What a Dump! - Non-Fic Pics

Note: “What a Dump!” will be a regular attempt to keep ahead by dumping shorter reviews of a bunch of films when I might not have the time or inclination for a full review. In this case I’ve watched a handful of documentaries lately, so I’m lumping them together. Title ref is here.

Bill Cunningham New York (2010) --80/100--

Dir: Richard Press

I was caught off guard by how engaged I was by this biopic of legendary photographer Bill Cunningham, whose career following fashion has spanned decades. His own style and habits are very simple, a contradiction to the extravagance he documents on the catwalks and sidewalk. Even those for whom fashion is anathema might be drawn in by his quirks and charmed by his humility. Through a prolific, proficient use of photographic evidence, the doc fosters a deeper sense of the mutual evolution between style and media through the last half-century. Definitely worth a look.

Hell and Back Again (2011) --68/100--

Dir: Danfung Dennis

We begin with soldiers entering the fray in Afghanistan and it seems like we’re headed into a standard war doc, but there’s a flash right before the titles start when we’re given a glimpse of the harrowing battle still to come. The focus is Sgt. Nathan Harris and his struggles upon returning home following a gunshot wound to his leg.

There is plenty of intermediary “flashback” battle footage as he deals with the constant pain and medication and a whole different mountain of mental and emotional stresses. Of note, I found it a little funny that he gets really aggravated with people who constantly talk over or interrupt each other. I say that’s not really a symptom of war, those people are just really fucking annoying.

There are some artfully constructed scenes, some heartbreaking moments, and the in-the-field camerawork is startlingly clear, definitely the highlight. But for the most part the attempt to mix the home-front/warfront footage feels jumbled and indecisive. From a civilian view it is an interesting but common document of the true dual-battlefield existence of military life (I’m curious how well these types of films are received within that community.)

If a Tree Falls: A Story of the Earth Liberation Front (2011) --76/100--

Dirs: Marshall Curry, Sam Cullman

On the heels of effective recent eco-docs (The Cove, Gas Land, even Who Killed the Electric Car?), this follows the birth and downfall of the Earth Liberation Front (ELF), an organization that fought against “environmental rapists” through the last 20 years by shifting the methods from peaceful protest to what has become known as “ecoterrorism,” destructive acts against lumber mills, feedlots, and other agro-corp interests. Through plentiful first-hand footage of protests (and a few sketchy dramatizations), and effective interviews with many involved on both sides of the story, this is a fascinating, surprisingly balanced chronicle.

The main issue at hand is whether the acts (over 1200, without a single injury, let alone death) constitute a form of “terrorism” that should be held on par with intentional acts of mass-murder (Oklahoma City bombing, 9/11, etc.) This is all the more interesting in relation to well-publicized “cyber-terrorism” DOS attacks in the wake of the recent SOPA/PIPA debate. It’s hard to get away from buzzwords when dealing with these topics, but If a Tree Falls does a nice job of balancing the various sides of the issue, with ELF participants admitting to their crimes and even people in the law-enforcement community seeming to voice middle-ground opinions on the matter.

The Arbor (2010) --79/100--

Dir: Clio Barnard

This is ostensibly the life and legacy of writer Andrea Dunbar, whose plays “The Arbor,” “Rita, Sue & Bob, Too” and “A State Affair” showed the troubles facing working class people in her home community of Bradford, West Yorkshire. Andrea died young of a brain hemorrhage brought on by her hard lifestyle, so instead it is mostly the troublesome story of her daughters, Lorraine and Lisa, and their divergent sets of problems living within that type of community and still under the microscope of their mother’s work. Lorraine’s story, especially, is like an twisted accident from which you just can’t peel your eyes.

The real fascination, however, lies in the style of the documentary. Director Clio Bernard uses the audio from real-life interviews but reenacts scenes with professional actors (very-effectively) lip-synching the words from the audio track. Experimenting with the formula at times adds stunning artistic effect, but sometimes it gets stagey and tedious. There are also some clever remounts of scenes from Andrea’s work in the courtyard of the neighborhood. This adds up to a film that blurs the line between documentary and dramatization, and by upping the value of the production makes the case for a new category of artistry in non-fiction cinema.

Midnight in Paris & A Few Thoughts on Oscar Noms

Midnight in Paris --87/100--

While watching Woody Allen’s films usually gives me at least a little pleasure, in recent years his annual submissions have, with a couple of notable exceptions, been mostly lackluster. In 2011 he’s finally made slogging through the struggles well worth it, turning out his most magical and memorable piece in ages.

Midnight in Paris plays out like Field of Dreams for the erudite crowd, placing struggling writer Gil - a wide-eyed Owen Wilson - smack dab in the City of Lights with his fiancé Inez (Rachel McAdams). Allen once again employs a dab of fantastic whimsy that charmed audiences in Play it Again, Sam and especially The Purple Rose of Cairo, and through a mystical twist Gil ends up partying his Parisian nights away with a who’s who of 1920’s cultural icons. It starts with Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald and Cole Porter and quickly snowballs from there; half the fun of the film is guessing what legend is waiting around the next corner and how he or she will be portrayed. Some of the names dropped by Allen may send some scrambling to wikipedia for the reference, but that’s not uncommon for any of his films. There are some great turns by some familiar faces, just keep your eyes peeled.

