Tonight I saw 2012, starring John Cusack and Chiwetel Ejiofor.
Let me first state: it's completely ridiculous.
John Cusack plays author Jackson Curtis who seems to be late for everything in life: work, picking his kids up for a camping trip, saving his family from apocalyptic catastrophe, etc. When we meet him, he has overslept and is rushing to his ex-wife's house to collect the children for a Yellowstone expedition.
Chiwetel Ejiofor plays a geologist who we first meet in India, where he's visiting his friend, an astrophysicist, and working on a serious government assignment.
Uh-oh. The earth isn't behaving like it's supposed to. The "earth crust displacement" (a real-life theory by a 1950s American scientist) isn't supposed to go down for at least a few more years, but temperatures are heating up so it's time to crash a party in Washington, D.C. and let the head honchos know.
As you can imagine, this doesn't go down well across the globe. And it all falls on the U.S. (though it was the Indian astrophysicist who really cracked the case) to organize the evacuations and sell tickets aboard monster ships built to withstand the disastrous impact.
Luckily for audience members, 2012 looks a whole lot like 2009, so it's relatable. The Terminator is still the Governor of California, the President is still black and grocery stores are even stocking the same issues of Rolling Stone (I noticed one on the shelf that featured U2 promoting their album No Line on the Horizon, which came out earlier this year).
It's not hard to imagine how greatly we'd all freak out if confronted with such havoc because like the citizens in the movie, they gave us no time to prepare.
But that's when it gets fun.
After a cameo from Woody Harrelson (as a crazy hippie with all the answers) and a few establishing scenes to let us know Cusack isn't winning any Father of the Year awards, we have liftoff as California falls off into the ocean (literally).
Luckily, Jackson is able to get his family (and his ex's boyfriend) into a rented airplane in the nick of time to escape the destruction. These scenes aren't as suspenseful as they should be (how could they not make it out when the movie's barely begun), but I'll be happy to admit I enjoyed the effects immensely.
After California is gone, we see Vegas go and then other handpicked cities/monuments that are cool to watch explode. I must emphasize: if you like explosions, this is the film for you!
In between massive explosions you'll find cheesy one-liners, awkward 'almost' romances, brave kids, regretful parents, asshole government reps, righteous scientists and repeated product placement (Bentley™ and Pull-Ups® must've spent a fortune).
I spent more time laughing than I did recoiling in horror or gasping in surprise. But that's okay—I still had a good time at the end of the world.
~~~
Friday, November 13, 2009
Saturday, November 07, 2009
An Education
Today I saw An Education, starring Carey Mulligan and Peter Sarsgaard.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #81, so tune in November 16 for our review.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #81, so tune in November 16 for our review.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
This Is It
Tonight I saw the documentary This is It, directed by Kenny Ortega.
When I was about seven years old, MTV began playing three videos in heavy rotation that would re-define pop music: "Billie Jean", "Beat It" and "Thriller". They were all superb songs and they were all by Michael Jackson.
When I brought home my fold-out vinyl of the Thriller album, I momentarily put away my beloved U2 and Pat Benatar to absorb its greatness. I bought a sticker from a grocery store vending machine and used a straight pin to attach it to my jacket (which resembled one of Michael's). I also, as an aspiring young writer, carried with me a tiny notepad bearing his likeness on the cover (I still remember the yellow sweater he was wearing). He was the moonwalker—he was magic.
Then things took a turn for the worse and fame seemed to eat my prized star alive. His skin changed color, his face changed shape and horrible allegations surfaced in the coming years that he conducted inappropriate relationships with young boys. After his follow up album Bad, which really was quite Good, his music faltered as well.
He was always fascinating to watch whether he was showing up for court appearances "looking like Captain Crunch" (as Chris Rock so humorously pointed out), or dancing his way across a stage. But I really thought he lost his mind when I watched the Martin Bashir documentary Living With Michael Jackson a few years back. He'd named his youngest son Blanket, admitted to having children sleep in his bed with him and blatantly lied about how many times he'd had plastic surgery. There wasn't much left of the sweet kid from the Jackson 5.
After dismissing him, like many, I forgot about him. I went on about my life.
And then in June word came that Michael had gone into cardiac arrest and fallen into some sort of coma. I learned of this at work and found it difficult to turn CNN off as I finished my days' duties. I turned the audio live feed on as I filed papers and wrote Web pages. I heard of his death announcement live. I got goosebumps; I felt sick. Why? Because at the end of the day, looking past all of the questions of his character, the world lost an immense talent.
Now, we're left with this documentary that could easily have been released even if he had lived. It's that good.
We see director/choreographer Kenny Ortega and Michael himself leading a group of hundreds through the taxing rehearsals for what would've been his "final curtain call." From choosing the finest dancers to forming a family within the performance circle, the team functions as a productive, joyous machine. It's an incredible amount of hard work, but the mood is remarkably calm and positive—mostly a testament to Michael's lack of ego.
I'm not saying he didn't have one. Of course he had several people on hand to attend to him (which the audience doesn't see much of), but with his singers and dancers and crew, the man is nothing short of a team player. He works just as hard (or harder) than they do and takes obvious pleasure when they all perform well. After watching him in action, you want to jump on stage and join him.
It does help that the songs hold up, too. The elaborate appearing-within-a-classic-film production that surrounds "Smooth Criminal" would've made a wonderful video (if a wonderful video for the same song didn't already exist) and seeing Michael sing and do the "Thriller" dance front and center over 20 years later nearly made me giddy.
This wasn't a man who looked strung out on anything but a natural high. In fact, when he launched into some old Jackson 5 tunes, I wondered if the mood would turn melancholy, but it didn't. Then I realized, in all of his miserable childhood, the one place he was probably genuinely happy was on stage, singing those songs. No one could touch him there—everyone was proud of his talent.
And he was brimming with talent. Right up until the end (some of the footage in the film was taken less than two days prior to his death) his voice was strong, his dance was graceful and his spirits were soaring.
Had he lived, he appears to have been up for the challenge of 50 consecutive concerts, perhaps more so than any other performer.
Kudos to Kenny Ortega for giving us all a peek at what might have been.
~~~
When I was about seven years old, MTV began playing three videos in heavy rotation that would re-define pop music: "Billie Jean", "Beat It" and "Thriller". They were all superb songs and they were all by Michael Jackson.
When I brought home my fold-out vinyl of the Thriller album, I momentarily put away my beloved U2 and Pat Benatar to absorb its greatness. I bought a sticker from a grocery store vending machine and used a straight pin to attach it to my jacket (which resembled one of Michael's). I also, as an aspiring young writer, carried with me a tiny notepad bearing his likeness on the cover (I still remember the yellow sweater he was wearing). He was the moonwalker—he was magic.
Then things took a turn for the worse and fame seemed to eat my prized star alive. His skin changed color, his face changed shape and horrible allegations surfaced in the coming years that he conducted inappropriate relationships with young boys. After his follow up album Bad, which really was quite Good, his music faltered as well.
He was always fascinating to watch whether he was showing up for court appearances "looking like Captain Crunch" (as Chris Rock so humorously pointed out), or dancing his way across a stage. But I really thought he lost his mind when I watched the Martin Bashir documentary Living With Michael Jackson a few years back. He'd named his youngest son Blanket, admitted to having children sleep in his bed with him and blatantly lied about how many times he'd had plastic surgery. There wasn't much left of the sweet kid from the Jackson 5.
After dismissing him, like many, I forgot about him. I went on about my life.
And then in June word came that Michael had gone into cardiac arrest and fallen into some sort of coma. I learned of this at work and found it difficult to turn CNN off as I finished my days' duties. I turned the audio live feed on as I filed papers and wrote Web pages. I heard of his death announcement live. I got goosebumps; I felt sick. Why? Because at the end of the day, looking past all of the questions of his character, the world lost an immense talent.
Now, we're left with this documentary that could easily have been released even if he had lived. It's that good.
We see director/choreographer Kenny Ortega and Michael himself leading a group of hundreds through the taxing rehearsals for what would've been his "final curtain call." From choosing the finest dancers to forming a family within the performance circle, the team functions as a productive, joyous machine. It's an incredible amount of hard work, but the mood is remarkably calm and positive—mostly a testament to Michael's lack of ego.
I'm not saying he didn't have one. Of course he had several people on hand to attend to him (which the audience doesn't see much of), but with his singers and dancers and crew, the man is nothing short of a team player. He works just as hard (or harder) than they do and takes obvious pleasure when they all perform well. After watching him in action, you want to jump on stage and join him.
It does help that the songs hold up, too. The elaborate appearing-within-a-classic-film production that surrounds "Smooth Criminal" would've made a wonderful video (if a wonderful video for the same song didn't already exist) and seeing Michael sing and do the "Thriller" dance front and center over 20 years later nearly made me giddy.
This wasn't a man who looked strung out on anything but a natural high. In fact, when he launched into some old Jackson 5 tunes, I wondered if the mood would turn melancholy, but it didn't. Then I realized, in all of his miserable childhood, the one place he was probably genuinely happy was on stage, singing those songs. No one could touch him there—everyone was proud of his talent.
And he was brimming with talent. Right up until the end (some of the footage in the film was taken less than two days prior to his death) his voice was strong, his dance was graceful and his spirits were soaring.
Had he lived, he appears to have been up for the challenge of 50 consecutive concerts, perhaps more so than any other performer.
Kudos to Kenny Ortega for giving us all a peek at what might have been.
~~~
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Act of God
Tonight I saw the documentary Act of God, directed by Jennifer Baichwal.
The film centers around folks who have been struck by lightning or have lost someone close to them because of a lightning strike.
If only the narrative had some coherence.
The first story told is compelling: a man and presumably his mother sit inside a cabin-like house in the woods and recall stories of happier times. Parties were held, drinks were enjoyed and both agreed at one time this was a great place to be. But years ago that all changed when "the boys" were out camping in those woods and got struck by lightning. The survivor who is telling the story recounts ambulances arriving, watching others go unconscious, watching a dying friend vomit up his blackened insides, etc. It was a horrible tale, but I wanted to hear more.
Unfortunately, that was the most interesting story in the bunch.
Another man found "God" or purpose, or whatever it shall be labeled and began working with dying veterans; a religious Mexican woman lost her children and accepted it as God's will to make them young angels. Yet another man read poems about camp as a youth in NY (where lightning claimed his buddy) set to overly dramatic guitar music.
About a quarter of the way through, I'd had enough.
The trailer leads one to believe the story is about how folks are changed after surviving a lightning strike; the film instead emphasizes how evil/dangerous concentrated electricity really is, and tries to package that information in an artistic, creative format that just doesn't work.
The result is a pretentious mish-mash of shots that are way too long of stories that aren't all that interesting.
The concept should never be the strongest part of a film.
~~~
The film centers around folks who have been struck by lightning or have lost someone close to them because of a lightning strike.
If only the narrative had some coherence.
The first story told is compelling: a man and presumably his mother sit inside a cabin-like house in the woods and recall stories of happier times. Parties were held, drinks were enjoyed and both agreed at one time this was a great place to be. But years ago that all changed when "the boys" were out camping in those woods and got struck by lightning. The survivor who is telling the story recounts ambulances arriving, watching others go unconscious, watching a dying friend vomit up his blackened insides, etc. It was a horrible tale, but I wanted to hear more.
Unfortunately, that was the most interesting story in the bunch.
Another man found "God" or purpose, or whatever it shall be labeled and began working with dying veterans; a religious Mexican woman lost her children and accepted it as God's will to make them young angels. Yet another man read poems about camp as a youth in NY (where lightning claimed his buddy) set to overly dramatic guitar music.
About a quarter of the way through, I'd had enough.
The trailer leads one to believe the story is about how folks are changed after surviving a lightning strike; the film instead emphasizes how evil/dangerous concentrated electricity really is, and tries to package that information in an artistic, creative format that just doesn't work.
The result is a pretentious mish-mash of shots that are way too long of stories that aren't all that interesting.
The concept should never be the strongest part of a film.
~~~
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Capitalism: A Love Story
Tonight I saw the latest Michael Moore documentary Capitalism: A Love Story.
The man is nothing if not entertaining.
True to form, the film is laced with "stunts" that are almost funnier in the trailer (trying to make a citizen's arrest on the execs on Wall Street; arriving in an armored truck at banks to take America's money back). What's better are his sincere interviews with experts in the economic field and stories of individuals who were affected by the collapse.
One family had their farm house mortgage go from a manageable $1700 to an impossible $2700 per month, and surrendered the home to foreclosure. Aside from losing their physical living space, they were sacrificing some of their history, said the wife, who had the farm in her family for decades. She is seen fiercely chopping flowers from a bush in her yard to perhaps preserve something of the original land as the eviction staff simultaneously collects house keys from her husband. They were paid a whopping $1000 to prepare the property for the next owners.
Another family, with a Mom and Dad who worked for Wal-Mart, were shocked to find that Wal-Mart collected the life insurance money when Mom passed away suddenly from a severe asthma problem. Though Dad had over $100,000 in medical bills to pay after her death, and a $6,000 funeral, Wal-Mart offered nothing to help with the expenses. And he'd been a loyal employee of theirs most of his adult life who still had three kids to support.
Perhaps the most unsettling stories were those of our commercial airline pilots—some who are forced to collect food stamps because their pay is so low ($17,000 was one quoted salary). Others take on second jobs, which obviously could exhaust them physically and hinder their ability to do their day job, which is keeping us flying customers in the air. How can we pay fast food managers more than we pay our skilled pilots?
Moore blames capitalism for all of these woes, but I have to disagree and blame it on corporate greed (and yes, there is a difference).
He shows an example of a completely productive co-op bread-making company in California, where the assembly line workers make the same salaries (an impressive $65,000) as the CEO. Granted, the model is very socialist in its principles, but at the end of the day, they are functioning as tax-paying capitalists. The more bread they sell, the higher their paychecks.
I see nothing wrong with that. In fact, if there was a branch of the bread-baking company in Seattle, I'd probably apply to be a baker. Or a packager. Or any other job where I could punch in, do my thing in a pleasant environment and go home without worry of being laid off or the need to take on freelance writing gigs to fund my rare vacations. The argument is in a backward way in favor of capitalism: make a good product, create demand for it and reap the benefits.
At the heart of the economic collapse in our country was greed. Greed mixed with big government mixed with deregulation.
I wanted to stand up and cheer when I learned our President recently supported a group of workers in Chicago that refused to leave the plant they were fired from without sufficient severance packages. They went about their protest in a peaceful way and got exactly what they demanded from the notorious Bank of America. Kudos to them, and kudos to President Obama for sticking to his principles despite election contributions he received from the bankers in question. I'm happy his values can't be bought, and I'm happy I voted for him.
America is finally moving in the right direction by putting votes toward those who inspire real change (kudos to the female rep. from Ohio who is featured fighting for what's right), and for that I can say Moore's unpopular film tactics still serve a purpose.
Though I don't agree that capitalism is inherently evil, or that it can't work, I do support his motivation to bring power to the people.
If we don't act on these human injustices, who will?
~~~
The man is nothing if not entertaining.
True to form, the film is laced with "stunts" that are almost funnier in the trailer (trying to make a citizen's arrest on the execs on Wall Street; arriving in an armored truck at banks to take America's money back). What's better are his sincere interviews with experts in the economic field and stories of individuals who were affected by the collapse.
One family had their farm house mortgage go from a manageable $1700 to an impossible $2700 per month, and surrendered the home to foreclosure. Aside from losing their physical living space, they were sacrificing some of their history, said the wife, who had the farm in her family for decades. She is seen fiercely chopping flowers from a bush in her yard to perhaps preserve something of the original land as the eviction staff simultaneously collects house keys from her husband. They were paid a whopping $1000 to prepare the property for the next owners.
Another family, with a Mom and Dad who worked for Wal-Mart, were shocked to find that Wal-Mart collected the life insurance money when Mom passed away suddenly from a severe asthma problem. Though Dad had over $100,000 in medical bills to pay after her death, and a $6,000 funeral, Wal-Mart offered nothing to help with the expenses. And he'd been a loyal employee of theirs most of his adult life who still had three kids to support.
Perhaps the most unsettling stories were those of our commercial airline pilots—some who are forced to collect food stamps because their pay is so low ($17,000 was one quoted salary). Others take on second jobs, which obviously could exhaust them physically and hinder their ability to do their day job, which is keeping us flying customers in the air. How can we pay fast food managers more than we pay our skilled pilots?
Moore blames capitalism for all of these woes, but I have to disagree and blame it on corporate greed (and yes, there is a difference).
He shows an example of a completely productive co-op bread-making company in California, where the assembly line workers make the same salaries (an impressive $65,000) as the CEO. Granted, the model is very socialist in its principles, but at the end of the day, they are functioning as tax-paying capitalists. The more bread they sell, the higher their paychecks.
I see nothing wrong with that. In fact, if there was a branch of the bread-baking company in Seattle, I'd probably apply to be a baker. Or a packager. Or any other job where I could punch in, do my thing in a pleasant environment and go home without worry of being laid off or the need to take on freelance writing gigs to fund my rare vacations. The argument is in a backward way in favor of capitalism: make a good product, create demand for it and reap the benefits.
