Review: Notorious

Courtesy: Fox Searchlight

The Biggie Smalls biopic Notorious is, predictably enough, a family affair in numerous ways. Biggie’s mother, Voletta Wallace was involved extensively, even anointing Jamal Woolard as her son in an open casting call. Furthermore, her grandson, CJ Wallace, plays the young incarnation of his father apparently blissfully ignorant of the implications his performance entailed. While it is perfectly acceptable that Mrs.Wallce, a woman who by all accounts was the most positive voice in Biggie’s tumultuous life, be involved in her son’s biopic, it places an artistic chokehold on the material. Watching the film, one is forced to look around in incredulity, wondering if anybody else in the theatre was buying the glossy depictions of Saint Smalls and his madonna of a mother. Aside from that of Mrs. Wallace, the other prominent meddling that can be detected in the film comes directly from the diamond studded hand of Sean ‘Puffy/P.Diddy/Diddy’ Combs. Derek Luke plays Combs as Biggie’s guardian angel, a helpful and selfless model of benevolence who was only too happy to turn Biggie’s life around and take him to the promise land while asking relatively little in return. Naturally, there is little hint of the shameless profiteering Combs clearly engaged in as he built his empire off of the life but mostly the death of Biggie. Lil Kim even gets recast as simply a wounded soul madly in love. One begins to wonder how the sweetheart on the screen ended up a convicted felon and noted crazy person.

In fact, Notorious bears little resemblance to Biggie’s masterpiece debut, Ready to Die or even to the lesser sequel, Life After Death. Rather it is kin to Born Again, the post humous collection of botched and brazenly cynical remixes and unreleased tracks created by Combs and Biggie’s estate to cash in one last time before Biggie lost his hold on the national consciousness. Granted, Notorious is not without its small successes. Woolard’s Biggie, if nothing else, is especially charming and winsome, qualities often overlooked when discussing the man. In addition, hee can certainly look like Biggie, an accomplishment not be dismissed. Angela Bassett brings appropriate gravitas and regal bearing as Voletta even if her theatrics square very rarely with the largely buoyant tone of the movie. There is even a modicum of style in director George Tillman’s camera work, even if the first act seemingly pilfered its visuals from Everybody Hates Chris.

As much as the talent involved tries, however, the calculated stench of the Hollywood biopic never quite washes off. Woolard is funny but he is severely lacking in gravitas. Although meant to be indelible, shots of Biggie on his throne,cane in hand and hat on head, end up almost comic as one sees not the king of the game but a chubby poseur out of his league. As much as Mrs. Wallace and everyone involved would like to ignore it, Biggie was, at times, a dark, dark motherfucker. Ready to Die is a nightmare of a record whose foreboding atmosphere of doom is only matched by its penchant for brilliant fatalist musings. If Notorious had followed the grand, tragic arc set forth in that classic then it might have achieved a Shakespearean heft equal to that of its protagonist. What should be transcendent tragedy is molded by Tillman Jr. into a pandering, inept and ultimately incomplete portrait. Shots of Biggie doing bad things like selling crack to a pregnant woman or exploding in anger seems requisite rather than revelatory. The crackhead even goes on to miraculously have a productive life and a fine son leaving one to wonder if Saint Smalls was kind and magnanimous enough to supply her with magical crack. When that final, fated bullet ends the life of Christopher Wallace one is left  happy and hopeful, confident that Biggie, joyous and well fed in heaven, is delivering the voiceover with a smile and a warm heart. Well, fuck that shit.

Allow me to quote a great poet who deserves better:

“When I die, fuck it I wanna go to hell

Cause Im a piece of shit, it aint hard to fuckin tell
It dont make sense, goin to heaven wit the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict shit
No sleepin all day, no gettin my dick licked
Hangin with the goodie-goodies loungin in paradise
Fuck that shit, I wanna tote guns and shoot dice

All my life I been considered as the worst”

-Vman

Review: Synecdoche, New York

Courtesy: Sony Classics

A review of this film would be more inconsequential than usual and mere folderol to the spectacle of it all. Therefore, it is much more prudent to jot down some thoughts had a fair bit ago upon experiencing the piece. After all, Charlie Kaufman himself said Synecdoche is constructed more like a dream than a rational, linear film. Caden Cotard(Philip Seymour Hoffman) is a theater director heading headlong for death. This knowledge is conveyed to him through the various failures of his body. The blood in his stool, the pains in his body, the pus, the headaches, the insolvency are all harbingers, signaling that the road is ending and there is no detour. Yet, Caden still wants to find a way out the same as we all do, his conduit being theater. Having won a MacArthur genius grant for his interpretation of Death of a Salesman, he sets about creating meaning in the existential void by bringing all of life into the theater, a venue he can manage and mold to his liking. His wife having left him with his kid and quickly finding himself all alone in the world, Caden connects with the world by bringing it into his. Actors are cast, mammoth sets are built and much like the world itself, everything is begun with grand ambitions and hopes as larger than the titanic warehouse in which Caden creates his world. It is with this premise that the film leaves the pathetic trepidations of the masses behind and one begins to see Charlie Kaufman playing with the puzzle he has just created, attempting to solve it not for the audience but for his own pleasure. Eventually he puts the pieces together and finds that they form a picture of nothing. Caden sees his love rejected universally as his daughter and ex wife scorn him, his relationships end in chaos or awkward stalemates. While he was busy bringing his life onto the stage, he forgot to live it. No matter, life is theater isn’t it? Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead and no matter what Caden comes up with it is gone. The stage is ephemeral and as unforgiving as the world, the performances disappearing into vapor as quickly as they come. Still, Caden wants to learn a thing or two before his time runs out. The stage becomes a prism, refracting, reflecting and extracting his life mercilessly. It is all there, the bleak sadness of his rituals: cleaning up his ex wife’s apartment while she is away, falling in and out of love with the same woman, smart enough to see it yet too stupid to do anything about it. It all comes out but Caden needs much more. Every extra is a lead, it’s real life man. Like life, the experiment ages. Actors become weary, sets begin to decay and Kaufman creates it all with exactitude. Reappearing for brief instants almost subliminally, certain images and motifs began to seep into the film. There is a pattern to it all, sad as one finds to be once discovered. Caden does not know that he’s just a little person, however, and he begins to get stage directions seemingly from on high. Wandering through his shattered reality and the one he did not create Caden has no refuge but in melancholy and the slight comfort of another. That’s it isn’t it? The song goes “I’ll find a second little person who will look at me and say… I know you, you’re the one I’ve waited for. Let’s have some fun.” A cautionary odyssey after it all happens, Caden cannot win and neither can we. Therefore, the least we can do is get the little moments that Caden sacrifices right. Regrets, however, cannot be fixed. The full weight of this bears on Caden but before he can do much more about it or nothing at all, there is a final stage command, die. I’m just a little person and so are you. This film might seem big but it isn’t. In actuality, it’s made for the little people like you and me by a little person. Kaufman knew he could not succeed where Caden had failed yet he got on with it, as we all must. See it and weep if you can, then forget about it forever, no good in fighting time.

