This morning I saw Spotlight, starring Mark Ruffalo and Michael Keaton.
When Marty Baron (Liev Schreiber) arrived at The Boston Globe, he thought it could do better. He urged his "Spotlight" team of investigative reporters to pursue a story about a priest accused of multiple counts of sexual abuse. They were hesitant because of their relationship with the church and the fact that the majority of their readership was Catholic. He told them to do it anyway.
Reporter Mike Rezendes (Ruffalo) enthusiastically accepted the challenge. He visits the lawyer that represents several of the church's victims and quickly realizes that they're only scratching the surface. His boss, Robby (Keaton), is supportive, but cautious.
As the investigation continues, they are met with several roadblocks: the interference of the church; the lack of cooperation from a key lawyer; records that are sealed. They work day in and day out to overcome these obstacles, getting to a place where they're almost ready to reveal their findings and then 9/11 happens. The exposé has to be put on hold.
Of course, those who remember the headlines in early 2002 know that they did in fact get to tell their story, and it did instigate a shake-up in the Catholic church.
Though I remember the articles and knew the ending before going in, I was glued to my seat for the duration of the film, riveted by every scene. Like the legendary All the President's Men, following the footsteps of the reporters in what feels like real time really gets the blood pumping. With each new fact they reveal, you wonder what will come next and who or what will stand in their way from sharing it.
The acting is superb—especially Ruffalo, who is so believable as a quirky East Boston journalist, it's hard to remember he was ever The Hulk.
I'll be stunned if this isn't an Oscar favorite come awards season.
~~~
Showing posts with label Catholic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Catholic. Show all posts
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Sunday, December 08, 2013
Philomena
This morning I saw Philomena, starring Judi Dench and Steve Coogan.
In the 1950s, it was shameful to be a pregnant teenager in Ireland. For a girl who was brought up by Catholic nuns, it was unspeakable.
When it happened to Philomena Lee (Dench) in 1952, the nuns punished her by working seven days a week, allowing only one-hour visitations with her son Anthony (Tadhg Bowen). She loved him dearly and lived for the special—if not limited—moments she had with him.
At age 3, Anthony was adopted by an American couple from St. Louis, Mo. Philomena was never given the chance to say goodbye. She kept his existence a secret for over 40 years, though she kept in regular touch with the convent in case Anthony ever came looking for her.
Once her daughter found out about her missing brother, she enlisted the help of Martin Sixsmith (Coogan), an out-of-work journalist with the investigative skills to track him down.
The film covers this true journey from start to finish, adding in unnecessary Hollywood embellishments, but thankfully that doesn't hurt its effectiveness. As depressing as the subject matter may be, it's a pleasure to watch.
Dench is simultaneously tragic and charming as Lee, showing the the pain of what she had lost with every glance. Coogan is also perfectly cast as the journalist who is at first in it for himself, but soon develops a genuine compassion for the mother.
As with all true stories, this one is being told too late, but there is hope that the conversations it will spark my soon make a difference in the practices of the church and the perception of sin in Ireland.
~~~
In the 1950s, it was shameful to be a pregnant teenager in Ireland. For a girl who was brought up by Catholic nuns, it was unspeakable.
When it happened to Philomena Lee (Dench) in 1952, the nuns punished her by working seven days a week, allowing only one-hour visitations with her son Anthony (Tadhg Bowen). She loved him dearly and lived for the special—if not limited—moments she had with him.
At age 3, Anthony was adopted by an American couple from St. Louis, Mo. Philomena was never given the chance to say goodbye. She kept his existence a secret for over 40 years, though she kept in regular touch with the convent in case Anthony ever came looking for her.
Once her daughter found out about her missing brother, she enlisted the help of Martin Sixsmith (Coogan), an out-of-work journalist with the investigative skills to track him down.
The film covers this true journey from start to finish, adding in unnecessary Hollywood embellishments, but thankfully that doesn't hurt its effectiveness. As depressing as the subject matter may be, it's a pleasure to watch.
Dench is simultaneously tragic and charming as Lee, showing the the pain of what she had lost with every glance. Coogan is also perfectly cast as the journalist who is at first in it for himself, but soon develops a genuine compassion for the mother.
As with all true stories, this one is being told too late, but there is hope that the conversations it will spark my soon make a difference in the practices of the church and the perception of sin in Ireland.