At the heart of the economic collapse in our country was greed. Greed mixed with big government mixed with deregulation.
I wanted to stand up and cheer when I learned our President recently supported a group of workers in Chicago that refused to leave the plant they were fired from without sufficient severance packages. They went about their protest in a peaceful way and got exactly what they demanded from the notorious Bank of America. Kudos to them, and kudos to President Obama for sticking to his principles despite election contributions he received from the bankers in question. I'm happy his values can't be bought, and I'm happy I voted for him.
America is finally moving in the right direction by putting votes toward those who inspire real change (kudos to the female rep. from Ohio who is featured fighting for what's right), and for that I can say Moore's unpopular film tactics still serve a purpose.
Though I don't agree that capitalism is inherently evil, or that it can't work, I do support his motivation to bring power to the people.
If we don't act on these human injustices, who will?
~~~
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Where the Wild Things Are
This morning I saw Where the Wild Things Are, starring Max Records and the voice of James Gandolfini.
Based on the classic children's book of the same name, I was apprehensive when I heard it was going to be turned into a live-action film—the movie is never as good as the book, and how dare Director Spike Jonze risk tarnishing one of my beloved childhood reads?
I went back and forth with those thoughts after I saw the nearly universal praise showered upon the film by many notable critics who I faithfully trust. There must be something magical about it, I assumed. They must see the spirit of the text come to life in a way they never imagined.
So I decided to give it a go and spent the majority of the film feeling guilty for getting bored and looking at my watch.
But first, the positive stuff: Max Records, a first-time actor who plays Max, absolutely embodies the essence of the child in the book. He's smart, vulnerable, sweet and angry, just as he should be. The beginning of the film is also strong—Catherine Keener as Max's mom is convincing as a haggard single parent trying to navigate a difficult job and balance raising two children on her own. We see no evidence of Dad, but realize how uncomfortable Max is when Mom has a date over for dinner. So far, so good.
The transition from Max's bedroom (where he's sent without dinner, just like the book) to the place Where the Wild Things Are is more elaborate than it needs to be and will probably scare the bejesus out of children under the age of 10 or so, but he gets there. At night. Via some terrifying (yet beautiful in the daytime) beach on the Australian coast.
Instead of "staring into their yellow eyes without blinking once" to become the Wild Things' king, he simply tells them he's their king, and they curiously accept that.
"They" are a dysfunctional family of beings that look identical to the drawings in Sendak's book, but sound like a collection of dumbed-down Hollywood actors...er...because that's where their voices come from.
And therein lies the largest problem I had with the movie: the all-too-recognizable voices.
I'm sorry, but James Gandolfini will always be Tony Soprano. And Lauren Ambrose will always be Claire from Six Feet Under. Those two especially, have such distinct speaking patterns it's hard not to picture the physical human while you're watching the mechanical animal. It's the first thing that removes you from your childhood impressions of the story.
The second is the assignment of personalities to each "thing." There's the Big Mean Man (Carol) who's driven away the Strong Independent Woman (KW), the Fighting Couple (Ira and Judith), the Outcasts (Terry and Bob), and so forth. By personifying them with stereotypical human behaviors, the splendor of the unknown is removed, leaving little hope for magic to appear.
Legend has it Maurice Sendak fashioned the "Things" after his extended family. If that's true, he was smart not to name them specifically or box them into any traits. Ambiguity is a good thing.
Another annoyance is the blatant way in which allegory is presented again and again. When Max arrives, the Things want him to "take away the sadness." A few days later, they want to build a utopia (but not allow everyone to sleep in the pile).
Such obvious lessons are fine for a children's film, but the way it's shot and shown makes it feel like it's for us adults. And if that's the case, the result is somewhat melancholy, as we know the idealism most of us have in youth fades considerably the older we get.
Jonze should be commended for the visual beauty of this film, and for discovering a great young actor who undoubtedly has a fine career ahead of him.
But the story for me shall remain where it belongs—in the pages of my well-worn copy of the book.
~~~
Based on the classic children's book of the same name, I was apprehensive when I heard it was going to be turned into a live-action film—the movie is never as good as the book, and how dare Director Spike Jonze risk tarnishing one of my beloved childhood reads?
I went back and forth with those thoughts after I saw the nearly universal praise showered upon the film by many notable critics who I faithfully trust. There must be something magical about it, I assumed. They must see the spirit of the text come to life in a way they never imagined.
So I decided to give it a go and spent the majority of the film feeling guilty for getting bored and looking at my watch.
But first, the positive stuff: Max Records, a first-time actor who plays Max, absolutely embodies the essence of the child in the book. He's smart, vulnerable, sweet and angry, just as he should be. The beginning of the film is also strong—Catherine Keener as Max's mom is convincing as a haggard single parent trying to navigate a difficult job and balance raising two children on her own. We see no evidence of Dad, but realize how uncomfortable Max is when Mom has a date over for dinner. So far, so good.
The transition from Max's bedroom (where he's sent without dinner, just like the book) to the place Where the Wild Things Are is more elaborate than it needs to be and will probably scare the bejesus out of children under the age of 10 or so, but he gets there. At night. Via some terrifying (yet beautiful in the daytime) beach on the Australian coast.
Instead of "staring into their yellow eyes without blinking once" to become the Wild Things' king, he simply tells them he's their king, and they curiously accept that.
"They" are a dysfunctional family of beings that look identical to the drawings in Sendak's book, but sound like a collection of dumbed-down Hollywood actors...er...because that's where their voices come from.
And therein lies the largest problem I had with the movie: the all-too-recognizable voices.
I'm sorry, but James Gandolfini will always be Tony Soprano. And Lauren Ambrose will always be Claire from Six Feet Under. Those two especially, have such distinct speaking patterns it's hard not to picture the physical human while you're watching the mechanical animal. It's the first thing that removes you from your childhood impressions of the story.
The second is the assignment of personalities to each "thing." There's the Big Mean Man (Carol) who's driven away the Strong Independent Woman (KW), the Fighting Couple (Ira and Judith), the Outcasts (Terry and Bob), and so forth. By personifying them with stereotypical human behaviors, the splendor of the unknown is removed, leaving little hope for magic to appear.
Legend has it Maurice Sendak fashioned the "Things" after his extended family. If that's true, he was smart not to name them specifically or box them into any traits. Ambiguity is a good thing.
Another annoyance is the blatant way in which allegory is presented again and again. When Max arrives, the Things want him to "take away the sadness." A few days later, they want to build a utopia (but not allow everyone to sleep in the pile).
Such obvious lessons are fine for a children's film, but the way it's shot and shown makes it feel like it's for us adults. And if that's the case, the result is somewhat melancholy, as we know the idealism most of us have in youth fades considerably the older we get.
Jonze should be commended for the visual beauty of this film, and for discovering a great young actor who undoubtedly has a fine career ahead of him.
But the story for me shall remain where it belongs—in the pages of my well-worn copy of the book.
~~~
Friday, October 16, 2009
The Invention of Lying
Tonight I saw The Invention of Lying, starring Ricky Gervais and Jennifer Garner.
The alternate reality in which Mark (Gervais) and Anna (Garner) live in doesn't allow for lying. Actually, the citizens don't always just tell the truth—they say everything that comes to mind, even if it may be hurtful to the other person. It is a filter-free society, which makes folks like Mark miserable.
In the span of a few days, Mark loses his job, gets evicted from his apartment and has a disappointing date with Anna, whom he adores. As he goes to the bank to withdraw his last $300, the bank's computer system crashes and they can't check his balance. He knows he only has $300, but it's $800 he needs to pay his rent, so he says $800. And because everyone tells the truth, the teller has no reason to disbelieve him. She hands over his $800 and he's on his way.
He's invented lying.
He doesn't quite understand this gift, but when he tries it out on a few of his buddies (telling them he's a black Eskimo named Doug) and it works, he decides to use it to improve his life.
Soon he has enough money to stay in his apartment and take Anna on a second date, to a nicer restaurant. Things go well on that second date until Anna again confesses she can't be romantically involved with him because he's not a desirable genetic match for her (though he makes her laugh and makes her happy). During the date, his mother falls ill and the couple rush to her side in the hospital. On her deathbed, Mark realizes she's terrified of dying so he invents a story about a paradise afterlife to comfort her. Hospital officials overhear the fib and take it for gospel, alerting the news media to his wisdom, which prompts a mob of sorts to camp outside his residence.
He's not only invented lying, he's invented religion. And this is where the movie becomes preachy in the opposite way that films typically do.
Soon he's proclaiming edicts that sound dangerously like commandments (yes, there's ten) from a Pizza Hut box where he's scribbled them under the pressure of the crowd. Did I mention he's a screenwriter too?
The impromptu way Mark creates the rules of society is meant to highlight the absurdity of Biblical texts, which of course were recorded by men. God becomes "Man in the Sky" and houses resembling churches emerge to give folks a "quiet place to think about the Man in the Sky."
It all amounts to a great big wink in the direction of atheists who may be cheering, and an unflattering mirror to those devout.
I appreciated the clever dialog, the many cameos (Rob Lowe, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Tina Fey), the performances by the two leads and the sweetness of their courting, but it all could have moved a bit faster.
At the heart of the story is heart—the message being that we should not live our lives simply to please our families or friends, or conform to society's expectations, even if our brains tell us that is right.
We should follow the instinct that lies deep within us to be good people and seek out someone who fulfills our every dream no matter what sort of package they arrive in.
I wish the film had focused more on that.
~~~
The alternate reality in which Mark (Gervais) and Anna (Garner) live in doesn't allow for lying. Actually, the citizens don't always just tell the truth—they say everything that comes to mind, even if it may be hurtful to the other person. It is a filter-free society, which makes folks like Mark miserable.
In the span of a few days, Mark loses his job, gets evicted from his apartment and has a disappointing date with Anna, whom he adores. As he goes to the bank to withdraw his last $300, the bank's computer system crashes and they can't check his balance. He knows he only has $300, but it's $800 he needs to pay his rent, so he says $800. And because everyone tells the truth, the teller has no reason to disbelieve him. She hands over his $800 and he's on his way.
He's invented lying.
He doesn't quite understand this gift, but when he tries it out on a few of his buddies (telling them he's a black Eskimo named Doug) and it works, he decides to use it to improve his life.
Soon he has enough money to stay in his apartment and take Anna on a second date, to a nicer restaurant. Things go well on that second date until Anna again confesses she can't be romantically involved with him because he's not a desirable genetic match for her (though he makes her laugh and makes her happy). During the date, his mother falls ill and the couple rush to her side in the hospital. On her deathbed, Mark realizes she's terrified of dying so he invents a story about a paradise afterlife to comfort her. Hospital officials overhear the fib and take it for gospel, alerting the news media to his wisdom, which prompts a mob of sorts to camp outside his residence.
He's not only invented lying, he's invented religion. And this is where the movie becomes preachy in the opposite way that films typically do.
Soon he's proclaiming edicts that sound dangerously like commandments (yes, there's ten) from a Pizza Hut box where he's scribbled them under the pressure of the crowd. Did I mention he's a screenwriter too?
The impromptu way Mark creates the rules of society is meant to highlight the absurdity of Biblical texts, which of course were recorded by men. God becomes "Man in the Sky" and houses resembling churches emerge to give folks a "quiet place to think about the Man in the Sky."
It all amounts to a great big wink in the direction of atheists who may be cheering, and an unflattering mirror to those devout.
I appreciated the clever dialog, the many cameos (Rob Lowe, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Tina Fey), the performances by the two leads and the sweetness of their courting, but it all could have moved a bit faster.
At the heart of the story is heart—the message being that we should not live our lives simply to please our families or friends, or conform to society's expectations, even if our brains tell us that is right.
We should follow the instinct that lies deep within us to be good people and seek out someone who fulfills our every dream no matter what sort of package they arrive in.
I wish the film had focused more on that.
~~~
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The September Issue
Tonight I saw The September Issue, a documentary that follows famed Vogue editor Anna Wintour in the months leading up to—well—a September issue.
The year is 2007. The financial bubble has yet to burst and excess is exactly what the magazine is going for as they try to break their record for the most pages (they did, with over 800).
Designers, stylists, photographers, models, a celebrity (Sienna Miller, the cover subject) and even the poor documentarian making this film are scrutinized, degraded and scoffed at throughout by the Queen Bee of Fashion. For such a petite lady, she does pack quite a punch.
As the most prominent designers from the biggest fashion houses in the world show their newest lines to her, she looks bored. She tells one he doesn't have enough color and another that there isn't any "evening" in his set.
Little do they know, right?
Having worked in the fashion industry for eight years, none of what happened on screen was the least bit shocking to me, but it did serve as a reminder of what a negative business 'pretty clothing' really is.
What's most interesting in the film is the dynamic between Wintour and legendary stylist Grace Coddington (who has been at the magazine just as long, and began her career as a model). They snip and snark at each other both privately and publicly, then reluctantly administer mutual praise as if they know they should. Both ladies are forces to be reckoned with, and one gets the sense that the combination of their personalities and tastes may be what makes the end product work.
As far as documentaries go, I would register it on the weak side. The director didn't ever bring Anna out of her comfort zone, so we don't see anything that we don't expect to see. Really, the most revealing thing we learn is that Anna has an incredibly pleasant daughter who seems to want nothing to do with the fashion industry.
The conversation about Anna's siblings thinking her profession was trite could've made for wonderful cinema. But all we got was a soundbite.
```
The year is 2007. The financial bubble has yet to burst and excess is exactly what the magazine is going for as they try to break their record for the most pages (they did, with over 800).
Designers, stylists, photographers, models, a celebrity (Sienna Miller, the cover subject) and even the poor documentarian making this film are scrutinized, degraded and scoffed at throughout by the Queen Bee of Fashion. For such a petite lady, she does pack quite a punch.
As the most prominent designers from the biggest fashion houses in the world show their newest lines to her, she looks bored. She tells one he doesn't have enough color and another that there isn't any "evening" in his set.
Little do they know, right?
Having worked in the fashion industry for eight years, none of what happened on screen was the least bit shocking to me, but it did serve as a reminder of what a negative business 'pretty clothing' really is.
What's most interesting in the film is the dynamic between Wintour and legendary stylist Grace Coddington (who has been at the magazine just as long, and began her career as a model). They snip and snark at each other both privately and publicly, then reluctantly administer mutual praise as if they know they should. Both ladies are forces to be reckoned with, and one gets the sense that the combination of their personalities and tastes may be what makes the end product work.
As far as documentaries go, I would register it on the weak side. The director didn't ever bring Anna out of her comfort zone, so we don't see anything that we don't expect to see. Really, the most revealing thing we learn is that Anna has an incredibly pleasant daughter who seems to want nothing to do with the fashion industry.
The conversation about Anna's siblings thinking her profession was trite could've made for wonderful cinema. But all we got was a soundbite.
```
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Precious
Tonight I screened Precious, starring Gabourey Sidibe and Mo' Nique.
Clareece (Sidibe) is a 16-year-old student living in Harlem who is known as "Precious" to her family and teachers.
She does well in school though she can't read or write, and comes home every night to cook and take care of her physically and verbally abusive mother Mary (Mo'Nique), who is a welfare recipient that likes to watch game shows.
Clareece's principal expels her when she learns she is pregnant with her second child and arranges for her to enroll at a nearby alternative school. What the school administration doesn't realize is that the child, like Clareece's toddler-age daughter, is the product of rape. By her father.
Precious is overweight, illiterate, poor and ridiculed, but something about her spirit enables her to seek a better future for herself. Despite the protest of her mother (who feels she should also go on welfare), she applies herself at the alternative school, learning to read and write. Her teacher takes a special interest in her and builds the first healthy relationship she's probably ever had.
A counselor (played by a surprisingly good Mariah Carey) is also assigned to her, and the truth about her family life begins to unfold, which serves as a healing force in the progress of Precious.
Soon she's made friends at school, given birth to a baby in a hospital and vows to make a better life for herself and her son.
Then life interferes and throws another enormous trauma her way.
At this point in the film, after watching a slew of amazing performances, I wondered how much more the writer could put on the actors. If Precious were a real human being, there is very little chance she could've survived everything she was forced to endure without losing her mind.
But the sad thing is, there are a lot of Precious teens out there. Probably many who have suffered similar grievances and come out of it bearing only hidden scars.
The film does a good job of getting to the core of each of our main characters and also making them real enough to worry about. Truly, it felt more like a call to action than a means of entertainment.
But sometimes, that's okay.
~~~
Clareece (Sidibe) is a 16-year-old student living in Harlem who is known as "Precious" to her family and teachers.
She does well in school though she can't read or write, and comes home every night to cook and take care of her physically and verbally abusive mother Mary (Mo'Nique), who is a welfare recipient that likes to watch game shows.
Clareece's principal expels her when she learns she is pregnant with her second child and arranges for her to enroll at a nearby alternative school. What the school administration doesn't realize is that the child, like Clareece's toddler-age daughter, is the product of rape. By her father.