RATING: 5 out of 5 stars
– Vman

Review: Milk

Courtesy: Focus Features

Perhaps the unsung hero in the praised to the heavens Gus Van Sant helmed Harvey Milk biopic Milk is director of cinematography Harris Savides. Bringing the same visual acumen he did to Zodiac, Savides seems to have undeniably mastered the palette of the 1970s. The images he and Gus Van Sant put on the screen are as, if not more stunning than the bravura performance by Sean Penn and co.

Case in point is the first sexual encounter between Harvey Milk and his lover, Scott Smith (James Franco). Naturally, the performances are perfectly tuned and calibrated. Franco calls upon a hitherto largely suppressed charm (think of the dour Harry Osborn in Spiderman 3) and glances knowingly at the considerably less attractive Penn, easily conveying that he just cannot help but be captivated by this funny looking Jew from long island. Meanwhile, Penn’s halting downward glances reveal that though Harvey was brazen enough to proposition Scott in the subway, he still retains a sweet, easily wounded core underneath that freedom fighter exterior. These performances, however, are stunning precisely because of the visual mastery of Savides and Van Sant. A handheld camera is placed within inches of the performers, providing startlingly intimate close ups as it lapses in and out of focus. The larger image appears beautifully worn with lighting dim and hazy enough to hint at the illicit nature of the activity.

Of course,  Milk does not just contain a flawless opening scene. Rather, the film picks up righteous steam as Harvey moves from Long Island to San Francisco to find a purpose. Eventually he discovers this to be politically crusading for gay rights and more specifically, representing Castro street, the center of the burgeoning homosexual scene. Harvey starts riots, boycotts anti gay businesses and generally causes hell. He runs repeatedly and loses just as often but refuses to stop being a nuisance to the man. His hard nosed head on charge into the establishment — gay and straight — forces homosexuals to demand more than just gay friendly leaders and challenges those leaders to deliver the rights they promised in exchange for gay votes. Eventually, Harvey becomes the first openly gay public official and begins fighting the good fight, mainly against Orange juice spokesman Anita Bryant and her campaign to ban gay teachers in California schools.

Although by now Harvey has most assuredly been canonized as a gay saint, Van Sant and screenwriter Dustin Lance Black approach his story with a determined realism, balancing scenes of Harvey loudly pumping his fist and infecting a generation with his fervor with his domestic failures and rocky personal life. Above all though, credit is due to the supporting players in the film for grounding the story. Emile Hirsch plays Harvey–recruited gay activist Cleve Jones with both humor and a subterranean anger. When he tells Harvey he doesn’t do losing, the apathy of disaffected youth fully gives way to the fire started by Harvey.

Likewise, Josh Brolin’s portrayal of Harvey’s assassin, Dan White lends another, even more vital dimension to the film. Refusing to sentimentalize a universally reviled man, Brolin nevertheless explores the reasons for White’s egregious murders aside from the now infamous “twinkie defense” — arguing that an excess of fast food consumption caused the act — employed during his subsequent trial. An oft -stated armchair phycologist diagnosis would be that White was simply an extremely repressed homosexual, whose internalized homophobia caused him to lash out. Fortunately, Brolin does not settle with such an easy, convenient conclusion instead portraying White as the ultimate misfit, a lone working class conservative in gay, liberal San Francisco whose lack of political strength leaves him at the mercy of the world around him, a man who just wished to seize control for once in his life even if it was with a revolver.

Gus Van Sant is an oddity in American cinema,  a director who can delve as deftly deeply into the calculatedly mainstream (Good Will Hunting) as he can into the aesthetically experimental (Paranoid Park ). His presence and more importantly the mise en scene he perfects in the film are what elevate Milk above the innumerable perfectly acceptable biopics into the realm of American classics.

– Vman

Review: Valkyrie

Courtesy: United Artists

Bryan Singer had  a lot of potential.

Pretty much everybody who cared enjoyed The Usual Suspects. Everybody praised his take on Marvel’s beloved gang of organized misfits in X-Men. And X2 was well-received, as well.

But he has squandered his talents on his last two films. Superman Returns? No thank you, sir. He can go back to where he came from. Spider-Man is helping us out just fine.

(Below is a tangent about Superman Returns. Feel free to skip this.)

One of the problems with Singer’s first entry in the Superman film franchise (Superman: Man of Steel has been announced for 2011) is that he made it more of an iffy love story than an action film. The movie was fine. But people do not go to see Superman get all mushy.

But let’s make this clear: It’s not really much of a love story. And let’s make this clear: The movie is a stinker. Kevin Spacey is horrifically campy, and that’s not always a good thing. Writers Michael Dougherty and Dan Harris need to quit the blockbuster film industry if this is the kind of drivel they are coming up with. A pathetic attempt at resurrecting a hero.

Spider-Man, Batman: they are real humans (at least as we know them). Superman is an alien. With a heck of a lot of superpowers (too many, if you ask me. Where’s the fun in being basically invincible?). What the kids want to see at a Superman show is bang! bang! wham! ka-pow! Not a whimper of a bang, some sentimental 1950s imagery and a bald Kevin Spacey. No. Superman was made a monster of unstoppable force so we could see him beat the bad guys up. Not worry about marriage.