~~~
Saturday, January 29, 2011
The Rite
Tonight I saw The Rite, starring Colin O'Donoghue and Anthony Hopkins.
Michael Novak (O'Donoghue) is a seminary student ready to jump ship because he doubts his faith. Father Lucas (Hopkins) is the eccentric priest that the Vatican sends him to for exorcism training when he challenges his instructor. Demon possession arrives.
The story moves a lot slower than typical horror flicks and is significantly less frightening. Sure, there are a fair amount of contorted bodies hissing at the men of cloth, and a notable amount of jumpy moments, but at no point did I ever find myself looking over my shoulder or quivering in fear.
Therein lies the problem.
The topic is not a boring one. Millions of people, including the priests and devout members of the Catholic church, believe in demon possession.
In fact, this specific story is based on truth: the real-life Novak is Father Gary Thomas who currently practices in Saratoga, Calif. and served as a consultant for this film. Exorcisms, though they are rare, really do take place and lives are changed because of them.
Unfortunately, the flat script zaps out all of the the excitement and energy surrounding their rituals.
The acting is fine, though Colin is almost too handsome to be believable, and the character of Angelina (Alice Braga) is completely pointless.
Hopkins will never match his own creepiness as Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs, but his performance is acceptable, nonetheless.
I'd just rather have watched a documentary on the subject.
~~~
Michael Novak (O'Donoghue) is a seminary student ready to jump ship because he doubts his faith. Father Lucas (Hopkins) is the eccentric priest that the Vatican sends him to for exorcism training when he challenges his instructor. Demon possession arrives.
The story moves a lot slower than typical horror flicks and is significantly less frightening. Sure, there are a fair amount of contorted bodies hissing at the men of cloth, and a notable amount of jumpy moments, but at no point did I ever find myself looking over my shoulder or quivering in fear.
Therein lies the problem.
The topic is not a boring one. Millions of people, including the priests and devout members of the Catholic church, believe in demon possession.
In fact, this specific story is based on truth: the real-life Novak is Father Gary Thomas who currently practices in Saratoga, Calif. and served as a consultant for this film. Exorcisms, though they are rare, really do take place and lives are changed because of them.
Unfortunately, the flat script zaps out all of the the excitement and energy surrounding their rituals.
The acting is fine, though Colin is almost too handsome to be believable, and the character of Angelina (Alice Braga) is completely pointless.
Hopkins will never match his own creepiness as Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs, but his performance is acceptable, nonetheless.
I'd just rather have watched a documentary on the subject.
~~~
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Angels & Demons
Last night I saw Angels & Demons, starring Tom Hanks and Ewan McGregor.
When we begin this film, the follow-up to commercially successful-yet-critically hated Da Vinci Code, Professor Langdon (Hanks) is being summoned to Vatican City because four cardinals (who are in the running to become the next Pope) have been kidnapped by a group claiming to be the Illuminati, an angry sect of scientists that have revived an ancient anti-church secret society.
Langdon is sent to crack the code behind the letter they sent detailing what they're going to do (execute said cardinals AND blow up Vatican City with some stolen antimatter). But of course, the Vatican doesn't like his academic approaches to life and disdain for their church, so they deny him entry to their archives. Because he needs information in the archives to figure out the puzzle, he appeals to the Camerlengo in charge (McGregor) who appears to have a soft spot for Langdon and grants him access. Oh, and there's a pretty physicist that tags along because she knows how to A) translate Latin and B) change the battery on the contraption that's keeping the antimatter from blowing up the country.
To go any further in the plot would be to spoil, so I will just say this: yes, it is better than the prior film. The action carries the audience through the scenes much faster this time, and the clever one-liners are actually kept to a minimum. Hanks also has a less annoying haircut, which makes it easier to take his ever-serious lines, well... seriously. And the supporting players in McGregor and Stellan Skarsgard, who plays a stern Commander, are phenomenal in their roles. A major scene at the end has amazing special effects too.
On the minus side, the film is very bloody and the main "bad guy" is incredibly sexy, which makes it very difficult to believe he's all that bad.
But the tension is there, and the acting is solid, and it's nice to see so much of Italy in the many exterior scenes the movie holds.
Not a bad kickoff to the popcorn season of summer films.
