Change Your Image
gcatelli
Reviews
Cam (2018)
Cam 2018 is meant to be fantasy; not documentary
I don't understand why so many reviewers are having such a hard time getting their arms around this excellent fantasy-thriller. Does "Frankenstein" explain why sewing bits and pieces of corpses together and then running high voltage thru the result produces a living being? Does "Night of the Living Dead" really make any sense at all? Or, "The Manchurian Candidate?" "Blue Velvet"?
Other reviewers have noted that horror movies most directly address the anxieties of the age. In our era, there are the growing concerns about the amount of time spent online, the increasing gap between our identity online and -off, and the search for personal validation via the stats that indicate our online ranking compared with peers.
There's also the problem of identity theft. Exacerbating all of these worries is the increasing ability to digitally edit a video to look like virtually anything -- or anyone.
Glue all the elements together with some naughty, but not vulgar, eros, and you have the movie "Cam". Young and pretty Alice (Madeline Brewer) becomes a webcam girl. Unknown to her, the company accumulates a large library of video recordings of her online appearances. Precisely because she has been successful in her obsessive quest to garner high popularity stats, the webcam company uses their archives of her to create a virtual Alice.
The company then cancels the real Alice's account, blocks her from opening another, and pockets all the earnings from the virtual Alice, who becomes more popular than real Alice by crossing boundaries of propriety that real Alice wouldn't cross. There are hints that real Alice may be in store for a fatal head-on auto "accident", to get her completely out of the way. All of this is explicitly laid out for the viewer.
And, the end doesn't require Columbo to put the pieces together: Having figured out the company's game, Alice dramatically changes her appearance, with the help of her beautician mother (Melora Walters), and uses a phony ID to rejoin the company, now knowing enough (she hopes) to win at their game.
NB: As a film with feminist intentions, among other tropes is that all men are predatory, usually non-violently so, but not always. (Her younger brother (Devin Druid) is an exception. But, he has nothing but contempt for her once his friends find out about Alice's online life.)
The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans (2009)
Werner Herzog's valentine to the American hero
Abel Ferrara's "Bad Lieutenant" (1992) starred Harvey Keitel as a rogue cop in pre-Giuliani NYC during the Age of David Dinkins. Werner Herzog's "The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans" (2009) stars Nicholas Cage as a rogue cop in post-Katrina New Orleans in the Age of Barack Obama. times have changed. (deal with it.)
and yet, as the saying goes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. born in Bavaria in 1942, director Werner Herzog grew up in West Germany, which was officially under US occupation until he was 12. (since 1999, he has lived in America.)
recently, Herzog gave WNYC's Leonard Lopate a more enlightening interview than is typical of celebrities about this noir thriller (streaming audio: http://www.wnyc.org/stream/ram?file=/lopate/lopate112009bpod.mp3).
among other things, Herzog revealed that some fishy business -- eg, an alligator auteur and an iguana singing like a lounge lizard -- was his own script innovation. and, the (not-as-bad-lieutenant) Terence McDonagh's (Nicholas Cage) over-the-top 'assertiveness' with a wheelchair-bound elderly woman in a nursing home was Cage's improvisation (after being egged on by Herzog).
the surreal is not for everyone, but, as i have written before, i write yet again: "if you want the 'girl next door', go next door." (Joan Crawford)
speaking of rhymes with 'door', Eva Mendes as Cage's love interest, Frankie, is easy on the eyes and ears in rendering both a 'Madonna' and a 5-grand-per-nite professional paramour.
Herzog also mentioned that Cage has a home in New Orleans {for now}, and that he loves to stay there because he loves New Orleans. in the film, Frankie gets a black eye from a client named Rick (J.D. Evermore) who, adding insult to literal injury, has declined to pay for her time and companionship, *but* whose father is a carpetbagging real estate developer with connections to a guy with an *Italian* sounding name{!}
McDonagh is not amused by the bruise under Frankie's eye, and after slamming Rick against a wall informs him that in the South men don't hit women. of course, the higher the ideal, the wider the gap with actual reality is likely to be. (think: "all men are created equal.") but, it would be interesting to know if that line was in William M. Finkelstein screenplay, or if it was one of Cage's improvisations.
(since i have noisily complained in past reviews about perceived miscasting, i should add that the casting of other characters, major and minor, by Jenny Jue and Johanna Ray is spot on.)
in the interview with Lenny, Herzog enthused along the way, "i must say i bow my head in the direction of the {New Orleans} police department". and, that the police were "absolutely magnificent in how they supported" the project (notwithstanding the script's portraying some of their number in a hardly favorable light). he further remarked, "i really like the police force of New Orleans" because "there's a sense of poetry, there's a sense of music in them" (to Lenny's obvious astonishment).
after asking Herzog if he still thought of himself as a German filmmaker ("Bavarian" was the answer), Lenny summed up his own view: "this is a very American movie!"
Lenny could have been referring, in part, to this film's having as improbable a 'happy ending' as can be imagined. but, to this viewer (2 viewings, so far), "Bad Lieutenant" is a valentine, soiled but sincere, from a filmmaker whose earliest memories of Americans-in-uniform were formed when their esteem was at its zenith.
perhaps that's why "The Bad Lieutenant" is book-ended by McDonagh saving the life of two different criminals -- the first time at risk to his own life, the second time at risk to his career and his freedom.
looking back across the decades since, Herzog has made a film that posits that an American hero, no matter how selfish and self-absorbed, arrogant and aggressive, drug addicted and gambling addicted, over-sexed and over-sexist, is nonetheless *still* a hero.
My One and Only (2009)
totally heterophobic
i didn't expect a great storyline from "My One and Only". but, since my genre as a photographer is retro-glamour, i went hoping to enjoy the 1953 mise-en-scene.
even though it was Saturday afternoon, i wasn't daunted by the fact that the audience was more than 90% women who are from that era themselves.
however, after 20 minutes or so, i left disappointed. the film is blatantly heterophobic misandry. EVERY hetero male is broadly portrayed as over-the-top despicable. not that every character in this movie isn't an over-the-top stereotype, but the others are treated sympathetically.
the most despised male of all, natch, is serving our country in the military. and, lest you have any doubts just how 'evil' he is, he is anti-Communist! [:shudders:]
the movie bills itself as a Preston Sturges screwball comedy. but, unlike any Sturges movie i've ever seen, this one lacks any finesse, sophistication, irony, or wit.
i wouldn't sit thru a movie that was blatantly homophobic; why would i sit thru one that is so stridently heterophobic?
