with the General Motors guards seemed to be an expression of exhaustion, tired of his own antics. But he still knows how to push your buttons/your liberal conscience -- home foreclosures, corporate insurance greed, the Goldman Sachs White House...it makes you sick and angry. I left the theatre suspicious and feeling guilty. How can I help fix things? Can I boycott all the wrong doers? The banks, the products, the services? Impossible, to live in America is to constantly confront evils. Rather than the consumers choosing the best good (the essence of capitalism and the free enterprise system), we are forced to select the least bad. Is it time to pack America in for a more civilized nation? No says Moore, with his big belly and Eastern Michigan ball cap, this is our home and we aren't going anywhere.
Meanwhile, a great find in the west village, independent coffee shop Doma on Perry Street, serving up wine as well as cups of joe and mighty pastries, one of the few places left in Manhattan where you can sit for a long while without sneers or Starbucks. Maybe capitalism will make it a mainstay.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Movies I meant to write about
Okay, so it's been a busy month, lots of coffee consumed (new find: The Chocolate Shop in the West Village -- one of the best iced caps and peanut butter chocolate cookie combos ever experienced).
Some movies I have seen:
Julie and Julia -- Meryl and Stanley -- Oscars, here, take them. Meanwhile, a meandering narrative and too much exposition/characters, not enough drama. Where was the climax? Oversleeping the alarm? A miscommunication? If there was ever a PSA about not moving to the outer boroughs, here it is... But I was hungry the whole time.
Time Travelers Wife -- Another book that didn't adapt well. I admit I cried a lot (how could you not soulless people?), but it didn't mean anything, it was cheap and maudlin. McAdams gave a lovely performance reacting to a somewhat remote Bana and time traveling through eras where the scenery was suspiciously static. Chicago in 1979 vs 2001...same or different Hollywood? Even the Marshall Fields bag was identical. Unlikely. I felt bad for all the straight males pulled along by their weeping girlfriends. They were the first to the exit as the credits, but I was right behind them, embarrassed by my tears.
The September Issue -- the story behind The Devil Wears Prada, a documentary on Anna Wintour and the development of the September issue of US Vogue. An interesting glimpse into the crazed and perhaps excessive world of fashion, magazine publishing, but mostly on Grace, the creative director who I absolutely adored (what a trooper to put up with the whims of that woman)in her clogs and stellar vision. Maybe not the most fascinating doc that could have been created from this material, but not a bad addition to your netflix cue.
Some movies I have seen:
Julie and Julia -- Meryl and Stanley -- Oscars, here, take them. Meanwhile, a meandering narrative and too much exposition/characters, not enough drama. Where was the climax? Oversleeping the alarm? A miscommunication? If there was ever a PSA about not moving to the outer boroughs, here it is... But I was hungry the whole time.
Time Travelers Wife -- Another book that didn't adapt well. I admit I cried a lot (how could you not soulless people?), but it didn't mean anything, it was cheap and maudlin. McAdams gave a lovely performance reacting to a somewhat remote Bana and time traveling through eras where the scenery was suspiciously static. Chicago in 1979 vs 2001...same or different Hollywood? Even the Marshall Fields bag was identical. Unlikely. I felt bad for all the straight males pulled along by their weeping girlfriends. They were the first to the exit as the credits, but I was right behind them, embarrassed by my tears.
The September Issue -- the story behind The Devil Wears Prada, a documentary on Anna Wintour and the development of the September issue of US Vogue. An interesting glimpse into the crazed and perhaps excessive world of fashion, magazine publishing, but mostly on Grace, the creative director who I absolutely adored (what a trooper to put up with the whims of that woman)in her clogs and stellar vision. Maybe not the most fascinating doc that could have been created from this material, but not a bad addition to your netflix cue.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Game -- 1, 2, 3...go
Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen movies you've seen that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.
My List:
My Fair Lady,
Almost Famous,
Pleasantville,
Election,
Kill Bill,
Ferris Bueller,
North by Northwest,
Before Sunset,
The Witches,
Bowling for Columbine,
Independence Day,
Dr. Strangelove,
Cool Runnings,
Run Lola Run,
High Noon
And runner up: Gattaca
My List:
My Fair Lady,
Almost Famous,
Pleasantville,
Election,
Kill Bill,
Ferris Bueller,
North by Northwest,
Before Sunset,
The Witches,
Bowling for Columbine,
Independence Day,
Dr. Strangelove,
Cool Runnings,
Run Lola Run,
High Noon
And runner up: Gattaca
Saturday, August 1, 2009
500 Days Of Summer and Funny People
After the heat from the summer blockbusters has worn off, we reach the contemplative midseason replacements. Best paired with an afternoon at your hamptons produce stand of choice. Before we get to Julie/Julia and time travelers wife...we have these two interesting flicks which will be lost on their way to years best lists in spite of their many merits:
500 days of summer has a lot of charm in its refreshing downtown yuppie style, discovering parts of LA with the lens not before exposed in such a whimsical light. Loved the concept of the jumbled relationship told in disorganized snapshots, excellent charismatic actors, cool music video camera work. Wished there had been more from summer, more of a two-sided Before Sunset feel than "she's just not that into you.". Hard to watch cluelessness from JGL for two hours without deciding he's kind of a moron for pursuing someone with no interest in him beyond careless amusement. This is not a love-story the film makes very clear from the get-go but it certainly makes one question every failed relationship you've had. Was I living in a music video of one?
Funny People was, well, brilliant. Such honesty and such an excellent ensemble piece filled with humor and autheticity. There is no question in my mind that this is based in reality--Sandlers empire based on personal insecurities and unprovoked meanness, rogen's goofy everymanness, mann's failed melrose babe career. There are so many excellent moments in this film--from the funny--the standup, the rapor between the comedians to the sincere--watching the daughter sing Memory with George Simmons checking his phone...perfect. I one-hundred percent believed this movie and was invested in the characters' lives. People never change and to expect otherwise is a symptom of insanity. Definitely a top ten not to be lost in bathing suit season.