As in many of his films, Allen gives the surroundings an important role; in fact Paris is the most important character in the film, as it certainly has a life of its own and a million stories to tell. Evocative of his famous montage “Rhapsody in Blue” montage in Manhattan, and in what felt like a bit of homage to cityscapes of early cinema (notably Berlin, Symphony of a Big City), the volley of luscious street scenes that opens Midnight in Paris even has its own miniature story arc as the day progresses from a bright beautiful morning into rainy afternoon, through a calming dusk and then exploding into a lustrous evening. The entire film exudes the richness of the city’s offerings and serves as the type of carefully composed travelogue that makes one mentally plot out a dream vacation - or, in my case, consider a new career as a location scout.

Nostalgia has been a big theme at the cinema this year, as evidenced by some of the fellow Oscar nominees for Best Picture. While the current economic recession might play a role in that, I think it probably has more to do with these filmmakers finding ways to comment and come to terms with the digital era and a constant stream of technological advancement producing a contemporary film audience that mostly buys spectacle over substance. But while The Artist and Hugo recall a simpler time when the language of the art form was literally still being developed, Midnight in Paris balances that romanticism with a more levelheaded view, rejecting the idea that there was ever a single “Golden Age” of especial ingenuity in favor of a more universal celebration of all forms of human expression, past and present.

-- -- -- -- -- --

Oscar noms were announced yesterday, and I’ve already seen 7 of the 9 Best Picture nominees, so I already have a pretty good grasp on my feelings toward this particular set of films.

A couple of random initial thoughts simply on the nominations themselves:

-- I was kinda thinking they might throw a Best Pic bone to the Harry Potter finale as a nod to the high level of quality for the entire series. Not that I was expecting a Return of the King sweep by any means, but found it especially odd since they only decided to nominate 9 after upping the ante to 10 last year.

-- Based on reviews and other nominations I suspect there are about 5 or 6 others that could have filled that 10th spot. Of the stuff I’ve seen so far, I might have rooted for a dark horse like Warrior, but if it were my choice I would have picked Beginners. I liked it better than The Descendants, personally. Reviews for both forthcoming.

-- Not a real standout crowd in the Best Animated Film category, with none of them pulling a Best Pic nominee. Won’t be as easy to call as last year when Up was the obvious animated fave.

-- The Original Song category is down to only two nominees. Yikes. I can think of about 15 reasons they should probably just ditch this category altogether, but the memory of “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp” winning gold makes me hope it comes back strong next year.

Still have a bunch of other stuff to catch and I’ll really get down to business over the next few weeks. Won’t/can’t say much more right now as I’m headed out the door to see Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

Tabloid (2010) --69/100--

Errol Morris has a knack for building documentaries around unique personalities, from Gates of Heaven, to Fast, Cheap and Out of Control, to Mr. Death to The Fog of War, and now Tabloid. His latest is perhaps the juiciest but not necessarily the most effective. The story revolves around Joyce McKinney, a Southern ex-beauty queen, who gained a sordid notoriety in Britain in 1977. As she tells it, Kirk Anderson, the man she loved and had engaged to marry, was abducted by a Mormon cult. So she flew to England to help him escape and have a child with him.

The film relies mostly on interviews with McKinney, who is a charming, vivid storyteller with a streak of dark humor, but of course, that is just her version of the events. Once he returned to his mission and the press got their hands on the story they included the important details of how she took him to a cottage in the country and chained him to the bed so she could recondition him...with her body. He became known as the “Manacled Mormon,” and she went on trial for rape but was soon hanging out in clubs with rock stars. Don’t worry, it just so happens I haven’t spoiled all of the weird stuff yet.

For me the fascinating thing about documentaries, other than the real-life stories being told, is dissecting the ways that they are told, the methods used by directors to frame the happenings and engage the audience. This interest holds for narrative film as well, but with documentaries there is an especially sensitive line because of the “ideal” notion of a dispassionate eye recording the subject. Too often the unmistakable influence of the director behind the camera and in the editing room amounts to a clearly defined agenda, blurring the line between documentary and propaganda. Any documentary that upholds this ideal gets bonus points from me (Last year’s Restrepo is a solid recent example.)

I bring up this digression because Tabloid is very clearly a film about manipulations, where we are being told different sides of the story and it is nearly impossible to know exactly where the truth lies. Joyce certainly feels that Kirk was being manipulated by the Mormons. Other interviews substantiate the idea that she was manipulating him and the other people surrounding her, and there is a strong thread about the manipulations of information by both the press and the court system. Ultimately, Tabloid is the final manipulation of the story. Morris adds in some flashy collages of press clippings, photos, maps and home movies, deftly keeping things visually interesting and the momentum of the film moving at an amusing pace.

Unfortunately, there is an empty space in that there is no real entity to defend the side of Kirk Anderson and the Mormon church. The lone voice that comes close is is from a “reformed” Mormon who definitely has an axe to grind, making sure to ridicule Mormon theology, specifically its rules about sex and marriage, and highlighting the idea that abstinence is a critical sacrifice one must make so that when the world ends you can get your own planet. This imbalance leaves Tabloid wallowing in the realm of its subject matter, tickling with sensationalization, but wanting for substance.