Doubt (2008)
"Doubt": the controversial (and widely misunderstood) final scene
"Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made." (Genesis 3:1, KJV)
"McCarthy was an asshole, but he was right about a lot of things." (Ed Harris as Parcher in "A Beautiful Mind")
what could be more morally repugnant than a person in an office of extraordinary trust robbing a child of his or her innocence of the dark side of adult sexual emotions?
how about a disdainful father inflicting intolerance-fueled violence upon that child?
what if the victim is a willing victim?
are there ways of knowing truth that evade the norms of justice? true story: a half dozen firefighters were putting out what seemed to be a fire well under control inside a dwelling. suddenly the lead fireman, a long-time veteran, ordered everyone out. moments later, the floor collapsed into an inferno blazing below. asked later how he knew, he couldn't explain it himself. he had been around a long time, and he just knew.
should someone's entire life's work be nullified and their career destroyed if their *alleged* heinousness hasn't been established to a moral certainty?
Father Brendan Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) opens "Doubt" with an absolutely superb soliloquy delivered as a sermon from the pulpit of his working class Catholic congregation. he preaches that doubters are no less a community than believers. as such, they are not lost and alone, just as believers are not lost and alone within their community of belief.
sitting in the back to insure her charges neither slouch nor whisper to one another, the parish-school principal, Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep), detects a whiff of "smoke".
shortly later, she asks a starry-eyed young nun, Sister James (Amy Adams), just what doubts of his own might have inspired Father Flynn's sermon topic?
eventually, a lot of smoke rises, but no flame can be proved. when Sister James expresses doubt that Father Flynn could be a moral monster, Sister Aloysius dismisses her naiveté.
but, when Sister Aloysius informs Mrs Miller (Viola Davis) that Father Flynn is abusing her son Donald (Joseph Foster), it is Sister Aloysius who seems naive. in a gut-wrenching performance deserving of an Oscar, Viola Davis, burdened by handicaps of race, gender, and class beyond the ken of a white nun, tearfully explains that, all things considered, the current arrangement is Donald's only chance to get into college.
the idealistic Sister James believes Father Flynn's dodgy explanations. the intolerant Sister Aloysius dryly remarks, "you just want your simplicity back". moral complexity and ambiguity are the tightly woven warp and woof of this superb film achievement.
about the final scene: based upon many IMDb.com user comments, and even the (user-written) "FAQ", it seems many viewers of "Doubt" believe that in the final scene Sister Aloysius is expressing her own doubts about the guilt of Father Flynn. some commenters were angered and offended, asserting that writer/director John Patrick Shanley was casting doubt as to the guilt of pedophile priests generally. others felt it was a disappointing contrivance lacking conviction and credibility.
this is an unfortunate misreading of the film. since "Doubt" was written at the height of the recent scandal, and since Shanley is no "Sister James" himself, he would not have intentionally cast doubt on Flynn's guilt. but, if it were his intent, he failed. his script makes clear beyond a reasonable doubt that Flynn is as guilty as OJ. to avoid adding more spoilers, i will just expand on the smoke/fire metaphor: there wasn't just "smoke" -- there were fire engines up and down the block, people screaming from windows, and someone running from the scene holding an empty gasoline bucket.
instead, the final scene bookmarks the sermon that opens "Doubt". as already mentioned, it begins with Father Flynn's preaching that doubters are as much a community (and perhaps by implication, a communion) as those who unquestioningly believe in the Gospels, and the Catholic Church and its sacraments as the sole path to eternal salvation. Sister Aloysius, who seems to have never harbored a doubt about anything, self-righteously (even smugly) wonders: just what does Father Flynn have his doubts about?
she has devoted her life as a widow-turned-nun to following the directives of the Church in the heretofore unshakable belief that this was the best way, indeed the only way, to guide all "her children" to salvation in the hereafter. however, from the beginning of "Doubt" Sister Aloysius has been experiencing the public face of Vatican II (still in session in 1964) as stepping onto the slippery slope toward secularism, or even paganism. by the end, she is seeing the Church's hierarchy as an old-boy network that protects its own, even its rottenest apples.
in the final scene, Sister Aloysius bitterly reflects that this old-boy network has promoted an obvious "arsonist" to heading up an entire fire company. given her already dark view of the human condition, she probably has surmised that if the Church hierarchy is covering up for one pedophile, it's also covering up for others. therefore, her doubt is a *crisis-of-faith* (not reservations about the guilt of a slithery serpent such as Flynn).
Shanley isn't questioning the guilt of pedophile priests, or the Church's complicity in their crimes. in fact, he's laying it out for all to see. instead, he's dramatizing how profoundly shaken this shocking moral and criminal horror left even the most faithful of believers.
(special note to those reviewers who have caviled about Meryl Streep's interpretation of Sister Aloysius: Joan Crawford is supposed to have once said, "if you want the girl-next-door, go next door." by analogy, if you don't want to see Meryl Streep's interpretation of a larger-than-life "dragon" of a nun {Father Flynn's wry description of her from the outset}, then don't watch Meryl Streep.)
Pride and Glory (2008)
"Pride and Glory": 10 out of 10; nytimes review: zéro de conduite
"Pride and Glory" presents 2 hours and 10 minutes of ever-building, positively riveting tension that climaxes with satisfying catharsis.
perhaps the nytimes reviewer of this film might be better off (and readers trying to decide whether to see a particular movie would clearly be better served) if, like the nytimes's incomparable reviewer Janet Maslin, he were to realize that it is time to move on to another subject; one to which his not inconsiderable critical insights and stylistic skill could bring freshness -- rather than cranky ennui.
let's review this movie by unpacking the nytimes review: "'Pride and Glory,' ... plods across familiar ground .... It's yet another movie about ..." Partially true. admittedly it's a genre film. (by now, aren't they all?) but, "plods" is as inaccurate as writing that Barack Obama has merely been 'plodding' across the political landscape for the past 2 years. 'tour de force' is more like it.