500 days of summer has a lot of charm in its refreshing downtown yuppie style, discovering parts of LA with the lens not before exposed in such a whimsical light. Loved the concept of the jumbled relationship told in disorganized snapshots, excellent charismatic actors, cool music video camera work. Wished there had been more from summer, more of a two-sided Before Sunset feel than "she's just not that into you.". Hard to watch cluelessness from JGL for two hours without deciding he's kind of a moron for pursuing someone with no interest in him beyond careless amusement. This is not a love-story the film makes very clear from the get-go but it certainly makes one question every failed relationship you've had. Was I living in a music video of one?
Funny People was, well, brilliant. Such honesty and such an excellent ensemble piece filled with humor and autheticity. There is no question in my mind that this is based in reality--Sandlers empire based on personal insecurities and unprovoked meanness, rogen's goofy everymanness, mann's failed melrose babe career. There are so many excellent moments in this film--from the funny--the standup, the rapor between the comedians to the sincere--watching the daughter sing Memory with George Simmons checking his phone...perfect. I one-hundred percent believed this movie and was invested in the characters' lives. People never change and to expect otherwise is a symptom of insanity. Definitely a top ten not to be lost in bathing suit season.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
One of my favorite things in the world is the midnight movie. True fact. I am not referring to Rocky Horror, but rather any film that should be seen at midnight, opening night (AM), with a large possibly-costumed-definitely-nerdy crowd who will be very vocal and very clued into whatever insider jokes/moments the filmmaker offers up. To me, the midnight movie blurs the line between film and theatre. My first phrase: Coming to a feater near you. At a young age, I knew what I liked.
Seeing Harry Potter 6, the newest installment of the seven/eight part series, exemplifies the midnight movie. You have a fan base, eclectic in demographics, costumes (I saw people with wands, caps, stuffed owls, and lightning bolt scars--sweet sweet merchandise), a summer blockbuster (grossed 100 mil in one day), and a series...there is a cliffhanger, there is a loyalty to the series and also an anticipation of what's to come. Attendance at a midnight premiere suggests you cannot wait a single second more to see this film. It will be all you speak of at the water cooler or summer day camp for the next three weeks.
By 11 PM at 84th and Broadway, the slumber party was well underway. Every single screen at the cineplex would be showing HP6 at 12:01 or 12:05 (theatres with earlier shows of Transformers 2). Youngsters with jumbo sized popcorns in Griffyndor pajamas. Happiness is crooked glasses on a 14 year old with a lightning bolt scar scrawled in eyeliner.
The film was great. I am not hasty in this review because I agree this was exposition heavy, rather than action which comes as a disappointment to passionate Potter fans. But fundamentally, they achieved something that the other films dreamt of -- cinematic adaptation -- a mood and texture synthesized using filmic techniques which highlighted important moments of the story. This isn't a scene-shot, scene-shot strung together nonsensically. There is build and there is tension. The bargaining scene between Mrs. Malfoy, Strange, and Snape -- brilliant, felt cold and isolating like Kubrick's The Shining labyrinth, and dramatic like a good Arthur Miller act. The quidditch play was exciting and dangerous in a way never before felt. We saw bits of Hogwarts that were grandiose without being solely exterior shots of gothic architecture. And we had comedy and awkwardness.
But to see these films again -- in an emptier theatre, on netflix, worse on an iphone screen, not the same. They live and die in the midnight movie to me. Not to be revisited or recreated like live theatre.
Seeing Harry Potter 6, the newest installment of the seven/eight part series, exemplifies the midnight movie. You have a fan base, eclectic in demographics, costumes (I saw people with wands, caps, stuffed owls, and lightning bolt scars--sweet sweet merchandise), a summer blockbuster (grossed 100 mil in one day), and a series...there is a cliffhanger, there is a loyalty to the series and also an anticipation of what's to come. Attendance at a midnight premiere suggests you cannot wait a single second more to see this film. It will be all you speak of at the water cooler or summer day camp for the next three weeks.
By 11 PM at 84th and Broadway, the slumber party was well underway. Every single screen at the cineplex would be showing HP6 at 12:01 or 12:05 (theatres with earlier shows of Transformers 2). Youngsters with jumbo sized popcorns in Griffyndor pajamas. Happiness is crooked glasses on a 14 year old with a lightning bolt scar scrawled in eyeliner.
The film was great. I am not hasty in this review because I agree this was exposition heavy, rather than action which comes as a disappointment to passionate Potter fans. But fundamentally, they achieved something that the other films dreamt of -- cinematic adaptation -- a mood and texture synthesized using filmic techniques which highlighted important moments of the story. This isn't a scene-shot, scene-shot strung together nonsensically. There is build and there is tension. The bargaining scene between Mrs. Malfoy, Strange, and Snape -- brilliant, felt cold and isolating like Kubrick's The Shining labyrinth, and dramatic like a good Arthur Miller act. The quidditch play was exciting and dangerous in a way never before felt. We saw bits of Hogwarts that were grandiose without being solely exterior shots of gothic architecture. And we had comedy and awkwardness.
But to see these films again -- in an emptier theatre, on netflix, worse on an iphone screen, not the same. They live and die in the midnight movie to me. Not to be revisited or recreated like live theatre.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Transformers 2, Year One, and Bruno
The boys club of summer flicks: scotum slapstick, CGI enhanced robot babes and well Sascha Baron Cohen:
Year One can't ride the "so bad it's good" bandwagon. I don't know why neither Jack Black nor Michael Cera were able to recgonize the devoid of humor Monty python ripoff. It had so much potential yet flatlined from the first scene. I am reminded of movies this could have been: Tropic Thunder, Robin Hood Men in Tight, maybe Spaceballs? The setup is so precarious. Take contemporary comedians and insert them into a revival of a film formula--the silly caveman. Hard though if they don't buy into the world and thus are unable to richly lampoon it. We are left with a lot of awkward actors in stupid laugh setups. They just want to be themselves.