Precious is overweight, illiterate, poor and ridiculed, but something about her spirit enables her to seek a better future for herself. Despite the protest of her mother (who feels she should also go on welfare), she applies herself at the alternative school, learning to read and write. Her teacher takes a special interest in her and builds the first healthy relationship she's probably ever had.
A counselor (played by a surprisingly good Mariah Carey) is also assigned to her, and the truth about her family life begins to unfold, which serves as a healing force in the progress of Precious.
Soon she's made friends at school, given birth to a baby in a hospital and vows to make a better life for herself and her son.
Then life interferes and throws another enormous trauma her way.
At this point in the film, after watching a slew of amazing performances, I wondered how much more the writer could put on the actors. If Precious were a real human being, there is very little chance she could've survived everything she was forced to endure without losing her mind.
But the sad thing is, there are a lot of Precious teens out there. Probably many who have suffered similar grievances and come out of it bearing only hidden scars.
The film does a good job of getting to the core of each of our main characters and also making them real enough to worry about. Truly, it felt more like a call to action than a means of entertainment.
But sometimes, that's okay.
~~~
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Paranormal Activity
Today I saw Paranormal Activity, starring Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat.
It is not often that a film with long periods of nothing can keep me gripping my theater seat, shifting and fidgeting with anxiousness throughout, but this one did.
Katie and Micah are a twentysomething couple who live together in a house that appears too fancy to belong to a graduate student and a day trader, but horror films demand a greater suspension of disbelief, so I'll see past that detail.
They seem like a happy enough couple—she comfortably roams the house in skimpy tank tops and unflattering boxer shorts; he's on the obnoxious side, but clearly in love with her.
When we join their life in progress, Micah is trying out his new video camera by filming Katie in everyday situations (studying, pouring wine, etc.) and attempting to catch 'evidence' of whatever paranormal force seems to be disturbing her at night.
The shaky camera work isn't as nauseating as that of The Blair Witch Project, but it does serve as a constant reminder that the production quality isn't going to get any better.
Said camera is soon anchored on a tripod facing their bed each night to be left on as they sleep, and us audience members are granted the privilege of seeing things happen as the footage is captured.
First, the only indication of unrest is the quiet, kooky music. Whenever the time on the video clock advances to the place where we're supposed to pay attention, the score creeps into the background. It's an obvious technique, but in a charmingly low-budget way, it works.
Next are the slamming doors, Katie's mysterious sleepwalking, hints about her imperfect childhood, and the frustration that builds from Micah's resistance to call the demonologist (recommended by a ghostbuster) for help. We want him to quit being such a dork and we want her to do what she needs to do on her own if he's not on board.
Instead, he plays with a Ouija board and makes things worse.
Without giving anything away, that's the beginning of the end, which is unfortunately much weaker than the story's build-up.
That said, for only four people appearing on-screen and only one set utilized in the entire film, the writer did mount a healthy dose of suspense and old-fashioned jumpy payoffs. It's just a shame the big finale didn't deliver.
~~~
It is not often that a film with long periods of nothing can keep me gripping my theater seat, shifting and fidgeting with anxiousness throughout, but this one did.
Katie and Micah are a twentysomething couple who live together in a house that appears too fancy to belong to a graduate student and a day trader, but horror films demand a greater suspension of disbelief, so I'll see past that detail.
They seem like a happy enough couple—she comfortably roams the house in skimpy tank tops and unflattering boxer shorts; he's on the obnoxious side, but clearly in love with her.
When we join their life in progress, Micah is trying out his new video camera by filming Katie in everyday situations (studying, pouring wine, etc.) and attempting to catch 'evidence' of whatever paranormal force seems to be disturbing her at night.
The shaky camera work isn't as nauseating as that of The Blair Witch Project, but it does serve as a constant reminder that the production quality isn't going to get any better.
Said camera is soon anchored on a tripod facing their bed each night to be left on as they sleep, and us audience members are granted the privilege of seeing things happen as the footage is captured.
First, the only indication of unrest is the quiet, kooky music. Whenever the time on the video clock advances to the place where we're supposed to pay attention, the score creeps into the background. It's an obvious technique, but in a charmingly low-budget way, it works.
Next are the slamming doors, Katie's mysterious sleepwalking, hints about her imperfect childhood, and the frustration that builds from Micah's resistance to call the demonologist (recommended by a ghostbuster) for help. We want him to quit being such a dork and we want her to do what she needs to do on her own if he's not on board.
Instead, he plays with a Ouija board and makes things worse.
Without giving anything away, that's the beginning of the end, which is unfortunately much weaker than the story's build-up.
That said, for only four people appearing on-screen and only one set utilized in the entire film, the writer did mount a healthy dose of suspense and old-fashioned jumpy payoffs. It's just a shame the big finale didn't deliver.
~~~
Monday, September 28, 2009
Bright Star
Yesterday I saw Bright Star, starring Abbey Cornish and Ben Whishaw.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #80, so tune in October 12 for our review.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #80, so tune in October 12 for our review.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The Informant!
On Monday I saw The Informant!, starring Matt Damon and Scott Bakula.
It was the topic of Cinebanter #78, which is available here.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Extract
On Sunday I saw Extract, starring Jason Bateman and Ben Affleck.
Writer/director Mike Judge has made me laugh in the past with the cult classic Office Space, and the doomsday comedy Idiocracy. As a fan of his, and just about everyone in the cast, I was greatly anticipating this new flick. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to anticipate.
Bateman plays Joel, a self-made business owner who runs an extract (as in "vanilla") factory. He's in a marriage that no longer sexually satisfies him, and desires an affair with a new temporary employee Cindy (Mila Kunis). However, he loves his wife, so he doesn't want to cheat without having leverage.
In a drunken, horse-tranquilized conversation with his friend/bartender Dean (Affleck), he decides it would be a good idea to hire a jigolo to seduce her so he wouldn't feel guilty consummating with Cindy. She takes the bait and immediately embarks on a passionate affair that lingers long past the "one time" that Joel hired him.
And to make matters worse, there's been an accident at the extract factory that causes their financial future to come into question. There is a con artist in the midst and a snake of a lawyer (played almost too well by Gene Simmons) to take advantage of the situation.
Add to that an annoying neighbor and you have pieces of about ten different movies; some of which are funny, some of which are not.
The standout performance here is undoubtedly Ben Affleck who comfortably resumes his Dazed and Confused stoner-stupor and delivers laughs each time he opens his mouth.
But sadly, despite the other star power, the story falls flat and feels false in too many ways (con artist unbelievable, Joel's marriage not authentic, etc.)
In an effort to prove how rare we intelligent entities are in suburban America, Judge forgot to make the story smart enough.
~~~
Writer/director Mike Judge has made me laugh in the past with the cult classic Office Space, and the doomsday comedy Idiocracy. As a fan of his, and just about everyone in the cast, I was greatly anticipating this new flick. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to anticipate.
Bateman plays Joel, a self-made business owner who runs an extract (as in "vanilla") factory. He's in a marriage that no longer sexually satisfies him, and desires an affair with a new temporary employee Cindy (Mila Kunis). However, he loves his wife, so he doesn't want to cheat without having leverage.
In a drunken, horse-tranquilized conversation with his friend/bartender Dean (Affleck), he decides it would be a good idea to hire a jigolo to seduce her so he wouldn't feel guilty consummating with Cindy. She takes the bait and immediately embarks on a passionate affair that lingers long past the "one time" that Joel hired him.
And to make matters worse, there's been an accident at the extract factory that causes their financial future to come into question. There is a con artist in the midst and a snake of a lawyer (played almost too well by Gene Simmons) to take advantage of the situation.
Add to that an annoying neighbor and you have pieces of about ten different movies; some of which are funny, some of which are not.
The standout performance here is undoubtedly Ben Affleck who comfortably resumes his Dazed and Confused stoner-stupor and delivers laughs each time he opens his mouth.
But sadly, despite the other star power, the story falls flat and feels false in too many ways (con artist unbelievable, Joel's marriage not authentic, etc.)
In an effort to prove how rare we intelligent entities are in suburban America, Judge forgot to make the story smart enough.
~~~
Monday, September 21, 2009
Séraphine
On Saturday night, I saw Séraphine, starring Yolande Moreau and Ulrich Tukur.
Séraphine de Senlis was a famous French painter who died in a mental institution in 1942. This film gives us a glimpse into her life from the time of her discovery until the time of her death, which proves to be a detriment because the subject is so fascinating.
Séraphine (played by the magnificent Yolande Moreau) when we meet her is a poverty-stricken housekeeper who bows her head in compliance with every order that is barked in her direction. She worked in a convent before serving private families, so she maintains a strong religious faith and ethic. She also hears from angels.
After her grueling hours of scrubbing and cleaning each day, she retreats to her small quarters to paint as the angels instruct her to. She creates lush portraits of scenery—flowers and fruits in vibrant hues that rival those of any fine artist.
A guest who comes to stay in the home where she works, Wilhelm Uhde (Tukur), stumbles upon a piece of her artwork and begins questioning its origins. The affluent homeowner tells the truth: her housekeeper painted it and she can't wait to get rid of it. Uhde is an art dealer who has made many notable discoveries in the art world and believes her work could sell.
He encourages Séraphine to keep developing her gift, then must flee the area because of the looming war. She does continue painting—using ingredients of her own creation mixed in with traditional paints—and hones her craft to impressive new levels.
How did she learn to do this? What was her childhood like? Did anyone else in her family have the gift? All of these questions go unanswered in the film, but crave to be asked.
By the time Uhde returns in the late 1920s, Séraphine has an arsenal of works available for his purchase and promotion. He gladly obliges and sends the always-poor artist into financial freedom.
Unfortunately, the story does not have a happy ending. Séraphine spends her riches very rapidly despite the approaching Depression and continues to hear the angels sending her messages. Her behavior grows more erratic until finally the townspeople have her committed.
Moreau's interpretation of this possibly schizophrenic artist was stunning, even if the film's pace was almost painfully slow. Because you can't help but care for this fragile soul, you stick with the story and continue to hope she will be rescued.
Of course, once Séraphine entered the hospital, she was never again aware that her talent was celebrated. She lived out her years in a lonely, confused state of medicated isolation.
Her work survived her and continues to thrive today in museums around France and exhibitions around the world. Also, one of the ingredients in her paintings has apparently served as an incredible preservative so the colors continue to appear as they were when she mixed them.
If only the angels she heard could show her how much joy her work brought to the world.
~~~
Séraphine de Senlis was a famous French painter who died in a mental institution in 1942. This film gives us a glimpse into her life from the time of her discovery until the time of her death, which proves to be a detriment because the subject is so fascinating.
Séraphine (played by the magnificent Yolande Moreau) when we meet her is a poverty-stricken housekeeper who bows her head in compliance with every order that is barked in her direction. She worked in a convent before serving private families, so she maintains a strong religious faith and ethic. She also hears from angels.
After her grueling hours of scrubbing and cleaning each day, she retreats to her small quarters to paint as the angels instruct her to. She creates lush portraits of scenery—flowers and fruits in vibrant hues that rival those of any fine artist.
A guest who comes to stay in the home where she works, Wilhelm Uhde (Tukur), stumbles upon a piece of her artwork and begins questioning its origins. The affluent homeowner tells the truth: her housekeeper painted it and she can't wait to get rid of it. Uhde is an art dealer who has made many notable discoveries in the art world and believes her work could sell.
He encourages Séraphine to keep developing her gift, then must flee the area because of the looming war. She does continue painting—using ingredients of her own creation mixed in with traditional paints—and hones her craft to impressive new levels.
How did she learn to do this? What was her childhood like? Did anyone else in her family have the gift? All of these questions go unanswered in the film, but crave to be asked.
By the time Uhde returns in the late 1920s, Séraphine has an arsenal of works available for his purchase and promotion. He gladly obliges and sends the always-poor artist into financial freedom.
Unfortunately, the story does not have a happy ending. Séraphine spends her riches very rapidly despite the approaching Depression and continues to hear the angels sending her messages. Her behavior grows more erratic until finally the townspeople have her committed.
Moreau's interpretation of this possibly schizophrenic artist was stunning, even if the film's pace was almost painfully slow. Because you can't help but care for this fragile soul, you stick with the story and continue to hope she will be rescued.
Of course, once Séraphine entered the hospital, she was never again aware that her talent was celebrated. She lived out her years in a lonely, confused state of medicated isolation.
Her work survived her and continues to thrive today in museums around France and exhibitions around the world. Also, one of the ingredients in her paintings has apparently served as an incredible preservative so the colors continue to appear as they were when she mixed them.
If only the angels she heard could show her how much joy her work brought to the world.
~~~
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Big Fan
Last night I screened Big Fan, starring Patton Oswalt and Kevin Corrigan.
Paul Aufiero (Oswalt) is a sad soul. He works a dead-end job as a parking booth attendant, lives with his mother and has no relationships to speak of except with that of his best friend Sal (Corrigan). Did I mention, he's in his mid 30s?
Everyone around Paul pities him, but Paul himself. Despite all of the obvious negatives in his life, he has one thing that keeps him going: his love for the New York Giants. He attends home games, calls in regularly to a sports radio show with scripted rants for their opponents and meticulously keeps track of scores and players.
But when one of his obsessive actions takes fandom too far, he single-handedly jeopardizes the future of the team. To prevent giving it all away, I won't say what that action was, but it was completely believable. And the way folks around him react to it is also authentic.
How he handles it will have you cringing, and the surprise twist ending will shock you almost as much as the ghost in The Sixth Sense did. I have to admit, I didn't see it coming.
So is the film worth watching? Sure. It's well-written and its characters are realistic (if not a bit exaggerated in a few cases). It has some laughs along the way and has a quiet pace, but that's okay—it just gives viewers a sense of what it must be like to live a lonely existence.
Anyone who has ever had an obsession will see parts of themselves in Paul, whether they want to or not. And how far they've taken their obsession will most likely determine the intensity of their reaction.
It also reminds us not to judge too harshly—sometimes lives aren't depressing until their critics make them so.
~~~
Paul Aufiero (Oswalt) is a sad soul. He works a dead-end job as a parking booth attendant, lives with his mother and has no relationships to speak of except with that of his best friend Sal (Corrigan). Did I mention, he's in his mid 30s?
Everyone around Paul pities him, but Paul himself. Despite all of the obvious negatives in his life, he has one thing that keeps him going: his love for the New York Giants. He attends home games, calls in regularly to a sports radio show with scripted rants for their opponents and meticulously keeps track of scores and players.
But when one of his obsessive actions takes fandom too far, he single-handedly jeopardizes the future of the team. To prevent giving it all away, I won't say what that action was, but it was completely believable. And the way folks around him react to it is also authentic.
How he handles it will have you cringing, and the surprise twist ending will shock you almost as much as the ghost in The Sixth Sense did. I have to admit, I didn't see it coming.
So is the film worth watching? Sure. It's well-written and its characters are realistic (if not a bit exaggerated in a few cases). It has some laughs along the way and has a quiet pace, but that's okay—it just gives viewers a sense of what it must be like to live a lonely existence.
Anyone who has ever had an obsession will see parts of themselves in Paul, whether they want to or not. And how far they've taken their obsession will most likely determine the intensity of their reaction.
It also reminds us not to judge too harshly—sometimes lives aren't depressing until their critics make them so.
~~~
Sunday, August 30, 2009
It Might Get Loud
Tonight I saw the documentary It Might Get Loud.
What an incredible rush of music storytelling.
Three guitar Gods from three different generations (and really, three different genres of music), come together to talk about their favorite topic: guitar playing.
The elder statesman of the bunch is a white-haired Jimmy Page of the legendary Led Zeppelin; the in-the-middle genius is U2's The Edge; the new kid on the block is Jack White of The White Stripes. All complement one another in style and technique like time-traveling puzzle pieces that happen to have landed in the same era.
I thought it would be incredibly difficult for me not to favor The Edge, as I'm an unapologetic U2 fanatic, but really the movie is so painstakingly equal, it would be hard call anyone the star.
White is easily the most nervous, looking anxiously out the car window as he arrives for the summit. In footage with his own band or alone he is confident—even cocky; with the two other subjects he is humble and respectful. If only his styling wasn't so distracting (he looks like Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka), I may even declare him physically attractive.
The Edge, who I've watched on a regular basis since I was six, seemed like...well...The Edge. In other words, maybe the only rock star on the planet to appear more interested in the musical method than all of the fame/women/money that come with it.
Jimmy Page was almost unbearably sweet. The man who developed Stairway to Heaven now seems like a classy Grandpa who could tell you stories that would spin your head.
Thankfully, the stories all three musicians share in this film are sincere, honest and loaded with details that will send geeks salivating for their Gibsons. They give enough background about their entries into the music world without telling their life stories in the process. Why? Because this is a film about guitar playing.
The moments of spontaneity are the most delightful to watch—Page playing air guitar to one of the songs that inspired him; Edge realizing he was playing the wrong chord during a jam; White grinning as the older two enlighten him.
Director Davis Guggenheim achieves a brilliant balance between the summit and archival footage of each guest. The men seem at ease telling their stories to the camera and to each other, and take us on informal modern day tours of their past (a special treat for me was seeing the school where U2 met).