"Jon Voight his face as pink as a Christmas ham, his acting in the same food group ..." Silly. Voight, as Francis Tierney, Sr, plays an up-from-the-ranks retired Irish cop who's rather fond of bending his elbow. as such, the role calls for someone melanin-challenged who leaves no doubt about what he's really feeling. this was not a part for, say, Ben Kingsley.
"... this highly male-dominated movie ...." True. movies about rough-and-tumble Irish cops do tend to be "highly male-dominated".
"... Colin Farrell jittery displays of misdirected intensity." Odd. just where *should* a rogue cop whose whole world is coming down around him "direct" his "jittery intensity"? "... whose hobbies include breeding ..." Translation: as Tierney, Sr's son-in-law Jimmy, Farrell plays a man with a normal family life.
"'Pride and Glory,' ... is not especially good ..." False. "Pride and Glory" is *exceptionally* good. in fairness, this particular nytimes review is not especially bad (at least not by comparison with many of the others).
"And the story, while none too fresh ... has a certain rough potency." Damning with faint praise. being forced to choose between forsaking honor or forsaking family is, indeed, a "none too fresh" dilemma (eg, "On the Waterfront", "High Noon", etc). so what? "Raging Bull" and "Fight Club" also have "a certain rough potency", but to describe them as such would suggest a certain delicate lack of potency.
".... relies a little too much on expository shouting, ..." True. much too much, for my liking. but then, this movie wasn't intended to be an episode of Masterpiece Theater.
"there are nonetheless some fine details and powerful, tense scenes ... " actually, there are *a great many* "fine details and powerful, tense scenes". (one wonders: what is that reviewer's *real* problem with this movie?) "The best stuff can be found around the edges of the main family drama, in subplots and in the supporting performances ..." Not really. the domestic drama on the suburban home front is great stuff, but the interplay between brother-against-brothers and the life-and-death struggle for hearts and minds in Washington Heights is dramatically greater still.
"Mr. Norton and Mr. Farrell, unfortunately, play to their weaknesses." Simply wrong! this movie is a perfect vehicle for the enormous *strengths* of both actors: Norton as Tierney Sr's conscience-plagued son Ray, and Farrell as Ray's brother-in-law Jimmy, who is running a crew of drug-dealing cops.
".... the full measure of Mr. Norton's vanity, by far his least appealing attribute." Wrong-headed. Norton is one of the finest practitioners of his craft, in this or any other time. as such, he's entitled to some vanity (unlike certain movie critics).
"Mr. Farrell, meanwhile, once again indulges his blustery mixture of menace and charm, overdoing both." Wrong-headed again. a "blustery mixture of menace and charm" is *precisely* what the role of a cop-gone-bad calls for. *Farrell* delivers. the role of a movie review is to accurately describe a movie's intentions and the degree to which these were successfully realized. this nytimes review delivers *neither*.
having gotten virtually everything turned on its head up to this point, the nytimes review attempts to run the table, thus: "{Noah Emmerich} quietly and guilelessly steals the movie." this is painful to write. as Ray's brother, Frannie, Noah Emmerich is absolutely superb portraying a loving father of young children and a loving husband to their dying mother (see below). but, if Tierney, Sr seems to be a Frank Sinatra kind of guy, and Ray a Fiddy Cents type, and Jimmy is The Three Tenors sort, then Frannie comes off as an Andrea Bocelli fan. not that there's anything wrong with that (certainly not in my book), but, to this viewer at least, somehow Frannie felt more like a close friend of the family than a member of the clan.
"If only it were worth a little more." get a life.
"It has violence, swearing, drug references and a bit of pointless nudity." Partially true. it has too much gore for my taste (possibly because of insufficient "rough potency" on my own part). the verbal vulgarities number in the hundreds, sometimes risibly, as when Jimmy is sitting on the hot seat in an Internal Affairs hearing that he knows is being videotaped for review by higher-ups.
however, the love scene between Frannie Tierney and his wife, Abbie (Jennifer Ehle), is as exquisite as any ever filmed. Abbie's head is shaven; yet, she is still gorgeous on the outside -- while being consumed by terminal cancer on the inside. the couple knows this will be their last 'Christmas present' to each other. the scene was so moving that i honestly forgot that it contains just a smidgeon of nudity (notwithstanding that, *pace* Chris Matthews, while watching Miss Ehle "i felt this thrill going up *my* leg"). within this context, to dismiss the whole scene with only 2 words, "pointless nudity", is to give Ebenezer Scrooge a run for his money.
The Dukes (2007)
"The Dukes": is there anything sadder than an NY Times movie critic?
"The Dukes" is as warm-hearted -- and big-hearted -- as a movie can be.
The Dukes, a doo-wop vocal group, had a couple of hits just before the Beatles tsunami swept a great many pop groups somewhere beyond the sea.
these days there are teeth that need fixing, other health emergencies, an ex-wife and an elderly aunt who are as tired of overwork as they are of men who won't grow up, legal bills, and an expired liquor license. there's no money to pay for any of it -- and oldies are now free on the internet.
should The Dukes swallow their pride and do tacky TV commercials? or, cast aside their core values and commit a burglary? or, maybe a little of both?
in one of this film's many fine performances, Danny (producer/director/co-writer Robert Davi, whose own voice sings the lead in the final acappella number) wrestles with his conscience while arguing with his cousin George (Chazz "A Bronx Tale" Palminteri) about whether to pull off a heist.
at a backyard party hosted by the very successful new man in his ex-wife's life (and thus his young son's life as well), Danny deals with his jumble of emotions as subtly and as movingly as any work i've seen.
