Reviews

Perhaps it's inevitable that the producers, designers and writers of this series will care more about getting the British elements right, without being so particular about the American. To start with a positive, the British elements in this series are nearly all superb. (In passing I confess I am not wild about the characterization of MacMillan.) And about the Kennedys, I liked Jackie. The voice was right, and the acerbity was spot-on. JFK was muffed, however -- and I would not lay this on the actor. When the whole world, including the Royal Court, collapses in grief at the assassination, you have to wonder why, given the flaccid portrayal of JFK in this episode. As a matter of historic fact, when JFK reached Britain after the Vienna summit, he was broken in body and spirit because he felt he had been so badly beaten up by Khrushchev. It is also a matter of historic fact that MacMillan -- the historical one, not the one in this film! -- was quite extraordinary in helping JFK to recuperate. As a JFK fan and as a historian of this period, I was chagrined at the portrayal of JFK. And chagrined at the slap to Jackie's memory as well. No historic evidence exists to support what is shown on screen. The production staff went completely rogue on this one. I love this whole series ten times over, and this episode is the exception that proves the rule. In summary -- nice try on this one, and on the series: Rule Britannia!

I caught the last part of this documentary on one of the Bay Area PBS stations--KCSM--and couldn't believe my eyes. Unlike nearly everything one sees about Cuba, this film opens the door to a clear view of something that has been, for the most part, distorted and simplistically portrayed. The depiction we have of the revolution comes mainly from the winners--the Castro party--and also from people who identify as the losers--who cannot get out from under that feeling. By contrast, this wonderful narrative wipes the slate clean. Along the way, and just in passing, it nicely rebuts the perspectives of the Obama administration, which has crawled snugly into bed with the Castro version of things. But that's politics, and the important interest here is history. The Dutch philosopher Huizinga said that nothing can substitute for the pure taste of history. This film takes us back to the source and delivers the pure taste. It's sincere, it's stylish, it's unfettered, and it's true.

My wife and I walked out of this movie after an hour, when we found that we just didn't care what might happen with the characters. The trouble for us is that the characters are simply not likable. Now, it's also true that one isn't supposed to say this, in line with current standards of political correctness. The prevailing, I should say domineering, character is a woman in her mid-eighties who suffers a stroke. One is supposed to like her because she's elderly, distinguished, a woman, and rendered vulnerable by illness. But in her core she's immensely unlikable. She's peremptory and defensive; she cuts people off; she has created misery in her relationships; and yet people do not simply put up with her but revere her. Indeed, she belongs to the Simone de Beauvoir brigade of liberated French women who are universally admired but who are, at best, an acquired taste. She runs roughshod over everybody else in the film -- especially over her long-suffering husband -- who takes her guff with dedication and decency. The dialogue (at least as far as we saw) never digs into this character to create a rounded portrait; it is as if a female version of King Lear were allowed to rampage across the drama, never being challenged and never taking a hard look inside. The creators of this film then become Frankensteins who are buggered by their own creation. But since the rest of the world is showering praise, they'll never come to terms with it. As for my wife and me, we are done with French films of this kind; having met the syndrome a couple of other times in recent years, we will only watch newly-made French movies if they are farces or romantic comedies. Did I forget to say that no one in "Amour" cracks a smile, and that humor is nowhere near? Well, perfection is expensive.

Here's my own disclosure: my wife and I walked out of this in the middle, so we have no idea how the storytellers resolved all the loose ends. The problem we had was with the main character, the boy. He seems to be a block of granite. Nothing gets in with him. Love and generosity make no impact, while the boy is drawn to those who will do him harm. So the question is: can he be saved by the lady with a heart of gold? I cannot "spoil" the outcome for you because I cannot say what happened. I do know that Dostoyevsky did this kind of thing in "Crime and Punishment" but at the same time invested his main character with a great deal more nuance than this boy had. If you think that nuance cannot be conveyed in a child, then have a look at Truffaut's "The Four Hundred Blows". The kid in this movie is made of such impermeable material, and he dominates the film so completely, that we could not see any good coming from his story. We also didn't want to see other characters harmed by him. So we left. The movie has a basic level of cinematic skill in it--including the ability to depict characters that get under your skin--so I give it four out of ten stars. But for me it was not a satisfying artistic experience.