Trannies 2 clocks in at 2:45 which is actually too long for a midnight showing. Or maybe it speaks to the commitment of its fans to persevere through bad pacing and epic explosions. To critique Revenge of the Fallen is like yelling at a donut for not being a raspberry tarts with peach compote. It never claimed to be anything but empty bland calories. If you are on board for that, as most midnight screeners or obese Americans are, own it. We are in a recession--let the people have their bread and circuses.
Bruno--a friend said, with SBC, if you don't get the joke, you are the joke. He is very talented and the situations in his second full-length adventure (wow, even that sounds dirty) are pretty absurd. I laughed a bunch, sometimes out of shock, response to cleverness or prudish discomfort. The latter only being a sort of mediated laugh, like I would laugh here but would the person judge me. Do I care? I mean we are all here to laugh. But also maybe to think. Homophobia (bruno) might present just as serious a threat to our social fabric as xenophobia (Borat). Still think the wit in Borat was stronger but have also seen it several times. Maybe Bruno will dig deeper next time. Wow. Mind in gutter.
Year One can't ride the "so bad it's good" bandwagon. I don't know why neither Jack Black nor Michael Cera were able to recgonize the devoid of humor Monty python ripoff. It had so much potential yet flatlined from the first scene. I am reminded of movies this could have been: Tropic Thunder, Robin Hood Men in Tight, maybe Spaceballs? The setup is so precarious. Take contemporary comedians and insert them into a revival of a film formula--the silly caveman. Hard though if they don't buy into the world and thus are unable to richly lampoon it. We are left with a lot of awkward actors in stupid laugh setups. They just want to be themselves.
Trannies 2 clocks in at 2:45 which is actually too long for a midnight showing. Or maybe it speaks to the commitment of its fans to persevere through bad pacing and epic explosions. To critique Revenge of the Fallen is like yelling at a donut for not being a raspberry tarts with peach compote. It never claimed to be anything but empty bland calories. If you are on board for that, as most midnight screeners or obese Americans are, own it. We are in a recession--let the people have their bread and circuses.
Bruno--a friend said, with SBC, if you don't get the joke, you are the joke. He is very talented and the situations in his second full-length adventure (wow, even that sounds dirty) are pretty absurd. I laughed a bunch, sometimes out of shock, response to cleverness or prudish discomfort. The latter only being a sort of mediated laugh, like I would laugh here but would the person judge me. Do I care? I mean we are all here to laugh. But also maybe to think. Homophobia (bruno) might present just as serious a threat to our social fabric as xenophobia (Borat). Still think the wit in Borat was stronger but have also seen it several times. Maybe Bruno will dig deeper next time. Wow. Mind in gutter.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Up!, Away We Go, The Hangover
Haikus on a few summer flicks.
Up
Must see in three-D
Bawled for first ten minutes straight
Pixar does no wrong
Away We Go
Slackers in a car
Wax poetic about love
Emo tunes abound
The Hangover
Frat pack in Vegas
Drinks flow and chaos ensues
Ouch, insane sunburn
Up
Must see in three-D
Bawled for first ten minutes straight
Pixar does no wrong
Away We Go
Slackers in a car
Wax poetic about love
Emo tunes abound
The Hangover
Frat pack in Vegas
Drinks flow and chaos ensues
Ouch, insane sunburn
Friday, May 15, 2009
17 Again, Wolverine, and Star Trek: the Guilty Pleasure Trifecta
I like to kick off my summer months with some truly silly entertainment. For starters, eye candy: Zac Efron, Hugh Jackman, Ryan Reynolds, and Chris Pine. While I am somewhat embarrassed to say I saw these films, I counter with the hours upon hours I spent at Tribeca Film Festival watching downers like Yodok Stories (documentary about Korean concentration camps). Surely my culture quota and personal integrity has been recouped and redeemed.
17 Again: three stars... I love a good dance sequence and Matthew Perry's comedic timing is actually underrated
Wolverine: one star...almost unwatchable
Star Trek: two, for kindness, this should have been a tv movie...a reunion special of some extraordinary Angels In America HBO scale, but instead it was repackaged as a summer blockbuster. I am no Trekkie, but I was not fooled.
17 Again: three stars... I love a good dance sequence and Matthew Perry's comedic timing is actually underrated
Wolverine: one star...almost unwatchable
Star Trek: two, for kindness, this should have been a tv movie...a reunion special of some extraordinary Angels In America HBO scale, but instead it was repackaged as a summer blockbuster. I am no Trekkie, but I was not fooled.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Enlighten Up and Every Little Step
Yoga and Broadway...two of my favorite things featured in two of the hottest docs in town. One I will recommend and one I will recommend if you aren't paying Manhattan prices.
Enlighten Up follows photogenic journalist Nick on his six-month crusade to dabble in the tao of yoga. Along the way, he tries all sorts of yoga across the world, meeting with gurus and yogi flakes, etc. What could have been a very enlightening movie about the contemporary American yoga craze and yoga's actual spiritual pull lacked a clear thesis. Filmmaker Kate is too present, too whiny, too bent on interrupting her own film. The final shot is of her on her mat. That alone is very telling. The film will achieve a limited success among an ever expanding community of contortionists. My 90 minutes would probably have been better spent in suvasana.
Every Little Step covers the casting process of the 2007 Broadway revival of A Chorus Line. Some what American Idol for the jazz hand set, but also fascinating insight into the history of this fantastic show. This doc managed to capture the energy of several exciting moments throughout this epic search for the cast. It was fun to revisit favorite scenes. Every Little Step is a reminder of the power of terrific theatre and the drive that inspires the greater theatre community.
Paired well with Hampton Chutney...uptown or soho. Nourish your inner yogi with a South Indian-inspired rice crepe while keeping your chorus girl figure.