A Better Life (2011) --73/100--

I picked this up, not knowing anything about it, after seeing listed it in the mess of Indie Spirit nominees (Best Actor, Demián Bechir). There’s not a lot of awards fodder available on DVD yet so I’ll take what I can get. Discovering little jewels like this are the reason I try to avoid hype whenever possible.

Carlos Galindo is an illegal immigrant in East L.A., struggling to find steady work as a gardener so he can support his teenage son and steer him away from negative inner-city influences. A great opportunity arises when a friend with a steady business decides to retire back to Mexico, if only Carlos can scrape together enough money to buy his truck and tools from him.

It took about 10 minutes for me to have that light bulb click and I went, “Wait...it’sThe Bicycle Thief!” (Or is is The Bicycle Thieves? Why is the title translated differently everywhere I look? Whatever. Ladri di Biciclette.) While it’s impossible to match Vittorio Di Sica’s masterpiece, A Better Life very effectively transplants the story to a contemporary situation and puts a human face on a contentious issue. I have no intent to make this blog a political sounding board, so I will abstain from taking any stances on the illegal immigration question, but I will say that this film paints a genuine portrait of the dilemma that affects millions in this country.

For the most part it is a simply told story with standard expositional turns that mostly match its predecessor, but there are some effectively tense scenes, fine acting, and a few wonderful visual transitions. I especially enjoyed an early conceit during the long ride home from a job, where Carlos looks longingly out the window as they drive past the beaches, restaurants, and wealthy neighborhoods where they work. The scenery gradually changes with each shot until we are smack dab in the neighborhoods where dilapidated housing, street gangs, poverty and crime are up front and personal.

This close juxtaposition between affluence and hardship is a strong thread in the film, as is the need to bridge the generation gap between the father and son. Especially since he lacks a mother figure, Carlos must pass down the values of uprightness and a good work ethic, but it is hard when there are literally no options for any sort of legal employment or recourse for transgressions. A Better Life certainly won’t solve any political debates and it falls short of inspiring a wave of cinema “nuevorealismo,” but it still has a strong message to import.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go watch Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure again.

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Drunk Movie Time, Episode 1: Brother, Can You Spare a Penny?/Dude, Where’s My Bike?

It was an ugly game, as rivalry games are wont to be, but a big win nonetheless, and upon leaving the stadium (*cough* “bar”) with my head held high and the greatest fight song in the land still ringing in my ears I remembered that I had now missed a couple of days posting on my newfound blog. “Better not let it slip,” says I to I, and I think through the few posts I have mostly written and try to recall if any of them are ready to publish, if the shit is polished enough to be an acceptable turd. “Not quite,” I decide, but then an idea fires in the synapses and the result is in front of you. Just something to keep things less monotonous here on The Man Who Viewed Too Much, to dive deep into some of my favorite movies and go a little stream-of consciousness. Ladies & gentlemen, madams et messieurs, I present my first drunken movie blerg.

Since the game had just ended my first thought was to freeblog the classic hoop film “Blue Chips.” Then I was shocked to discover that it is missing from the archives. Nolte, Kazaam, and Anfernee will have to wait for another night. Maybe in March. Instead, inspired by the recent viewing of “A Better Life” (review to come...mmmm, probably within the week) I’ve decided to review a film that truly shaped my childhood and my life, Tim Burton’s masterpiece, “Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure.” Feel free to pop in your own DVD or VHS copy and follow along as I bullet-point my way through this essential.

Drinking: Spaten Oktoberfest (Thanks, Berg!) followed by a little Charles Shaw Cab/Sav (It's cheap and it's good.)

Movie is GO!:

(Titles) Music by Danny Elfman, - the big motifs, love how they stay with you - Elfman was still in Oingo Boingo at this point, right? This wasn’t that long after Weird Science.

Co-written by Phil Hartman! - Always a sad thing to see, he was a true talent and his voice is all over this thing.

Apparently the Tour De France held their trophy ceremonies in a big field, not under the Arc du Triomphe or anything.

I want bunny slippers, and a carrot for them to sniff.

What does Pee Wee do for a living? How can he afford a house like this? Is he an inventor? Inventors don’t make shit, Gremlins taught me that.

Ahhhh, the breakfast Rube Goldberg breakfast machine! Want.

I still sometimes brush my teeth and say “Arrrrrr Mad Dog! Ruff...RUFF!!” And tape my face. And make myself a Mr. Breakfast. All in the same morning sometimes.

Pee-wee weighs 95 lbs. I be like dang.

Love the irony of how he doesn’t eat the breakfast after all of the hullaballoo of the Rube Goldberg machine. Hence the 95 lbs.

His neighbor Mr. Crowtray seems like a cool dude to put up with Pee-Wee’s BS. My landlord has a hissy if I even leave my grill out in the yard.

If I ever have the chance to say “Good Morning. I’m Here!” like Pee-Wee just did, well then...I hope I’m not talking to a bike, that’s all I’ll say.

His bike garage has a fake spotlight painted behind it. I want to see that in someone’s house someday.

