Reviews

I saw "Broken Embraces" not knowing much about it other than it's by Pedro Almodovar, which in itself is enough reason for me to go see it. He's one of my favorite directors and there hasn't been a film I've seen of his that I didn't enjoy. But this one, for me, is easily one of his best endeavors, as far as the portion of his work I've seen (most of his films from the 1990s and every feature from this decade).

It even rivals "All About My Mother," which is still my favorite Almodovar film (and which happens to be the first one I saw). I found the story and the characters in "Embraces" to be quite engrossing, though sometimes the plot was a bit complicated (nothing that future showings wouldn't help unravel though). But what's an Almodovar film without juicy layers of complexity, right? I appreciate the fact that no major character, save for Diego, is flawless. A viewer can sympathize with a given character in one scene then hate him or her in a later scene because of their behavior and treatment of others, etc.

Hopefully, soon a box set of this director's films will be released, preferably on Blu-ray (I would imagine that would be inevitable). I would love to have this film in one package that also includes "All About My Mother," "Bad Education," "Live Flesh," "The Flower of My Secret" and "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown." (assuming the distribution rights to all those titles are held by one studio, which I'm not sure of).

It's a bitter irony that a major film about the iconic gay rights leader Harvey Milk should premiere in theaters across the country less than a month after Proposition 8 passed in California by voter referendum, thus barring gay marriage, for the moment. Similar laws were enacted in a number of other states in the country. One could imagine Milk may have been disheartened at such news, coming three decades after his efforts toward the civil rights struggles of a people. But, after seeing "Milk," the newest movie about his activism, politics and life, one could imagine that he and his sizable movement would be all the more determined to bring about equality for gays and lesbians.

Appropriately, the picture is shot, by Director of Photography Harris Savides, largely with a documentary-style aesthetic that is both no-nonsense and candid, frequently mixing footage from actual marches, television reports, newspaper layouts and the like, into the rest of the film in a way that is relatively seamless (thanks, in part, to fine editing by Elliot Graham). My only quip about this is that perhaps the new scenes made for this film could have had a more grainy aesthetic to more thoroughly blend with the archival footage. But it's only a minor issue in a movie that is visually well-presented. The handful of new black and white stills pictures that Harvey takes of his partner, Scott, are particularly intriguing.

The resemblance to a documentary style of film-making doesn't end there, of course. Since this drama is about real people and events, there's bound to be some aspect of it that feels like a documentary. "Docudrama" — with the emphasis on the first half of the word —would be a convenient and apt description for this film, if one must categorize. In some ways this new film is a remake of "The Times of Harvey Milk," a first-rate documentary directed by Robert Epstein that appeared nearly twenty-five years ago. If there's any drawback to the current "Milk" it's that it covers so much of the same ground as the older film that those who have seen Epstein's project already know much of what will transpire in the new version. Aside from that, the newer "Milk" does delve more deeply and satisfactorily into its main subject's personal life and, because of its status as a docudrama, Van Sant is able to utilize the tools of creative and dramatic license at his disposal much more freely than Epstein could have, to greater emotional impact. We see more actual dialogue and relationships between Milk and his partners, friends, colleagues and others, something that wouldn't be likely with a regular documentary. In this way the subject at the center of attention of the new film seems more soulful, more human than he would otherwise. (That's not a criticism of Epstein's film.) So does everyone around him. The movie does a remarkable job at making all these people seem real.

The creative team captures the look and spirit of the Milk's time and place quite well, due in no small measure to Bill Groom's production design and Danny Glicker's clothing (and all that big hair). The actors look remarkably similar to the actual people they portray, with the centerpiece being the magnificent Sean Penn ("All the King's Men," "Mystic River") whose resemblance to his subject, Harvey Milk, is so uncannily close in appearance and voice one could mistake him for the actual person. It seems that Penn's looks did not have to be modified much as he looks much like Milk to begin with, though Milk's hair seems a bit curlier. The film is a treasure-trove of fine acting from its major players.

