Today I saw Pain and Glory, starring Antonio Banderas and Penelope Cruz.
Salvador (Banderas) is an aging film director who is suffering a rapid decline in health. Through a series of events, he looks back on his life—both with fondness and regret—over many of the choices he's made.
I seldom look at the time during Pedro Almodovar films, but I'm sad to say that I did during this one.
Though Banderas is wonderful in the role, it feels like we're watching a dreary loop of his past, which is both easy to anticipate and anticlimactic to experience.
It's easy to see that Almodovar wanted to cover big themes (as he usually tends to do), addressing desire, betrayal, death, etc. but he approaches it with a frustratingly slow pace, which does no favors for the audience's attention span.
The pockets of humor were well-executed, but too far and few between to keep the overall vibe light enough.
A disappointing result from such a talented team of filmmakers.
~~~
Showing posts with label Penelope Cruz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Penelope Cruz. Show all posts
Saturday, January 18, 2020
Monday, November 27, 2017
Murder on the Orient Express
On Tuesday, I saw Murder on the Orient Express, starring Johnny Depp and Michelle Pfeiffer.
A story that has survived since Agatha Christie's book of the same name was published in 1934, this Murder may have been better off left in the past. With an all-star cast and a star director (Kenneth Branagh), it was almost doomed to fail. And unfortunately, fail it did.
The mystique and character of a Christie novel is admittedly hard to bring to life, but you'd think with such a talented bunch it would happen. It didn't.
Instead of truly "wondering" who committed this heinous act on a glamorous train filled with people of status, the audience spends time hoping something—the train, the plot, the dialogue—will speed up. The quiet, slow pace isn't suspense-building (as it may have been intended); instead it's nerve-wracking.
The cinematography is beautiful, and the actors do their parts well, of course. It just wasn't enough to save it (or the victim) in the end.
~~~
A story that has survived since Agatha Christie's book of the same name was published in 1934, this Murder may have been better off left in the past. With an all-star cast and a star director (Kenneth Branagh), it was almost doomed to fail. And unfortunately, fail it did.
The mystique and character of a Christie novel is admittedly hard to bring to life, but you'd think with such a talented bunch it would happen. It didn't.
Instead of truly "wondering" who committed this heinous act on a glamorous train filled with people of status, the audience spends time hoping something—the train, the plot, the dialogue—will speed up. The quiet, slow pace isn't suspense-building (as it may have been intended); instead it's nerve-wracking.
The cinematography is beautiful, and the actors do their parts well, of course. It just wasn't enough to save it (or the victim) in the end.
~~~
Friday, January 01, 2010
Broken Embraces
Today I saw Broken Embraces, starring Penélope Cruz and Lluis Hómar.
Magdalena (Cruz) is a secretary who wishes to be an actress. Ernesto (José Luis Gomez) is her wealthy boss, and the man who helped her family when her father grew gravely ill. She repays him by becoming his live-in mistress. Ernesto also has an annoying son (Rubén Ochandiano) who acts as his lap dog.
Mateo (Homar), a charismatic film director, no longer goes by that name. Since the accident that caused his blindness, he's been Harry Caine. He is taken care of by his agent Judit (Blanca Portillo) and her son Diego (Tamar Novas).
Through a series of flashbacks that rewind their lives back to 1992, we see how all of their worlds fit together. Director Pedro Almodóvar does this in such a way that you can't get lost in one era or the other—you're always clear on "when" you are mostly due to Mateo's eyesight or lack thereof (though I did wonder why he wore a non-digital wristwatch in one of his blind scenes).
There is love, betrayal, jealousy, anger, violence, sex, nudity, sensuality, humor, sentiment, creativity, redemption, resolution and color. Lots and lots of color.
From the cherry red suit Lena wears to the rich blues of the beach and the vibrant crosses that grace the walls of two of the main characters' homes, with few exceptions, this movie is drenched in prominent hues.
Those hues help distinguish when we're watching Mateo's movies from when we're lounging in the mansion, or making love at the beach house. They help the characters express their feelings, though we may not realize it until after it's happened.
All of the players are well cast and especially nice to watch is Lluis Homar, who moves seamlessly between a man with sight and a man without. And though I've seen Cruz do better work, it almost wouldn't feel like an Almodóvar film if she weren't the token siren.
You won't get bored in this one, and you'll delight in the aural assault of its visuals.
Magdalena (Cruz) is a secretary who wishes to be an actress. Ernesto (José Luis Gomez) is her wealthy boss, and the man who helped her family when her father grew gravely ill. She repays him by becoming his live-in mistress. Ernesto also has an annoying son (Rubén Ochandiano) who acts as his lap dog.
Mateo (Homar), a charismatic film director, no longer goes by that name. Since the accident that caused his blindness, he's been Harry Caine. He is taken care of by his agent Judit (Blanca Portillo) and her son Diego (Tamar Novas).
Through a series of flashbacks that rewind their lives back to 1992, we see how all of their worlds fit together. Director Pedro Almodóvar does this in such a way that you can't get lost in one era or the other—you're always clear on "when" you are mostly due to Mateo's eyesight or lack thereof (though I did wonder why he wore a non-digital wristwatch in one of his blind scenes).