Perhaps the chemistry and the kindness of the subjects is why the outcome is so satisfying or maybe the director just had ways of getting them relaxed before filming so it appeared very natural. Whatever the reason, it was a genius idea that worked.
Now if only Guggenheim would make a series out of it and focus on drummers next. I'd like to place my order for Ringo Starr, Stuart Copeland and Dave Grohl.
~~~
What an incredible rush of music storytelling.
Three guitar Gods from three different generations (and really, three different genres of music), come together to talk about their favorite topic: guitar playing.
The elder statesman of the bunch is a white-haired Jimmy Page of the legendary Led Zeppelin; the in-the-middle genius is U2's The Edge; the new kid on the block is Jack White of The White Stripes. All complement one another in style and technique like time-traveling puzzle pieces that happen to have landed in the same era.
I thought it would be incredibly difficult for me not to favor The Edge, as I'm an unapologetic U2 fanatic, but really the movie is so painstakingly equal, it would be hard call anyone the star.
White is easily the most nervous, looking anxiously out the car window as he arrives for the summit. In footage with his own band or alone he is confident—even cocky; with the two other subjects he is humble and respectful. If only his styling wasn't so distracting (he looks like Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka), I may even declare him physically attractive.
The Edge, who I've watched on a regular basis since I was six, seemed like...well...The Edge. In other words, maybe the only rock star on the planet to appear more interested in the musical method than all of the fame/women/money that come with it.
Jimmy Page was almost unbearably sweet. The man who developed Stairway to Heaven now seems like a classy Grandpa who could tell you stories that would spin your head.
Thankfully, the stories all three musicians share in this film are sincere, honest and loaded with details that will send geeks salivating for their Gibsons. They give enough background about their entries into the music world without telling their life stories in the process. Why? Because this is a film about guitar playing.
The moments of spontaneity are the most delightful to watch—Page playing air guitar to one of the songs that inspired him; Edge realizing he was playing the wrong chord during a jam; White grinning as the older two enlighten him.
Director Davis Guggenheim achieves a brilliant balance between the summit and archival footage of each guest. The men seem at ease telling their stories to the camera and to each other, and take us on informal modern day tours of their past (a special treat for me was seeing the school where U2 met).
Perhaps the chemistry and the kindness of the subjects is why the outcome is so satisfying or maybe the director just had ways of getting them relaxed before filming so it appeared very natural. Whatever the reason, it was a genius idea that worked.
Now if only Guggenheim would make a series out of it and focus on drummers next. I'd like to place my order for Ringo Starr, Stuart Copeland and Dave Grohl.
~~~
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Inglourious Basterds
Tonight I saw Inglourious Basterds, starring Brad Pitt and Christoph Waltz.
I was the perfect age to fall for Quentin Tarantino's magic when his first films hit the big screen. Reservoir Dogs happened in high school and Pulp Fiction defined college. I distinctly remember all of the "men" in my circle going to see Pulp Fiction opening night; then my polite boyfriend at the time taking me alone the following night, worried for my reaction. I apparently laughed harder than any of them had.
We could quote the 'Madonna' scene from Dogs in our sleep and the soundtracks of both films played constantly for the next four years throughout our apartments in Columbia, Missouri.
Now the most famous Missourian—Brad Pitt—is the star of QT's new flick about a Jewish-American group of soldiers (nicknamed the 'basterds') who, of course fictionally, terrorize Nazis who are occupying France (did I mention it's 1941?), scalping and killing them as savagely as they did their victims.
Pitt is intentionally funny as southern Lieutenant Aldo Raine. With a mustache like Hitler's and an accent that sounds as if Sling Blade and Dolly Parton had a child, he mugs throughout the movie pausing for laughs as often as we'll offer them (which I'll admit, is sort of frequently). Christoph Waltz who plays the Nazi Colonel Hans Landa, however, steals the show. His balance of slime, refined politeness and revolting evil comes out in a charming way that's somewhat difficult to explain, so I'll just say this: when the camera is near him, your focus is nowhere else. Not even on the former Sexiest Man Alive.
And of course, there is a damsel in distress by way of Shoshana (Melanie Laurent), the young Jewish girl who escaped the Colonel's wrath only to encounter him years later at her cinema in Paris. Her expressions and mannerisms play the role perfectly with minimal words and maximum intention. An especially great scene takes place over dessert with the Colonel.
Truthfully, there is a lot to like about this movie. With Ennio Morricone and David Bowie both appearing on the soundtrack, there is a distinctive flavor that accompanies each scene and beat almost perfectly, and the bold reds and blacks that paint the canvas of most Tarantino films are also present and effective.
But while his earlier hits and even the more recent Death Proof had a palpable pace, Basterds drags in many places that are intended to infuse tension.
There are also many 'shocking' violent scenes, but once you've gasped through the first bloody few, the remaining 15 or 20 seem glib. I dare say...they're gratuitous.
All in all, it's not really a war film or a crime caper or a black comedy. True to Tarantino's style, it's a wondersalad of all of the above without the major elements that make any of the genres work.
Clever dialog, superb actors and bad guys everyone wants to see 'get theirs' will go a long way, but unfortunately don't add up to a victorious directorial return to form.
I was the perfect age to fall for Quentin Tarantino's magic when his first films hit the big screen. Reservoir Dogs happened in high school and Pulp Fiction defined college. I distinctly remember all of the "men" in my circle going to see Pulp Fiction opening night; then my polite boyfriend at the time taking me alone the following night, worried for my reaction. I apparently laughed harder than any of them had.
We could quote the 'Madonna' scene from Dogs in our sleep and the soundtracks of both films played constantly for the next four years throughout our apartments in Columbia, Missouri.
Now the most famous Missourian—Brad Pitt—is the star of QT's new flick about a Jewish-American group of soldiers (nicknamed the 'basterds') who, of course fictionally, terrorize Nazis who are occupying France (did I mention it's 1941?), scalping and killing them as savagely as they did their victims.
Pitt is intentionally funny as southern Lieutenant Aldo Raine. With a mustache like Hitler's and an accent that sounds as if Sling Blade and Dolly Parton had a child, he mugs throughout the movie pausing for laughs as often as we'll offer them (which I'll admit, is sort of frequently). Christoph Waltz who plays the Nazi Colonel Hans Landa, however, steals the show. His balance of slime, refined politeness and revolting evil comes out in a charming way that's somewhat difficult to explain, so I'll just say this: when the camera is near him, your focus is nowhere else. Not even on the former Sexiest Man Alive.
And of course, there is a damsel in distress by way of Shoshana (Melanie Laurent), the young Jewish girl who escaped the Colonel's wrath only to encounter him years later at her cinema in Paris. Her expressions and mannerisms play the role perfectly with minimal words and maximum intention. An especially great scene takes place over dessert with the Colonel.
Truthfully, there is a lot to like about this movie. With Ennio Morricone and David Bowie both appearing on the soundtrack, there is a distinctive flavor that accompanies each scene and beat almost perfectly, and the bold reds and blacks that paint the canvas of most Tarantino films are also present and effective.
But while his earlier hits and even the more recent Death Proof had a palpable pace, Basterds drags in many places that are intended to infuse tension.
There are also many 'shocking' violent scenes, but once you've gasped through the first bloody few, the remaining 15 or 20 seem glib. I dare say...they're gratuitous.
All in all, it's not really a war film or a crime caper or a black comedy. True to Tarantino's style, it's a wondersalad of all of the above without the major elements that make any of the genres work.
Clever dialog, superb actors and bad guys everyone wants to see 'get theirs' will go a long way, but unfortunately don't add up to a victorious directorial return to form.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
A Perfect Getaway
Tonight I saw A Perfect Getaway, starring Steve Zahn and Timothy Olyphant.
A sickening sweet, somewhat nerdy couple, Cliff (Zahn) and Sydney (Milla Jovovich) set out on their Hawaiian honeymoon armed with camping equipment, hiking permits and a video camera.
When we're first alone with them, they're arguing over picking up hitchhikers. Cliff stops the car and the eager couple on the side of the road climb in. The newlyweds get a funny feeling about them and backpeddle their offer, which greatly angers the man. They continue on the road alone, only to encounter the odd couple later in their journey.
Soon they find out that there are killers on the loose and the murderers may be on their island.
Somewhat inexperienced at hiking the complicated cliffs of Hawaii, they join up with Nick (Olyphant) and his girlfriend Gina (Kiele Sanchez) who seem to know how to navigate the area. They display unique behavior (killing animals, revealing weaponry, etc.), which unnerves Cliff and Sydney. Both couples joke about suspecting the other as the killers, but see the hitchhikers arrested for the crimes in a dramatic police helicopter search.
All's well that ends well? Not so much. But unfortunately, this spoiler-free review can't say anything more.
Is there blood? Yes. Will the killers be revealed? Yes. Is the way the film reveals the murderers clever? Somewhat (but a key sequence almost goes too fast to be effective).
The screenplay-come-to-life storytelling device that they use in the last third of the movie is a nice touch, and the performances keep you entertained throughout.
It was just a little too easy to solve the mystery.
~~~
A sickening sweet, somewhat nerdy couple, Cliff (Zahn) and Sydney (Milla Jovovich) set out on their Hawaiian honeymoon armed with camping equipment, hiking permits and a video camera.
When we're first alone with them, they're arguing over picking up hitchhikers. Cliff stops the car and the eager couple on the side of the road climb in. The newlyweds get a funny feeling about them and backpeddle their offer, which greatly angers the man. They continue on the road alone, only to encounter the odd couple later in their journey.
Soon they find out that there are killers on the loose and the murderers may be on their island.
Somewhat inexperienced at hiking the complicated cliffs of Hawaii, they join up with Nick (Olyphant) and his girlfriend Gina (Kiele Sanchez) who seem to know how to navigate the area. They display unique behavior (killing animals, revealing weaponry, etc.), which unnerves Cliff and Sydney. Both couples joke about suspecting the other as the killers, but see the hitchhikers arrested for the crimes in a dramatic police helicopter search.
All's well that ends well? Not so much. But unfortunately, this spoiler-free review can't say anything more.
Is there blood? Yes. Will the killers be revealed? Yes. Is the way the film reveals the murderers clever? Somewhat (but a key sequence almost goes too fast to be effective).
The screenplay-come-to-life storytelling device that they use in the last third of the movie is a nice touch, and the performances keep you entertained throughout.
It was just a little too easy to solve the mystery.
~~~
Monday, August 10, 2009
Cheri
Tonight I saw Cheri, starring Michelle Pfeiffer and Rupert Friend.
Prostitution never looked so good.
Lea (Pfeiffer) is an escort-to-the-stars in turn-of-the-century France. Her friend Charlotte (Kathy Bates) is past her prime and concerned more with the upbringing of her teenage son Chéri (Friend) than with establishing more clients. The only women they mingle with are those in their shared profession and competition seems absent from their tangles, as there are plenty of men to go around.
But Lea only wants one man—or boy, really. She wants Chéri, who has seduced her into letting him stay at her Normandy estate for a greedy length of time. She shows him the proper way around a bedroom, buys him lavish gifts, feeds him, clothes him, and probably bathes him. She is his lover, but she is also his surrogate mother.
When his real mother returns to collect him and marry him off to another teenager, Lea is devastated but retains her dignity. As the new young couple heads to Italy for a honeymoon, Lea escapes to a new home and leaves no forwarding address.
Both parties are miserable apart—Chéri's marriage, though faithful, is completely loveless, and Lea seems to take on another lover only to pass the time.
When they finally realize they can't happily live apart, it may be too late to do anything about it. Oh, the perils of true love.
As a fan of the book, I knew what the outcome would be and I dare say the film is much lighter and funnier than the original text. The lead couple is convincing and well-matched with Pfeiffer's sharp, mature features directly contrasting the feminine curves of Friend's. But the real scene-stealer is the always-phenomenal Kathy Bates, who lights up the screen for better or for worse with her spunky energy.
To break this film down to one word, I'd call it a "romp."
And a pleasurable one, for what it's worth.
~~~
Prostitution never looked so good.
Lea (Pfeiffer) is an escort-to-the-stars in turn-of-the-century France. Her friend Charlotte (Kathy Bates) is past her prime and concerned more with the upbringing of her teenage son Chéri (Friend) than with establishing more clients. The only women they mingle with are those in their shared profession and competition seems absent from their tangles, as there are plenty of men to go around.
But Lea only wants one man—or boy, really. She wants Chéri, who has seduced her into letting him stay at her Normandy estate for a greedy length of time. She shows him the proper way around a bedroom, buys him lavish gifts, feeds him, clothes him, and probably bathes him. She is his lover, but she is also his surrogate mother.
When his real mother returns to collect him and marry him off to another teenager, Lea is devastated but retains her dignity. As the new young couple heads to Italy for a honeymoon, Lea escapes to a new home and leaves no forwarding address.
Both parties are miserable apart—Chéri's marriage, though faithful, is completely loveless, and Lea seems to take on another lover only to pass the time.
When they finally realize they can't happily live apart, it may be too late to do anything about it. Oh, the perils of true love.
As a fan of the book, I knew what the outcome would be and I dare say the film is much lighter and funnier than the original text. The lead couple is convincing and well-matched with Pfeiffer's sharp, mature features directly contrasting the feminine curves of Friend's. But the real scene-stealer is the always-phenomenal Kathy Bates, who lights up the screen for better or for worse with her spunky energy.
To break this film down to one word, I'd call it a "romp."
And a pleasurable one, for what it's worth.
~~~
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Betty Blue: The Director's Cut
Today I saw Betty Blue: The Director's Cut, starring Béatrice Dalle and Jean-Hugues Anglade. [note: this film has one more hour of footage than its original theatrical release contained in 1986.]
185 minutes is a long time to spend with anyone—especially fictional characters who are as unlikeable as they are abundant. Unfortunately, that was the case today when I sat through this soft-core porn, which masquerades as pretentious art.
Zorg (Anglade) is a novelist who is making a living as a caretaker at a desolate beach resort. We assume his life is relatively peaceful before he meets Betty (but since the first scene is him making love to her, I suppose we'll never know), a passionate, sexy woman who doesn't have much of a purpose except "loving" him.
In bed, their relationship is as strong as can be. They are inhibition-free during their sexual escapades and seem to be genuinely fond of each other's bodies. So fond that for over half the movie one or both of them are naked.
Anyway, Zorg is mezmerized by Betty's vibrant (though imperfect) smile and her undying attention to him, so he risks his caretaking job by allowing her to live with him against the owner's wishes. In return, she helps him paint bungalows and all seems to work out well until...said boss shows up and she gets so angry she throws all of Zorg's belongings out the window. Literally.
Normal men would take pause at this development and expel the crazy bitch from their life, but not Zorg. He passively accepts her rage and even allows her to begin typing up a novel he's scripted by hand in several volumes of journals. Then they set the place on fire.
Next up is a new life in a (presumably) new town, where they become great friends with their landlady and her eventual partner. They trade work for rent, have amazing sex, and all is well until... Betty is working as a server at their restaurant and stabs a lippy patron with a fork.
Think the red flags are waving high enough for Zorg to notice? Not so much. He must really like having sex. With her. Because not only does he keep her around (staying faithful to her as well), but he starts over with her again in a new locale managing a piano store. They sell a piano on their first day, have amazing sex, and well, you get the idea.
With each progressive act of crazy that Betty commits, you wonder more what the hell is wrong with this man. Everyone knows someone who is in or has been in an abusive relationship, but this is ridiculous. The woman is beyond disturbed ("I hear voices") and her antics repeatedly threaten both of their lives.
By the time the final act played out (in which Betty does something so horrific the audience I was sitting with audibly gasped), I was planning my dinner menu, thinking about the music I'd program for my evening workout and wondering why I shelled out money for the ticket to see this in the first place.
Sure, there are some cool sex scenes, but without characters that one can truly invest in or care about, the 'love story' progression only feels predictable and weak.
~~~
185 minutes is a long time to spend with anyone—especially fictional characters who are as unlikeable as they are abundant. Unfortunately, that was the case today when I sat through this soft-core porn, which masquerades as pretentious art.
Zorg (Anglade) is a novelist who is making a living as a caretaker at a desolate beach resort. We assume his life is relatively peaceful before he meets Betty (but since the first scene is him making love to her, I suppose we'll never know), a passionate, sexy woman who doesn't have much of a purpose except "loving" him.
In bed, their relationship is as strong as can be. They are inhibition-free during their sexual escapades and seem to be genuinely fond of each other's bodies. So fond that for over half the movie one or both of them are naked.
Anyway, Zorg is mezmerized by Betty's vibrant (though imperfect) smile and her undying attention to him, so he risks his caretaking job by allowing her to live with him against the owner's wishes. In return, she helps him paint bungalows and all seems to work out well until...said boss shows up and she gets so angry she throws all of Zorg's belongings out the window. Literally.
Normal men would take pause at this development and expel the crazy bitch from their life, but not Zorg. He passively accepts her rage and even allows her to begin typing up a novel he's scripted by hand in several volumes of journals. Then they set the place on fire.