"Milk" will be remembered, in the very least, as one of the milestones in gay cinema. But, it deserves a higher honor: recognition as an important film about civil rights, and recognition as an important film, period.

Central to this story's concerns are not so much the clergy and religion (those are mostly tools to help serve the story), but the nature of people's perceptions of certain events and of one another, their convictions that those perceptions are factually accurate, how they act upon those convictions (whether they are correct or misguided), and the consequences of those actions. (And, yes, one issue does beget the next.) It is about people believing what they want to believe, even if to do so they must turn the other cheek.

It could not have been an easy task to incorporate so many essential human conditions into one story, and develop them as well they have been here, but John Patrick Shanley, who both directed the film and adapted his own play from stage to screen, has succeeded in what is easily one of the best-written films of the year.

These themes could occur in any place or at any time, but it makes sense that Shanley chooses to set it in a Catholic church and school located in the Bronx in the mid 1960s, a year after President Kennedy's assassination. It is, arguably, a time when people within the country have doubts about the world and themselves and, perhaps, looks to their religion and faith to find some hint of reassurance. Yet, over a relatively short time, that stability and certainty is challenged for the small group of nuns, clergy, parishioners, teachers and parents at the center of this story.

This is one of the better stage-to-screen adaptations in recent memory despite the fact that it was directed by the same person who wrote the original play. I don't mean that as an automatic criticism of all such movies; it's just that many such films, in their execution, are sometimes too "stagey"—mere replicas of the shows they were based on, rather than assured transformations from one medium to another. ("The History Boys" and the newer, musical version of "The Producers" are good examples of good stage shows turned into poor movies because their basic cinematic requirements were ignored.) An oft-overlooked fact is that each medium has its own distinct conventions and opportunities to be taken advantage of.

"Doubt" does not entirely overcome this transitional problem. The entire production still feels rather theatrical, which is not necessarily a criticism in and of itself. However, some scenes do look a bit overly-staged here and there, especially when the sole action on the screen—and from the speakers—consists of characters standing and talking to one another. Of course, this story is told much more through dialogue than physical action, so it is expected that most of the running time would be devoted to characters speaking. Notwithstanding this, little cinematic touches could have been introduced to make the whole affair seem more cinematic without sacrificing the simplicity that works so much to the film's benefit. One obvious touch would be the addition of a bit more music to the soundtrack. It's ironic that Howard Shore, one of the most revered film score composers working today, was hired for this movie, yet his work is only infrequently used.

The somewhat static quality brought on by the occasional staginess, in any case, is a relatively small criticism, which the writing—the meat and potatoes of the film—easily overcomes. Shanley clearly is an expert at the art of metaphor, a talent which abounds in his script, sometimes a little too often or too humorously, but never so much as to be a true distraction; it's usually just enough to make things more interesting. Some of the more memorable uses involve the weather, a light bulb, glasses of milk and, best of all, a bloody steak.

If you were not able to see the theatrical play (even if you did see it) go see this film. You may wish you had seen the play. If you're not religious, don't let the church setting, and presence of nuns and priests scare you away, as it's about something more fundamental and universal than religion. No matter what your persuasion, it merits a close viewing.

Though far from being one of the defining films of the president at its center, "Frost/Nixon" is an interesting-enough take on his famous post-resignation interviews in an era when Americans were disenchanted with the office of their president, though it follows the typical formula of its director.