My cousin Nate & I had this movie memorized by the time we were 10. The PW/Francis exchange is seared in my brain. “I know you are but what am I?” and

“Because, I don’t make monkeys, i just train ‘em!” - I’m pretty sure those were rejected lines from Gone With the Wind.

Kids in the 80s apparently just hang around on the lawn sitting on their BMX bikes, right? They were pretty RAD.

PW’s bike chain is clearly made of plastic. What a sucker. A chain of fools. So sad.

The sign on “Mario’s Magic Shop” is readable from the inside of the door. That’s weird.

TRIVIA!!~!

Nothing in Mario’s really seems like magic. It’s like dork survival.

So, again, bike kids just hang around in their gear. In Chuck’s Bike-O-Rama. Are they on their way to a shred? Are those the same kids? Did they change clothes while PW was in Mario’s?

Greatest Line in Movie History Right Now:

“You don’t want to get mixed up with a guy like me. I’m a loner, Dottie. A rebel.”

!!

Elfman really took something from Bernard Herrmann & “Psycho” with the strings, didn’t he?

Coming blank into a scene...

Desk Cop: “What exactly leads you to believe the Soviets were involved?”

Clearly sounds like a Phil Hartman line and one of the funniest under the radar lines in the whole movie!!

As badass as PW’s house is, Francis Buxton’s pad is on a whole ‘nother level.

Ruebens is pretty brilliant sometimes. So over the top and hilarious!

“We’re miles from where anyone can hear you!! HAHA!”

His suit dries off pretty damn quickly.

I always wondered what Mr. Buxton’s gum tasted like. Did it taste like failure? I wonder if it killed him. He looks like he has heart problems.

Why does Francis hang out with rejects from “Grease”?

The “Big Meeting” scene is one of my favorites. 217 bits of information. Evidence.

Amazing Larry needs a spinoff.

That reminds me of this!:

In 3 hours he only gets through exhibit Q. That’s that the 17th letter. He had another 200 pieces of evidence?!!!

The cable-knit sweater bit cracks me up every time.

Madam Ruby. Man, what a bitch. And not very creative. She looks at billboards that were probably outside her place for weeks...did she just tell e’rrbody that e’rrthing was in the basement at the Alamo?

PW doesn’t seem that concerned that Mickey is an escaped criminal. Maybe Mickey just got caught jerking off in an adult cinema? (Sorry, Reubens. That’s the only time I’ll make that joke, it had to be done. Low hanging fruit.)

Why do people always think that you’re not supposed to take those tags off mattresses and pillows? It clearly says “except by the consumer.” People are allergic!

Shit, maybe Mickey was a mattress salesman! #eureka!

Awwwww, there goes PW’s bike!! The X1!! If he hadn’t been distracted this could have been all over within 45 minutes and then PW could have gone and started his awful farm and circus with his talking pig and wiener tree and Kris Kristofferson. God that movie sucked.

Where did they get that dress and wig to fool the cop at the checkpoint? Did PW have them in his hobo bag? Hmmm. Dubious.

Thelma and Louise should have just used the parachute on the back of their convertible.

Large Marge! “Worst accident I ever seen!” Holy crap...Tim Burton, you are a weird motherfucker. (obvs)

Bucket List #56: One of these days I hope to watch a sunrise with a woman...inside of a dinosaur.

That truck stop has some seriously retro gas pumps. #americanpickers

“But what? Everyone I know has a big ‘but.’ Come on Simone, let’s talk about your big ‘but.’” Love how the childish comedy slides right alongside the serious moment.

Aww yeah, the Burton claymation dream sequences are awesome. There’s something about this stuff that is so much, er...better(?) than it would be if it were clean CGI. You know they had to have worked for weeks to do that 10 second scene where the TRex eats PW’s bike.

Jan Hooks @ the Alamo - She’s perfect, and you know this was all Hartman.

“Yes, there are thousands and thousands of uses for corn, all of which I will tell you about right now!” That line has a very Simpsons vibe.

No basement at the Alamo. Denied! That Madam Rose needs a punch in the face.

Why does PW think Dottie is so terrible? Do you think they have a past, like they hooked up once and now Dottie is all obsessed with him, but PW is all, “Man, that bitch be trippin’, but she make a kray loud bike horn, yo. Nome sane?”

I’m kinda impressed at the shot of the bull jumping the fence. Is that normal? Can cows jump like that?

“Do you remember anything?

“I remember...the Alamo.”

“YEEEHAWW!!”

Awesome.

No comments on the “Tequila!” scene. I’ve danced that dance thousands of times...and probably will again. Especially if I’m ever hanging around w/ the Sons of Anarchy.

The scenes are so arbitrary and barely connected together at this point. Kinda loses steam even though it’s memorable.

AAGHHGHG CLOWN DOCTORS GO AWAY!!!

That kid from the Wonder Years...man he was the suck. That nun needs to punch him.

The “PW stealing the bike” motif has a bit of a “Mrs. Gulch coming to take away Toto” feel to it. Good work Elfman.

Warner Brothers had to love the gag where the guard drives the golf cart through the fake backdrop. Live action Looney Toons! Classic!

The driving through the studios stuff is great, especially the Godzilla scene. Outstanding.

Twisted Sister. Dee Snyder. Paycheck. Check.