Next up is a new life in a (presumably) new town, where they become great friends with their landlady and her eventual partner. They trade work for rent, have amazing sex, and all is well until... Betty is working as a server at their restaurant and stabs a lippy patron with a fork.
Think the red flags are waving high enough for Zorg to notice? Not so much. He must really like having sex. With her. Because not only does he keep her around (staying faithful to her as well), but he starts over with her again in a new locale managing a piano store. They sell a piano on their first day, have amazing sex, and well, you get the idea.
With each progressive act of crazy that Betty commits, you wonder more what the hell is wrong with this man. Everyone knows someone who is in or has been in an abusive relationship, but this is ridiculous. The woman is beyond disturbed ("I hear voices") and her antics repeatedly threaten both of their lives.
By the time the final act played out (in which Betty does something so horrific the audience I was sitting with audibly gasped), I was planning my dinner menu, thinking about the music I'd program for my evening workout and wondering why I shelled out money for the ticket to see this in the first place.
Sure, there are some cool sex scenes, but without characters that one can truly invest in or care about, the 'love story' progression only feels predictable and weak.
~~~
Saturday, August 08, 2009
The Hangover
Tonight I saw The Hangover, starring Bradley Cooper and Zach Galifianakis.
I never expected to laugh this hard at a guy buddy movie.
You see, a couple days before Doug (Justin Bartha) is scheduled to get married, his buddies Phil (Cooper), Stu (Ed Helms) and future brother-in-law Alan (Galifianakis) take him to Las Vegas for a bachelor party. Pretty normal scenario, yes? Sure, it is. Until everything goes horribly wrong.
First, Phil decides that the double rooms they've booked won't be good enough for their one-night party, so he talks the group into reserving the $4000+ suite, which the desk clerk refers to as "pretty awesome."
Then Alan, the obligatory "overweight guy" who desperately wants to fit in, pours everyone a shot of Jagermeister on the rooftop of Caesar's Palace and toasts the occasion. After that, no one remembers a thing until the men (minus Doug) wake up in their completely trashed environment amongst food, vomit, broken glass, live chickens, a baby and Mike Tyson's tiger. Yes, Mike Tyson's tiger.
In an attempt to find the missing groom, the men re-trace their forgotten steps using credit card receipts, eyewitness accounts—even a hospital wristband—only to encounter surly doctors, giddy wedding chapel owners, Chinese mobsters and (thankfully) the baby's mother.
To give away even one of the hilarious scenarios or jokes would screw up the fast-paced rhythm of this comedy, so I'll refrain. But I will say, with very little bathroom humor, screenwriters Jon Lucas and Scott Moore manage to make scene after scene laugh-out-loud funny.
While most of the dialog is surely geared toward men, the majority of what happens to them is universally funny. Old-fashioned slapstick in some ways; cleverly sarcastic in others.
Overall, a very satisfying, silly romp leading up to perhaps the best end credits since Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
~~~
I never expected to laugh this hard at a guy buddy movie.
You see, a couple days before Doug (Justin Bartha) is scheduled to get married, his buddies Phil (Cooper), Stu (Ed Helms) and future brother-in-law Alan (Galifianakis) take him to Las Vegas for a bachelor party. Pretty normal scenario, yes? Sure, it is. Until everything goes horribly wrong.
First, Phil decides that the double rooms they've booked won't be good enough for their one-night party, so he talks the group into reserving the $4000+ suite, which the desk clerk refers to as "pretty awesome."
Then Alan, the obligatory "overweight guy" who desperately wants to fit in, pours everyone a shot of Jagermeister on the rooftop of Caesar's Palace and toasts the occasion. After that, no one remembers a thing until the men (minus Doug) wake up in their completely trashed environment amongst food, vomit, broken glass, live chickens, a baby and Mike Tyson's tiger. Yes, Mike Tyson's tiger.
In an attempt to find the missing groom, the men re-trace their forgotten steps using credit card receipts, eyewitness accounts—even a hospital wristband—only to encounter surly doctors, giddy wedding chapel owners, Chinese mobsters and (thankfully) the baby's mother.
To give away even one of the hilarious scenarios or jokes would screw up the fast-paced rhythm of this comedy, so I'll refrain. But I will say, with very little bathroom humor, screenwriters Jon Lucas and Scott Moore manage to make scene after scene laugh-out-loud funny.
While most of the dialog is surely geared toward men, the majority of what happens to them is universally funny. Old-fashioned slapstick in some ways; cleverly sarcastic in others.
Overall, a very satisfying, silly romp leading up to perhaps the best end credits since Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
~~~
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
The Magic of Netflix
I have to admit, as far as efficiency and great customer service go, Netflix puts most of the working world to shame.
Since a friend first gave me a subscription as a gift a few years back, I've been positively addicted to this most-pleasant constant in my life. With a queue that gets arranged and rearranged at my every whim, all I have to do to satisfy my cinematic craving at any given moment is click a button on my computer. A day or two later, as if my magic, that very disc appears in my mailbox. Or, for more immediate gratification, I can choose something from my list that has a "play" button next to it and watch it on my Mac.
The selection can't be beat, the titles are endless, and the recommendations are usually very accurate (if you're a freak like me and you rate nearly everything you watch). Furthermore, there are seldom issues with delivery speed or the quality of the DVD. And if there are, the call center has the most friendly voices in business that are all too happy to help.
Really, the should call it "NetFIX."
A writer for the Chicago Tribune recently marveled like the rest of us at their well-oiled machine, then went behind the scenes to see their secrets of success. His article about it is here.
From the sound of it, they have an organized factory that's not prone to outside distractions, allow their employees regular breaks for exercise and rest, and mix sophisticated technology with human hard work to achieve fast, accurate results.
What a curious recipe in this day and age.
~~~
Since a friend first gave me a subscription as a gift a few years back, I've been positively addicted to this most-pleasant constant in my life. With a queue that gets arranged and rearranged at my every whim, all I have to do to satisfy my cinematic craving at any given moment is click a button on my computer. A day or two later, as if my magic, that very disc appears in my mailbox. Or, for more immediate gratification, I can choose something from my list that has a "play" button next to it and watch it on my Mac.
The selection can't be beat, the titles are endless, and the recommendations are usually very accurate (if you're a freak like me and you rate nearly everything you watch). Furthermore, there are seldom issues with delivery speed or the quality of the DVD. And if there are, the call center has the most friendly voices in business that are all too happy to help.
Really, the should call it "NetFIX."
A writer for the Chicago Tribune recently marveled like the rest of us at their well-oiled machine, then went behind the scenes to see their secrets of success. His article about it is here.
From the sound of it, they have an organized factory that's not prone to outside distractions, allow their employees regular breaks for exercise and rest, and mix sophisticated technology with human hard work to achieve fast, accurate results.
What a curious recipe in this day and age.
~~~
Sunday, August 02, 2009
The Girl From Monaco
Today I saw The Girl From Monaco, starring Fabrice Luchini and Louise Bourgoin.
Bertrand (Luchini) is a fiftysomething high-powered defense attorney that comes to Monaco to represent a wealthy old woman accused of murder. Within days of his arrival, that woman's son has insisted upon and provided him with Zem (Christophe Abadi), a bodyguard who slightly resembles President Obama.
Zem's presence is professional if not intrusive, as Bertrand is powerful in the courtroom but never in the hands of a beautiful woman.
Enter Audrey the Weather Girl (Louise Bourgoin). A classic blond gold digger in her 20s with her sights set on Bertrand and his paycheck. She rapidly seduces him, though Zem warns his boss that she's trouble, and Audrey soon has her lover believing they are in love.
We see the murder case progress intermittently, but that's not the exciting part of the film. The thrill is watching the sexual exploits (only a few of which actually take place on screen) of Audrey and Bertrand, and the implied exploits of Audrey and whomever else in Monaco that's interested.
The unspoken friendship between Zem and Bertrand is also significant and plays out surprisingly in the last act, which takes the film from comedy to drama.
Aside from the mysterious nature of Zem and the motivation behind his actions, the film doesn't really leave you guessing much or even wanting more—but that's okay.
A little entertainment for the sake of entertainment is not always a bad thing in cinema.
~~~
Bertrand (Luchini) is a fiftysomething high-powered defense attorney that comes to Monaco to represent a wealthy old woman accused of murder. Within days of his arrival, that woman's son has insisted upon and provided him with Zem (Christophe Abadi), a bodyguard who slightly resembles President Obama.
Zem's presence is professional if not intrusive, as Bertrand is powerful in the courtroom but never in the hands of a beautiful woman.
Enter Audrey the Weather Girl (Louise Bourgoin). A classic blond gold digger in her 20s with her sights set on Bertrand and his paycheck. She rapidly seduces him, though Zem warns his boss that she's trouble, and Audrey soon has her lover believing they are in love.
We see the murder case progress intermittently, but that's not the exciting part of the film. The thrill is watching the sexual exploits (only a few of which actually take place on screen) of Audrey and Bertrand, and the implied exploits of Audrey and whomever else in Monaco that's interested.
The unspoken friendship between Zem and Bertrand is also significant and plays out surprisingly in the last act, which takes the film from comedy to drama.
Aside from the mysterious nature of Zem and the motivation behind his actions, the film doesn't really leave you guessing much or even wanting more—but that's okay.
A little entertainment for the sake of entertainment is not always a bad thing in cinema.
~~~
Sunday, July 26, 2009
500 Days of Summer
This morning I saw 500 Days of Summer, starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #76, so tune in August 10 for our review.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #76, so tune in August 10 for our review.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Orphan
Tonight I saw Orphan, starring Vera Farmiga and Isabelle Fuhrman.
There is nothing spookier than a creepy kid.
When we meet this film's creepy kid, Esther (Fuhurman), she is calmly painting in her Catholic orphanage as the other kids attend a "party" where adoptive parents come to choose a child. One of the dads is John Coleman (Peter Sarsgaard) and he stumbles upon her, immediately drawn to her polite manners and impressive art. His wife Kate (Farmiga) soon joins them and also develops a fondness for the Russian Esther, agreeing she should become their new daughter.
But the Colemans aren't childless—they have a biological son and daughter at home. They are simply trying to overcome their grief of losing a stillborn daughter in recent years. Soon Daniel (JImmy Bennett) and deaf Max (Aryana Engineer) have to welcome Esther as their sister.
All goes well for a day or two until Esther retaliates against the school bully (who, let's face it, deserves it) and pushes her off a high slide on the playground. She survives the fall with some broken bones, but since her little sister covered for her, no one is even sure Esther did anything wrong.
Esther grows closer to dad, acting nothing but angelic in his presence, but appears often in places she shouldn't, like in the parents' bedroom when they're having sex; in the kitchen when they're having sex, etc., and drops an F-bomb on mom when she tries to discuss it with the child. Kate is very uncomfortable with her behavior.
When something awful happens to the nun that came to warn the couple that something may be mentally wrong with Esther, Kate suspects the worst, but John doesn't want to jump to conclusions.
Soon everyone remotely associated with little Esther is in danger of her wrath (did I mention she's fond of guns, hammers, bricks, etc.?) and John and Kate are having marital troubles (which seems to be fashionable these days, if your names are John and Kate, but I digress).
All of the conventional horror tricks are there (calm house, sweeping score, snowfall, shattering glass) and they even bring an old Bible into the mix for no apparent reason. The family is believable, the kids are brilliant actors, and though the story is formulaic, the pace moves so fast the audience doesn't have chance to get bored.
I was slightly annoyed by the supposed accent of the main character, but the ending (which is mighty twisty) may actually justify it.
For an entertaining, action-packed horrific romp with a demon-seed starlet in control, don't shy away from this one. You'll stay on the edge of your seat until the very end.
```
There is nothing spookier than a creepy kid.
When we meet this film's creepy kid, Esther (Fuhurman), she is calmly painting in her Catholic orphanage as the other kids attend a "party" where adoptive parents come to choose a child. One of the dads is John Coleman (Peter Sarsgaard) and he stumbles upon her, immediately drawn to her polite manners and impressive art. His wife Kate (Farmiga) soon joins them and also develops a fondness for the Russian Esther, agreeing she should become their new daughter.
But the Colemans aren't childless—they have a biological son and daughter at home. They are simply trying to overcome their grief of losing a stillborn daughter in recent years. Soon Daniel (JImmy Bennett) and deaf Max (Aryana Engineer) have to welcome Esther as their sister.
All goes well for a day or two until Esther retaliates against the school bully (who, let's face it, deserves it) and pushes her off a high slide on the playground. She survives the fall with some broken bones, but since her little sister covered for her, no one is even sure Esther did anything wrong.
Esther grows closer to dad, acting nothing but angelic in his presence, but appears often in places she shouldn't, like in the parents' bedroom when they're having sex; in the kitchen when they're having sex, etc., and drops an F-bomb on mom when she tries to discuss it with the child. Kate is very uncomfortable with her behavior.
When something awful happens to the nun that came to warn the couple that something may be mentally wrong with Esther, Kate suspects the worst, but John doesn't want to jump to conclusions.
Soon everyone remotely associated with little Esther is in danger of her wrath (did I mention she's fond of guns, hammers, bricks, etc.?) and John and Kate are having marital troubles (which seems to be fashionable these days, if your names are John and Kate, but I digress).
All of the conventional horror tricks are there (calm house, sweeping score, snowfall, shattering glass) and they even bring an old Bible into the mix for no apparent reason. The family is believable, the kids are brilliant actors, and though the story is formulaic, the pace moves so fast the audience doesn't have chance to get bored.
I was slightly annoyed by the supposed accent of the main character, but the ending (which is mighty twisty) may actually justify it.
For an entertaining, action-packed horrific romp with a demon-seed starlet in control, don't shy away from this one. You'll stay on the edge of your seat until the very end.
```
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Prom Night in Mississippi
Tonight I saw the documentary Prom Night in Mississippi.
In this day and age, it's hard to believe there are still places in America that segregate blacks and whites. For God's sake we have a black president (or at least, a 1/2 black one). But unfortunately, those places do exist.
The place in this case is Charleston, Mississippi—hometown of Morgan Freeman—and the annual prom at Charleston High School. Since the beginning of days, there have always been two proms. One for blacks; one for whites, though all of the kids go to classes together. Morgan Freeman had offered in years past to pay for the prom if it were to be integrated, but the town (read: the parents) wasn't interested.
Enter Director Paul Saltzman and a camera crew, and the school finally agrees to do it in the ripe old year of 2008.
But not everyone is on board. In fact, some of the parents are so put off by the concept, they arrange a white prom anyway. And they follow through with hosting it days before the integrated prom (the schadenfreude for those of us who live and breathe in modern times was that there was violence at THAT prom). But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The first 1/3 of the movie is talking head interviews and frustrating school meetings that only show how ignorant this poor town is (and I do mean poor—most kids live in trailers). The majority of the families (including the students) are obese, their language is simple and their minds are unfortunately small (one parent speaks of God making us into separate races to represent different classes and I almost threw my laptop at the television).
But it's not all bad.
There is a rebellious girl who digs her black boyfriend and won't give him up though her father is furious; another white girl considers her black friends more loyal than her parents, who are mortified that she would even mingle with such folks. And of course, many of the kids could care less what color their classmates are—they just want to party!
So we see kids of both races going to the beauty parlor, washing their cars, choosing their dresses and posing on the lawn for awkward photos as they all pile into a white limo (you get the sense there may not have been any black limos available in that town). The ride to the prom with both blacks and whites in the same vehicle seems peaceful.
The school has amped up security for the festivities (and we are told his by a clearly concerned black cop), but there is no need for it. The kids get to the dance and they...dance. They laugh, they eat, they choose a king and queen. Blacks dance with whites and blacks dance with blacks and whites dance with whites. Everyone has a great time and from the post-prom interviews it sounds as if some new friendships were born.
Lesson learned? I don't know.
Until they can have an integrated prom without an all-white prom in the same week, they're still unacceptable in my book.
~~~
In this day and age, it's hard to believe there are still places in America that segregate blacks and whites. For God's sake we have a black president (or at least, a 1/2 black one). But unfortunately, those places do exist.
The place in this case is Charleston, Mississippi—hometown of Morgan Freeman—and the annual prom at Charleston High School. Since the beginning of days, there have always been two proms. One for blacks; one for whites, though all of the kids go to classes together. Morgan Freeman had offered in years past to pay for the prom if it were to be integrated, but the town (read: the parents) wasn't interested.
Enter Director Paul Saltzman and a camera crew, and the school finally agrees to do it in the ripe old year of 2008.
But not everyone is on board. In fact, some of the parents are so put off by the concept, they arrange a white prom anyway. And they follow through with hosting it days before the integrated prom (the schadenfreude for those of us who live and breathe in modern times was that there was violence at THAT prom). But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The first 1/3 of the movie is talking head interviews and frustrating school meetings that only show how ignorant this poor town is (and I do mean poor—most kids live in trailers). The majority of the families (including the students) are obese, their language is simple and their minds are unfortunately small (one parent speaks of God making us into separate races to represent different classes and I almost threw my laptop at the television).
But it's not all bad.