I really like these shows on the Civil War's hottest confrontations. If you want to understand the war, you have to picture the movements of the armies and their meetings in battles; and the picture is unbelievably complex. The strategy of the series is to present the battles in reenactments that are discreetly supported by commentary. The emphasis is on the filmed image, while the historical background --carefully prepared and present at all times-- makes sense of what you are seeing in the mini-dramas. It's like being at the cinema, with a kind of guarantee that the image on screen is as close as possible to the way it happened. So it's more vivid and persuasive than the typical Hollywood concoction. This show and others in the series give a visceral understanding of the war that's also accurate--and that's something to be treasured. With pleasure, I give this show and the whole series a maximum rating.

The more I learn about the history of this period, the better I like Book 3 of North & South. A lot of viewers dislike it because they feel it isn't up to the first two books. In a sense, they're right. And the reason is that the history of the prewar period, of the war itself and of the postwar period --known as "Reconstruction," a fairly gross misnomer--are very different things. The prewar and war had gallantry to go along with the conflict and the misery. Reconstruction, by contrast, has a dreadful history that nobody likes. The period is unpopular with the general public, and it's shunned by historians. It was a frankly awful time in which many sordid scores were settled; in which the country had to find its way through an ethical and political morass, with few happy endings. I haven't read Jakes's novel "Heaven and Hell," but I do feel that the film is true to the period it portrays. With all the difficulties, a lot of nobility comes out through the characters who exemplify ordinary decency; and those who are depraved--a large portion--are sharply and well defined. Other production values are good, with handsome cinematography and an excellent score. The major problem in the production is that casting issues are widespread, while a major character, Cooper, shows up rather implausibly as a "deus ex machina." For all that, I give the film a rating slightly lower than the highest possible. But don't worry. As long as you're not expecting to see a drama just like that of the buildup to the war and then the war itself--as long as you can get used to the idea that something new and not always easy is coming--you'll find a lot of satisfaction.

"Midnight in Paris" is the best Woody Allen film I know, by several miles. The night before seeing it I happened to see another of Woody's films, "Deconstructing Harry," and the proximity was convenient for telling the difference. "Midnight in Paris" is based on an act of imagination, with Allen's quirky humor placed at the service of it. "Deconstructing Harry," like pretty much everything else Allen has made, is a long string of one-liners inspired by Woody's self-regarding. It seems that Woody has finally learned to take himself out of the frame and to create a structure that gives something of value to the viewer.

Is it a great film? Let's see how it plays in the memory. I knew I was hooked when I felt the wonder experienced by Owen Wilson's character. That moment breathes authentically; and Woody's persona is nowhere near. The film has its share of flaws but many more beauties. I especially respect the film for ending at precisely the place it should. How many of today's films or fictions can make that claim, or would bother to?

I was reluctant to see "The Conspirator" because it has racked up a critical consensus of a kind I dislike: the film is said to be cold-hearted, and to make political points with a heavy hand. Neither of these, happily, turns out to be true. The film is utterly impassioned, and its interest for today is nicely noted without being too underlined. Nearly every element one wants in a great film is there: visual beauty, strong acting, fine pacing, stirring and well-made music. But there is a flaw. The creators have taken their creation too seriously. There's not a shaft of levity or humor anywhere. A requirement for great art is thereby missed. It doesn't matter how somber the subject is supposed to be. King Lear has his fool; even Wagner's ultra-dark Ring cycle has its powerful currents of humor. It's got to be there; otherwise, the whole organism suffers. I think this is the weakness to which reviewers have responded, even if none of them has precisely named it. On that ground, the film falls short of greatness; but in every other respect it approaches or achieves greatness. "The Conspirator" is hugely recommendable and I will certainly see it again.

"The Autobiography of Nicolae Ceausescu" is an audacious, and to my eye very successful, way to tell a story. I should say to show a story, because nothing is told. No context or viewpoint is provided, other than the camera's. The filmmakers have drawn on a rich video archive concerning Ceausescu and Rumania from 1965 to 1989. No opinions are explicitly offered, and no history or explanation provided, beyond what the camera sees. And the camera sees a lot. As with the footage in Leni Riefenstahl's "Olympia," the images are quite arresting, and one really doesn't want to move one's eye away from what the camera is seeing. I would offer three pieces of advice about the film. First, go and be prepared to supply your own context. I'm a historian and fairly wonky in these matters, but even so, it took me a good few minutes to get accustomed to the idea that the film's narrative was going to be simply what the camera was showing. I suspect this will catch many viewers by surprise, and it's better to know it in advance. Second: go with an open mind. Ceausescu is a controversial character. It pays to put your viewpoints aside --not forget them, just suspend them-- while you are seeing the film. And finally, by all means go. This is audacious storytelling and great cinema. The effort you expend on this journey will certainly be rewarded.