Enlighten Up follows photogenic journalist Nick on his six-month crusade to dabble in the tao of yoga. Along the way, he tries all sorts of yoga across the world, meeting with gurus and yogi flakes, etc. What could have been a very enlightening movie about the contemporary American yoga craze and yoga's actual spiritual pull lacked a clear thesis. Filmmaker Kate is too present, too whiny, too bent on interrupting her own film. The final shot is of her on her mat. That alone is very telling. The film will achieve a limited success among an ever expanding community of contortionists. My 90 minutes would probably have been better spent in suvasana.
Every Little Step covers the casting process of the 2007 Broadway revival of A Chorus Line. Some what American Idol for the jazz hand set, but also fascinating insight into the history of this fantastic show. This doc managed to capture the energy of several exciting moments throughout this epic search for the cast. It was fun to revisit favorite scenes. Every Little Step is a reminder of the power of terrific theatre and the drive that inspires the greater theatre community.
Paired well with Hampton Chutney...uptown or soho. Nourish your inner yogi with a South Indian-inspired rice crepe while keeping your chorus girl figure.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Duplicity and I Love You Man
Expectations. Marketing. Stars. These are factors that frequently impact my critique of a film whether I like or admit it or not. The films Duplicity and I Love You Man are excellent examples of these concepts.
Expectations: I went in with very high expectations for Duplicity based on several things: spectacular reviews by major critics, a thoughtful profile of Gilroy in the New Yorker, my overwhelming love of Clive Owen and any frame of film he chooses to enter. When the movie was only average (and frankly, dull for the caper genre), I was even more disappointed than I would have been had I caught this on cable years later (it will obviously live on one of the channels currently populated by What Women Want).
With I Love You Man, I had very low expectations. I nearly walked out of Superbad. I almost submitted an op-ed on the degradation of the female professional in Knocked Up. So as you can imagine, I did not think I would be amused by this latest frat pack outing. However, when it was charming and delightful, I was thrilled. I laughed out loud several times.
Marketing: Duplicity was made to look slick and fastpaced. It was not. I imagine it is actually a challenge to make Julia Roberts look frumpy. Success! It was slow moving. I fell asleep. The plot was less about them duping each other (as it seemed in the commercials) and more about, well I don't really know as I was asleep.
I Love You Man captured the exact audience it was intended for. And for this reason, the crowd was really responsive and made the experience that much more fun. I like when going to the movies is audience participatory (like not in a negative way with cell phones and annoying talkers back i.e. seeing Watchmen in Vegas with a bunch of spring break drunkards).
Stars: With Duplicity the stars seemed to have their own agendas and I don't mean that in a "sneaky espionage" way. I mean that they probably refused to take direction. Like someone probably said "calm down Paul Giamatti" and he was like, "No, I want to eat the scenery...yum, chomp chomp." They overpowered their scenes. Spies should be unassuming.
With I Love You Man, full of character actors and familiar favorites, the cast coalesced perfectly. Rashida Jones was actually spot on. I felt her role as the girlfriend was actually a fairly hard balance to strike -- adorable, worth pursuing, a girl girl and a guy's guy's girl. Not all young actresses can drink root beer floats with the girls and attend RUSH concerts. Paul Rudd was also perfect. I was completely with him the entire film.
For these reasons, I will recommend I Love You Man and spurn Duplicity. And maybe Juan Valdez on 57th. First it looks like any other chain, but inside, some fun drinks and snacks.
Expectations: I went in with very high expectations for Duplicity based on several things: spectacular reviews by major critics, a thoughtful profile of Gilroy in the New Yorker, my overwhelming love of Clive Owen and any frame of film he chooses to enter. When the movie was only average (and frankly, dull for the caper genre), I was even more disappointed than I would have been had I caught this on cable years later (it will obviously live on one of the channels currently populated by What Women Want).
With I Love You Man, I had very low expectations. I nearly walked out of Superbad. I almost submitted an op-ed on the degradation of the female professional in Knocked Up. So as you can imagine, I did not think I would be amused by this latest frat pack outing. However, when it was charming and delightful, I was thrilled. I laughed out loud several times.
Marketing: Duplicity was made to look slick and fastpaced. It was not. I imagine it is actually a challenge to make Julia Roberts look frumpy. Success! It was slow moving. I fell asleep. The plot was less about them duping each other (as it seemed in the commercials) and more about, well I don't really know as I was asleep.
I Love You Man captured the exact audience it was intended for. And for this reason, the crowd was really responsive and made the experience that much more fun. I like when going to the movies is audience participatory (like not in a negative way with cell phones and annoying talkers back i.e. seeing Watchmen in Vegas with a bunch of spring break drunkards).
Stars: With Duplicity the stars seemed to have their own agendas and I don't mean that in a "sneaky espionage" way. I mean that they probably refused to take direction. Like someone probably said "calm down Paul Giamatti" and he was like, "No, I want to eat the scenery...yum, chomp chomp." They overpowered their scenes. Spies should be unassuming.
With I Love You Man, full of character actors and familiar favorites, the cast coalesced perfectly. Rashida Jones was actually spot on. I felt her role as the girlfriend was actually a fairly hard balance to strike -- adorable, worth pursuing, a girl girl and a guy's guy's girl. Not all young actresses can drink root beer floats with the girls and attend RUSH concerts. Paul Rudd was also perfect. I was completely with him the entire film.
For these reasons, I will recommend I Love You Man and spurn Duplicity. And maybe Juan Valdez on 57th. First it looks like any other chain, but inside, some fun drinks and snacks.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Watchmen and Coraline in 3D
I lump these two films together because they have many similarities:
A) They are based on highly-successful texts: a graphic novel and a childrens' novella respectively
B) They take place within the American modern world, yet are enhanced by terrifying and whimsical special effects
C) In spite of clever visuals, they drag on too long. I checked my watch several times.