When we begin this film, the follow-up to commercially successful-yet-critically hated Da Vinci Code, Professor Langdon (Hanks) is being summoned to Vatican City because four cardinals (who are in the running to become the next Pope) have been kidnapped by a group claiming to be the Illuminati, an angry sect of scientists that have revived an ancient anti-church secret society.
Langdon is sent to crack the code behind the letter they sent detailing what they're going to do (execute said cardinals AND blow up Vatican City with some stolen antimatter). But of course, the Vatican doesn't like his academic approaches to life and disdain for their church, so they deny him entry to their archives. Because he needs information in the archives to figure out the puzzle, he appeals to the Camerlengo in charge (McGregor) who appears to have a soft spot for Langdon and grants him access. Oh, and there's a pretty physicist that tags along because she knows how to A) translate Latin and B) change the battery on the contraption that's keeping the antimatter from blowing up the country.
To go any further in the plot would be to spoil, so I will just say this: yes, it is better than the prior film. The action carries the audience through the scenes much faster this time, and the clever one-liners are actually kept to a minimum. Hanks also has a less annoying haircut, which makes it easier to take his ever-serious lines, well... seriously. And the supporting players in McGregor and Stellan Skarsgard, who plays a stern Commander, are phenomenal in their roles. A major scene at the end has amazing special effects too.
On the minus side, the film is very bloody and the main "bad guy" is incredibly sexy, which makes it very difficult to believe he's all that bad.
But the tension is there, and the acting is solid, and it's nice to see so much of Italy in the many exterior scenes the movie holds.
Not a bad kickoff to the popcorn season of summer films.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Doubt
Yesterday I saw Doubt, starring Meryl Streep and Phillip Seymour Hoffman.
It's a drama (with a hint of comedy) about a Catholic school in the Bronx, in 1964. Sister Aloysius (Streep) is the stereotypical "mean nun" who administers wicked punishments to the children and is quick to judge her colleagues. Father Flynn (Hoffman) is a kind, warm-spirited priest who pays special attention to Donald (Joseph Foster), who is the first black student admitted to the school.
After witnessing a few normal situations at the school (kids misbehaving in class, nuns breaking bread together in silence, etc.), the writer wastes no time in letting us know that suspicion looms over Father Flynn regarding his relationship with Donald.
Amy Adams, in a role tailor made for her expertise in playing innocence, is Sister James, a naive teacher who notices a behavioral change in Donald after he returns from a private visit with the father. She soon tells Sister Aloysius, who is immediately anxious to expose and expunge the certainly guilty priest.
From there the movie places its title into your reactions as an audience member. Is this miserable woman just making life difficult for a man because he is a man? Is this kind-hearted priest who has a natural rapport with his congregation and students capable of such unspeakable harm? Is Sister James too inexperienced to correctly read the signs of abuse in one of her students?
All of the doubts they weave into your mind will have you taking sides with yourself, or perhaps the person sitting next to you. But they won't definitely answer the questions, which is what makes the film good.
What also makes the film good are the performances. It's not shocking that Streep's accent is dead-on 60s New Yorker, and it's no surprise that Hoffman can be equally endearing and creepy, but the unexpected thrill is seeing the two battle it out on screen as if they were performing live theater. It's hard to take your eyes off of them.
Also great are supporting players Amy Adams as the sugar-sweet Sister James, and Viola Davis as the pained mother of young Donald. Both infuse their characters with mannerisms, expressions and speech patterns that perfectly illustrate their plight.
What makes the film bad is the ending. It betrays one of the characters they've crafted so brilliantly and makes no sense in the context of the resolution.
Shame it had to end that way.
```
It's a drama (with a hint of comedy) about a Catholic school in the Bronx, in 1964. Sister Aloysius (Streep) is the stereotypical "mean nun" who administers wicked punishments to the children and is quick to judge her colleagues. Father Flynn (Hoffman) is a kind, warm-spirited priest who pays special attention to Donald (Joseph Foster), who is the first black student admitted to the school.
After witnessing a few normal situations at the school (kids misbehaving in class, nuns breaking bread together in silence, etc.), the writer wastes no time in letting us know that suspicion looms over Father Flynn regarding his relationship with Donald.
Amy Adams, in a role tailor made for her expertise in playing innocence, is Sister James, a naive teacher who notices a behavioral change in Donald after he returns from a private visit with the father. She soon tells Sister Aloysius, who is immediately anxious to expose and expunge the certainly guilty priest.