Although "Frost/Nixon," the new movie from director Ron Howard, is presaged on Richard Nixon, the United States president who resigned from office in disgrace, and his series of interviews in 1977 with the British television talk show host David Frost, it is more about people working to overcome the odds and obstacles they face in order to prevail when most other people expected otherwise. In other words, it basically follows the typical Ron Howard formula, like "Apollo 13" and "Cinderella Man." This is not to diminish the premise of the film in any way, as it remains an intriguing one, nonetheless, despite the foregone conclusions of those who are familiar with Howard's other work. The second major political docudrama set in the 1970s to premiere in US theaters in about as many weeks (after "Milk") "Frost/Nixon" has been given the visual appearance of a somewhat a downbeat documentary, with its frequently muted colors and dim lighting, by cinematographer Salvatore Totino, as well as a light, often comical, though not always appropriate, feel by writer Peter Morgan. The various key players from both sides—except the two in the title roles—each appear in their own little "interviews" talking about their recollections concerning the main topic at hand and, in so doing, providing a narrative context of sorts (a device loosely similar to that employed by "Milk").

The picture is at its most riveting when it shows the destruction of such a man during the interviews by Frost, who was widely considered unqualified for the task of doing just that. Nixon, who held the most prominent and powerful job in the world, who finally forced to admit to himself, through Frost's interviews, that much of his presidency, and himself, is a sham, that his legacy will reflect as such for all future generations in the US, and that he will have to live with it for the rest of his life. That is, by far, the most interesting part of the movie.

Yet, only a relatively small portion, the last half-hour of a feature with a running time four times that length, is devoted to it. The remainder concerns itself, essentially, with David Frost's underestimation of his subject and his failings as a serious journalist. Frost, incarnated by Michael Sheen (also reprising his Broadway stage role), is a talk show playboy who is very nearly the definition of carefree and flamboyant. But he is also ambitious and, ultimately, determined. This is a man who seeks a seven-part television interview with Richard Nixon, despite not having what most journalists and broadcasters would consider the right credentials, and attains it. That, however, is only the start of the battle toward realizing his goal, as he must find financing to actually produce the series of episodes, financing that remains elusive even during the actual taping. Then, there's the small matter that Frost has no clue how to handle an interviewee as shrewd and manipulative as "Tricky Dick" Nixon, who is an expert at twisting critical questions to his advantage and dominating a conversation by rambling on about the extensive small details in his considerably large memory.

In terms of a (loose) description, part one of this two part series covers Ernesto Che Guevara's travels, alongside Fidel Castro, from Mexico to Cuba and his rise, organizing and leading his fighters, finally culminating in Castro's seizure of power in Cuba from Fulgencio Batista. The second film, rather different in tone and spirit from its companion, focuses primarily on his efforts in Bolivia, tracking his gradual downfall Little of Guevara's personal life aside from his activism is detailed, which is both a little surprising and somewhat vexing, especially when one considers the combined duration of both films is well over four hours. There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with a filmed biography limiting itself to just one or two particular aspects of its subject's diverse life; such an approach can ensure better focus on the material, as opposed to risking the potential the audience may become lost in a rambling, disjointed account in which too few events in the subjects life are explored with adequate depth and clarity.

The pair of films, overall, are most memorable for their sequences of Guevara's guerrilla army training and battling in the jungles and waters of Cuba and Bolivia and especially for the climactic battles near the end of each film. They may each be overlong and not chart as much territory as they perhaps should. Some may wish they would delve further into the obscure intimacies of his life, especially for the benefit of those already familiar with his activism. Others may feel the film does not question his militant means often or strongly enough. No, the films are not perfect, but lesser movies than these have been well received and, as such, these two are worth a look.

Here we are, with another questionable revamp of a classic film. This time the dubious honor goes to "The Day the Earth Stood Still," the classic science fiction tale from 1951 directed by Robert Wise, of a space alien named Klaatu who visits Earth to warn against mankind's ongoing hostilities, which stand to impact peaceful planets elsewhere. It's a problem that cannot be allowed to continue. The aliens, who long ago learned to maintain peace at home, would ensure that, so long as the human race is a threat to other planets, the very survival of people on their own planet would be jeopardized. In a small supporting gesture, the electricity that is so essential in driving life on Earth suddenly ceases to exist, and, although people remain alive, their way of life comes to a dead standstill throughout the globe.