D) They were strategically released around the same time by the studios: February/March swamp season. There is something significant about that decision which should not be ignored. These films are not to be considered for Oscar consideration nor to compete with summer blockbusters.
I had infinite expectations for Coraline. It is rare that I am so keen to see an animated film, but the trailer looked magical and engaging. The reviews were so glowing. But in spite of all the wonderment of this world created within a ram shackled house, the author failed to establish a journey. I didn't feel as if Coraline really went through a journey with lessons. It was a typical Wizard of Oz arch (there's no place like home) but the Oz she steps into is simply scary and disconcerting. There isn't really a conflict. There is a lot of shrill animated Terri Hatcher and loony side characters without any charm. Sure I loved the images -- the flowering garden, the mango milkshakes descending from the ceiling, the transitions between technicolor and sketchy grayscale. But if I want to see some excellent art, I will go to the MOMA. When I come to the theatre, I want a compelling story with my 3-D glasses.
The Watchmen also lost my attention even though it too had some merits. The opening credit sequence is one of the best I've ever seen and completely succeeded in expediating exposition in a fascinating way. However, the gang of heroes featured some major duds which caused issue with pacing. Dr. Manhattan...was...boring...each of his scenes seem to stretch out across time and space. The chick that played Laurie (a Swede)...yawn. Patrick Wilson, really? Must you always play pent-up sexual frustration types? Why are you in this movie? I don't really want to spend time critiquing this film because it is so epic and requires quite a bit to successfully support my case. But suffice to say, I was not entertained by a 2.5+ hour storyboard. When adapting from source text, decisions must be made, things cut, angles selected. In spite of all the danger abounding in Watchmen, the writers played it pretty safe so as not to alienate their fanbase. But the ultimate slap is an unmemorable movie buried in March.
Dull the pain with snacks from Shack Shake...now on the upper west side near the Natural History Museum.
A) They are based on highly-successful texts: a graphic novel and a childrens' novella respectively
B) They take place within the American modern world, yet are enhanced by terrifying and whimsical special effects
C) In spite of clever visuals, they drag on too long. I checked my watch several times.
D) They were strategically released around the same time by the studios: February/March swamp season. There is something significant about that decision which should not be ignored. These films are not to be considered for Oscar consideration nor to compete with summer blockbusters.
I had infinite expectations for Coraline. It is rare that I am so keen to see an animated film, but the trailer looked magical and engaging. The reviews were so glowing. But in spite of all the wonderment of this world created within a ram shackled house, the author failed to establish a journey. I didn't feel as if Coraline really went through a journey with lessons. It was a typical Wizard of Oz arch (there's no place like home) but the Oz she steps into is simply scary and disconcerting. There isn't really a conflict. There is a lot of shrill animated Terri Hatcher and loony side characters without any charm. Sure I loved the images -- the flowering garden, the mango milkshakes descending from the ceiling, the transitions between technicolor and sketchy grayscale. But if I want to see some excellent art, I will go to the MOMA. When I come to the theatre, I want a compelling story with my 3-D glasses.
The Watchmen also lost my attention even though it too had some merits. The opening credit sequence is one of the best I've ever seen and completely succeeded in expediating exposition in a fascinating way. However, the gang of heroes featured some major duds which caused issue with pacing. Dr. Manhattan...was...boring...each of his scenes seem to stretch out across time and space. The chick that played Laurie (a Swede)...yawn. Patrick Wilson, really? Must you always play pent-up sexual frustration types? Why are you in this movie? I don't really want to spend time critiquing this film because it is so epic and requires quite a bit to successfully support my case. But suffice to say, I was not entertained by a 2.5+ hour storyboard. When adapting from source text, decisions must be made, things cut, angles selected. In spite of all the danger abounding in Watchmen, the writers played it pretty safe so as not to alienate their fanbase. But the ultimate slap is an unmemorable movie buried in March.
Dull the pain with snacks from Shack Shake...now on the upper west side near the Natural History Museum.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
This will just take a second...Oscar-nominated shorts and Momofuku Milk Bar
One of the treats of big city living is the opportunity to check out films that don't make the rounds at the mall megaplex. You can only see Paul Bart so many times... The Oscar shorts are a handful of films live-action, documentary, and animated under forty minutes gathered from all over the world. Only Academy members who have attended special shorts screenings get to cast their vote. Too bad democracy doesn't work like that. What is so fascinating about these films is they really are the only "Films" with a capital F in statue contention. They are non-linear (sometimes), culturally-specific, non-commercial, driven by technique sans star wattage, big budgets or major studio backing. Until Itunes movie rental, you couldn't see them at home legally. So why make them? They offer the directors and creative teams to really showcase their craft. I don't think you could get a better demo reel.
This year I caught the live-action and animated shorts at the IFC in the West Village. The live action contenders came to us from Ireland, Germany, France, and Denmark. Topics ranging from genocide in two cases, gang violence in two cases, a bicycle crash, and a funny-looking painting of a pig. Death is a very popular plotline in the live action short as it quickly establishes (or hopes to) an emotional connection to the proceedings. How else to convey a communal sense of loss with characters you met two minutes ago? Show them losing a loved one. Or re-visit a harrowing historical period (holocaust, African civil unrest) for which the audience has an educated pre-text. While none of the films were without flaws, I think I enjoyed The New Boy (Ireland) and Manon on the Asphalt (France) the best, though according to predictions at Entertainment Weekly, neither stand a chance against the token holocaust film. The New Boy focused on the new kid in an Irish classroom who is immediately targeted by the class bullies. Meanwhile he remembers his school life before, with his father as a teacher in a one-room African school house. Manon on the Asphalt finds the title character in a bike crash imagining her closest friends' reactions to her death. What I liked about both these films was the opportunity to explore or to be given access to characters' thoughts in a magical way a la The Lovely Bones. Both heightened the everyday with almost supernatural fantastical elements. In this way, regardless of the cultural milieu the films came out of, they achieve a universality that allows audiences from all backgrounds to feel for the characters.