From there the movie places its title into your reactions as an audience member. Is this miserable woman just making life difficult for a man because he is a man? Is this kind-hearted priest who has a natural rapport with his congregation and students capable of such unspeakable harm? Is Sister James too inexperienced to correctly read the signs of abuse in one of her students?
All of the doubts they weave into your mind will have you taking sides with yourself, or perhaps the person sitting next to you. But they won't definitely answer the questions, which is what makes the film good.
What also makes the film good are the performances. It's not shocking that Streep's accent is dead-on 60s New Yorker, and it's no surprise that Hoffman can be equally endearing and creepy, but the unexpected thrill is seeing the two battle it out on screen as if they were performing live theater. It's hard to take your eyes off of them.
Also great are supporting players Amy Adams as the sugar-sweet Sister James, and Viola Davis as the pained mother of young Donald. Both infuse their characters with mannerisms, expressions and speech patterns that perfectly illustrate their plight.
What makes the film bad is the ending. It betrays one of the characters they've crafted so brilliantly and makes no sense in the context of the resolution.
Shame it had to end that way.
```
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Black Irish
Tonight I screened Black Irish, starring Michael Angarano and Brendan Gleeson.
Listen to Cinebanter #31: WAITRESS for my capsule review.
Listen to Cinebanter #31: WAITRESS for my capsule review.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Deliver Us From Evil
Today I saw the documentary Deliver Us From Evil about Father Oliver O'Grady, a convicted sex offender who the Catholic church moved around Northern California for 30 years before any charges were brought against him.
In the film, Director Amy Berg speaks with a surprisingly candid O'Grady (now living an unfairly comfortable life in his native Ireland) and several of his forever-damaged victims.
The accounts are horrific—the sodomy of a young boy who was helping with the landscaping outside the church; the rape and molestation of a 5 year-old girl (while the Father lived with her family); penetration of a 9-month old baby. And this man only served seven years behind bars, yet his number of victims is estimated into the hundreds.
What's nauseating about this story is how easy it was for the Catholic Church to dodge legal bullets throughout the tenure of this priest. They did so little to help the families and put an end to the abuse, you have to wonder if any of the higher-ups have a conscience, let alone an ounce of actual faith. What God would let this happen?
The most heartbreaking element to watch is the guilt of the parents who trusted this monster with their kids and didn't learn of the abuse until their children were grown. It's not their fault, but you can understand the responsibilty they must feel for O'Grady's actions and their absence in noticing.
Hopefully, this documentary will spark a revolution from the victims—those who have been brave enough to come forward and those who have remained silent, but want to somehow make sure this doesn't keep happening. They (along with each and every Catholic on the planet) need to demand reform and justice so this most hypocritical abuse of trust can finally be put to an end.
In the film, Director Amy Berg speaks with a surprisingly candid O'Grady (now living an unfairly comfortable life in his native Ireland) and several of his forever-damaged victims.
The accounts are horrific—the sodomy of a young boy who was helping with the landscaping outside the church; the rape and molestation of a 5 year-old girl (while the Father lived with her family); penetration of a 9-month old baby. And this man only served seven years behind bars, yet his number of victims is estimated into the hundreds.
What's nauseating about this story is how easy it was for the Catholic Church to dodge legal bullets throughout the tenure of this priest. They did so little to help the families and put an end to the abuse, you have to wonder if any of the higher-ups have a conscience, let alone an ounce of actual faith. What God would let this happen?
The most heartbreaking element to watch is the guilt of the parents who trusted this monster with their kids and didn't learn of the abuse until their children were grown. It's not their fault, but you can understand the responsibilty they must feel for O'Grady's actions and their absence in noticing.
Hopefully, this documentary will spark a revolution from the victims—those who have been brave enough to come forward and those who have remained silent, but want to somehow make sure this doesn't keep happening. They (along with each and every Catholic on the planet) need to demand reform and justice so this most hypocritical abuse of trust can finally be put to an end.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Saint of 9/11
Tonight I saw Saint of 9/11, a documentary about FDNY Chaplain Mychal Judge.
I attended a special screening made up of movie club members and guests from our own Seattle PD. I'm convinced it was the best possible way I could've spent the 5th anniversary of the attack on our country. 'Anniversary' is the wrong word, but I'm at a loss for a good synonym on this somber night.