The original was made in the style of many B-movies of its era featuring the usual trappings: a flying saucer made of streamlined metal; a huge metal robot with a slit that opens to reveal a destructive beam of light; a mysterious alien; chase sequences; acting that is somewhat wooden. Despite the styles of the storyline and aesthetics, this film is considered more significant and relevant than such a status would imply, due to its call for harmony in a time shortly after the horrors of a real-life world war, a continuing cold war and threats of nuclear Armageddon. Ironically, if had not become such a classic, it probably would not have been remade.

Fortunately, this year's version—directed by Scott Derrickson from a script by David Scarpa, which, in turn, was based on the 1951 screenplay by Edmund H. North—avoids the scene-by-scene carbon-copying of some remakes. Less fortunately, it adds little of interest to the story and fills that void in the movie with special effects that, despite the potential for the immense detail, flexibility and intrigue today's computer technology promises, come off as rather cold and empty. There are more sequences of action and suspense, but they mostly involve repetitious pursuits of Klaatu by the government and a desperate bid to save mankind from destruction that seems overextended to fill a running time that, at eleven minutes longer than the original, remains quite short but feels like an eternity. It's almost as if the world is being wiped out in real-time.

In short, this remake simply leaves audiences cold.

In terms of a (loose) description, part one of this two part series covers Ernesto Che Guevara's travels, alongside Fidel Castro, from Mexico to Cuba and his rise, organizing and leading his fighters, finally culminating in Castro's seizure of power in Cuba from Fulgencio Batista. The second film, rather different in tone and spirit from its companion, focuses primarily on his efforts in Bolivia, tracking his gradual downfall Little of Guevara's personal life aside from his activism is detailed, which is both a little surprising and somewhat vexing, especially when one considers the combined duration of both films is well over four hours. There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with a filmed biography limiting itself to just one or two particular aspects of its subject's diverse life; such an approach can ensure better focus on the material, as opposed to risking the potential the audience may become lost in a rambling, disjointed account in which too few events in the subjects life are explored with adequate depth and clarity.

The pair of films, overall, are most memorable for their sequences of Guevara's guerrilla army training and battling in the jungles and waters of Cuba and Bolivia and especially for the climactic battles near the end of each film. They may each be overlong and not chart as much territory as they perhaps should. Some may wish they would delve further into the obscure intimacies of his life, especially for the benefit of those already familiar with his activism. Others may feel the film does not question his militant means often or strongly enough. No, the films are not perfect, but lesser movies than these have been well received and, as such, these two are worth a look.

It's a musical showcasing unknown artists who perform songs in strange but inventive ways never heard before. It's about their de facto representative, their rise to dizzying success as well as their many troubles and, in some cases, their fall to dreadful lows. It is about their struggles (and agent's maneuvering) to be heard on the radio and thereby sell their records. It's about life in the big city and race relations during times of segregation. It's about addiction. Clubs. Showbiz. Records. Radio. Payola. Loyalty. Flamboyance. Big houses and shiny, new cars. Fidelity and infidelity. Sex. Drugs. Even rock and roll. And, it's a true story. But, it's not "Dreamgirls." Nor is it "Ray." Or "La Bamba." Or even "Hustle & Flow." Although it does bear more than a little resemblance to those films and others of similar ilk. There are so many films of this type that there should be an actual name for this subgenre, one that sticks.

"Cadillac Records" is much more low-key than "Dreamgirls" (more similar, perhaps, to "Ray"). Its cinematography and production design (by Anastas Michos and Linda Burton, respectively) are much less dazzling and flamboyant. And it is much less hyped. But it works reasonably well as a film, which, when making a movie, should be the first and foremost goal. Although it is not inspired enough to break away from the typical artist-biography path, it does tell its story better, is better directed, features better acting (Knowles included) and is better accomplished in terms of basic film-making technique (e.g., editing) than "Dreamgirls." Nevertheless, like any such musical, the standout feature is the fine music, the whole reason the film exists, crafted for fans and fans-to-be.