The animated films were, in a word, bizarre. While the American entries all seemed to follow the same plotline -- under-appreciated animal wants food, goes to absurd lengths to get it, the foreign nominees were a bit more existential. We had dancing corpses, a man who lives 91 cm from himself, domestic strife between a polar bear and a penguin, and some French flick that I think I nodded off during (does not bode well for a 19 minute film). Note -- not all these films were nominated though they are part of the screening. Pixar's Presto (rabbit wants a carrot) only run for its money would be the French 2-minute Oktopi. Two octopi fight for their lives on a Greek Isle. Clever animation and very engaging. It also marks the third movie this year that has made me want to relocate to Greece (the first two: Mamma Mia and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants-- in my defense, on a plane). Although not entirely. Because I bet Greece doesn't get the Oscar shorts. Or more importantly, Greece doesn't have David Chang's Momofuku Milk Bar in the East Village. Salivate over this list: http://www.momofuku.com/bakery/bakery%20menu.asp
Bring your spoon to this festival of wonderful menu items. Snickerdoodle soft serve topped with pistachio...or how about a slice of blue cheese polenta or crack pie. Sure they'll be gone in a moment, but it was good while it lasted.
This year I caught the live-action and animated shorts at the IFC in the West Village. The live action contenders came to us from Ireland, Germany, France, and Denmark. Topics ranging from genocide in two cases, gang violence in two cases, a bicycle crash, and a funny-looking painting of a pig. Death is a very popular plotline in the live action short as it quickly establishes (or hopes to) an emotional connection to the proceedings. How else to convey a communal sense of loss with characters you met two minutes ago? Show them losing a loved one. Or re-visit a harrowing historical period (holocaust, African civil unrest) for which the audience has an educated pre-text. While none of the films were without flaws, I think I enjoyed The New Boy (Ireland) and Manon on the Asphalt (France) the best, though according to predictions at Entertainment Weekly, neither stand a chance against the token holocaust film. The New Boy focused on the new kid in an Irish classroom who is immediately targeted by the class bullies. Meanwhile he remembers his school life before, with his father as a teacher in a one-room African school house. Manon on the Asphalt finds the title character in a bike crash imagining her closest friends' reactions to her death. What I liked about both these films was the opportunity to explore or to be given access to characters' thoughts in a magical way a la The Lovely Bones. Both heightened the everyday with almost supernatural fantastical elements. In this way, regardless of the cultural milieu the films came out of, they achieve a universality that allows audiences from all backgrounds to feel for the characters.
The animated films were, in a word, bizarre. While the American entries all seemed to follow the same plotline -- under-appreciated animal wants food, goes to absurd lengths to get it, the foreign nominees were a bit more existential. We had dancing corpses, a man who lives 91 cm from himself, domestic strife between a polar bear and a penguin, and some French flick that I think I nodded off during (does not bode well for a 19 minute film). Note -- not all these films were nominated though they are part of the screening. Pixar's Presto (rabbit wants a carrot) only run for its money would be the French 2-minute Oktopi. Two octopi fight for their lives on a Greek Isle. Clever animation and very engaging. It also marks the third movie this year that has made me want to relocate to Greece (the first two: Mamma Mia and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants-- in my defense, on a plane). Although not entirely. Because I bet Greece doesn't get the Oscar shorts. Or more importantly, Greece doesn't have David Chang's Momofuku Milk Bar in the East Village. Salivate over this list: http://www.momofuku.com/bakery/bakery%20menu.asp
Bring your spoon to this festival of wonderful menu items. Snickerdoodle soft serve topped with pistachio...or how about a slice of blue cheese polenta or crack pie. Sure they'll be gone in a moment, but it was good while it lasted.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Get Ready for the Oscar Drinking Game
Burst out the bubbly (in these recessionary times, pink Andre) and get ready for Bean Screen's first annual Oscar drinking game. The rules are simple:
Take a sip each time the following things inevitably occur at this year's award ceremony (commences when Hugh Jackman steps on stage). Winner is determined by greatest number of sips.
-Someone mentions the bailout, the recession, or an opening for a commerce secretary
-Presenters are paired oldest to youngest, a la Benjamin Button
-Presenters are paired potentially gay to obviously gay, a la Milk
-Winner thanks India or Harvey Weinstein
-Winner's speech is interrupted by music swell prompting winner to blurt out unintelligible list of names
-Someone remarks at length of ceremony
-Or length of "Australia"
-A gown inspired by Michelle Obama
-A hairdo inspired by Sarah Palin (or worse, Blagojevich)
-Amy Adams wears a strapless dress
-Mickey Rourke forgot to do laundry
-Close-up on smug couple Pitt/Jolie
-Phillip Seymour Hoffman brings his mom
-Riff on classic line, "I see a lot of new faces tonight. New faces on old faces."
-Paul Newman is the last frame in "in memory"
-Someone answers a cell phone or seems to be fiddling with a blackberry
-Boring clip montage
-Bollywood dance number
-Wall-E wheels on stage
-Dick Cheney wheels on stage
-Meryl Streep is wearing pants
-Kate Winslet is holding index cards
-Richard Jenkins is mistaken for a seatfiller
-Wins for Slumdog
-Losses for Button
-Cheers for our new president
-Boos for Prop 8
-Dress weighs more than actress
-Statue weighs more than actress
-Appearance by nerdy Pricewaterhouse accountants
-bellkicks by Hugh Jackman
Take a sip each time the following things inevitably occur at this year's award ceremony (commences when Hugh Jackman steps on stage). Winner is determined by greatest number of sips.