There is a rebellious girl who digs her black boyfriend and won't give him up though her father is furious; another white girl considers her black friends more loyal than her parents, who are mortified that she would even mingle with such folks. And of course, many of the kids could care less what color their classmates are—they just want to party!
So we see kids of both races going to the beauty parlor, washing their cars, choosing their dresses and posing on the lawn for awkward photos as they all pile into a white limo (you get the sense there may not have been any black limos available in that town). The ride to the prom with both blacks and whites in the same vehicle seems peaceful.
The school has amped up security for the festivities (and we are told his by a clearly concerned black cop), but there is no need for it. The kids get to the dance and they...dance. They laugh, they eat, they choose a king and queen. Blacks dance with whites and blacks dance with blacks and whites dance with whites. Everyone has a great time and from the post-prom interviews it sounds as if some new friendships were born.
Lesson learned? I don't know.
Until they can have an integrated prom without an all-white prom in the same week, they're still unacceptable in my book.
~~~
Monday, July 20, 2009
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Tonight I saw Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, starring Daniel Radcliffe and Michael Gambon.
I re-read the book this last week to refresh my memory and prepare for the film, but part of me wishes I hadn't, for the film leaves out so much of the text it's somewhat maddening. But it's still an incredibly enjoyable ride.
In this installment, Harry (Radcliffe) is taken under Professor Dumbledore's wing like never before to solve the mysteries behind the Dark Lord. The relationship between them is tender and convincing, but I can't help but miss the actor who originated the Professor's role, Richard Harris, who died a few years back. He was more like a Grandfather than a Merlin, which the current actor (Gambon) evokes.
Anyway, to dig deeper into Lord Voldemort's past, they must solicit the help of retired Professor Slughorn (played delightfully by Jim Broadbent) and coax some buried memories of Tom Riddle's time at Hogwarts out of him. For those playing catch up: Tom Riddle was Voldemort's childhood name. Riddle is coincidentally played by Hero Fiennes-Tiffin, who is the real-life nephew of Ralph Fiennes, who plays Lord Voldemort. The resemblance is both helpful and staggering (and hey, the kid can act too).
So, to get access to these memories, Harry has to manipulate Slughorn by becoming a star student in his Potions class, which he achieves by using the old textbook that once belonged to the Half-Blood Prince. Though no one knows the identity of the Half-Blood Prince, his potions seem to work wonderfully, which angers Harry's close friend Hermoine, because she sees using the book as cheating.
Aside from that, Hermoine's fallen in love with their mutual friend Ron, who has a new girlfriend he keeps snogging in front of her. And Harry's fallen for Ginny, Ron's sister, but doesn't know how to confront those feelings.
Combine this with some extremely scary Death Eaters (yes, it should be PG-13, but it's not) and you have a jam-packed film of teenage lust, good vs. evil, historical continuity and supernatural tricks.
Alan Rickman again stands out as Severus Snape, while all of the children have not only matured with their roles, but become better actors in the process. The final scenes are among the saddest and heaviest of the series.
When it's over, you'll be wishing it had a few more hours to go, even as you blink back tears.
```
I re-read the book this last week to refresh my memory and prepare for the film, but part of me wishes I hadn't, for the film leaves out so much of the text it's somewhat maddening. But it's still an incredibly enjoyable ride.
In this installment, Harry (Radcliffe) is taken under Professor Dumbledore's wing like never before to solve the mysteries behind the Dark Lord. The relationship between them is tender and convincing, but I can't help but miss the actor who originated the Professor's role, Richard Harris, who died a few years back. He was more like a Grandfather than a Merlin, which the current actor (Gambon) evokes.
Anyway, to dig deeper into Lord Voldemort's past, they must solicit the help of retired Professor Slughorn (played delightfully by Jim Broadbent) and coax some buried memories of Tom Riddle's time at Hogwarts out of him. For those playing catch up: Tom Riddle was Voldemort's childhood name. Riddle is coincidentally played by Hero Fiennes-Tiffin, who is the real-life nephew of Ralph Fiennes, who plays Lord Voldemort. The resemblance is both helpful and staggering (and hey, the kid can act too).
So, to get access to these memories, Harry has to manipulate Slughorn by becoming a star student in his Potions class, which he achieves by using the old textbook that once belonged to the Half-Blood Prince. Though no one knows the identity of the Half-Blood Prince, his potions seem to work wonderfully, which angers Harry's close friend Hermoine, because she sees using the book as cheating.
Aside from that, Hermoine's fallen in love with their mutual friend Ron, who has a new girlfriend he keeps snogging in front of her. And Harry's fallen for Ginny, Ron's sister, but doesn't know how to confront those feelings.
Combine this with some extremely scary Death Eaters (yes, it should be PG-13, but it's not) and you have a jam-packed film of teenage lust, good vs. evil, historical continuity and supernatural tricks.
Alan Rickman again stands out as Severus Snape, while all of the children have not only matured with their roles, but become better actors in the process. The final scenes are among the saddest and heaviest of the series.
When it's over, you'll be wishing it had a few more hours to go, even as you blink back tears.
```
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Summer Hours
Last night I saw Summer Hours, starring Juliette Binoche and Charles Berling.
The audience is brought into the film as if they are meeting the friends of the person they're dating for the first time. Immediately there is conversation, food and laughter in a setting that holds sentimental value for the attendees, but none of the witnesses.
Helene (Edith Scob), the family matriarch, is hosting a reunion of sorts for her three adult children: Frederic (Berling), Adrienne (Binoche) and Jeremie (Jeremie Renier) at their beautiful summer house. There is an elaborate garden where they cut fresh flowers for the tables, an elegant patio for entertaining, and an interior that features pricey works of art that Helene has collected throughout the years. The house is the main character in this film--and rightfully so.
In one of the earliest scenes, Helene takes Frederic on a 'tour' of the inside, pointing out items he'll want to sell when she expires. This rattles him, but she's intent on preparing him for life as the family's default leader (and let's face it, when elderly parents pass on, there's always one sibling that does all of the work).
When the children and grandchildren depart, we're only shown a brief hint of Helene's lasting depression, which confines her to a chair by the window. A few scenes later, she's gone.
When the children reconvene to make decisions about her estate, their needs and opinions differ. The artsy daughter is content leaving her childhood in the past and making a new life for herself in America; the enterprising younger son is happy to move his family to Asia to make more money; the eldest wants to keep the house and its contents to maintain a sense of continuity, which is already rapidly deteriorating. They all go about these negotiations peacefully.
The refreshing part of this story is that none of the children need the money from the sale of the house to live a good life. With this group, it's not about the money, or even about the material possessions. It's about doing right by their mother, who was a bit like a museum piece herself--visited infrequently, more valuable the older she got and desperately lonely, save for her caretaker.
The pace is slow, but the organic feel of the life lived by the film's characters keeps the audience wanting to know how it will all turn out.
It's a slice of life with a dash of depth.
The audience is brought into the film as if they are meeting the friends of the person they're dating for the first time. Immediately there is conversation, food and laughter in a setting that holds sentimental value for the attendees, but none of the witnesses.
Helene (Edith Scob), the family matriarch, is hosting a reunion of sorts for her three adult children: Frederic (Berling), Adrienne (Binoche) and Jeremie (Jeremie Renier) at their beautiful summer house. There is an elaborate garden where they cut fresh flowers for the tables, an elegant patio for entertaining, and an interior that features pricey works of art that Helene has collected throughout the years. The house is the main character in this film--and rightfully so.
In one of the earliest scenes, Helene takes Frederic on a 'tour' of the inside, pointing out items he'll want to sell when she expires. This rattles him, but she's intent on preparing him for life as the family's default leader (and let's face it, when elderly parents pass on, there's always one sibling that does all of the work).
When the children and grandchildren depart, we're only shown a brief hint of Helene's lasting depression, which confines her to a chair by the window. A few scenes later, she's gone.
When the children reconvene to make decisions about her estate, their needs and opinions differ. The artsy daughter is content leaving her childhood in the past and making a new life for herself in America; the enterprising younger son is happy to move his family to Asia to make more money; the eldest wants to keep the house and its contents to maintain a sense of continuity, which is already rapidly deteriorating. They all go about these negotiations peacefully.
The refreshing part of this story is that none of the children need the money from the sale of the house to live a good life. With this group, it's not about the money, or even about the material possessions. It's about doing right by their mother, who was a bit like a museum piece herself--visited infrequently, more valuable the older she got and desperately lonely, save for her caretaker.
The pace is slow, but the organic feel of the life lived by the film's characters keeps the audience wanting to know how it will all turn out.
It's a slice of life with a dash of depth.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Moon
Tonight I saw Moon, starring Sam Rockwell.
Films about loneliness will always keep our attention because no matter what our background, finances, marital status or age, we can all at times be vulnerable to it.
In Moon Sam (Rockwell) has reached the end of his lonely rope. He is in the final days of his three-year corporate mission to the moon (yes, THE moon) to help mine clean energy, and is desperate to return to his wife and daughter on earth.
We witness him going about his daily tasks—eating, working out, tending to 'house' plants, etc. We even see him watching the obligatory obviously-not-live television as he barely pays attention to a classic episode of Bewitched. If the TV technique weren't so over-used (i.e. Wall-E and I Am Legend), it would help reinforce the isolation, but it doesn't need to in this film. The cold white of the walls and surroundings mixed with the industrial nature of just about everything (right down to Sam's helpful robot Gerty, voiced by Kevin Spacey) tell us we're in a place devoid of love and warmth.
As Sam gets closer to his return date, his health begins to deteriorate and hallucinations materialize (or at least they appear to). One of these sightings causes him to wreck the vehicle he's using to complete his work "outside" on the surface of said moon. Next thing he knows, he's awake in the moon station infirmary seeing himself outside of his body. But he's not dead—and for me to say anymore would be to spoil, so I'll have to stop there.
What I can say is that Director Duncan Jones (coincidentally also David Bowie's son) creates a very realistic exterior for what the moon must somewhat be like. The quiet darkness he invokes results in a strange feelings of peace contrasted by hollowness. When the tires of the work vehicles scrape across the dirt, you can almost feel grains of dust in your mouth.
Also, the performance by Sam Rockwell, who plays against no one else, is all of the things it should be: funny, confusing, heartbreaking, life-affirming and frustrating. He's well cast and well-played. Of course, something should also be said about Kevin Spacey's voicing of Gerty. It sounds like an easy task, but to evoke emotion from a screen that registers different emoticons based on what it's saying can't have been that simple. His intonation and soothing tones make the ideal "humanized" machine.
All in all it's a very classic science fiction journey wrapped up in a modern-day pod. What makes it good is its exploration of people needing people, no matter where or when they are.
~~~
Films about loneliness will always keep our attention because no matter what our background, finances, marital status or age, we can all at times be vulnerable to it.
In Moon Sam (Rockwell) has reached the end of his lonely rope. He is in the final days of his three-year corporate mission to the moon (yes, THE moon) to help mine clean energy, and is desperate to return to his wife and daughter on earth.
We witness him going about his daily tasks—eating, working out, tending to 'house' plants, etc. We even see him watching the obligatory obviously-not-live television as he barely pays attention to a classic episode of Bewitched. If the TV technique weren't so over-used (i.e. Wall-E and I Am Legend), it would help reinforce the isolation, but it doesn't need to in this film. The cold white of the walls and surroundings mixed with the industrial nature of just about everything (right down to Sam's helpful robot Gerty, voiced by Kevin Spacey) tell us we're in a place devoid of love and warmth.
As Sam gets closer to his return date, his health begins to deteriorate and hallucinations materialize (or at least they appear to). One of these sightings causes him to wreck the vehicle he's using to complete his work "outside" on the surface of said moon. Next thing he knows, he's awake in the moon station infirmary seeing himself outside of his body. But he's not dead—and for me to say anymore would be to spoil, so I'll have to stop there.
What I can say is that Director Duncan Jones (coincidentally also David Bowie's son) creates a very realistic exterior for what the moon must somewhat be like. The quiet darkness he invokes results in a strange feelings of peace contrasted by hollowness. When the tires of the work vehicles scrape across the dirt, you can almost feel grains of dust in your mouth.
Also, the performance by Sam Rockwell, who plays against no one else, is all of the things it should be: funny, confusing, heartbreaking, life-affirming and frustrating. He's well cast and well-played. Of course, something should also be said about Kevin Spacey's voicing of Gerty. It sounds like an easy task, but to evoke emotion from a screen that registers different emoticons based on what it's saying can't have been that simple. His intonation and soothing tones make the ideal "humanized" machine.
All in all it's a very classic science fiction journey wrapped up in a modern-day pod. What makes it good is its exploration of people needing people, no matter where or when they are.
~~~
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Hurt Locker
Today I saw The Hurt Locker, starring Jeremy Renner.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #75, so stay tuned for our review.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #75, so stay tuned for our review.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Julie & Julia
Tonight I screened Julie & Julia, starring Amy Adams and Meryl Streep.
Don't go see this film on an empty stomach. The amount of food on display throughout is enough to feed a small country and because most of what the characters talk about is food, you won't be able to put it out of your mind.
This true story begins with New Yorker Julie Powell (Adams) approaching her 30th birthday. She's married to a wonderful man (Chris Messina), but dislikes their new apartment in Queens and her dead-end job. She finds solace in cooking because there is a certainty in what will result from the mixing of the ingredients.
When one of her self-absorbed friends begins a blog, her husband encourages her to start her own—about cooking—and she decides to make a go of it. But to force herself to follow through with it (something she has trouble with), she creates her own plan to cook all of the recipes in Julia Child's famous French cookbook in one year's time.
In addition to showing us Julie's journey, the film also revisits Julia Child's path to glory with an expectedly transforming Meryl Streep. The acting phenom not only nails Child's famous accent, she captures the unique spunky spirit that make the world fall in love with her. If only Director Nora Ephron had shown us more of exterior France, perhaps it would have been perfect.
And Adams as the amateur cook, hungry for fame and validation, comes across as genuinely ordinary, which can't have been easy for the Enchanted beauty. Here, she's barely a housewife, and she plays it so convincingly, you almost don't see the sparkle of her eyes behind the dishes.
All in all, the movie will make you hungry, and make you smile, but at the end of the day—it was just a blog.
Don't go see this film on an empty stomach. The amount of food on display throughout is enough to feed a small country and because most of what the characters talk about is food, you won't be able to put it out of your mind.
This true story begins with New Yorker Julie Powell (Adams) approaching her 30th birthday. She's married to a wonderful man (Chris Messina), but dislikes their new apartment in Queens and her dead-end job. She finds solace in cooking because there is a certainty in what will result from the mixing of the ingredients.
When one of her self-absorbed friends begins a blog, her husband encourages her to start her own—about cooking—and she decides to make a go of it. But to force herself to follow through with it (something she has trouble with), she creates her own plan to cook all of the recipes in Julia Child's famous French cookbook in one year's time.
In addition to showing us Julie's journey, the film also revisits Julia Child's path to glory with an expectedly transforming Meryl Streep. The acting phenom not only nails Child's famous accent, she captures the unique spunky spirit that make the world fall in love with her. If only Director Nora Ephron had shown us more of exterior France, perhaps it would have been perfect.
And Adams as the amateur cook, hungry for fame and validation, comes across as genuinely ordinary, which can't have been easy for the Enchanted beauty. Here, she's barely a housewife, and she plays it so convincingly, you almost don't see the sparkle of her eyes behind the dishes.
All in all, the movie will make you hungry, and make you smile, but at the end of the day—it was just a blog.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Food, Inc.
Today I saw the Robert Kenner documentary Food, Inc.
You may want to put down that bucket of fast food chicken before you head out to the theater to see this film. I'm not saying it won't still taste good, but you'll probably regret it after the fact.
This documentary tells us all what we would already know if folks toured chicken farms as often as they do chocolate factories: some of the stuff in our food supply is bad. Real bad.
None of this came as a shock to me. As huge fan of Bill Maher, I hear him bark about high fructose corn syrup and the dangers of over-processed food on an almost weekly basis. For the past 10 years I've either driven to Canada to purchase my Coca-Cola, or picked up the Mexican version at my local Costco (our non-American friends use sugar instead of corn syrup to make their Coke, so it tastes like the good old stuff we used to get as kids). I also seldom eat trans fats, buy organic, and have greatly reduced (but I'll confess, not eliminated) my trips to fast food restaurants. I do it more for my own health than any political reason.
But is it enough?
I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that I don't agree with the way animals are being treated before they're taken to slaughter. This film shows us evidence that chickens are usually kept out of daylight for the duration of their very short lives (just over a month in most cases) and cows are fed corn when they really should subside on grass. In the early days of farming and meatpacking, when the business was smaller, the practices were actually quite decent. But when the processing plants grew larger to accommodate the rapidly successful fast food enterprises, all of the standards went out the door.
That's not to say there aren't still ethical farmers using humane methods of farming and processing, but I'm afraid they all may be in this movie. All three of them.
Really, corn is taking over the world (seriously—it's in everything from diapers to batteries) and really should just be enjoyed in its original form: on the cob.