In any event… (tangent over)

Valkyrie is another stinker. But disturbingly, it might be on par with Superman Returns in quality. But who knows any more. Both films are forces meant to depress; not worth anyone’s time.

As you might know, Valkyrie is about the successful assassination of one of the world’s greatest evils, Adolf Hitler. Or rather, that’s what it should have been about.

Claus Philipp Maria Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg (Tom Cruise) is the German officer leading one assassination plot against Hitler’s life. You can probably imagine the end result of their mission.

Unfortunately for Singer and company (Christopher McQuarrie and Nathan Alexander write the screenplay (and yes, this is “based on true events”)), the best portion of the film is when it seems like Hitler really is dead. Valkyrie could have been an infinitely better film if it became an alternative universe fantasy and killed Hitler off. And then the allies ride off on unicorns, etcetera, etcetera.

Cruise’s American accent is no fun when some of the Nazis have British accents, some have German accents – I wouldn’t be too surprised if I went back and found a Russian accent.

Valkyrie manages to be captivating for about ten minutes. (and those ten minutes are fifteen minutes after you awake from slumber) The narrative might be more interesting if we felt some kind of compassion for the characters. But most of the audience seemed to be rooting for their deaths just as much as the head honcho Nazis.

Valkyrie will succeed in the mainstream, though. It’s all ready a mild “hit.” But don’t you worry. It won’t be invading art house cinema complexes any time soon.

This film deserves the assassination Hitler never got.

– – – – – – –

Let it be known, the below trailer is an early one. (Note the end: “Summer 2008.”)

Review: Gran Torino

Courtesy Warner Brothers

It is remarkable to consider the gifts of Clint Eastwood, a man with a near miraculous ability to tap into the ideological mainstream of American life while offering enough of a critique to justify it as art. Gran Torino is focused on the final days of a typical Eastwood character, Walt Kowalski. A veteran of the Korean war, Kowalski delivers profanity monologues on respectively the “gooks”, “zipper-heads” and “chinks” rife with squints, scowls and even growls in the iconic manner of Dirty Harry. One is left with the impression that all he wants out of life is for people to stay off his lawn, leaving him alone with his demons from the war and the grief resulting from his wife Dorothy’s death.

Nevertheless, the world refuses to leave him with his misery when a neighboring Hmong boy, Thao, attempts to steal his beloved Ford Gran Torino, a vintage muscle car Kowalski himself helped assemble during his time at Ford. Kowalski then deals with Thao’s family with a mix of paternal care and knee jerk racism. Noble acts such as saving Thao’s sister Sue from thugs harassing her on the street and providing Thao with a guiding male presence he never had are offset by crude evocations of stereotypes such as instructing the hmongs to stay away from his dog when he learns of an ongoing barbeque. Eventually, Walt cannot help but be thrust into the middle of the conflict involving a local Hmong gang and Thao that brings out the heart of his character.

It is all too easy and painfully reductionist to dismiss Walt as the archetypical American stoic Eastwood has made a career out of perfectly capturing on celluloid. In fact, it is precisely the well worn familiarity of the narrative that lends the film potency. Gran Torino is one of the few films to zestfully tap into the vein of the American soul in a time when citizens are increasingly devoid of national spirit.  Everything about the film is an espousal of every classical value. When Thao asks Walt what about the type of work he should do. Walt vouches for Thao and gets him a job in construction, deriding how his son works in sales. It is a casual remark but it appeals to the American ethos of a generation past, valuing the creation of something material (construction, building cars) rather than the shuffling of immaterial goods such as credit default swaps.

Furthermore, Walt fights not out of anger but a sense of steadfast moral determination for Thao to live in peace. A sentiment that harkens back to a time when America did not rush headlong into wars full of misplaced Jingoism. In the same way that Walt attempts to teach his spoiled grandchildren about modesty and manners, Eastwood seems to be firing a blast square into the heart of the current culture. Gran Torino demands much of the viewer. It requires one to not only begrudgingly accept racism and proud political incorrectness  but laugh at and even celebrate it. Yet, the film’s pleasures extend far beyond that. It captures one’s emotions and attention almost subliminally, through a series of exceedingly creative racial epithets and quick shots of Walt’s blood on his napkin only to deliver a searing indelible gut punch of an ending. Gran Torino ends as an ideal symbiosis of character, film and director.

– Vman

Review: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Courtesy: Paramount

And what a curious case it is. Very loosely based on an F.Scott Fitzgerald short story of the same name, the film follows the titular protagonist Benjamin Button (Brad Pitt) as he lives his life. Button journeys, loves and ultimately mourns just like any other man. The reason why his story is remarkable is that he was born with the body of an 80 year old man after the end of WWI and continued to grow ever younger while the world and most importantly the love of his life, Daisy (Cate Blanchett) slowly eroded and decayed in typical fashion.

Admittedly off putting, Button’s central concept is difficult to accept and easy to deride as mere fantasy.  That, however, would be missing the point since it is far more accurate to regard Button as more of a thought experiment than an actual chronicle. It is a theoretical construct whose main purpose is to prod the viewer into examining his or her own beliefs and fears about mortality. When asked by Daisy if he notices the process and effects of becoming a younger man, Benjamin replies that all he sees when he looks in the mirror are his own eyes. This casually tossed off line is symbolic in more ways than one. Button just has a transcendental quality about it lacking from screenwriter Eric Roth’s perfectly fine previous work, Forrest Gump, because it goes through the greatest generations greatest hits( WW2 and the Beatles make predictable cameos) yet refuses to be defined by them. In fact, what one notices most about Button’s life is not that he had an affair with a woman who would go on to swim the English channel but that he adored Daisy and longed for a simple life together being a good father to their child. He just wanted to keep living, not setting records, changing the world or advancing humanity, but rather to just enjoy a quiet motorcycle ride or a furlough on his boat.

Not only philosophically sound, Button is also testament to the  artistic mastery of the people involved in its creation. After a haunting performance in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Pitt continues to deliver exponential returns. His performance is restrained but perfectly so. His Button comes across successfully as both a thoughtful wanderer and a regular man with sound values and decency. Although he wrestles with his celebrity, no actor working today, George Clooney excluded, has managed to carry on the tradition of the grand American leading man and create such meaningful work. He has a remarkable charisma that makes a simple shot of him riding a classic motorcycle adorned in a leather jacket and aviators instantly iconic.