"The Dukes" has its share of sentimentality (it's a nostalgia movie, after all). and, like the vast majority of movies, a little less might have been a little more. but, it also has plenty of thrills and spills, ups and downs, and some gritty realism thrown in for spice.
so, what's not to like about this movie? well, to read The New York Times's mean-spirited review, you'd think that seeing "The Dukes" might expose the viewer to salmonella poisoning.
sample: "... it tastes like pasta sauce that has sat on the shelf long after the expiration date on the can."
the group's manager, Lou, is described as "{a} miscast Peter Bogdanovich". miscast? Bogdanovich is himself a former supernova director who soon became just another journeyman. it's perfect casting.
about Danny and George's salt-of-the-earth Aunt Vee: "... Miriam Margolyes, wildly overacting..." uh, this part did not call for Judy Dench; Margolyes was excellent just the way she was.
regarding several supporting actresses who have very ripe figures (as in HOT), there's this misogynistic bit of nastiness: "...grotesque, Fellini-size women..."
sad.
but, there's no need for the reader to be sad -- see this movie!
An American Carol (2008)
"stoopit" (but very cleverly so)
suppose you wanted to win an Oscar for making a documentary? one way to go about it would be to make a pro-Cuban/anti-American documentary such as "Sicko".
the downside of this strategy, with which "An American Carol" has much fun, is that movies with titles such as "McCarthy Was Really Bad!" (ie, "Goodnight and Good Luck") are only going to be watched by the already converted.
but, suppose instead, you wanted to send a message to the kind of teen-aged boys for whom no sight gag is too gross or offensive, that their right to see offensive gross-out movies has a price tag: a lot of young men, more or less like themselves, donning a uniform to fight wars against those who would take that right (as well as much more important ones) away from them in a flash.
if you were much more clever than Michael Moore in pursuing your goal, you'd make a movie like "An American Carol".
"We sleep safe in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm." (George Orwell)
Filth and Wisdom (2008)
a heart-warming little gem of a movie
"Filth and Wisdom" illustrates that growing up requires getting your hands dirty -- you can't gain wisdom by spending your life in a germ-free bubble. however, that's too many words for a title, so it's called "Filth and Wisdom" instead.
imo, relative to current pop culture, there's no "filth", as such, in this movie, except for Eugene Hutz's filthy feet shoved in the face of the viewer during an otherwise moving scene, which shows the reconciliation of two sisters who had been feuding.
indeed, the film would have been substantially improved if Eugene Lutz'z ego had been edited down from the size of the Titanic to, say, the Love Boat.
nonetheless, this little indie film is a very warm-hearted look at the unavoidable conflict between the fact that society must have rules to be society, but humans must sometimes bend or even break these rules to be humans.
Synecdoche, New York (2008)
both sides are right
when "the suits" have too much say, you get Beverly Hills Chihuahua. when they have too little say, you get Synecdoche, New York.
Synecdoche, New York does have all of the weaknesses described by those who hated it.
it also has all of the strengths described by those who loved it.
personally, there is no way i would miss seeing PSH, Hope Davis, Tom Noonan, Dianne Wiest and an equally superb cast of other players acting their heart out.
scenes from this movie will be recurring to me many years from now (especially Hope Davis's role).
but, otoh, seeing this film was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, literally as well as figuratively.
Starting Out in the Evening (2007)
The Write Stuff
i hope everyone forgives me for this doubly-politically-incorrect groaner from Hollywood: question: how do you know a starlet is Polish? answer: she goes to bed with the writer. (budda bing ... budda boom)
with the exception of the few writers who are rich and famous, to the extent that to be *desirable* a man needs to be either a 'catch' or a 'hunk', making a play for a writer is usually a lose-lose proposition.
however writers, of course, write (and often pitch) the scripts in film land. thus, from time-to-time projects go forward in which a lush young woman offers up her charms to an icky old writer. within this sub-genre, "Interview" is a late-middle-aged Portnoy's complaint along the lines of: women -- you can't live with 'em, and you can't kill 'em. by contrast, "Starting Out in the Evening" is a chick-flick that views relationships through the other end of the telescope: nice guys aren't 'hot'; but, alas, the 'hot' ones aren't willing to commit.
"Starting Out" gives its viewers 3 relationships to mull over. there's a December/May tryst involving the dusty and fusty Leonard Schiller (Frank Langella), a retired lit teacher with a bad ticker whose 4 published novels are long out-of-print, and who has been trying to complete a 5th one for 10 years. (a gen-X literary editor describes his generation of novelists as the kind of white males who wear a suit and go to bed by 9:30). to his utter befuddlement, Leonard's monotonous daily routine is suddenly upended by Heather (Lauren Ambrose), an ambitious and determined grad student. Heather's siren call is that if Leonard cooperates on her master's thesis about him and his work, the result might be the revival of his literary reputation -- just as the critic Malcolm Cowley had revived William Faulkner's.
and, there are the 2 relationships of Leonard's soon-to-be-40, more-touchy-feely-than-cerebral, daughter Ariel (Lili Taylor): one with Victor (Michael Cumpsty), a nice guy whose baby she is trying to have (without his knowledge), and another with Casey (Adrian Lester), who won't consent to becoming a father, but unlike Victor, isn't melanin-challenged.
when the couples aren't coupling on screen (thankfully briefly), there's a lot of literary chatter. for example, we learn that Leonard goes about writing by starting with a character who does something quirky that Leonard wants to explore. then he "follows" this character, and others he adds along the way, until he has a novel in hand.
there's also the delicate subject of how much of Leonard's fiction is disguised autobiography; and, whether the theme of Leonard's early works is "freedom" (defined as a woman's freedom to leave any relationship that gets in the way of her career). and, of course, just why is it that Leonard, in spite of being as rigidly disciplined in his writing routine as he is in everything else, still hasn't finished a novel after 10 years of pecking away daily at his Royal (manual) typewriter? on the issue of art vs commerce, there is a nice little cocktail party repartee between Leonard and Sandra (Jessica Hecht), the aforementioned literary editor. Leonard pontificates that over the course of his career he hasn't done work tainted by commerce, such as writing for the advertiser-supported publication where Sandra works. she replies that advertiser-support makes it possible for new voices to get published (eg, Heather).