Love how his bike is basically a James Bond Aston Martin on 2 wheels. Wish they had done a spec rundown with Q at the beginning. Oh, right they do a fake out with Francis at the end. ;)

Again, more kids on bikes...but just sitting there.

Betty White’s favorite scene: the pet shop escape. That place probably smelled crispy and delicious!!

Note to self: If I ever have a dog I am naming it Speck.

Kind of lazy/funny how they decide to finish it by making a movie about him getting his bike stolen, when the entire movie is kind of a spoof on The Bicycle Thieves in the first place.

@ the Drive-in. MORE kids just sitting around on bikes. Yeesh. Pedal something, you punks! And get off my lawn.

James Brolin and Morgan Fairchild in the PW movie. and PW’s fake voice as he Awesomesauce.

If I ever have a chance to say, “The X1 needs to cool down,” I hope I’m not talking about a bike. #justsayin’

Prison bus field trip to the drive-in. Do they have those? What if the bus crashes and Dr. Richard Kimball gets away?!

So basically, PW met people from every social strata on his adventures. And he’s not going to introduce any of them to each other. He’s kind of a dick.

Phil Hartman sighting!! “When exactly did you become blood brothers?” Awwww, miss that guy.

And Francis never got busted for stealing the bike and he is still a rich douche. The end.

That’s it. Wow this is kinda long. But NO EDITING!

[Okay, I cleaned up some typos, but left everything in, good and bad.]

Hope someone found this entertaining. I plan to do it again, so any requests for the next Drunk Movie Time?

Notes on Globes and Bloges

Awards season is in full swing. Golden Globes tonight, Oscar noms next Tuesday, then a little more than a month until the big show. Friends know I typically attempt to see as many Oscar nominated films before the ceremony and last year I did a whole rundown of all of the nominees and posted my favorites/predictions on The Bookface. It’s just something to do to keep up on what’s happening during the long, cold winter and have an educated opinion rather than taking shots in the dark. That said, I’m never really prepared enough for the Globes - based on what I’ve seen so far this year I’m probably a more primed to talk about the Independent Spirit Awards - so I’m not going to make any predictions for tonight’s hardware.

The profile of the Golden Globes has risen over the last few years and it seems like they’re making a push to get themselves near the level of the Emmys and the Oscars in terms of public interest. This year the Hollywood Foreign Press is trying like mad to capitalize on the Ricky Gervais Effect, and it’s a smart move. The Academy Awards will always be top dog but its hosts have been inconsistent as of late and the quality of the production seems constantly in flux. That’s left an opening for a different kind of show to step up and pull some ratings. Gervais made the GGs a bit more like a Friar’s Roast last year, so I imagine he’ll up the ante tonight. I’m curious how the aftermath will play out in the short term, how it’ll influence the Oscar show with Billy Crystal returning to host, and if this will carry over to next year.

- -

I’ve been enjoying writing the blog so far, and I hope someone out there is enjoying it. Even after the Bridesmaids/Young Adult double-up today I already have another half-dozen more reviews in my pocket in varying degrees of completion. I’ve stepped out and hit the theater at least once per week (that’ll probably bump up to two or three during the next month), and I’m still trying to keep a pace of seven new films per week. So far, so good.

To be continued...

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Bridesmaids/Young Adult

Bridesmaids --72/100--

Maybe this is not the type of film you’d expect a guy to watch by himself but I make no apologies. I’m weird like that and there are some talented people at work here. I can see why it struck a popular nerve this year, it has a Hangover vibe that makes it easier to like than your run-of-the-mill romcom. It has a pretty disaffected view of modern romance, focusing more on sisterhood than relationships.

I’m not going to spend time revisiting the plot. They’re bridesmaids. There are hijinks and a rivalry, things get bitchy but (spoiler!) they work out pretty okay in the end. At over two hours there felt like a lot of wasted time - about 25 minutes longer than necessary - so at its worst the scenes are no different than a shitty SNL skit that goes on well past the best punchline with no end in sight. But at its best it’s pretty effing funny. Such is the beast of improv-based comedy, see what sticks.

I have mixed feelings about Kristen Wiig. I find her likable playing it straight but it seems she has to go drunk or step way outside the part here to get laughs so there’s no consistency to the character. Then again, I’m not sure if I’d rather see her do a flat-out wackier character on the big screen like she so often does on SNL, because they tend to grate very quickly. She’s better in very small doses, I think.

The rest of the ensemble is serviceable if not very well fleshed out. Maya Rudolph is given almost nothing funny to do except make reaction faces and that is unfortunate. She might have killed in a less “normal” role. The notable exception of course is the hilarious Melissa McCarthy who manages to outshine them all by stealing every scene, and I find it even more delicious after hearing she joked with GQ about basing her style and performance on Guy Fieri.

I have a couple of little switches in my head that activate when a film resorts to bathroom humor the way that Bridesmaids often does. I’m a bit old school, so the first switch clicks on and begs for a little more intelligence and sophistication and wonders when the world went crazy, longing for a return to the wild-eyed innocence of youth. Then, usually, the second switch gives the first switch a swift knee to the groin and poops on it, allowing me to shut my mind off, sit back and laugh my balls off.

Wait...What’s this!?

TWICE THE PLEASURE!!