Furthermore, it is a bit odd that the man carrying on the tradition of the American epic is none other than Seven and Fight Club director David Fincher. Always prodigiously gifted, Fincher has thus far preferred to toil on the edges of mainstream American cinema, making movies about sociopathic pugilists and sadistic serial killers. Now, he’s making a downright Speilbergian story. Luckily, Fincher’s dark sensibility and visual mastery matches perfectly with the material even as the script seems to have inspired a blossoming romanticism in the director. Though he would never admit it, his swooning visuals of Daisy dancing in the mist and Benjamin pondering death against an elegiac sunrise speak to this newly softened edges while the dark undercurrents — ironic hurricane Katrina references, the unflinchingly grotesque appearance of young Benjamin — harken back to his earlier days of shock and awe.

Button asks many questions of the audience and even inspires a few fits of existential despair. While the year’s other premier film, Synecdoche, New York left viewers in this emotional maw, Button offers viewers an answer of sorts with a simple montage of its characters. They are all dead and long gone as they knew they would be. Yet, they are still shown as they would want to be remembered: laughing, crying and living.

-Vman

Review: The Wrestler

Film fans seeking to appreciate the remarkable range of Mickey Rourke, who plays aging wrestler Randy “The Ram” Ramsinski in Darren Arnofsky’s The Wrestler, should view Barry Levinson’s classic debut Diner and note Rourke’s charming performance as Boogie, the charismatic sweet talker always prepared with an anecdote and a wry, knowing smile. Now, Rourke’s face has traded its fresh, handsome luster for lines, scars and wrinkles galore. In fact, Rourke looks like he can now almost play his character in Robert Rodriguez’s Sin City, Marv without make up. Of course a weathered countenance does not a great performance make. Rather it is Rourke’s protean talents and his aforementioned incredible range. Rourke can effortlessly createpathos for Randy, by suggesting the simplicity and purity at the heart of the character yet still hint at a lost intelligence. His Randy is a man seeking lost glory who is willing to man the deli counter at ACME  and endure all the indignities that entails for his rapidly fading dream. He is an oddly gentle character, preferring to inflict pain upon himself rather than others. He tells people he’s alone and washed up but does not beg for their pity. Rourke imbues Randy with far too much grace for that.

The film, though centered on Randy’s turbulent personal and professional lives, is driven by the juxtaposition between Randy and an aging stripper named Cassidy (Marisa Tomei). The implication being that they play similar roles in show business, displaying their bodies and  their souls in return for meager compensation and adoration. Unfortunately for them, they are largely becoming obsolete and unnecessary. While her colleagues are gyrating to hip hop, Cassidy is stripping to classic metal. Randy enters to the ring greeted by Guns N Roses. The comedic highlight of the film is a joint rant on how much the 90s sucked. Their stumbling relationship is simultaneously beautiful and painful to watch. Rourke’s easy charm, most evident in his terrible dancing to his adored hair metal, combined with the wounded humanity he exudes with every teary glance, bring unexpected resonance to an otherwise cliched courtship. Likewise, Randy’s reconciliation with his daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood) works in the larger context of the film, simply because it refuses to take the easy way out, unflinching in its simple, messy honesty.

That last phrase could apply to Arnofsky’s work in the film as well. Abandoning the expressive, technically masterful style of previous films such as Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain,  Arnofsky shoots for subtly drawn realism and succeeds. Eschewing metaphorical visual odysseys rife with a variety of lenses and surrealist effects, Arnofsky empathetically frames Rourke from behind with a shaky, imperfect handheld camera. Using largely close ups, the camera generally remains trained on Rourke, refusing to miss a second of his tour de force as it brings the viewer directly into contact with every cut, crushing blow and searing staple. Essentially, Arnofsky filmed the movie the way Randy talks, starkly, sweetly and bluntly. The Wrestler finds poetry in its titular subject’s life without artifice or cynical calculation, a fact that makes it a rarity among Hollywood biopics and easily of the finest films of the year.

-Vman

Do not doubt The Wrestler‘s ambitions. A fine film, steeped in the depression of life we all know.

– R.H.

Review: The Dark Knight

The best comic book adaptation of all time. Heath Ledger is stunning.

-Vman

I agree. Everyone is stunning. The Nolans present a brilliant and dark film. Gary Oldman is great. Christian Bale’s Batman is the definitive screen portrait. His Bruce Wayne is a pitch-perfect playboy caricature. Heath Ledger is creepy, disturbing and utterly brilliant. He is the Joker. The underrated score by Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard. Aaron Eckhart puts on a successful performance. Maggie Gyllenhaal works out well as the love interest.

This is a pretty great movie. The Dark Knight is another testament to the fact that Batman is the best superhero character ever created.

– R.H.

Review: The Wackness

A really great movie.

The performances are great. The film often looks really beautiful. There’s one shot, near the end of the film, that is just plain gorgeous. We see the characters of the excellently mopey and teenage Josh Peck and the brilliant Sir Ben Kingsley (Why hasn’t he overtaken Jack Nicholson yet? (or has he?)) sitting on the beach. The shot is from above, characters’ backs to the camera, and we see the ocean and the skyline… It’s a beautiful shot composed of such tone… Just how well-made a film The Wackness is is hinted at throughout the film, but when you see this shot (and the entire late-in-the-film scene on the beach), you know. Definitively.

As mentioned, all performances are really well-played. Famke Janssen plays Kingsley’s bored wife. It’s a small role, but it’s a depressing role if there ever was one. Not cry-depressing, but “Geez! Open up the blinds! Let the sun shine through your windows!”-depressing. She obviously gets this point across well. Method Man plays a drug dealer’s drug dealer (literally) and plays it convincingly, even carrying an authentic-sounding accent. Olivia Thirlby gets past her somewhat annoying Juno character and nails it as Kingsley’s privileged step-daughter. Even Mary-Kate Olsen does a good job in her brief role. And of course, Kingsley: Check. Josh Peck is known for his performances on children/tween shows on Nickelodeon.  In movie-land it might be possible that you know him for two roles. His one as a New York City teenage drug dealer in The Wackness and his role as a cruel and annoying potty-mouthed bully (when he was a large prepubescent kid) in 2004’s Mean Creek. Both, more or less, “indie” films. (Mean Creek much more so) And he does a great job in each of these roles.