some viewers have raved about Langella's portrayal of a Jewish intellectual who has spent his life on the Upper Westside of Manhattan. i will grant that his is certainly a serviceable performance. (indeed, all of the performances are solid.) but, this brings up a pet peeve of mine about American films. by my lights, the better American films have by far the best scripts, directing, acting, cinematography, etc, in the world. however, i continue to be baffled by many, many choices in casting. Leonardo DiCaprio as Howard Hughes ("The Aviator"), Nicole Kidman as Virginia Wolfe ("The Hours"), Jack Lemmon as Shelly Levine ("Glengarry Glen Ross", Stanley Tucci as Joseph Mitchell ("Joe Gould's Secret"), and Ben Kingsley ("You Kill Me") as a low-level Polish American thug (to name just 5 of the examples that immediately come to mind) are simply absurd miscastings. Frank Langella, fortunately, does a passable job. but, is there really such a shortage of older Jewish actors from New York that an Italian-American was the optimum choice for the role of Leonard Schiller? that cavil aside, "Starting Out" has an ending-up worth waiting for.
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (2007)
overwrought but fine performances, nonetheless
Cain (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and Abel (Ethan Hawke), both desperate for money, decide to rob Adam (Albert Finney) and Eve's (Rosemary Harris) mom-and-pop store. things go wrong.
Hoffman is powerful as always. Hawke and Finney could've shown a little more restraint (okay, a lot more), but the plot does call for high emotion. and, yes, the plot is more than a little improbable -- but, not absurdly so.
Michael Shannon provides a memorable supporting role as a thug set on making sure his sister gets her due. Blaine Horton makes an impressive film debut as some sort of male geisha who also deals drugs.
a bit too schmaltzy for my taste, and the performances are somewhat overwrought. but, still, Sidney Lumet has pulled off a first-rate blending of a heist flick with a family melodrama.
plus, Marisa Tomei has a very juicy role as the 'apple'.
Walk the Line (2005)
perhaps best movie scene i've ever viewed
"Walk the Line" has one of the finest scenes i've ever seen in any movie. toward the end, we see Johnny hosting a family gathering. now that he's been off substances for awhile and been behaving like a responsible husband and father, Cash and his pappy are finally reconciled.
Cash's two young daughters are trying to talk to their grandfather through styrofoam cups attached by a string. but, neither they nor their grandfather can hear anything through the cups, because the string is hanging loose.
Johnny explains to his pappy that the string has to be pulled taut for it to conduct sound between the cups. Johnny then walks away, suggesting his pappy tell his granddaughters a story.
the father, looking utterly perplexed, says he doesn't know any stories. Johnny shoots back: why don't you tell 'em about the time you built a boat and saved your family from a flood? (the incident inspired the Cash tune "Five Feet High and Rising".) this scene revealed the source of what had up until then been the father's lifelong resentment of the son. every boy in America knows the string has to be pulled taught to carry sound between two cups. the only conclusion to be drawn from the father's ignorance of this simple fact of childhood is that he had been too poor to have had a childhood. growing up in the Mississippi Delta, the father probably started working in the cotton fields around age 5 (the same age as his son Johnny later would).
but, by contrast with his father, Johnny had never wanted to do anything but play. he was fishing instead of helping his brother when the older boy (their father's favorite) was killed in an accident cutting wood at the saw mill. as an adult Johnny hadn't worked at a regular job -- he played the guitar instead. when he wasn't playing the guitar, he was playing around with alcohol, drugs, and women he wasn't married to.
being of Scottish descent, the father was the sort of man who'd have preferred having boiling oil poured into his ear, rather than ever brag about himself. whereas Johnny's career was about self-promotion, to the point of wanting fans to think of him as some kind of career outlaw, which disgusted the father.
so, even though the father was the kind of man who, like Noah, had saved his family by building a boat with the flood waters rising, when asked he couldn't think of any story to tell -- just the opposite of Johnny.
an incredibly rich, yet economical, scene.
Interview (2007)
not your parents' "My Fair Lady"
"Interview" is Steve Buscemi's remake of a film by Theo van Gogh {great nephew of Vinnie ("One-Ear") van Gogh -- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vincent_Van_Gogh -- before he was assassinated for profaning someone else's Sacred Cow. (profanities, of every sort, were the younger van Gogh's stock-in-trade.) this film is about a middle-aged journalist whose career is on a downward trajectory, whose personal life is in shambles, and who has been assigned to interview a beautiful young actress whose own personal life seems akin to, say, Lindsay Lohan's.
the journalist is bitter that he has been assigned to do a fluff piece about a spoiled celebrity brat, instead of being sent to Washington to cover an unfolding scandal at the White House. the actress is an hour late to the trendy restaurant where they meet, because she couldn't seem to pull her lips from those of her (female) co-star in a "Sex In the City" inspired TV serial. she is annoyed from the outset by the journalist's not having bothered to read the little backgrounder her PR people always provide to interviewers.
he starts out by asking her how she got the name "Katya". while she is explaining that though it is a Russian name, her mother is actually from the Netherlands (like the van Goghs), he interjects with helpful remarks like, "oh yeah, prostitution is legal in Amsterdam".
she finds him so off-putting that she soon cuts off the interview, and leaves the restaurant, though a couple had already happily given up their table because it was *her* "favorite table". however, because of the kind of coincidence that only happens in movies, minutes later she invites him up to her fabulous downtown Manhattan loft.
there they set about to continue the interview, with each trying to maintain the upper hand -- him, as the war-weary international correspondent who hasn't the slightest interest in her sexually; her, with the "oh, are you gay? ..... then i want you to tongue-kiss me right now!" routine.
they are constantly interrupted by phone calls from her beau, to whom she fabricates new reasons with every call for her not being able to talk at that moment, and her female co-star, with whom she gabs at great length, while lying on her bed with her legs spread apart and pointed at the ceiling, or dancing about her bedroom after the manner of Isadora Duncan -- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isadora_Duncan.
when not on the phone with her girlfriend, the actress jokingly says things like, "i'm a crack whore". the journalist's gallant response goes something like: no, no, no -- i've been with whores all over the world, and you're no *crack* whore.
after consuming a great deal of booze, and other mood-altering substances, they expose their scars (physical and emotional). for example, while the two of them are dancing romantically, she lets it be known that her famous acting teacher made a pass at her during a private lesson.
eventually the journalist hears himself loudly denounced as "sleazy", "sick", "disgusting", "weird", a "son-of-a-bitch" (as in, "i want to *kill* you ... you son-of-a-bitch"), and, of course, "unprofessional". he apologizes for his being "unprofessional".
i won't give away the ending, but let's just say that times have changed since "My Fair Lady" first came out.