The other big problem is the lawmakers who make special exceptions for the food industry (did you know it's a felony to trash beef in Colorado?) by neglecting to establish stricter food safety practices and not adequately labeling genetically altered food.
What can we do to turn this all around? The filmmaker says: Buy local. Buy organic. Vote with your wallet.
I think I will.
You may want to put down that bucket of fast food chicken before you head out to the theater to see this film. I'm not saying it won't still taste good, but you'll probably regret it after the fact.
This documentary tells us all what we would already know if folks toured chicken farms as often as they do chocolate factories: some of the stuff in our food supply is bad. Real bad.
None of this came as a shock to me. As huge fan of Bill Maher, I hear him bark about high fructose corn syrup and the dangers of over-processed food on an almost weekly basis. For the past 10 years I've either driven to Canada to purchase my Coca-Cola, or picked up the Mexican version at my local Costco (our non-American friends use sugar instead of corn syrup to make their Coke, so it tastes like the good old stuff we used to get as kids). I also seldom eat trans fats, buy organic, and have greatly reduced (but I'll confess, not eliminated) my trips to fast food restaurants. I do it more for my own health than any political reason.
But is it enough?
I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that I don't agree with the way animals are being treated before they're taken to slaughter. This film shows us evidence that chickens are usually kept out of daylight for the duration of their very short lives (just over a month in most cases) and cows are fed corn when they really should subside on grass. In the early days of farming and meatpacking, when the business was smaller, the practices were actually quite decent. But when the processing plants grew larger to accommodate the rapidly successful fast food enterprises, all of the standards went out the door.
That's not to say there aren't still ethical farmers using humane methods of farming and processing, but I'm afraid they all may be in this movie. All three of them.
Really, corn is taking over the world (seriously—it's in everything from diapers to batteries) and really should just be enjoyed in its original form: on the cob.
The other big problem is the lawmakers who make special exceptions for the food industry (did you know it's a felony to trash beef in Colorado?) by neglecting to establish stricter food safety practices and not adequately labeling genetically altered food.
What can we do to turn this all around? The filmmaker says: Buy local. Buy organic. Vote with your wallet.
I think I will.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Away We Go
Tonight I saw Away We Go, starring Maya Rudolph and John Krasinski.
Burt (Krasinski) and Verona (Rudolph) are a couple in love who have just made a baby and don't want to go it alone. When they learn Burt's parents are moving to a foreign country before their baby's arrival, they set out on a cross-country journey to find a desirable place to live, near people they love.
Who knew such a task would be so grueling?
And I don't necessarily mean for the couple—I mean for the audience.
From the moment they couple decides to 'go exploring,' everything around them turns from reality to caricature and each stereotypical human annoyance is met along the way. First it's an obnoxious former co-worker, then it's an uber hippie who you can't imagine they'd want to be friends with in the first place. Even the folks at the airport accuse Verona of being further along in her pregnancy than she is and deny her flying rights. Travesty!
Amidst all of the blatantly flashing signs that Life Isn't Easy: Especially With Kids—there is a somewhat tender, genuine relationship between the couple. It's a shame even that is overshadowed by Krasinski's distracting beard and unwashed hair.
Am I being picky? I don't think so. I'm just highly disappointed that two very gifted actors and a director I'd previously loved would make such a mess of what could have been a fresh concept.
Burt (Krasinski) and Verona (Rudolph) are a couple in love who have just made a baby and don't want to go it alone. When they learn Burt's parents are moving to a foreign country before their baby's arrival, they set out on a cross-country journey to find a desirable place to live, near people they love.
Who knew such a task would be so grueling?
And I don't necessarily mean for the couple—I mean for the audience.
From the moment they couple decides to 'go exploring,' everything around them turns from reality to caricature and each stereotypical human annoyance is met along the way. First it's an obnoxious former co-worker, then it's an uber hippie who you can't imagine they'd want to be friends with in the first place. Even the folks at the airport accuse Verona of being further along in her pregnancy than she is and deny her flying rights. Travesty!
Amidst all of the blatantly flashing signs that Life Isn't Easy: Especially With Kids—there is a somewhat tender, genuine relationship between the couple. It's a shame even that is overshadowed by Krasinski's distracting beard and unwashed hair.
Am I being picky? I don't think so. I'm just highly disappointed that two very gifted actors and a director I'd previously loved would make such a mess of what could have been a fresh concept.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Public Enemies
Tonight I saw Public Enemies, starring Johnny Depp.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #74, which is available here.
To learn more about John Dillinger, click on the sidebar link that will take you to the National Crime Museum, where they are hosting a special exhibit about him.
It will be the topic of Cinebanter #74, which is available here.
To learn more about John Dillinger, click on the sidebar link that will take you to the National Crime Museum, where they are hosting a special exhibit about him.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Talhotblond
On June 15, I saw the documentary talhotblond at the Seattle International Film Festival.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
Monday, June 15, 2009
North
On Saturday I saw North at the Seattle International Film Festival.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
Friday, June 12, 2009
My Life in Ruins
Tonight I saw My Life in Ruins, starring Nia Vardalos and Richard Dreyfuss.
As a half-Greek girl with a father from the Old Country, and a big fan of the star's former film My Big Fat Greek Wedding, I felt it was my civic duty to give this shameless chick flick a chance. Boy, was I wrong.
When we meet Georgia (Vardalos) she's already miserable—she's moved to Athens to teach at the University and been laid off. To make ends meet she took a job as a tour guide and now tries to impart her infinite architectural and historical wisdom on groups of tourists who would rather just get a cone of ice cream.
After naming off the stereotypical people that come on her tours (the "ugly" Americans, the divorcées, the old people, etc.) they all load on to the bus and from there on out, we know what's coming at every turn.
There's the not-so-funny guy Irv (Dreyfuss) that annoys everyone, a British couple with an angst-filled teenager who wants to go to the beach, drunken Australians who are there to just be...drunk, and a bus driver that gets more handsome as the tour progresses.
Nia is charming, and the gorgeous shots of Greek ruins and seascapes are lovely to see, but the love story was too predictable to be satisfying, and the jokes throughout just weren't very funny.
It would've been better had they shown instead of told.
As a half-Greek girl with a father from the Old Country, and a big fan of the star's former film My Big Fat Greek Wedding, I felt it was my civic duty to give this shameless chick flick a chance. Boy, was I wrong.
When we meet Georgia (Vardalos) she's already miserable—she's moved to Athens to teach at the University and been laid off. To make ends meet she took a job as a tour guide and now tries to impart her infinite architectural and historical wisdom on groups of tourists who would rather just get a cone of ice cream.
After naming off the stereotypical people that come on her tours (the "ugly" Americans, the divorcées, the old people, etc.) they all load on to the bus and from there on out, we know what's coming at every turn.
There's the not-so-funny guy Irv (Dreyfuss) that annoys everyone, a British couple with an angst-filled teenager who wants to go to the beach, drunken Australians who are there to just be...drunk, and a bus driver that gets more handsome as the tour progresses.
Nia is charming, and the gorgeous shots of Greek ruins and seascapes are lovely to see, but the love story was too predictable to be satisfying, and the jokes throughout just weren't very funny.
It would've been better had they shown instead of told.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Brothers Bloom
Last night I saw The Brothers Bloom, starring Rachel Weisz and Adrien Brody.
The brothers in the title are Bloom (Brody) and Stephen (Mark Ruffalo). They've made their livings as scheming con artists and now Bloom is ready to retire and "go straight." But Stephen, who is more addicted to the thrill of the lifestyle than perhaps the money, doesn't want to stop and convinces Bloom to embark on one last job. This assignment is where we meet Penelope (Weisz)—an eccentric rich girl who seems to have no friends or acquaintances.
Sounds fun, right? Well, it starts out that way...and even shows promise in the spirited introduction of our heroine (and her many quirks), but unfortunately fizzles after we see the same story played out over and over again. You think you're on to the con, but you're not—but wait you are! Repeat. And again.
It does get old.
There's also a minor love story between Penelope and Bloom that could've developed into something much more intense if given ample attention, but since it doesn't it's hard to care about whether or not they're really in love or whether or not they'll live happily ever after.
Ruffalo's Stephen is charming, but he's almost too charming and you'd think that a con man as successful as he would be less (overtly) slimy.
All in all, the film was a disappointing attempt from a promising filmmaker (Brick's Rian Johnson) and a great cast of characters.
```
The brothers in the title are Bloom (Brody) and Stephen (Mark Ruffalo). They've made their livings as scheming con artists and now Bloom is ready to retire and "go straight." But Stephen, who is more addicted to the thrill of the lifestyle than perhaps the money, doesn't want to stop and convinces Bloom to embark on one last job. This assignment is where we meet Penelope (Weisz)—an eccentric rich girl who seems to have no friends or acquaintances.
Sounds fun, right? Well, it starts out that way...and even shows promise in the spirited introduction of our heroine (and her many quirks), but unfortunately fizzles after we see the same story played out over and over again. You think you're on to the con, but you're not—but wait you are! Repeat. And again.
It does get old.
There's also a minor love story between Penelope and Bloom that could've developed into something much more intense if given ample attention, but since it doesn't it's hard to care about whether or not they're really in love or whether or not they'll live happily ever after.
Ruffalo's Stephen is charming, but he's almost too charming and you'd think that a con man as successful as he would be less (overtly) slimy.
All in all, the film was a disappointing attempt from a promising filmmaker (Brick's Rian Johnson) and a great cast of characters.
```
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
American Collectors
Last night I saw the documentary American Collectors.
Everyone collects something—for me it's U2 magazines, Beatles memorabelia, movie postcards and Coca-Cola branded items for the kitchen. When I was younger it was seashells, anything with dolphins on it, and Garbage Pail Kids cards. "It" was always important to me at the time.
The degree of which I collect these things is what would have excluded me from being a subject in this film. I don't have enough volume or enough passion for the merchandise to remotely qualify.
The folks here have an incurable compulsion to gather as many of—whatever—as their pocketbook will allow. They all have different reasons for doing it (toys bring back happy memories from childhood; loves the artistic aspect of antique handbags), but the common thread that you hear throughout the narrative is the thrill of the hunt. The joy of finding something you've never been able to find before or making an altogether new discovery.
I must confess, I was first drawn to this film because one of its stars is a personal pal of mine. One who happens to call himself "Durandy" because of his love of the band Duran Duran. I'm also fond of the fab five, and I'm somewhat of a groupie in other circles, so once our paths crossed we became fast friends. Over the past few years, I watched Andy (I usually call him by his real name) continue to build the most impressive collection of Duran Duran posters in the world. He takes meticulous care of them, organizing them into a climate controlled storage unit dedicated to their purpose. Because of his desire to share his treasures with others through public exhibits and showings, the passion has led him to personal encounters with the band, who applaud him for his dedication and spirit. Durandy maintains a full-time job, has a loving girlfriend, and a comfortable home, so his "collection" doesn't rule his life, it only enhances it.
In some of the other cases, the audience has to wonder if the collectors aren't sacrificing basic needs to satisfy their cravings. One gentleman cannot conduct the interview inside his trailer because the camera crew wouldn't fit inside—his collection takes up too much space. Another man has hundreds of musical instruments, yet he doesn't know how to play any of them.
What the film really ends up saying is that collecting is like any hobby. If it begins to interfere with the productivity of your life (putting food on the table, paying rent, having relationships), the obsession has gone too far. If not, you're just eccentric (and probably fascinating to talk to).
```
To learn more about American Collectors, click here.
Everyone collects something—for me it's U2 magazines, Beatles memorabelia, movie postcards and Coca-Cola branded items for the kitchen. When I was younger it was seashells, anything with dolphins on it, and Garbage Pail Kids cards. "It" was always important to me at the time.
The degree of which I collect these things is what would have excluded me from being a subject in this film. I don't have enough volume or enough passion for the merchandise to remotely qualify.
The folks here have an incurable compulsion to gather as many of—whatever—as their pocketbook will allow. They all have different reasons for doing it (toys bring back happy memories from childhood; loves the artistic aspect of antique handbags), but the common thread that you hear throughout the narrative is the thrill of the hunt. The joy of finding something you've never been able to find before or making an altogether new discovery.
I must confess, I was first drawn to this film because one of its stars is a personal pal of mine. One who happens to call himself "Durandy" because of his love of the band Duran Duran. I'm also fond of the fab five, and I'm somewhat of a groupie in other circles, so once our paths crossed we became fast friends. Over the past few years, I watched Andy (I usually call him by his real name) continue to build the most impressive collection of Duran Duran posters in the world. He takes meticulous care of them, organizing them into a climate controlled storage unit dedicated to their purpose. Because of his desire to share his treasures with others through public exhibits and showings, the passion has led him to personal encounters with the band, who applaud him for his dedication and spirit. Durandy maintains a full-time job, has a loving girlfriend, and a comfortable home, so his "collection" doesn't rule his life, it only enhances it.
In some of the other cases, the audience has to wonder if the collectors aren't sacrificing basic needs to satisfy their cravings. One gentleman cannot conduct the interview inside his trailer because the camera crew wouldn't fit inside—his collection takes up too much space. Another man has hundreds of musical instruments, yet he doesn't know how to play any of them.
What the film really ends up saying is that collecting is like any hobby. If it begins to interfere with the productivity of your life (putting food on the table, paying rent, having relationships), the obsession has gone too far. If not, you're just eccentric (and probably fascinating to talk to).
```
To learn more about American Collectors, click here.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Drag Me to Hell
Last night I saw Drag Me to Hell, starring Alison Lohan and Justin Long.
It was the topic of Cinebanter #73, which is available here.
It was the topic of Cinebanter #73, which is available here.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Mommy Is at the Hairdresser's
Tonight at SIFF I screened Mommy Is at the Hairdresser's, a Canadian drama.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Prodigal Sons
Last night I saw Prodigal Sons, a documentary by Kimberly Reed.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Garden
Tonight I saw the documentary The Garden at the Seattle International Film Festival.
Listen to Cinebanter in the coming months for my take on it.
Listen to Cinebanter in the coming months for my take on it.
Rembrandt's J'Accuse
Last night I saw Rembrandt's J'Accuse, documentary from The Netherlands.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Fear Me Not
Last night I screened Fear Me Not at the Seattle International Film Festival.
Listen to Cinebanter in the coming months for my take on it.
Listen to Cinebanter in the coming months for my take on it.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Cove
Last night I saw the documentary The Cove at the Seattle International Film Festival.
Listen to Cinebanter in the coming months for my take on it.
Listen to Cinebanter in the coming months for my take on it.
This Charming Girl
Yesterday I screened the South Korean drama This Charming Girl at the Seattle International Film Festival.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
To read my review, visit Cinebanter.com.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Shrink
Today at SIFF I screened Shrink, starring Kevin Spacey and Robin Williams.
I will speak about it on an upcoming episode of Cinebanter, so stay tuned!
I will speak about it on an upcoming episode of Cinebanter, so stay tuned!
A French Gigolo
Last night I screened A French Gigolo at the 35th Annual Seattle International Film Festival.
To read my review, please visit Cinebanter.com.
To read my review, please visit Cinebanter.com.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Baby Love
Last night at SIFF I saw Baby Love, a charming French comedy.
For my full review, visit Cinebanter.com.
For my full review, visit Cinebanter.com.
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.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Take you to my castle far away...
I love it when music stops me in my tracks.
I was shopping at a local discount store (Burlington Coat Factory, if you must know) on Sunday, mindlessly sifting through racks, when a bright burst of piano came over the sound system and I immediately envisioned a perfectly coiffed Peter Cetera standing in front of an Asian panel. Tonight it's very clear began the song, one of my favorites from the 80s, called "Glory of Love" and from that moment I was paralyzed with nostalgia.
I began freely singing along (despite the fact there were other shoppers, workers, etc. nearby), challenging myself to remember every word (I did) and managing my visions, which were random bits and pieces of a video I must have watched at least a thousand times in 1986.
It was all about Karate Kid II. I remembered Mr Miyagi looking proudly on as the Karate Kid fought for his life. I remembered the beautiful Asian girl he was sweet on, appearing from behind a fan to entice him. I also remembered the way the doors of the panel would burst open as Peter led up to the chorus (standing alone, as he sang).
And then I thought to myself: that video was so much better than the movie.
And then it occurred to me that there were dozens of 80s videos that were far superior to the movie of the soundtrack on which they appeared.
Immediately I was flooded with memories of beloved songs that positively carried the films they promoted.
Exhibit A: "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins
Again, we have a lone man who semi-recently had left a successful band (Cetera had abandoned Chicago; Collins had taken leave from Genesis), standing on a stage that doesn't pretend to be part of the film set, but dares its singer to conjure up the emotion of what's going on in the film (in this case, adultery). We see the "happy" couple dancing around, sharing cocktails, getting close. We see an ancient pyramid and a scary little head that sometimes takes the place of Phil's. Then we see The Evil Other Guy (James Woods), who happens to be light years sexier than the alleged husband, and well, all hell breaks loose. All the while Phil is singing a heartbreaking, beautiful song about his real-life wife—who was the only one who really knew him at all—breaking his heart with an unexpected divorce. The song lives on. I doubt anyone has seen the mediocre film since the summer the song was selling it on MTV.