You know protagonist Luke Shapiro (Peck). Or at least have experienced one of the things he experiences in the film. You must have (or will). This is life. The guy just graduated from high school for Pete’s sake. You don’t remember that? Or the stuff that was going on in your teenage life? Youth! Youth! What a time.

The Wackness details Luke’s summer months between high school and college as he deals pot and deals with life. Kingsley is his fairly eccentric psychologist, trading sessions for marijuana. The Shapiro family is having troubles, key among them, financial troubles. Luke sets out to help his family with his pot dealing profits. He also deals in order to save up money for college. That’s a real person right there. Real. (albeit, feelgood movie-esque)

Thank writer/director Jason Levine for an excellent film. As we’ve discussed, we know the film is a well-made film and all the performances are terrific. But you know we have a great film on our hands when we recognize that The Wackness has a great script. It’s magnificent. First love, heartbreak, hip-hop, drugs, being young and alive; all these themes are authentically touched upon. The film is set in 1994 and, yes, Levine accurately brings us back. Biggie is up-and-coming, Luke references Pearl Jam and we get to hear A Tribe Called Quest’s classic “Can I Kick It?”

This film makes you smile, laugh, recognize, feel, think. Yes! This is a funny movie! One of the funniest and most sincere films of 2008 so far. This is an excellent, excellent movie. It’s dark. It has substance. It has meaning. The meaning of life! Luke and Kingsley’s shrink talk of the meaning of life and how to live. This is brilliant. The Wackness is a brilliant film (or at least really good). Go see it.

– R.H.

Vman’s Take:

Jonathan Levine is definitely an auteur to watch out for. Easily one of the best movies of 2008, The Wackness captures the essence of the mid ’90s with a perfect combination of hip-hop, drugs and heartbreak. This film reminds us once again of the promises of the indie film movement, in that it allows certain filmmakers to create highly personal and startlingly original works of art. Do not be put off by seemingly clichéd characters such as the depressed, drug-addicted psychologist played by Ben Kingsley or Olivia Thirlby’s bored and extremely promiscuous (what a combo) rich girl. Levine adds nuance to these archetypes and charms the viewer with his humor, allowing him to deliver an emotional wallop in the film’s bittersweet conclusion.

TSV’s Consumer Guide: Summer Movies

In Christgauian spirit, instead of full reviews here are some quick and dirty opinions on the latest cinematic fare:

The Fall: Brilliant, original film-making and an excellent juxtaposition of the dark side of film: a suicidal actor (Lee Pace) with fantastical escapism narrates a story about a motley crew of outcasts taking on an evil governor to an idealistic young girl (Catinca Untaru). The performances are pitch perfect and the visuals, filmed on location in a variety of breathtaking locales, house an epic adventure, which form an improbable yet highly effective contrast to the interior struggle of Pace’s paralyzed actor with his condition and his failed romantic relationship. This unique film, helmed by the Indian film director Tarsem Singh (who often goes by just Tarsem) and “presented” by David Fincher and Spike Jonze fuses various genres and ideas so seamlessly that it demands to be seen and enjoyed.

R.H. on The Fall: Beautiful, beautiful film. Breathtaking, visually. The story is a bit weak. But being such a visually stunning film, you want to forgive the movie of all its missteps.

The Wackness

Savage Grace: A highly controversial movie that one cannot help but have an opinion about. The incestuous and extremely unsettling relationship between a divorced mother (Julianne Moore) and her son (Eddie Redmayne) is based on a true story and is likely to dominate the coverage of the film. This development, though expected, is highly unfortunate in that it precludes notice of Moore and Redmayne’s excellent performances. The queasy chemistry they establish, though not something to be relished, is certainly something to be admired as an excellent exercise in craft. Stephen Dillane turns in another disturbing performance as Moore’s estragned alpha male, explorer husband. Director Tom Kalin, imbues the movie with easily overlooked subtext concerning the nature of masculinity and sexuality. Again, the issue of the affair between Moore’s character and her gay son, ultimately grabs much of the attention and overshadows the careful character studies at play in this movie. That is why, I, your humble reviewer, ask that you put aside your own trepidations regarding incest and give this stylish and perfectly made movie a chance.

Wanted: James McAvoy brings his own charm to this film, mainly in that he cannot act without bringing out the humanity in his characters, whether it was as a half-goat, half-man in The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe or a working class young man in over his head in 2007’s Atonement. Predictably enough, McAvoy cannot “make an action movie that’s actually good” as he told Jon Stewart he aimed to do. The sheer ridiculousness of the plot inspired stifled laughter among my movie watching mate and your humble narrator. Of course, all action movies are ridiculous but Wanted takes it to such high levels and sorely lacks any of the philosophy that made the outrageous stunts of The Matrix so worthwhile that one is left with a naked Angelina Jolie, a sleepwalking Morgan Freeman and lots of bendy bullets but not much of a film.

R.H. on Wanted: Surprisingly, this film is pretty entertaining. The first half is fairly action-packed and funny. It’s a good summer popcorn flick. Very profane and bloody. Is the plot ridiculous? A society of killers worships a loom. You tell me. A fun movie, though.

Hancock: Many viewers, critics included went into the film expecting another pleasing but not excessively demanding genre film from Will Smith. Disappointment set in as they realized that Peter Berg, with his handheld camera close ups and focus on character, is trying to do more with the story than create a few huge digital action set pieces and collect his paycheck. Hancock is easily one of the most severely underrated and exceptionally good superhero movies ever made. This is a movie, that although will clearly make ridiculous amounts of money, will not be fully appreciated by its current audience. Perhaps filmgoers in the future, free from the expectations of viewers today, will be able to appreciate the way Berg makes a character-based superhero movie. Will Smith refuses to rehash the cocky smartass protagonists he has been asked to portray so frequently in films such as Wild Wild West and Men in Black and plays Hancock with the sense of melancholy, turmoil and even humor that the material requires. Sure, there are tonal shifts but such is life; it can be a Shakespearean comedy and a Greek Myth at the same time. Hancock has strains of both and emerges as a severely under-appreciated, very good film that asks the viewer to take a leap of faith into experimental superhero film territory  in its finale, those who do will surely be rewarded.