The mood was quiet before the movie began. It might have been my imagination, but I'll swear people were more polite as they were searching for seats and settling in. The SIFF representative welcomed the audience, said a few words (folks clapped for our guests from the PD) and the lights went down. Not one peep of noise was heard for the next 95 minutes.
Father Mychal Judge was an Irish boy that grew up in New York. His father died at a young age and he and his two sisters were raised by his mother. He was always a life-loving, kind, sweet soul.
At a young age, he knew his calling was to serve God, so he began religious studies in the Franciscan order. After he became a priest, he struggled with alcoholism and his sexual orientation.
He remained a closeted homosexual out of respect for the church that he so loved, but trusted his close friends and associates with the truth. Over time, he became more open about his sexuality because he realized it humanized him in the eyes of the people.
Anecodotes and stories about his life were provided by friends, churchgoers, firefighters, politicians, priests, nuns and street people. Gay and straight, black and white. All of them mentioned his kind spirit, his sense of humor and his compassion for the poor.
An AIDS activist remembered how sad it was when the virus was still an unknown killer in the early 80s. Victims of it were isolated by friends and family in their final days for fear of spreading or catching it. Father Judge visited all of them, without protective masks or gloves and even kissed them and massaged their feet. He administered the Last Rites to dying homosexuals and spoke at their funerals with tenderness and pride for their accomplishments in life.
He was a loyal member of Alcoholics Anonymous and was 23 years sober when he was laid to rest.
He counseled families for months following the airplane crash of flight 800.
He worshiped with the gay Catholic group 'Dignity.'
He acquired winter coats for the homeless each year by persuading shop owners to give him discounts or not charge him at all, and delivered them in his official FDNY vehicle.
This hero was the first recorded death in New York City on September 11, 2001.
Footage of his September 10, 2001 sermon is played throughout the film and prior readings are told by narrator Ian McKellan.
Father Judge spoke of God's Kingdom of Heaven becoming bright with beautiful souls after devastating tragedies that capture many good lives all at once.
I can think of no one more deserving for the title of Saint than Father Mychal Judge.
I attended a special screening made up of movie club members and guests from our own Seattle PD. I'm convinced it was the best possible way I could've spent the 5th anniversary of the attack on our country. 'Anniversary' is the wrong word, but I'm at a loss for a good synonym on this somber night.
The mood was quiet before the movie began. It might have been my imagination, but I'll swear people were more polite as they were searching for seats and settling in. The SIFF representative welcomed the audience, said a few words (folks clapped for our guests from the PD) and the lights went down. Not one peep of noise was heard for the next 95 minutes.
Father Mychal Judge was an Irish boy that grew up in New York. His father died at a young age and he and his two sisters were raised by his mother. He was always a life-loving, kind, sweet soul.
At a young age, he knew his calling was to serve God, so he began religious studies in the Franciscan order. After he became a priest, he struggled with alcoholism and his sexual orientation.
He remained a closeted homosexual out of respect for the church that he so loved, but trusted his close friends and associates with the truth. Over time, he became more open about his sexuality because he realized it humanized him in the eyes of the people.
Anecodotes and stories about his life were provided by friends, churchgoers, firefighters, politicians, priests, nuns and street people. Gay and straight, black and white. All of them mentioned his kind spirit, his sense of humor and his compassion for the poor.
An AIDS activist remembered how sad it was when the virus was still an unknown killer in the early 80s. Victims of it were isolated by friends and family in their final days for fear of spreading or catching it. Father Judge visited all of them, without protective masks or gloves and even kissed them and massaged their feet. He administered the Last Rites to dying homosexuals and spoke at their funerals with tenderness and pride for their accomplishments in life.
He was a loyal member of Alcoholics Anonymous and was 23 years sober when he was laid to rest.
He counseled families for months following the airplane crash of flight 800.
He worshiped with the gay Catholic group 'Dignity.'
He acquired winter coats for the homeless each year by persuading shop owners to give him discounts or not charge him at all, and delivered them in his official FDNY vehicle.
This hero was the first recorded death in New York City on September 11, 2001.
Footage of his September 10, 2001 sermon is played throughout the film and prior readings are told by narrator Ian McKellan.
Father Judge spoke of God's Kingdom of Heaven becoming bright with beautiful souls after devastating tragedies that capture many good lives all at once.
I can think of no one more deserving for the title of Saint than Father Mychal Judge.
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