Exhibit B: "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" by Jack Parr
Keeping up with the pattern, we have an older single man doing the singing, happening upon a group of recent graduates that are getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. Throughout the video he acts as somewhat of a stalker, witnessing all of the cool scenes from their movie. They flirt their way through a bar; we see meaningful close-ups of each cast member (Judd Nelson! Rob Lowe! Mare Winningham!); we see a fire scene correspond to the "burning up" part of the lyrics. And then the bridge comes: it's a montage of the coolest of cool things these cats do. Andrew McCarthy laying on his back as he dances on the bed, Emilio Estevez bravely kissing Andie MacDowell. Then that thing happens where the singer becomes "part of the gang" and Jack Parr is all of a sudden having a jukebox conversation with Demi Moore. The song rocks. And the film is a teenage classic—but not because it's good.
Exhibit C: "Live to Tell" by Madonna
Note to all young persons who may be reading this: Madonna was in her prime in these years. This was pre-Madge, pre-Guy, pre-Malawi babies, etc. and the sister could sing. She had snagged Sean Penn and had yet to produce a book called "Sex."
Anyway, the video starts with our Lone (Fe)male sitting vs. standing in a dramatic, dark room. We can only see her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, the top of her floral dress and her face, which features her mouthing the words somewhat softly (despite the perfect lipstick). We soon cut to slices of the film At Close Range, which stars Christopher Walken and her first husband. They appear to be "shooting" buddies and we see them doing buddy things until the song takes a creepy turn (really, it is somewhat creepy—she could actually WRITE MUSIC back then) and we see Sean (who unfortunately looks 13) with a terrifying, evil look on his face, holding a gun to Christopher's head. Yikes. I can't remember exactly how the movie turns out (it was long ago that I saw it), but I know it didn't create as much tension as that brilliant 80s video did.
The moral of the story: it's a shame these videos (or at least the songs for them) outlasted the actual films they sought to promote. But it's more of a shame in the music video world that they just don't make 'em like they used to.
```
I was shopping at a local discount store (Burlington Coat Factory, if you must know) on Sunday, mindlessly sifting through racks, when a bright burst of piano came over the sound system and I immediately envisioned a perfectly coiffed Peter Cetera standing in front of an Asian panel. Tonight it's very clear began the song, one of my favorites from the 80s, called "Glory of Love" and from that moment I was paralyzed with nostalgia.
I began freely singing along (despite the fact there were other shoppers, workers, etc. nearby), challenging myself to remember every word (I did) and managing my visions, which were random bits and pieces of a video I must have watched at least a thousand times in 1986.
It was all about Karate Kid II. I remembered Mr Miyagi looking proudly on as the Karate Kid fought for his life. I remembered the beautiful Asian girl he was sweet on, appearing from behind a fan to entice him. I also remembered the way the doors of the panel would burst open as Peter led up to the chorus (standing alone, as he sang).
And then I thought to myself: that video was so much better than the movie.
And then it occurred to me that there were dozens of 80s videos that were far superior to the movie of the soundtrack on which they appeared.
Immediately I was flooded with memories of beloved songs that positively carried the films they promoted.
Exhibit A: "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins
Again, we have a lone man who semi-recently had left a successful band (Cetera had abandoned Chicago; Collins had taken leave from Genesis), standing on a stage that doesn't pretend to be part of the film set, but dares its singer to conjure up the emotion of what's going on in the film (in this case, adultery). We see the "happy" couple dancing around, sharing cocktails, getting close. We see an ancient pyramid and a scary little head that sometimes takes the place of Phil's. Then we see The Evil Other Guy (James Woods), who happens to be light years sexier than the alleged husband, and well, all hell breaks loose. All the while Phil is singing a heartbreaking, beautiful song about his real-life wife—who was the only one who really knew him at all—breaking his heart with an unexpected divorce. The song lives on. I doubt anyone has seen the mediocre film since the summer the song was selling it on MTV.
Exhibit B: "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" by Jack Parr
Keeping up with the pattern, we have an older single man doing the singing, happening upon a group of recent graduates that are getting themselves into all sorts of trouble. Throughout the video he acts as somewhat of a stalker, witnessing all of the cool scenes from their movie. They flirt their way through a bar; we see meaningful close-ups of each cast member (Judd Nelson! Rob Lowe! Mare Winningham!); we see a fire scene correspond to the "burning up" part of the lyrics. And then the bridge comes: it's a montage of the coolest of cool things these cats do. Andrew McCarthy laying on his back as he dances on the bed, Emilio Estevez bravely kissing Andie MacDowell. Then that thing happens where the singer becomes "part of the gang" and Jack Parr is all of a sudden having a jukebox conversation with Demi Moore. The song rocks. And the film is a teenage classic—but not because it's good.
Exhibit C: "Live to Tell" by Madonna
Note to all young persons who may be reading this: Madonna was in her prime in these years. This was pre-Madge, pre-Guy, pre-Malawi babies, etc. and the sister could sing. She had snagged Sean Penn and had yet to produce a book called "Sex."
Anyway, the video starts with our Lone (Fe)male sitting vs. standing in a dramatic, dark room. We can only see her perfectly coiffed blonde hair, the top of her floral dress and her face, which features her mouthing the words somewhat softly (despite the perfect lipstick). We soon cut to slices of the film At Close Range, which stars Christopher Walken and her first husband. They appear to be "shooting" buddies and we see them doing buddy things until the song takes a creepy turn (really, it is somewhat creepy—she could actually WRITE MUSIC back then) and we see Sean (who unfortunately looks 13) with a terrifying, evil look on his face, holding a gun to Christopher's head. Yikes. I can't remember exactly how the movie turns out (it was long ago that I saw it), but I know it didn't create as much tension as that brilliant 80s video did.
The moral of the story: it's a shame these videos (or at least the songs for them) outlasted the actual films they sought to promote. But it's more of a shame in the music video world that they just don't make 'em like they used to.
```
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Sin Nombre
Last night I saw Sin Nombre, the debut feature from writer/director Cary Fukunaga.
It was the topic of Cinebanter #70. Click here for that episode.
It was the topic of Cinebanter #70. Click here for that episode.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Earth
Today I saw Disney's Earth, starring polar bears, birds, caribou, walruses, buffalo, elephants, lynx, lions and whales.
Narrated by James Earl Jones, the 'story' here isn't as linear as March of the Penguins or various Animal Planet shows like Meerkat Manor, but it does take us through a year on our planet with the absence of humans (except for that voice, of course).
We start with a polar bear mother and her two cubs who are being introduced to the surface of the earth for the first time. It's hard to visualize these mammoth balls of fluffy fur as the notoriously mean creatures they really are when our first glimpse has them sliding helplessly across glaciers, struggling for footing, and frolicking about. But toward the end of the movie when we meet Dad attacking a mound of walruses with reckless abandon, we see how these families have long survived the conditions.
In another portion of the film, we watch a lone lynx creeping through an icy forest, searching for a rare meal. Later, a fuzzy family of lynx makes the initial peek seem like the cameras were pointed toward an uncommon Serial Killer Lynx, because these kids are just too darned cute to be evil.
But really, the moral of the story is: An Eye for an Eye.
I realize that nature is harsh and that all species are important to the food chain for whatever reason, but that didn't make it any easier for me to watch a wolf chase down a caribou calf and take a chunk out of its backside, or prevent me from tearing up when a baby elephant gets separated from its pack during a dust storm and follows the wrong trail to try to catch up with them.
What I'm saying is: if I had kids, I'm not quite sure I'd let them see this until they were 10 or 12.
There are some scary scenes in addition to the ones I just mentioned—lions roaring during a nighttime thunderstorm, another "chase" scene involving a cheetah that doesn't end well for the prey, etc. I found myself turning away much more than I'd expected.
That said, there are some amazing scenes I could've stared at all day, such as the birds of paradise who were "preparing for dates" with females and a humpback whale calf's first swim through its new home in the ocean.
The lengths the cameramen and women must have gone to to gain this footage is nothing short of impressive (and we see glimpses of them during the credits; hopefully there will be more footage on the eventual DVD), and sitting back and taking it all in, you really do realize just how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of this planet.
Even more of a reason to be good to our Mother Earth, if you ask me.
~~~
Narrated by James Earl Jones, the 'story' here isn't as linear as March of the Penguins or various Animal Planet shows like Meerkat Manor, but it does take us through a year on our planet with the absence of humans (except for that voice, of course).
We start with a polar bear mother and her two cubs who are being introduced to the surface of the earth for the first time. It's hard to visualize these mammoth balls of fluffy fur as the notoriously mean creatures they really are when our first glimpse has them sliding helplessly across glaciers, struggling for footing, and frolicking about. But toward the end of the movie when we meet Dad attacking a mound of walruses with reckless abandon, we see how these families have long survived the conditions.
In another portion of the film, we watch a lone lynx creeping through an icy forest, searching for a rare meal. Later, a fuzzy family of lynx makes the initial peek seem like the cameras were pointed toward an uncommon Serial Killer Lynx, because these kids are just too darned cute to be evil.
But really, the moral of the story is: An Eye for an Eye.
I realize that nature is harsh and that all species are important to the food chain for whatever reason, but that didn't make it any easier for me to watch a wolf chase down a caribou calf and take a chunk out of its backside, or prevent me from tearing up when a baby elephant gets separated from its pack during a dust storm and follows the wrong trail to try to catch up with them.
What I'm saying is: if I had kids, I'm not quite sure I'd let them see this until they were 10 or 12.
There are some scary scenes in addition to the ones I just mentioned—lions roaring during a nighttime thunderstorm, another "chase" scene involving a cheetah that doesn't end well for the prey, etc. I found myself turning away much more than I'd expected.
That said, there are some amazing scenes I could've stared at all day, such as the birds of paradise who were "preparing for dates" with females and a humpback whale calf's first swim through its new home in the ocean.
The lengths the cameramen and women must have gone to to gain this footage is nothing short of impressive (and we see glimpses of them during the credits; hopefully there will be more footage on the eventual DVD), and sitting back and taking it all in, you really do realize just how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of this planet.
Even more of a reason to be good to our Mother Earth, if you ask me.
~~~
Stick It in Detroit
This morning I saw Stick It in Detroit, starring and directed by Robert Phelps.
Todd (Phelps) is a factory worker in the city of Detroit. Like many men, he still hangs out with the same buddies from his neighborhood that he grew up with. None of them seem remotely as bright or promising as Todd, but this doesn't seem to matter to him. He has a steady job, a steady girlfriend and all is right with the world.
That is, until success comes knocking at his door. When he is offered a promotion in Georgia, he's forced to choose between abandoning his comfort zone (and probably his girlfriend, who isn't sweet on the idea of moving south) or taking an opportunity that may never arise again and bettering his career.
The concept of the movie is a good one; the execution left a lot to be desired.
As a film critic, I make no secret of the fact I detest bathroom humor. I'm not entirely against low-brow comedies (after all, I proudly own Airplane and Fast Times at Ridgemont High), I just don't find feces funny.
And therefore, folks like me are pretty much disqualified from finding genuine laughs within this movie.
Entire scenes are built around visits to the toilet, and other "fantasy" scenes that could be funny in another context, seem out of place among the vulgarity.
The acting and directing are fine, but unfortunately the story can't be saved by these two factors.
Obnoxious friends and dead-end lives just aren't my idea of quality comedy.
~~~
Todd (Phelps) is a factory worker in the city of Detroit. Like many men, he still hangs out with the same buddies from his neighborhood that he grew up with. None of them seem remotely as bright or promising as Todd, but this doesn't seem to matter to him. He has a steady job, a steady girlfriend and all is right with the world.
That is, until success comes knocking at his door. When he is offered a promotion in Georgia, he's forced to choose between abandoning his comfort zone (and probably his girlfriend, who isn't sweet on the idea of moving south) or taking an opportunity that may never arise again and bettering his career.
The concept of the movie is a good one; the execution left a lot to be desired.
As a film critic, I make no secret of the fact I detest bathroom humor. I'm not entirely against low-brow comedies (after all, I proudly own Airplane and Fast Times at Ridgemont High), I just don't find feces funny.
And therefore, folks like me are pretty much disqualified from finding genuine laughs within this movie.
Entire scenes are built around visits to the toilet, and other "fantasy" scenes that could be funny in another context, seem out of place among the vulgarity.
The acting and directing are fine, but unfortunately the story can't be saved by these two factors.
Obnoxious friends and dead-end lives just aren't my idea of quality comedy.
~~~
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Adventureland
Tonight I saw Adventureland, starring Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart.
James (Eisenberg) has just completed his college degree and looks forward to graduate school with aspirations of travel writing; his parents have recently fallen on hard times and tell him in no uncertain terms that if he plans to attend Columbia (where he's been accepted), he'll have to earn the tuition himself that summer. As he's always been the "mow the lawn for money" kind of kid, he has trouble finding work and ends up at Adventureland, a local amusement park with all of the typical rides, games and characters that come with such a place.
Assigned to "Games," James befriends fellow booth slaves Joel (Martin Starr), a Jewish athiest clearly too smart for the job, and Emily (Stewart), who will be headed to NYU in the fall, and just happens to be beautiful.
Without warning, James falls for Emily, and she for him, but the situation is complicated by the sexy maintenance man Connell (Ryan Reynolds), who is married, but sleeping with Emily.
James doesn't know this, nor does Emily know that James accepted a date with Lisa P. (Margarita Levieva), the resident hottie at Adventureland, when she hurt his feelings during a double date of theirs. Drama ensues.
Recounting it in those few paragraphs, this sounds like formulaic fluff with classic love triangles and summer romance conventions, but for some reason it plays better than that.
The chemistry between Eisenberg and Stewart does seem genuine—and that helps—but more than that, there's a heart that lies deeper in the characters, which enables us viewers to empathize instead of judge. Hasn't everyone made a mistake in a relationship at some point? Probably so, and though this film may make you remember those mistakes, it will also (hopefully) remind you that you have to learn some lessons before you get it right. That is, if your human.
Furthermore, the situations in Adventureland are completely believable, and even the silliest of characters (Frigo) are somewhat real, despite how obnoxious their behavior is.
And since the story takes place in the 80s, my nostalgia radar picked up on several relics from the past, which added a nice ambiance to the overall feel of the film. I recognized the plastic bracelets and heart earrings the girls were wearing, the headband Frigo was sporting, and appreciated the brilliant soundtrack featuring Falco and Crowded House, which played naturally in the background.
Adventureland is a refreshing change from the usual bathroom-humor-laden "college" films involving frat houses and shock jokes. Instead of gratuitous language, you have appropriately timed outbursts that may contain a word or two; instead of clichéd sex scenes, you witness kisses that you would remember all of your life if you were living as one of the characters.
I hope other filmmakers will take a cue and make more smart comedies like this one, that come with a side of heart.
James (Eisenberg) has just completed his college degree and looks forward to graduate school with aspirations of travel writing; his parents have recently fallen on hard times and tell him in no uncertain terms that if he plans to attend Columbia (where he's been accepted), he'll have to earn the tuition himself that summer. As he's always been the "mow the lawn for money" kind of kid, he has trouble finding work and ends up at Adventureland, a local amusement park with all of the typical rides, games and characters that come with such a place.
Assigned to "Games," James befriends fellow booth slaves Joel (Martin Starr), a Jewish athiest clearly too smart for the job, and Emily (Stewart), who will be headed to NYU in the fall, and just happens to be beautiful.
Without warning, James falls for Emily, and she for him, but the situation is complicated by the sexy maintenance man Connell (Ryan Reynolds), who is married, but sleeping with Emily.
James doesn't know this, nor does Emily know that James accepted a date with Lisa P. (Margarita Levieva), the resident hottie at Adventureland, when she hurt his feelings during a double date of theirs. Drama ensues.
Recounting it in those few paragraphs, this sounds like formulaic fluff with classic love triangles and summer romance conventions, but for some reason it plays better than that.
The chemistry between Eisenberg and Stewart does seem genuine—and that helps—but more than that, there's a heart that lies deeper in the characters, which enables us viewers to empathize instead of judge. Hasn't everyone made a mistake in a relationship at some point? Probably so, and though this film may make you remember those mistakes, it will also (hopefully) remind you that you have to learn some lessons before you get it right. That is, if your human.
Furthermore, the situations in Adventureland are completely believable, and even the silliest of characters (Frigo) are somewhat real, despite how obnoxious their behavior is.
And since the story takes place in the 80s, my nostalgia radar picked up on several relics from the past, which added a nice ambiance to the overall feel of the film. I recognized the plastic bracelets and heart earrings the girls were wearing, the headband Frigo was sporting, and appreciated the brilliant soundtrack featuring Falco and Crowded House, which played naturally in the background.
Adventureland is a refreshing change from the usual bathroom-humor-laden "college" films involving frat houses and shock jokes. Instead of gratuitous language, you have appropriately timed outbursts that may contain a word or two; instead of clichéd sex scenes, you witness kisses that you would remember all of your life if you were living as one of the characters.
I hope other filmmakers will take a cue and make more smart comedies like this one, that come with a side of heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)