R.H. on Hancock: The critics were mostly right. The first two acts are pretty entertaining. The third though… a wee bit weird. The third act introduces a concept that could easily carry its own full-length, sci-fi/fantasy film. But the ferocious speed at which silly ideas are catapulted at the audience boggles the mind. Even the “villain” that reappears later in the film… Not creepy or disturbing. Just plain annoying. Blame the writers, but blame “actor” Eddie Marsan, as well. Hancock is not as horrendous as the mass of reviews would have you believe. It’s good. But it could have been much, much better.

Get Smart: It’s a funny, mainstream comedy with excellent comic performances from all the players. It is a consistent laugh-maker. Thank whoever (Get Smart TV series co-creator Mel Brooks?) that these type of movies (funny films that are actually good) still exist. – R.H.

Hellboy 2: The Golden Army: Meh. It’s entertaining. But nothing really that great.

The Incredible Hulk: This movie was made to make money. According to press reports, Edward Norton wished to do more with it but was severely limited in his attempts to flesh out the character by Marvel Studios (trying to match their recent success with May’s classy action film Iron Man) who correctly guessed that the average moviegoer would rather see the Hulk smash rather than Bruce Banner brood over his tragic condition. Ang Lee’s original Hulk (2003) was a mixed bag but there was a great film in there somewhere. This iteration of the Hulk story wishes to show you flashy special effects and I suppose, “entertain” the average viewer, which it manages to do to a large degree. Still, one cannot help but wish that the studio bigwigs had given Norton a little bit more freedom to truly show us who Bruce Banner was and not just give the director of The Transporter 2, Louis Letterier, lots of money to blow lots of stuff up.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull: Continuing the trend of movies simply made to make a buck, this series of reviews shall be concluded with the latest Indiana Jones movie. Harrison Ford is back, the fedora is back and so is the iconic John Williams score. Indy is fighting the communists, represented by Cate Blanchett, who although mired in a quest for world domination are in an odd Plato-like quest to attain ultimate knowledge. There is an unintended tragic nobleness about the culmination of Blanchett’s evil Communist’s quest to solve the mystery of the crystal skulls that led me to care a bit more than your humble reviewer should have, considering that this film featured an action sequence in which the chief protagonists were friendly commie-hating monkeys and then commie-hating ants. Clearly, everyone here is mailing it in, but the movie is not without its small pleasures, such as a bar fight between the greasers and the socs. Shia LeBeouf is an actor that continues to inspire indifference and a stray chuckle or two. The latest Indiana Jones movie accomplishes the goals of its creators, to replicate the adventure films of Spielberg’s earlier days, and more importantly, make everyone a lot of money.

On that slightly depressing and cynical note, I bid you adieu and sincerely hope that you can process the flood of movie criticism unleashed by your humble narrator.

-Vman

Recap: Best Of 2007

If you haven’t noticed, it’s unlikely we will post any more detailed, comprehensive, elaborate posts about the media that appeared in 2007. But there’s this post. Which is slightly comprehensive (at least on the music side of things).

Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters by the Twilight Sad is the best album of 2007. Original, new, brilliant, meaningful, emotional, real, great. Great live performers, as well.

UPDATE: Curses by Future Of The Left is the second best album of 2007. It is a great record.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is probably the best 2007 film I have seen. It is the most enjoyable film of the year. UPDATE: Hot Fuzz is a pretty fantastic film.

Some of my favorite tracks of 2007 include (there are some covers here):

• “Furwinked The Lion/Bear Song” by Tereu Tereu, from Feline Ambition
• “Ed Is A Portal” by Akron/Family, from Love Is Simple
• “City Of Echoes” by Pelican, from City Of Echoes
• “The Opposite of Hallelujah” by Jens Lekman, from Night Falls Over Kortedala
• “We’re All From Barcelona” by I’m From Barcelona, from Let Me Introduce My Friends
  
• “I Love The Unknown” by Eef Barzelay, from the Rocket Science motion picture soundtrack
• “Grizzly Jive” by Georgie James, from Play
• “Pretty in Pink” by The National, from their Daytrotter Session
• “Pinklon” and “Ethiopians” by the Mountain Goats, from their Daytrotter Session at SXSW
  
• “Pom Pom” by Matthew Dear, from Asa Breed
  
• “Daughter” by Loudon Wainwright III, from Strange Weirdos…
• “Conqueror” by Jesu, from Conqueror
• “Skinny Love” by Bon Iver, from For Emma, Forever Ago
• “Brand New Kind Of Actress” by Jason Isbell, from Sirens Of The Ditch
• “Statues” by Foo Fighters, from Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace
• “I Was Zapped By The Lucky Super Rainbow” by The Flaming Lips, from Good Luck Chuck Soundtrack
• “In Our Talons” by Bowerbirds, from Hymns For A Dark Horse
• “Not A Problem” by Black Lips, from Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo

And of course, the standard indie rock singles were all nice and fine:

• “The Underdog” by Spoon, from Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
• “Keep The Car Running” and “Neon Bible” by Arcade Fire, from Neon Bible
  
• “Thrash Unreal” by Against Me!, from New Wave
  
• “Dashboard” by Modest Mouse, from We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank
  
• “D.A.N.C.E.” by Justice, from † (yes, it’s a catchy song)

Some of my favorite albums of 2007 include (key track/s. If no key tracks that means the album is really, really good.):

• Let’s Stay Friends by Les Savy Fav
• A Place To Bury Strangers by A Place To Bury Strangers
• In Rainbows by Radiohead
• Armchair Apocrypha by Andrew Bird
• Challengers by The New Pornographers ( “My Rights Versus Yours,” “Myriad Harbour”)
• Sing the Greys (2006) by Frightened Rabbit ( “Be Less Rude,” “The Greys”)
• Era Vulgaris by Queens of the Stone Age ( “Turnin’ On The Screw,” “I’m Designer,” “Misfit Love,” “3’s & 7’s”)
• Places by Georgie James ( “Cake Parade,” “Need Your Needs”)
• Casually Smashed To Pieces by the Six Parts Seven ( “Falling Over Evening” <great, great song)
• From Beale Street To Oblivion by Clutch ( “You Can’t Stop Progress,” “When Vegans Attack”)
• Graduation by Kanye West ( “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” “Stronger”)
• Mirrored by Battles
• It’s Not How Far You Fall, It’s The Way You Land by Soulsavers ( “Revival,” “Paper Money,” “Kingdoms Of Rain”)
• In Our Nature by José González