The Astronaut Farmer (2006)
a deeply subversive movie
on the surface, Astronaut Farmer appears to be ordinary wholesome family fare (though rated PG, not G, because of one gory scene). yet, scoop away the corn pone, and it is as subversive a movie as i have seen in the past 30 or more years.
imagine an American-made film depicting an intact nuclear family in which the white male father is neither molesting his children, nor physically or emotionally abusing his wife, nor a drunk, addict, philanderer, or even a compulsive gambler. (alright, at one point he is diagnosed as clinically insane, but let's not quibble.) as if that were not implausible enough, he's a southerner -- indeed, a *Texan!* (had he been, say, a working class Italian American with no connection, of any sort, to the Mob, it would have pushed the envelope of credulity beyond the tearing point.)
the first question one might ask would be: how could such a project ever get financed in the first place? aside from a nutcase such as Mel Gibson, who would risk capital on such an implausible premise? as it turns out, this indie project is, in part, a vehicle for two child actors, Jasper and Logan Polish, who are daughters of this film's writers, producers, directors Mark and Michael Polish (additionally, Mark plays an FBI agent on screen). i guess there's nothing like putting your own daughters in your film to motivate an 'unorthodox' perspective on fatherhood.
perhaps what made this otherwise impossible premise acceptable by Hollywood PC standards were two (otherwise completely gratuitous) auto-de-fe's by the father (Billy Bob Thornton, who is actually from Arkansas, not Texas -- but let's not get carried away). in the first, he speechifies to a committee of officious Washington bureaucrats who wickedly want to stop a private citizen from launching a manned Atlas rocket from his backyard, words to the effect, ~if another country tried to land men on the moon, the US would probably declare war on them~. (the last i read, Japan and China have such ambitions; but, so far, there are no plans for war with either country on Dick Cheney's desk. {come to think of it, cross your fingers.})
in the other genuflection to the Hollywood Left, Thornton, responding to a rumor that violent force will be used by the US government to prevent his launch, says something like, ~they're pretty good at killing people with dreams.~ (conspiracy theories, anyone?)
the ever-radiant Virginia Madsen (why hasn't her career been at least as big as, for example, Jessica Lange's?) plays Thornton's wife, who stands by her man. Bruce Dern is, as always, convincing -- in this role as Madsen's father.
bring the kids. if none are handy, bring the kid inside yourself.
Notes on a Scandal (2006)
perhaps the best movie i have ever seen
i got around to seeing "Notes on a Scandal", and am very glad i did. briefly Judi Dench plays a 'spinster' secondary school teacher nearing retirement. Cate Blanchett is in the role of a married-with-children, 30-something newcomer to the faculty. Dench is as bitterly cynical as Blanchett is naively idealistic.
they become fast friends. but, Dench's emotional neediness gets out of hand when she starts using an indiscretion Blanchett has committed to exercise increasing control over the younger woman's life.
both Dench and Blanchett have received high praise, but i think Blanchett's performance was over-hyped, and Dench's under-recognized. to be sure, Blanchett's portrayal was much more fully developed as 'the blonde' (if the reader will permit this retro descriptor) than that of a number of actresses whom i could name, but won't. however, that's about it. by contrast, Dench's performance was positively *jaw-dropping*. she *was* her character. and, Bill Nighy, as Blanchett's 20-years-older husband, was excellent.
i recall thinking to myself, as i watched 'Notes': this is the *best* movie i've ever seen. fwiw, at least two of the audience-reviewers at IMDb.com wrote much the same thing. to the extent this is true, the credit must go to Dench.
Inland Empire (2006)
when someone's work you love disappoints
{i checked the 'Contains spoiler' box with ironic intent: this movie has no plot to 'spoil'.} 'show business' is only an oxymoron to those who don't understand that unless there's a dialectic between what the audience wants (escapism without real consequences) and what the artist wants to convey (that he/she has a unique vision that must be taken seriously), what you wind up with is meaningless navel-gazing.
if there's too much control by "the suits", you wind up with "Home Alone XX". with just the right balance between suits and a visionary artist, you may get masterpieces such as "Blue Velvet", "Lost Highway", and "Mulholland Drive". however, once the lunatics are in charge of the asylum, all too often the result is an incoherent mess like "Inland Empire."
Woody Allen has made a career of dramatizing insights derived from Freud. analogously, the tapestry that connects Lynch's work is the mad interplay among the Jungian themes of Shadow, Self, Anima, and Animus -- but, however much (or little) dreams may illuminate our waking reality, dreams that have no referents besides other dreams, if that, merely obscure rather than illuminate.
after a beginning that suggests we may be in for another fascinating closeup of the Munch-like horrors lying just beneath the surface of the Norman Rockwell reality we still cling to when our guard is down in a movie house, all too soon we find ourselves sitting through 3 hours of boring non-sequitors.
the scary scenes don't scare, the sexy scenes don't arouse. because one of the most fundamental drives of the human psyche is to find meaning (something that artists of the absurdist school might pause to ponder), the viewer's attention winds up being riveted on Lynchian tics like light bulbs and overapmplified sounds of the background noise on a long distance phone call (or is it the sound of bathroom plumbing? -- who knows or cares?). the unintended result is that it feels like a parody of Lynch done by Mad TV. (it's too loud, too lacking in any subtlety, and just plain too ugly for SNL).
one of the less commented upon features found in all of Lynch's films from "Blue Velvet" on is that they are visually gorgeous. "Inland Empire" looks like a video-to-film transfer shot on a cheap camcorder. (indeed, from what i've read, it WAS shot on a cheap camcorder.) it's sad, and disappointing, to see a great artist lose his way. Let's hope Lynch is back to his otherwise superb form in his next film.