-Someone mentions the bailout, the recession, or an opening for a commerce secretary
-Presenters are paired oldest to youngest, a la Benjamin Button
-Presenters are paired potentially gay to obviously gay, a la Milk
-Winner thanks India or Harvey Weinstein
-Winner's speech is interrupted by music swell prompting winner to blurt out unintelligible list of names
-Someone remarks at length of ceremony
-Or length of "Australia"
-A gown inspired by Michelle Obama
-A hairdo inspired by Sarah Palin (or worse, Blagojevich)
-Amy Adams wears a strapless dress
-Mickey Rourke forgot to do laundry
-Close-up on smug couple Pitt/Jolie
-Phillip Seymour Hoffman brings his mom
-Riff on classic line, "I see a lot of new faces tonight. New faces on old faces."
-Paul Newman is the last frame in "in memory"
-Someone answers a cell phone or seems to be fiddling with a blackberry
-Boring clip montage
-Bollywood dance number
-Wall-E wheels on stage
-Dick Cheney wheels on stage
-Meryl Streep is wearing pants
-Kate Winslet is holding index cards
-Richard Jenkins is mistaken for a seatfiller
-Wins for Slumdog
-Losses for Button
-Cheers for our new president
-Boos for Prop 8
-Dress weighs more than actress
-Statue weighs more than actress
-Appearance by nerdy Pricewaterhouse accountants
-bellkicks by Hugh Jackman
Sunday, February 8, 2009
He's Just Not That Into You and Riposo 72
I quote the contemporary sage Beyonce, "If you liked it then you shoulda putta ring on it." This truism and others are explored through the Baltimore dating scene, an ode to the confused state of modern male-female relationships.Parts of this chick flick made me want to jump out a window (or more realistically, grab my face to cover my eyes, as if this gesture could save the character on screen from their own awkwardness). Sure the situations were somewhat exaggerated (the dentist's pen, really?), but there was just enough realism to make me feel as if I was watching a horror movie based on my friends' lives (My Bloody Valentine?). I saw the embarassing missteps and wanted to scream "Don't go in there!!" to the troubled heroines. But instead, I held my cynical tongue. After all, these characters, like your girlfriends, don't want your real advice, they want you to soothe their wounded hearts and egoes. They want you to google destination weddings for them and the dude they just met on the elevator.
The film assesses these situations pretty fairly, albeit glossily (appropriate that the ladies work in marketing as isn't that what these relationships have become? Clever branding. I have also never seen the city of BMore look so white. Apparently yoga mats come compliments of your city taxes). Even Scarlett Johansson doesn't get want she is after. And she's freakin ScarJo!
When it comes to love, we behave irrationally no matter what people advise us. But as Ginnifer Godwin tells Justin Long, the drama of the pursuit is way better (questionably?) than the isolated alternative. You have to give to get. And if you build it (become a whole, interesting, fun person), they will come. And as clever film execs say, if you cast it with hip Gen-Xers, adapt a popular chick lit title, target the V-Day girl power demographic, and hand out free Crest Whitnening strips, they will come...and buy overpriced popcorn while frenetically checking their blackberries to see if he facebook messaged them.
As for the other pearls of wisdom, I think I will start taking dating advice from Hollywood when Ben Affleck proposes to me.
Until then, big girls don't cry. They drink. Forget the Joe (and the Steve, the Justin, the Giles...) and share a bottle of Pinot with your gal pals at Riposo 72, my favorite wine bar on the upper west side.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Black Market Blogging: The Reader, Waltz with Bashir (last season: Eagle Eye, Inside Man)
I am stuck in an empty German library on Fifth Ave for the next 90 minutes...reasons too bizarre to go into. What better opportunity to play blog catch up.
First and foremost, it is Oscar season, a film buff's NFL playoffs. Except replace Budweiser ads with holocaust commentary...scantily clad beer wenches with birthday suited Kate Winslets. Hollywood is known for honoring those who have been slighted in past ceremonies, as well as those who disfigured themselves for the betterment of cinema (please see: Nicole Kidman's prosthetic nose, Hillary Swank's boyish haircut). In the case of The Reader, the moment I saw Kate's transition to cataractic prisoner, I envisioned her on the Kodak podium with earrings accompanied by bodyguards. Sam Mendes is waving from the audience.
The Reader was a good film. It was not a great film. In a better season, it would have been released in October, not December, and would not have made the Academy's top 5. But the Weinsteins are clever, as are Daldry/Hare, Pollack/Mighella (RIP) and now it will earn a place in the 00s cannon where The Lives of Others should be.
This was a movie of two halves, but not necessarily one whole. We have the "Kid" Michael(played expertly by a newcomer) and the Guard Hannah who develop a sexual relationship after Hannah helps Michael home when he is coming down with scarlet fever. Hannah is illiterate and in exchange for sex, young Michael reads to her. A great scene: the two in the bath, Michael paging through a racy DH Lawrence, Hannah looks insulted, tells him that the story is inappropriate, but please "Go on." Their love affair ends when Hannah is promoted and Michael decides to play with kids his own age. But their connection has a lasting effect on both.
We enter the second half of the film. Michael, now in law school, is observing a trial of SS guards charged with killing Jews at the concentration camps. Hannah is among them. He is conflicted--knowing what she did was wrong, but also feeling for her in his heart that she is a good and loving person. The trial is very emotional, but the camera leans more on him and his waring conscience than the historical proceedings. Michael has an opportunity to come forth at one point on her behalf and choose not to. This decision haunts him the rest of the film, as Hannah is locked up for the rest of her life.
I was engaged for more than two hours, making ethical sense of this film, battling like Michael, to understand how Hannah could have participated in genocide. However, the script doesn't fill in the intermediary years. I was left to my own devices. Plus Ralph Fiennes, the older Michael, has always creeped me out. I exited the theatre (the Paris on 58th---so beautiful and regal) feeling uneasy and disturbed. One of the final scenes, the Manhattan penthouse of a holocaust survivor came off as almost entirely unsympathetic. I couldn't quite tell you why. Mostly because I felt like Ralph Fiennes was trying to seduce her. And secondly, because the conspicuous consumption decor seemed to make light of the horrible past she had experienced. Though the line about the Jewish literacy charity got a good laugh from the audience, probably her neighbors.