Notable Albums of 2007 include (they range from good/okay to excellent):

• Friend Opportunity by Deerhoof ( “+81,” “Believe E.S.P.”)
• Holy F**k by Holy F**k
• Nothing Is Underrated by Joe Lally
• Myth Takes by !!! ( “Must Be The Moon,” “Heart Of Hearts”)
• HEALTH by HEALTH
• U.F.O.s At The Zoo – The Legendary Concert In Oklahoma City by The Flaming Lips
• VI by The F**king Champs
• All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone by Explosions In The Sky
• Legendary Demo by Clouds
• Play Drums + Bass by C.O.C.O.
• Here Come The Waterworks by Big Business
• Adrian Orange & Her Friends by Adrian Orange & Her Friends
• Good Bad Not Evil by Black Lips
• The Last Days of Rome by Snog
• Harmonic Tremors by Zozobra
• Tears of the Valedictorian by Frog Eyes

– R.H.

Review: In Bruges

In Bruges is one of the most seriously misunderstood and underrated movies in recent memory. Other critics have blasted its misogynistic, racist and xenophobic undertones. What these critics fail to realize is that this is a movie about two Irish hitmen lying low in Bruges,Belgium after a job. The movie, written and directed by Martin McDonagh, carries hints of the Mr.McDonagh’s time in the theater. He reverses the eternal Hollywood axiom of “show don’t tell” and instead chooses to tell in highly stylized dialogue that is at times sinister, funny and oddly moving.

The humor in this movie always comes at someone’s expense and is frequently of the black variety. Well meaning people are often beaten, mocked or even shot. Nobody gets away safely from the verbal guns of Mr.McDonagh. While all of this might sound like criticism, it is actually praise. What critics have forgotten is that this is a movie about hitmen, people who have rejected traditional social mores and morality. Therefore, all the amorality, hedonism and nihilism exhibited by the movie’s protagonist Ray (Colin Farrell) is completely justified and refreshingly accurate. Ray’s partner is played with touching restraint Brendan Gleeson. Gleeson, in one of the movie’s cleverer conceits, is a far better hitman than Ray yet possesses a far larger conscience and much more integrity.

Their boss, Harry, is Ralph Fiennes doing what Ralph Fiennes does best, playing a pyschopath. Not to reveal too much of the plot but there is a fair amount of violence that is again justified since this is a movie about hitmen. It is very easy to be outraged by In Bruges and it is much harder to see the streak of old fashioned Catholic morality running beneath the surface, appearing only at the movies bloody end. I highly recommend In Bruges just for spectacle of Colin Farrell not coasting and riffing with the dexterity of stand up comedian. McDonagh is most certainly not much of a visual stylist and the soundtrack is mildly above average. Still, In Bruges is a very good film, not a classic but a dialogue heavy punch to the gut that definitely deserves a viewing or two.

-Vman

The Oscars are Tonight…

“It’s interesting to be nominated for Best Director, Best Editing, Best Cinematography and Best Screenplay, but not Best Picture. I don’t know what else you have to do to make a picture.”

– Julian Schnabel, director of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. (In good humor he followed with, “But it’s all good . . .”)

_________________________________

And some thoughts about the nominations…

Initially, I thought the Best Picture race might be confusing. (as in: tight race) But it looks like No Country For Old Men will have no problem winning that award. Was it the best film of 2007? No.

My thoughts initially: Tom Wilkinson over Javier Bardem. Now it looks like Bardem has this race locked. There are some Holbrook hopes, which are nice to see, but it’s unlikely anyone but Bardem will take home the award for best actor in a supporting role.

Initially and beyond: Honoring Elizabeth: The Golden Age? Are they crazy? At least slightly?

Initially: I am shocked that Schnabel got the nod for best director (good for him), but why did The Diving Bell & the Butterfly get no nod in the foreign film department? Now: I still believe the film should have received a nod for best foreign film (and how about 4 Months, 3 Weeks, & 2 Days?!?! Really! That is quite a tragedy. It actually has been confirmed for some time, but this year it is clear to see that the Academy is truly crazy.) and I can see why Schnabel was nominated (I did not think he did not deserve it. I just thought the Academy liked more obvious directors). It’s good to see the screenplay was nominated as well, because that definitely helped in the direction of this film.

Surf’s Up is one of the greatest accomplishments in animation for the year 2007? What?!

Daniel Day-Lewis needs to win Best Actor. He is a craftsman and the best part of There Will Be Blood. Why is In the Valley of Elah being honored here? The Darjeeling Limited was better than that (but that’s not even saying much because Limited was one of the brightest spots in the year 2007. Need I go more in depth…).

Initially: Best Director is tight as well. Now: Well, I guess it still is. In a way. At least between two films. Michael Clayton is not stylish or creative enough (in the directing department) to win and Juno is just…kind of a surprise (although both are good films). Diving Bell is worthy of the award, but it doesn’t look like it stands much of a chance. So it’s between No Country and Blood. Which is prettier to look at? Probably Blood. Which is better made? It’s probably about even. The industry folks say the Coen Brothers will win for No Country. Between the two, I like the feel Paul Thomas Anderson gave Blood. Even though it’s more likely his cinematographer and Day-Lewis gave it that feel. Oh well. Blood‘s visuals are a little more creative than those of No Country. But between them, it is still close.

That’s all.

– R.H.

Review: 3:10 to Yuma

3:10 to Yuma has two of the finest actors in recent memory, Russell Crowe and Christian Bale bring an intellectual sang froid and a brooding intensity to their respective roles, both delivering Oscar worthy performances. Sadly, this movie does not deserve lead performances of such caliber. Apparently, nobody showed up to work aside from Crowe and Bale as they are both hindered by a overbearing, shallow script and equally overbearing and shallow directing courtesy of James Mangold of Kate and Leopold fame.