Young Adult --79/100--

This seemed a good thematic sister to Bridesmaids, so I’m doing a double-up on today’s post. They both have a central female character fighting the good fight on behalf of the childless, unmarried segment of the population and illuminating that specific lonely ennui with varying levels of success. While Bridesmaids thrives on broad comedy, Young Adult is closer to drama. Considering it reunites the writing/directing tandem that produced Juno (Diablo Cody/Jason Reitman), be assured there is a fair dose of heady comedy for good measure.

Mavis Gary (Charlize Theron) is the ghost-writer - “author,” as she repeatedly corrects - of a wildly successful but recently axed series of young adult novels (NOT vampires). She’s also divorced, lonely and a functional alcoholic so it doesn’t take much to send her back to her hometown to revisit her prom-queen days and try to win back her old beau, Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson). In her mind, the fact that he has a wife and new baby is just a little bump on the inevitable road to rekindled romance. Along the way she bumps into Matt Freehauf (Patton Oswalt), a classmate she only (barely) remembers as that guy that got beaten up senior year and missed 6 months of school. Ultimately, they have more in common than meets the eye, and the emotional center of the film lies in their connection as they manage - or fail - to come to terms with the past and the present.

I’ve never been overly impressed with Theron, but she is excellent here controlling the wide swings between bravado and despondency, although the costuming and makeup crews deserve a lot of credit for completing the characterization. And as a fan of Oswalt’s comedy it’s good to see him get a substantial part that feels written just for him, a small victory for lumpy geeks everywhere.

On the heels of Up in the Air (of which I did not enjoy the second half nearly as much as the first) it’s clear that Reitman has developed a keen eye as a visual storyteller. His style pairs well with a sharp script, which Cody provides. That’s not to say that it is without fault. The YA novel “narration” was tenuous and simplistic. There are some odd moments and some convenient constructions. (She’s an alcoholic; Matt happens to have a distillery in his garage; I’m sure is perfectly natural and healthy for someone who probably also takes a lot of painkillers.) The comparisons to Juno are inevitable but I liked this better. It feels smaller and more focused, and while Juno often got too coo for skoo with the dialogue cuteness getting all in ya face, Young Adult maintains the smarts but displays a bit more maturity and restraint, and is much better for it.

Mmmmmm...Kentacohut...

/drools a stream of trans-fat

Something Wild (1986) --69/100--

In many ways I’m a product of the 80s and I like to think I’ve caught ‘em all, but I know that’s not the case. I have been meaning to sit down with Jonathan Demme’s Something Wild for a long time, and I really wanted to like it more, but I’m sad to say it doesn’t really work as a whole. What begins as a funny, sexy romp takes a drastic tone shift at the midpoint, but it’s hard to take it both ways at once. It might have had a bit of a cut to it when it was first released, but given this awkward split-personality it doesn’t nearly stack up against the much edgier romps that succeeded it (I’m thinking Drugstore Cowboy, True Romance, Natural Born Killers, etc.)

After a quick and unbelievable opening with almost no character introduction we are thrust into a joyride with free-spirit con artist Lulu - or is it Audrey? (Melanie Griffith). Taken along for the ride is Charlie Driggs (Jeff Daniels) the uptight “closet rebel,” who steps out of his shell for a bit of fun and gets caught in the riptide. Griffith was entering into that short window when she still had a breathy appeal, and Daniels is mostly likable, but sometimes the nebbishness overwhelms the heart of the character. He’s done much better work on both ends of the drama/comedy spectrum.

The two share half-a-movie worth of hijinks and start to find a little romance before Ray (Ray Liotta) shows up and things take a turn into Sleeping with the Enemy territory. The underlying theme of Something Wild seems to be that sometimes stealing is okay, as long as you have a sense of humorous flourish when committing the crime, and as long you’re not a violent psychopath at heart.

For me, the saving grace of the film is the soundtrack. A couple years earlier, Demme helmed the monumental Talking Heads concert film Stop Making Sense, so it’s no surprise that his ear was tuned to that slightly offbeat moment in 80s music, with a splash of reggae here and a taste of nerd-wave on the side. We get cuts from David Byrne, X, Big Audio Dynamite, The Motels, Oingo-Boingo, Jimmy Cliff and New Order, with the highlight being a stellar scene with maybe one of the best Movie High School Reunion Bands ever, The Feelies.

Something Wild, while not exactly wild per se, may be a movie I will check out again later to find that it’s grown on me. For now I’ll just hang onto the few fun moments and the excellent sounds.

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Limelight (1952) --82/100--

So far I’ve been watching & reviewing a lot of recently released stuff, but my viewing of The Artist gave me the odd inspiration to dip into the archives and check out one of the few Chaplin features that I had not yet perused. Limelight puts on display everything that set Chaplin apart as a true artist, not just a comedian. The man wrote, directed, composed the (gorgeous) music, and starred in pretty much every film he made. I doesn’t quite match his earlier masterpieces (The Circus, City Lights, Modern Times, The Great Dictator) but proves that even in his later years he still had a unique gift to make us laugh and deliver a solid sentimental punch.