Nonetheless I will recommend this film for at least prompting some interesting discussion.
Waltz with Bashir, Israel's contribution to the foreign film category, was unsettling for other reasons. We have a documentary filmmaker piecing together his memories from the Lebannon war in trippy animated interviews with friends. While I liked this concept in theory, the delivery was a little choppy. I had a tough time distinguishing the perspectives of the interviewees through all the jumbled "Waking Life-esque" segments. The last 10 minutes were brutal. I immediately had to treat myself to a serious shopping binge, even though we are in a recession and I know that the issues of this film are still being waged today. See the front page of any international newspaper. The last time I left a movie this emotionally charged: maybe Monster with Charlize Theron or Monster's Ball with Halle Berry. I had no choice but watch Simpsons marathons while eating smores.
Because I try to pair the serious with the seriously ludicrous thrillers, I also Netflixed Inside Man directed by Spike Lee and Eagle Eye starring Shia LeBeouf. Both entertained and gave me a great idea: Shia and Clive Owen! Son and father! I am not sure how you would account for the sullen and the satin voice, but wow. Inside Man garnered rave reviews, but I am not sure as to why. It seemed unfinished and I am a little peeved by Denzel's phoned in performances as of late. I did, however, love the A.R. Rahman Bollywood-infused soundtrack. Perhaps it will be the year of bhangra? They are making a sequel. Though I am not sure what bank is still worth robbing?
Meanwhile, our current drug of choice are Starbucks tea infusions. Get them before your local Starbucks goes under. And that it is not a twig floating in your Earl Grey, it is part of the concoction. Don't panic. We are only fearing peanut butter right now.
First and foremost, it is Oscar season, a film buff's NFL playoffs. Except replace Budweiser ads with holocaust commentary...scantily clad beer wenches with birthday suited Kate Winslets. Hollywood is known for honoring those who have been slighted in past ceremonies, as well as those who disfigured themselves for the betterment of cinema (please see: Nicole Kidman's prosthetic nose, Hillary Swank's boyish haircut). In the case of The Reader, the moment I saw Kate's transition to cataractic prisoner, I envisioned her on the Kodak podium with earrings accompanied by bodyguards. Sam Mendes is waving from the audience.
The Reader was a good film. It was not a great film. In a better season, it would have been released in October, not December, and would not have made the Academy's top 5. But the Weinsteins are clever, as are Daldry/Hare, Pollack/Mighella (RIP) and now it will earn a place in the 00s cannon where The Lives of Others should be.
This was a movie of two halves, but not necessarily one whole. We have the "Kid" Michael(played expertly by a newcomer) and the Guard Hannah who develop a sexual relationship after Hannah helps Michael home when he is coming down with scarlet fever. Hannah is illiterate and in exchange for sex, young Michael reads to her. A great scene: the two in the bath, Michael paging through a racy DH Lawrence, Hannah looks insulted, tells him that the story is inappropriate, but please "Go on." Their love affair ends when Hannah is promoted and Michael decides to play with kids his own age. But their connection has a lasting effect on both.
We enter the second half of the film. Michael, now in law school, is observing a trial of SS guards charged with killing Jews at the concentration camps. Hannah is among them. He is conflicted--knowing what she did was wrong, but also feeling for her in his heart that she is a good and loving person. The trial is very emotional, but the camera leans more on him and his waring conscience than the historical proceedings. Michael has an opportunity to come forth at one point on her behalf and choose not to. This decision haunts him the rest of the film, as Hannah is locked up for the rest of her life.
I was engaged for more than two hours, making ethical sense of this film, battling like Michael, to understand how Hannah could have participated in genocide. However, the script doesn't fill in the intermediary years. I was left to my own devices. Plus Ralph Fiennes, the older Michael, has always creeped me out. I exited the theatre (the Paris on 58th---so beautiful and regal) feeling uneasy and disturbed. One of the final scenes, the Manhattan penthouse of a holocaust survivor came off as almost entirely unsympathetic. I couldn't quite tell you why. Mostly because I felt like Ralph Fiennes was trying to seduce her. And secondly, because the conspicuous consumption decor seemed to make light of the horrible past she had experienced. Though the line about the Jewish literacy charity got a good laugh from the audience, probably her neighbors.
Nonetheless I will recommend this film for at least prompting some interesting discussion.
Waltz with Bashir, Israel's contribution to the foreign film category, was unsettling for other reasons. We have a documentary filmmaker piecing together his memories from the Lebannon war in trippy animated interviews with friends. While I liked this concept in theory, the delivery was a little choppy. I had a tough time distinguishing the perspectives of the interviewees through all the jumbled "Waking Life-esque" segments. The last 10 minutes were brutal. I immediately had to treat myself to a serious shopping binge, even though we are in a recession and I know that the issues of this film are still being waged today. See the front page of any international newspaper. The last time I left a movie this emotionally charged: maybe Monster with Charlize Theron or Monster's Ball with Halle Berry. I had no choice but watch Simpsons marathons while eating smores.
Because I try to pair the serious with the seriously ludicrous thrillers, I also Netflixed Inside Man directed by Spike Lee and Eagle Eye starring Shia LeBeouf. Both entertained and gave me a great idea: Shia and Clive Owen! Son and father! I am not sure how you would account for the sullen and the satin voice, but wow. Inside Man garnered rave reviews, but I am not sure as to why. It seemed unfinished and I am a little peeved by Denzel's phoned in performances as of late. I did, however, love the A.R. Rahman Bollywood-infused soundtrack. Perhaps it will be the year of bhangra? They are making a sequel. Though I am not sure what bank is still worth robbing?
Meanwhile, our current drug of choice are Starbucks tea infusions. Get them before your local Starbucks goes under. And that it is not a twig floating in your Earl Grey, it is part of the concoction. Don't panic. We are only fearing peanut butter right now.
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