Of course, genius does not come easy and it is unwise to expect it from 2nd rate Hollywood directors like Mangold. Christian Bale and Russell Crowe are clearly geniuses. Bale plays the role of Dan Evans, a struggling rancher with both shocking intensity and genuine warmth. Crowe plays Ben Wade, the notoriously successful criminal that Dan Evans must escort to the 3:10 train to Yuma prison to save his ranch and his family. Crowe is magnificent as he hints at a man who understands humanity perfectly, playing those around him perfectly to get what he wants, while being detached from petty human morals and values. Crowe’s performance, along with Daniel Day Lewis’ turn as Daniel Plainview in There Will Be Blood, combined with Ian McShane’s brilliant Al Swearengen in HBO’s Deadwood have created a new, thoroughly enthralling archetype, the brutal yet incredibly intelligent capitalistic Western anti hero.

Crowe and Bale dig into weightier themes than the rest of this movie has the audacity to tackle. Bale plays a man torn apart by the demands of society/morality and his love for his family/his simple way of life. Crowe’s Ben Wade is an almost god like figure, forever untouchable by mortals and law enforcement in particular, killing Indians, Pinkertons and as the audience discovers, whoever he damn well pleases with startling ease. He delivers Biblical proverbs and has a pistol called the hand of god, symbols that one should not miss. Crowe forges a tentative bond with Bale’s Evans, taking pity on a desperate man, recognizing that they are both shaped by pasts they’re trying to escape. It is nearly impossible not to see that this is very good acting.

Now that I have heaped much deserved praise on Bale and Crowe, I must now point out what separates this merely good movie from being a great movie. First, the supporting cast is just north of mediocre. I love Alan Tudyk just as much, if not more than the next guy. I adored his charm in both Firefly and Knocked Up. Casting him as a supposedly heartbreakingly earnest Doctor, however, was a terrible decision as Tudyk botches the one scene in the movie where he is required to actually act. Every single time Tudyk opens his mouth and attempts to inhabit a character so clearly wrong for him, one cannot help but wish Philip Seymour Hoffman was given the part.

The soundtrack is mediocre and serviceable. It simply lacks the inspiration of the classic soundtracks of the spaghetti western era. 3:10 to Yuma’s final, fatal flaw is the mise en scene or lack thereof. James Mangold is like the soundtrack, mediocre and serviceable. I could not help but wish Robert Zemeckis was given the reins to 3:10 to Yuma along with the Assassination of Jesse James. In fact, Mangold is probably the only thing stopping 3:10 to Yuma from riding on the bravura acting by Crowe and Bale to greatness.

Mangold’s cinematography expresses neither the haunting freedom nor the seething brutality of the west. It seems almost as if Crowe and Bale were told they were making a great movie and Mangold showed up to film a forgettable action movie, focused more on guns than characterization. I have nothing against Mangold personally. He helmed Walk the Line well enough and knew how to use Joaquin Phoenix’s Oscar winning performance to create the definitive portrait of Johnny Cash’s life. Still, as a lover of film, it upsets me that the great movie hidden inside 3:10 to Yuma must be buried by a merely mediocre director, poor supporting actors and an entirely forgettable soundtrack.

Onwards to totally unrelated notes. It is okay to package a great movie inside the guise of a typical western but when the guise becomes the movie itself, failure results. Next up is We Own the Night once it hits DVDs because it too, attempts to make a great movie wrapped in genre conventions. Is Christian Bale the next Russell Crowe? It sure seems like it, they’ve both managed the near impossible balance of the artistic versus the commercial. I really would recommend this film though, I’m sure the average viewer will not mind the lack of auteurism and just enjoy the damn thing.

-Vman

Review: There Will Be Blood

There was blood. And great, groundbreaking film making. Paul Thomas Anderson does not make movies, he makes symphonies, scoring themes and grand ideas with his characters and their stories. He is also the farthest thing from a typical Hollywood director, straying from both the lowest common denominator Michael Bay esque school of thinking and the quirky indie irony posse.

In fact, I am sure that almost every filmmaker in America wants what Paul Thomas Anderson has, the ability to make movies with final cut and relative independence with A list stars and constant funding. Anderson also draws fawning reviews and hyperbolic admiration. Award shows have not been especially kind to him but when he does not win, the institutions awarding the awards appear to be at fault and not him. All that being said, There Will Be Blood seemed destined for greatness from the start, especially since Daniel Day Lewis, a fine actor, whose amazing acting is commonly mistaken for overracting, would be the one anchoring Anderson’s loose adaptation of Upton Sinclair’s Oil.

The movie is concerned with the life and times of an oil man, Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day Lewis) in pre industrial America. The running time of around three hours might put off some but this movie is pure hypnosis. The performances, the incredible score by Jonny Greenwood, the trance like tracking shots and overall excellent cinematography all work harmoniously to form, you guessed it, a symphony. There Will Be Blood was destined for greatness and fully matched what filmgoers can expect when talent the level of Anderson and Lewis work together.

There are numerous standouts in Blood as well. Paul Dano forgoes his Little Miss Sunshine emo super quirky teenager past and thoroughly slips into the role of a preacher, Eli Sunday, who is possibly as deranged as the oilman, Plainview, that he rails against. Plainview’s son, whom he uses as a benign front for his dealings, also delivers an unusual amount of depth for a child actor, giving off a sense of ambiguity that’s apparent throughout the movie.

Now, we must discuss the ending. A large number of critics have hated it. I must say, however, that it was stunning and brilliant. It would have been a cruel joke to make a movie so singularly different and great as There Will Be Blood and top it off with a stock Hollywood ending. Instead, Anderson raises the volume of his symphony to delirious heights and delivers a flawless conclusion to a flawless picture.

Now to deviate from the script. It is not unfair to label this the next Citizen Kane, the film is an American epic much like Welles’ masterpeice. The entire film geek populace is on the lookout for Anderson’s next project, which hopefully will not take three years to make. How necessary is film school if he didn’t need it? Then again not everybody is a Paul Thomas Anderson. Where did he learn from and how did he become so technically proficient? That is the question.

-Vman