There are a few detractions, like the odd (Woody Allen-like!) May/December romance between washed-up vaudeville comedian Calvero (Chaplin) and the delicate young ballerina Thereza (a radiant Claire Bloom) that forms the arc of the story. I guess it’s not all that surprising, knowing that Chaplin had a long history as a ladies’ man, and despite the weirdness there are many memorable scenes that rival the the best of that heartbreaking type of romance the Brits did so well in the golden era. Films like Brief Encounter, Letter from an Unknown Woman, and Random Harvest immediately spring to mind as Thereza recalls her first chance meetings with a struggling composer. And since I’ve always been a little more of a Buster Keaton nut, the final performance, with Chaplin sharing the spotlight with his longtime “rival,” is an absolute celluloid diamond.

The story of Calvero provides a stirring tribute to his early days on the stage, but is just as much a poignant elegy and in many ways mirrored his own career. Lauded as the greatest entertainer of his generation, he was mostly an afterthought as the the middle of the century rolled around, and he was exiled to Europe (Polanski-like!) after being aspersed as a Communist in 1952. After Limelight, Chaplin would live for another 25 years and go on to make a couple more films (I still need to see A King in New York), but it will always be regarded as his true, glorious swan song.

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For the casual readers that are unlikely to check out the whole film, I encourage you to enjoy out the Chaplin/Keaton collaboration below:

2012-1-10 jmm #5

Quick Hits

The Tree of Life (2011) --95/100--

Terrence Malick has always been a very iconoclastic director, never more so than with his latest, the gorgeous Tree of Life, perhaps my favorite film of the year. It’s a challenging film to watch, there is no real “story,” mostly a patchwork of small vignettes of a middle-class family in Texas in the 1950s, a few flashes forward in time, and at one point we leave the family altogether to witness an astonishing 20-minute 2001-esque “history of the universe.” The cinematography is unparalleled, and if allowed to become completely immersed in the tide of sounds and images it is a breathtaking experience. It is the first “big” film in a while to qualify as a true, by god cinematic Work of Art. (There. I think I managed to use just about every superlative I know.)

Hugo (2011) --90/100--

One of the best examples I’ve seen where 3D has been use to enhance the storytelling experience rather than just add an element of spectacle. With Hugo, Marty Scorsese concocts one of the greatest love letters to moving pictures since Cinema Paradiso. Despite some pacing problems and what I thought were rather stiff performances by the lead child actors, it tugged just the right strings in my cinephilic little heart. A no-brainer Best Picture Oscar nominee.

The Help (2011) --77/100--

Emma Stone caps off a pretty solid little year, firmly establishing herself as quirky darling with the ability to play with a little more dramatic heft, though The Help has enough sassy/catty comedy to level out the weighty moments and deliver a balanced, expressive film. It’s a little straightforward in that, for a film about black/white experience, only the secondary characters exhibit any real complex shades of gray. Kudos to Bryce Dallas Howard, Jessica Chastain, and Sissy Spacek, but mostly to Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer for providing the real heart of the piece.

The Artist (2011) --89/100--

I finally made some time to see The Artist, Michel Hazanavicius’s wonderful homage to silent era cinema. Hazanavicius had some recent success with a goofy reboot of the 1960s James Bond-knockoff OSS 117 trilogy, also starring Jean Dujardin, and his attention to immersive detail serves him well once again in a slightly more serious vein. I say “slightly” because, although the film is sickly sweet with sentimentality, it is overflowing with cheeky jabs at the conventions of a bygone era.

By turning an eye on Hollywood’s switch from silent to talking pictures, The Artist finds good company with true classics, such as Singin’ in the Rain and Sunset Boulevard, and it has a contemporary brother in Martin Scorsese’s charming Hugo. This film’s trick is that it unfolds just as a 1920s silent film would, using intertitles to convey any important (or just funny) bits of dialogue, accompanied by a lilting, ever-present score. I’ll drop a tiny spoiler that there are a couple of moments that the film breaks from its silence, and this toying with the formula works to a jolting effect. There were a few gasps in the audience at one point, and I wondered how it might have been back in 1927 when the crowd heard Al Jolson speak from the screen for the first time.

Following the developing relationship and diverging career paths of silent has-been George Valentin (Dujardin) and rising ingenue Peppy Miller (Bérénice Belo) creates a smooth parallel arc to match the historical era. This was a time of great flux, where the dichotomy between the haves and have-nots - the quaintly outdated and the shiny newfangled - was never more evident.

The Artist loses some steam toward the middle as it moves toward the sappy finale, and I will dock a few points for its predicability, but in terms of artistic beauty, with its stunning black and white cinematography and deft utilization of music and mise-en-scene, it is a home run.

Right now The Artist is playing on a very limited number of screens in Michigan (I heard 2, to be exact). If/when it picks up its deserving Best Picture Oscar nomination it should catch a wider release, and if given the opportunity I hope people will take a chance to see it. It will definitely be worth your time, even if just for the scene-stealing Jack Russell terriers.

(One small bit of disappointment: it seems much less clever to rename myself Peppy Miller than it did two days ago, although I am considering the addition of a beauty mark or a pencil-thin mustache.)