"Up in the Air" is special because it's solidly good in (what used to be) an ordinary way. It has a beginning, a middle and an end. Most films today (especially American ones) open strong, continue adequately and then make a very long march to the credits, because they don't know how to stop.

One of the nicest things about "Up in the Air" is that it knows how, where and when to leave you--so you leave the theater solidly satisfied.

The other thing that cries out for admiration is the artfulness of the script. The film's logic is rooted, where it should be, in a fine screenplay. The actors get neat things to say, neat situations to convey, and they do a neat job with them.

For me, the standout performance belongs to Kendricks. Her character is sincere, complex and consistent. At the same time she's coiled, intense and unpredictable. Clooney & Farmiga, to an extent, are hampered by having to depict people who are not quite believable--although Clooney compensates with (what I see as) his trademark, dogged humanity.

And danged if I know why, but I always love seeing Sam Elliott.

This film deserves the highest rating--because, in our day, the solidly good has become heroic--and because, at its end, "Up in the Air" is so roundly satisfying.

You could say a film proves itself by whether you give it a second thought. Another proof is how the film plays on second viewing. "Red Doors" plays very well on first viewing and lodges itself in your memory. On second viewing, it inspires awe.

This film does not give up its secrets in bursts of action or plot-twists. Its strengths are symphonic, and it builds to a conclusion that will remain in your thoughts for a long time afterward. I especially appreciate the way it leaves its audience; "Red Doors" honors its viewers without ever pandering to them.

Everything about the film seems natural and easygoing until you see things that leave you wondering: How did they know? Ordinary things--the angle of a girl's hair, a home-video montage--grab you by the throat. The music craftily draws the viewer into the situations without ever drawing attention to itself. The performances, without obvious star-turns, have a cumulative impact that's just overwhelming.

To see "Red Doors" is to form an attachment to it. To see it again is to immerse yourself and love it.

"Le grand rôle" effectively dramatizes a simple and elegant premise: the dramas we play in our daily lives are more vital than anything people might play on a stage. The film, set in present-day Paris--unglorified but beautiful as always--explores issues of relationship and integrity as Hollywood films of the past might have done. Probably, younger audiences will be mystified by the film's unadorned grasp of what's important in life. In refreshing contrast to our current notions of get-ahead-whatever-it-takes, the main characters in this film--a group of struggling actors--place an old-fashioned value on their sense of community. Of course they want to advance in their careers, but never at the expense of their families or friends. Into their midst comes a big-time Hollywood director--a killing portrait by Peter Coyote--who is clever enough to have gotten to the top but whose basic notes invariably ring false. The result is a drama of the heart that keeps your attention riveted from first to last and, if you're able to relate to it, will send you away from the theater a bigger human being.

Has anyone ever noticed that the opening of "Triumph of the Will" and the opening of "The Sound of Music" are really quite the same? That the sense of space, time, occasion, heavenly bliss, descent from the clouds, is pretty identical in the two movies? And obviously that's not a coincidence. The makers of our preeminent family film had firmly in mind this most notorious of propaganda films when they composed their opening. Could it be otherwise? The broad masses of film fans do not see "Triumph," but every filmmaker does, and with reason. It's one of the world's most strikingly beautiful films. From a compositional viewpoint, its only real weakness is that it outstays its welcome -- like the regime it portrays. What of the verbal content? The only thing that strikes the educated viewer as egregious is the comment by Streicher about racial purity. All the comment about Hitler being Germany is annoying, to say the least; but our friends in the socialist camp have historically had no objection to similar statements about Castro being Cuba, Lenin or Stalin the U.S.S.R., etc. When you see the film through the eye of the filmmaker, you can put the polemical afterthoughts in another perspective. A cold eye to the film will see, first and finally, its utter plastic beauty. It's propaganda, but it's honest -- nothing in the realm of a twisted piece like Kalatozov's "I Am Cuba," which jerks history around in order to make exorbitant claims about the Castro regime. And it's highly annoying that people who attack Riefenstahl (Susan Sontag and others) have been rather incurable admirers of so-called Leftist regimes, especially Castro's, whose legacies one can view in retrospect -- unlike the situation with Riefenstahl, who had no retrospective view and was working in the frenzy of the moment. In a word: Hitler is bad, Riefenstahl is good. If you have trouble with that idea, then have a look at the first few minutes of world's favorite family film, and you can see an instance of how the good in Riefenstahl has resonated across time.