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.
Monday, September 28, 2009
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.
~~~
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