Good Night, and Good Luck. (2005)
the most shamefully dishonest movie i've ever seen
"Goodnight and Good Luck" is shown in gorgeous black and white. i would see the film again just to enjoy the cinematography.
however, beyond aesthetics, i think another reason for the use of b&w was to emphasize the filmmakers' dishonest portrayal of the controversy as a matter of 'black and white' in the figurative sense. indeed, at the beginning of the movie, Murrow is portrayed as saying something like: ~i don't believe every story has two sides; and, besides, the other side has had years to present its case.~
i don't believe Murrow (or any other honest journalist, for that matter) believed the former; i don't believe he ever said that; and, even if he did, the makers of this movie (who didn't give 5 seconds to the other side, incidentally) are well aware that, based upon the revelations in the Venona papers and revelations by the successor organization to the old KGB, there certainly were lots and lots of shades of gray to the whole episode.
see, for example, the very anti-McCarthy cold war historian Thomas Powers's concession that much of what McCarthy *originally* claimed (ie, that the State Department was shot through with Soviet Spies, the Truman Administration knew this, and that they were dealing with the problem silently, without letting the public know what was really going on) was largely true, contrary to the film putting the words into Murrow's mouth that "99%" of the people McCarthy was accusing were innocent {never mind its slyly trying to make it seem as if Alger Hiss was not proved to have been a spy}.
(google searches of "Venona" on the New York Review of Books, NY Times, Nova, etc will confirm this.)
that McCarthy was a nasty drunk and a scoundrel is not in dispute. but, nonetheless, the substance of his original charge is largely true, contrary to this movie's 'black and white' representations.
on his Sunday morning talking heads program, Chris Matthews said he had reservations about a film that was so one-sided. but, after seeing it, he realized this film is not about what happened then; rather, it is about what's happening now. that is, about the ways in which dissent is being equated with disloyalty. (for just one example, the very name "Patriot Act" implies that its opponents are, well, unpatriotic.)
but, in a subsequent show, aired the day of the Oscar awards ceremony, Matthews said "the problem with Goodnight and Good Luck" (as a candidate for Best Picture) is that this movie makes it appear "as if the other side was making it all up." (quotes to the best of my recollection.) contrary to the implicit claims of this thoroughly dishonest movie, the other side had no need "to make it all up".
The Defiant Ones (1958)
it doesn't get much more inauthentic than this
imagine a bunch of former Ku Klux Klansmen and their bubba buddies from the backwoods of Georgia doing "Fiddler on the Roof" to get some kind of idea about howlingly inauthentic this production is.
(the bloodhounds did look authentic, though.)
nonetheless, i give it a "7" because this exercise in (supposed) 'social realism' is about something other than sex and violence.
well, at least it isn't about sex.
okay, not explicitly so.
besides, it's always fun to see character actors from that era, like Claude Akins and Lon Chaney, Jr, even with the volume muted to escape the jarringly false-sounding accents of their fellow performers.
of course, Sidney Poitier (with or without audio) makes the other leading players seem like students doing summer stock (not that they needed his help to do so). but then, that's why Sidney Poitier is *Sidney Poitier*.
and, hey, they all meant well, which is more than can be said for much of today's offerings from popular culture.
The Goldbergs (1949)
simply the finest sitcom every made
i don't watch television entertainments (other than SNL occasionally). but, one night at about 2am, while channel-surfing the UHF band i stumbled onto an episode of "The Goldbergs".
the contrast between this show and today's dreck literally brought tears to my eyes. in this particular episode, a couple who were friends of the Goldbergs had just separated. it seems that they did not 'communicate' openly and honestly with each other during their marriage.
in discussing this, the Goldbergs started to become increasingly candid with each other about mutual disappointments from the past. as they did so, the emotional air became more and more acrid.
the point was that there is no easy answer to the question of how much to 'confront' and how much to sweep under the carpet. but, there was no hitting below the belt, no potty humor, no double (or mono) entendres. just two decent people discussing a universal domestic problem with a leavening of humor.
i haven't been able to find it again, but i wish it would go into syndication locally.
The Manchurian Candidate (2004)
the usual suspects {spoilers}
if you're utterly clueless, you probably imagine that off-and-on for the past 2500 years there has been a life-or-death struggle between western notions of the primacy of individual choice and a variety of communitarian polities from the east determined to stamp out individualism. if you're particularly dull, you might think that since 1940 or so, America has been, in the words of Polish-born writer Ted Morgan, the "world's last best hope" against economic totalitarianism (communism), racial totalitarianism (fascism), and now religious totalitarianism (Islamic fundamentalism).
but, as everyone who's anyone in the world of the arts or the life of the mind knows, the real "enemy" {sic} is "rich people" {sic}, global capitalism, an assertive American patriotism, and, though it dare not be said aloud, the type of Christian who raises her hand and says, "I'm a believer". in a word, Republicans.
fortunately, those of us who were still in the dark now have a remake of The Manchurian Candidate to clue us in as to who the "enemy" really is, and how this enemy goes about trying to steal away our democracy (such as it is). it seems that a multinational corporation indistinguishable from Haliburton has hired a mad scientist (naturally, he's from South Africa) who uses the knowledge he gained making genetically modified tomatoes to implant microchips just beneath the skin of those whom the enemy would control. how do these microchips do this? no one knows -- except the mad scientist. oh, and there's something about belly dancers with faces covered with tattoos who carry around red, white, and blue models of the human brain accompanied by weird music. is that clear? if it's not, you're obviously some kind of Republican.
but, the reason for going to see this movie is not for its coherence on the subjects of politics and science. rather, it's to see how the supreme diva of all Hollywood, Meryl Streep (still drop-dead gorgeous at age 55), measures up to Angela Lansbury as the most over-the-top emotionally controlling mother in the history of cinema. let's just say: if *that's* your reason for seeing this film, you won't be disappointed.
it's also a pleasure to watch Denzel Washington as Major Marco (doing his best Colin Powell imitation), Kimberly Elise as a very believable heroine whose role is much juicier than in the original version, and Liev Schreiber as a much more likable Raymond Shaw than the effete impudent snob that Laurence Harvey portrayed. along with Ms. Streep, they should cop nominations for best actor and actress and best supporting actor and actress. but, from the point of view of pure acting, no one deserves an Oscar more than Jeffrey Wright, as one of the hapless members of Marco's and Shaw's unit in Kuwait.
bottom line: like the original, a couple of hours of silly but enjoyably star-powered Hollywood escapism.