Almost everything within the film is calculated to hit extra hard at our emotional chords, to tug our heartstrings in support of the heroine, fill us with rage and disgust at the sight of the actions of the powerful leaders in the story, and, of course, jerk the tears from eyes. Eastwood's more recent films in particular are known to contain some sentimentality but, until now, he's refrained from hitting us over the head with the overexuberant brand of saccharin, meritless emotion found in many other films based on real-life accounts of peril and injustice. Yet, that is a particular test "Changeling" does not quite pass, though it is still far above some of the biggest and worst weepies in the room ("Tsotsi," anyone? Or, perhaps you would prefer shedding tears to "Central Station"?).

Part of the problem is the way the central character is portrayed, not entirely due to Jolie's work, but also to the fact that she, and as such her character, comes across as rather too glamorous for the predicaments she finds herself in. Even during the most trying scenes, such as searching frantically for her missing son, dealing with a police department that is, at best, apathetic and, at worst, one of the chief causes of grief Christine Collins (Jolie) and the audience are made to suffer, she seems oddly beautiful in a way that leaves a disconnect, to the detriment of any realism the movie may have otherwise had, with the drama that unfolds.

As was the case in last year's "A Mighty Heart," in which the actress delivers another impassioned performance as a woman who is, in many ways, in a similar situation—tragically wronged by circumstances and people beyond her control—it is often difficult to see past her movie-star glitter to get to the raw agony at the core of her character. A large part of this has to do with how the film visually presents her. Her hair and makeup are just right enough to flatter her, even during her most trying times within a grim psychiatric ward, many of the patients of which arrived unwillingly mainly because they were an inconvenience to the police and others in power. She is always filmed by the director of photography, Tom Stern, to look beautiful, almost saintly. That's not a criticism of his work in the film generally; it appropriately renders a vivid interpretation of a 1920s Los Angeles reminiscent of old Hollywood pictures. However, it does distract from Jolie.

Despite the objections, the film is by no means ruined by the glamour and the oversentimentality. Rather, these are mainly a distraction from what is otherwise a compelling and memorable story, written by J. Michael Straczynski, otherwise told relatively well. The basic story is perhaps the best thing about the film, more likely than not because it it presents an inherently compelling situation. The way scenes are intricately intercut (by editors Joel Cox and Gary D. Roach) so as to play off each other is an old tool of storytelling that is used to good effect here, though more for dramatic effect than as an essential method of conveying the plot. Overall, the film could have been more efficient, with a few minutes being trimmed from the film, most obviously the aforementioned Oscar scene. Also, some sequences do feel repetitious in plot and especially in the emotions evoked.

In the end, while "Changeling" is an engrossing story, its distractions interfere with the film, rendering it far from perfect, and, ultimately, minor Eastwood.

When all is said and done, this movie, despite the issues it addresses, is not really a history lesson. At its heart lies the classic Hollywood spirit of pure, old-fashioned cinematic entertainment, in all its big, brash glory, from a director who is, first and foremost, a showman on the grandest scale possible.

The movie exudes Luhrmann's trademark brand of exuberance and boisterousness, which feels exciting of course, but there are several moments, especially in the first forty-five minutes or so, when such a tone is misplaced, given the dead-serious significance of what is happening on screen at the time. Presenting the story cloaked in such a tone, along with the irreverent humor in some scenes (also something of a trademark of this director), actually marginalizes, to a degree, the very real tragedies suffered at the time: social ostracism based on race, ethnicity, class, or gender; wartime attacks on civilians by foreign countries; military camps for unwanted children; and, to a lesser extent, generational differences. "Moulin Rouge!" could afford to take a more playful approach, due to its telling of a story that, compared to that of "Australia," seems of less consequence (though still tragic in its own way); this film shouldn't have that luxury. It is evident that the filmmakers' were well-intentioned in depicting these issues and, fortunately, this picture does not persistently remain so flippant.