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Bellflower (2011) --82/100--

This astounding indie film follows Woodrow and Aiden, a couple of DIY, don’t-try-this-at-home, Mad Max-lovin’ slackers, surveying the drunken wasteland of their fuck-it-all existence. Things get rolling when Woodrow starts a fiery relationship with Milly, a sponger who gets her kicks by taking outlandish dares at the local bar, mouthful of cricket be damned. Their tryst starts out with careless - almost cutesy - abandon, but there is a radioactive apocalypse lingering on the horizon that threatens to melt away Woodrow’s psyche, blurring the lines between his hollow reality and violent chimerical delusions.

Evan Glodell pulls a passable multi-threat, serving as director, writer, producer, and starring as Woodrow, and the film is justifiably masturbatory at times. But it is also infused with a strong visual style that makes one loath to look away, often utilizing jump-cut editing and retro, washed-out cinematography to striking effect, and everything works in tune thematically to convey the disintegration of memory and a certain lackadaisical existentialism.

It has a few other issues that might divide audiences and hold it back from it from making real headway as an indie classic. Namely, a few cliched manipulations, and the recurring feeling these are the types of unsympathetic characters that I would probably want to punch in the face. But it is constructed with something of a wink, and I would not be surprised to see it gain a cult following.

Did I mention there is a badass flamethrower and a car named Medusa? That should be reason enough to check it out.

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Meek's Cutoff (2010) --62/100--

There are numerous moments in Kelly Reichardt’s austere 2010 western Meek’s Cutoff, when the caravan of travelers trudge hopelessly forward across the barren, parched landscape, that I found myself feeling a real sense of kinship with their ordeal. Mostly the hopeless trudgery.

In the year 1845, three small families have become lost on the Oregon Trail, led astray by their hired guide, a loud, arrogant shrub of a man named Stephen Meek, played with terrible cartoonishness by Bruce Greenwood. He has consistently convinced them that a water lay over the next hill or around the next bend, and that they will soon reach the Willamette Valley, where success seeps up out of the ground and riches rain from the sky. But just as it soon grows increasingly obvious that his boasting is all for show, it also becomes clear that the movie is simultaneously wandering almost as aimlessly as those forsaken travelers.

While the bleak aesthetic and slow pace befit the subject matter, the themes are squeezed into tight spaces and never really develop. The film has a strong feminist leaning, and Reichardt makes some interesting technical choices to further the idea that we are experiencing this ordeal from a woman’s perspective. Her use of the boxy 1.33:1 aspect ratio visually replicates the peripheral limitations of bonnets that the women wear. Also, whenever the men are planning out their next move, the audio mix muffles down to a just barely audible level, leaving the women aware of what is about to happen but outside any equal place to offer suggestions.

At times the film appears on the cusp of finding a glimmer of redemption. Apart from a few beautifully composed scenes, hope exists mostly in the person of Emily Tetherow (Michelle Williams). Tough and pragmatic, her actions and personal growth are the focal point of the story arc, but much of her symbolic influence is given counterpoint, if not altogether squelched, by the remaining two female characters, quietly subservient Glory (Shirley Henderson) and hysterically paranoid Millie (Zoe Kazan).

There are other possible readings to consider, including the ever-popular “they’re in hell/purgatory” argument, as well as underlying commentaries on ongoing socio-political issues ranging from racism to religion to the attitudes of recent figures. But ultimately the failing of Meek’s Cutoff is that it plants a few seeds but never waters them, and will likely leave the viewer thirsting in more ways than one.

2012-1-5 jmm #2

Margin Call (2011) --85/100--

A surprisingly polished debut for writer/director J.C. Chandor, Margin Call hurtles quickly through an an investment bank’s day of downfall. Highlighted by a clean look with shades of looming darkness and a tense, crisp script, with small echoes of Glengarry Glen Ross, it is delivered with assurance by a smart, stellar ensemble, memorable from top to bottom. Zachary Quinto, Paul Bettany and Demi Moore shine, Jeremy Irons is deliciously despicable, while Kevin Spacey and Stanley Tucci deliver performances that perhaps rival any in their extremely respectable respective careers. One can feel the tumorous dread growing in the pits of stomachs as these characters’ livelihoods are rendered irrelevant.

The pace moves rather briskly for a dialogue-driven film, especially one so contingent on a very specific field of technical jargon. I am by no means fluent in Street talk. The extent of my financial prowess is limited to what little I picked up during many mornings watching CNBC solely due to crushing on Erin Burnett. But it doesn’t take an expert to follow along, as the film repeatedly, almost annoyingly, has its characters suggest that they speak to each other in layman’s terms, which serves the dual purpose of clarifying the details to the audience as well as laying bare the disconnect of understanding between the decision-makers at the top and the managers and traders who are caught in the crossfire. Even so, I suggest that some basic overview of the workings of the 2008 financial meltdown would be helpful to understanding Margin Call, and if you have the patience for a very dry but nonetheless compelling documentary, 2010’s Oscar-winning doc Inside Job would make for a fitting double-bill.

Margin Call has the odd general arc of a film where a worker from the lower register uncovers a grand conspiracy being perpetrated upon an unsuspecting populace. The result is a case of truth being scarier than science-fiction. Turns out we are not brainwashed or subject to grand machinations involving aliens, popes, or grotesque medical experiments, unless you count having our wallets excised with surgical precision.

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