Confidences trop intimes (2004)
how do you say 'borrrring' in french?
Intimate Strangers was very disappointing, especially after seeing the excellent "The Door in the Floor". while the premise could have led to some really fascinating explorations of the underside of the human psyche, the 'revelations' in Intimate Strangers that a married woman makes to a male tax attorney (thinking he is a psychotherapist) are rather ho-hum, even by Oprah standards, never mind David Lynch.
what might have been an amusing 20- to 30-minute made-for-TV mistaken-identity romantic farce was stretched into a 1-hour 45-minute tedium of people staring in the mirror clueless, then at one another, then back in the mirror.
by contrast, The Door in the Floor has snappy dialogue, lush, gorgeous cinematography, and when the plot calls for, say, an automobile accident (or marital infidelity), "Door" shows you the auto accident (or marital infidelity), rather than merely having one of the characters talk about it.
since Intimate Stranger's music by Pascal Estève is derivative of Angelo Badalamenti (who composed the music for several David Lynch films), one is even more disappointed that the script is so insipid. the score's Badalamenti-like undertones of suspense bordering on the macabre were totally misplaced in what is actually a romantic comedy -- that unfortunately isn't very much of either.
The Holy Land (2001)
award-winning brilliant first film by Eitan Gorlin
i almost missed this gem of a movie. a number of critics have damned it with faint praise. fortunately, a lawyer friend of mine, Mike, had no particular interest in anything else currently showing. so, he agreed to see it with me, because it would count as "my pick" -- meaning that he would have the next pick.
"The Holy land" is a coming of age story. but the protagonist, Mendy, is not just any run-of-the-mill naif. he is a rabbinical student in Tel Aviv, and the scion of a line of ultra-orthodox rabbis. his family is wonderfully wholesome, while Mendy is unbearably horny. the head rabbi at his yeshiva, noting Mendy's inability to concentrate on his studies, cites a passage in the Talmud (while denying that he is advising it) that states that a young man who visits a professional female companion will come away more focused on his religious studies.
Mendy does not need to have his arm twisted. soon he finds a strip joint, goes in, meets the charming and beautiful Sasha, and falls in love with her. through Sasha he meets Mike, a larger than life character who owns a bar in Jerusalem where stock Arab and Jewish characters seamlessly mix in a sort of bizarre version of "Cheers".
it is a timeless story about the conflict in the soul of every young adult (who has a pulse) between the idealistic pull from above to transcend our human nature, and the tug from below to experience the pleasures of the flesh precisely at that point in life when we are most able to enjoy them. having been raised as an ultra-orthodox Jew, Mendy has grown up in a culture second to none in its seriousness about avoiding the distractions of the secular world. yet, as an intelligent and sensitive young man, Mendy can't help but be elated by seeing the maps in an atlas, to give just one example of how sheltered his life had been before then.
Oren Rehany deserves an Oscar for his performance as Mendy. he wordlessly conveys more emotion with the expressions on his face than most actors can deliver in a full blown soliloquy. Tchelet Semel, as Sasha, is not just "the girl". she's a fully developed character, with youth, beauty, and a mother back in Russia who needs money to pay for heat in the winter.
and, all of this takes place against the backdrop of Jerusalem -- site of the world's longest running battle for the soul of man. so, what's the catch? the catch is that you can't dramatize the conflict between the sacred and the profane if you leave out the profane. and, if you love Israel, you may feel uncomfortable with a film that spends so much time on the dark side of life there, especially the IDF's routine treatment of Palestinians. (who wouldn't be uncomfortable seeing the warts of one's beloved displayed on the big screen?) but, if you can get beyond that, this movie is well worth seeing.
oh, Mike was very grateful that i picked this movie ;-)
Capturing the Friedmans (2003)
it's America's fault (of course!)
{spoilers}
this is the story of father and son homosexual pedophiles who have been lying their whole lives, and the codependent in-denial enablers in their family who shill for them. as such, they are able to convince those who already have an anti-American/anti-police bias that, notwithstanding the voluntary, uncoerced confessions of guilt by both defendants in open court to being homosexual child molesters, somehow it is America in general and the police in particular that deserve to be censured here, not the perpetrators. (even the Friedman's narcissistic self-obsession is blamed on *america* -- isn't that special!).
what to do about the fact that the wife believed her husband was guilty from the outset? demonize the wife, of course. what to do about the fact that the father's lawyer and the son's lawyer both insisted that their client was guilty? mum's the word.
whatever you may have read to the contrary, both lawyers were sharp as a tack. in the most damning evidence of all (besides the little matter of the confessions), Arnold's lawyer says he went into pre-trial discovery confident that he could get the witnesses to contradict themselves (after all, they were children who had supposedly been brainwashed into making the accusations). he came away shaken by the fact that he couldn't. after that, he knew that a plea bargain was Arnold's only viable option, as a trial was out of the question.
in this supposedly even-handed film, this particular segment lasted perhaps 20 to 30 seconds. i could tell that the audience i watched it with was barely affected by it. but, if you know anything about criminal defense, this was devastating to any doubts you might have had about Arnold's guilt.
Jesse's lawyer got a lot more time on screen. he said that Jesse had told him that his father had molested him from an early age and that as he got older he helped his father molest children. he blubbered about how sorry he was as he entered his plea of guilty in court. he has since recanted. which time would a reasonable person infer he was lying?
so far, as far as i can tell, not one other commentator has mentioned a single word about the overwhelmingly persuasive statements made by the accused's lawyers. apparently, it got in the way of their agenda.