There is love, betrayal, jealousy, anger, violence, sex, nudity, sensuality, humor, sentiment, creativity, redemption, resolution and color. Lots and lots of color.
From the cherry red suit Lena wears to the rich blues of the beach and the vibrant crosses that grace the walls of two of the main characters' homes, with few exceptions, this movie is drenched in prominent hues.
Those hues help distinguish when we're watching Mateo's movies from when we're lounging in the mansion, or making love at the beach house. They help the characters express their feelings, though we may not realize it until after it's happened.
All of the players are well cast and especially nice to watch is Lluis Homar, who moves seamlessly between a man with sight and a man without. And though I've seen Cruz do better work, it almost wouldn't feel like an Almodóvar film if she weren't the token siren.
You won't get bored in this one, and you'll delight in the aural assault of its visuals.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Nine
Today I saw Nine, starring Daniel Day-Lewis and a slew of women.
Director Guido Contini (Day-Lewis) has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He believes this is because he is about to make another film, but really it's because he can't successfully manage his addiction to women.
We meet each of the ladies in his life through a series of musical numbers and brief encounters with him. His mistress (Penelope Cruz) gets the most screen time.
Really, there's not much of a story here and therein lies the problem. A famous, handsome director is approaching a state of nervous breakdown because he has it all and "all" turns out to be too much.
His wife Louisa (Marion Cotillard), aside from being beautiful, does nothing to convince us that he wouldn't get bored being married to her. She's alternately obedient and disobedient, then finally unwilling to look the other way at her husband's transgressions. He probably truly loves her, but then again, he probably truly loves all of them.
A consistent ear for him comes in the form of Lilli (Dame Judi Dench), a wise costume designer that sees not only his aesthetic vision, but also his wandering eye. She provides a motherly like counsel for him while his real mother (Sophia Loren) appears to be paraded out into numbers just so we can marvel at how beautiful she still is.
In the not-sure-why-they're-even-there department we find a Vogue writer named Stephanie (Kate Hudson) who offers possibly the best dance sequence, though shows no evidence beyond physical attraction that she has a connection with Guido. There's also a very random number with the voluptuous Saraghina (Fergie), an apparent beach recluse who enabled the younger Guido to learn about women. She's easily the best singer of the bunch (no surprise there), but her performance feels underutilized because she barely moves from her dancing chair.
Also on screen is the director's muse, Claudia (Nicole Kidman) who serves as nothing more than a reminder that Guido likes beautiful women. Hey, guess what? We already knew that.
His most believable and developed relationship is with his mistress Carla, who truly loves him despite her own marriage. He treats her as men typically treat their mistresses: hiding her away and orchestrating her every move, then forgetting about her once he's had his fill of the sex and adoration only a good mistress can provide. And yes, there are always consequences for all involved.
The shame about this movie is the amount of Oscar® caliber talent that shares the screen, but with the exception of Day-Lewis, doesn't get to prove it. He is amazing in whatever he does and this role is no different—in fact, the most delightful thing about Nine is finally seeing him act as a somewhat traditional leading man. He's sexy, he's well-dressed, he hasn't killed anyone (that we know of) and good God, he even sings!
But it's not enough to make up for this pieced-together series of vignettes that are too weak to amount to a quality musical.
Director Guido Contini (Day-Lewis) has the weight of the world on his shoulders. He believes this is because he is about to make another film, but really it's because he can't successfully manage his addiction to women.
We meet each of the ladies in his life through a series of musical numbers and brief encounters with him. His mistress (Penelope Cruz) gets the most screen time.
Really, there's not much of a story here and therein lies the problem. A famous, handsome director is approaching a state of nervous breakdown because he has it all and "all" turns out to be too much.
His wife Louisa (Marion Cotillard), aside from being beautiful, does nothing to convince us that he wouldn't get bored being married to her. She's alternately obedient and disobedient, then finally unwilling to look the other way at her husband's transgressions. He probably truly loves her, but then again, he probably truly loves all of them.
A consistent ear for him comes in the form of Lilli (Dame Judi Dench), a wise costume designer that sees not only his aesthetic vision, but also his wandering eye. She provides a motherly like counsel for him while his real mother (Sophia Loren) appears to be paraded out into numbers just so we can marvel at how beautiful she still is.
In the not-sure-why-they're-even-there department we find a Vogue writer named Stephanie (Kate Hudson) who offers possibly the best dance sequence, though shows no evidence beyond physical attraction that she has a connection with Guido. There's also a very random number with the voluptuous Saraghina (Fergie), an apparent beach recluse who enabled the younger Guido to learn about women. She's easily the best singer of the bunch (no surprise there), but her performance feels underutilized because she barely moves from her dancing chair.
Also on screen is the director's muse, Claudia (Nicole Kidman) who serves as nothing more than a reminder that Guido likes beautiful women. Hey, guess what? We already knew that.
His most believable and developed relationship is with his mistress Carla, who truly loves him despite her own marriage. He treats her as men typically treat their mistresses: hiding her away and orchestrating her every move, then forgetting about her once he's had his fill of the sex and adoration only a good mistress can provide. And yes, there are always consequences for all involved.
The shame about this movie is the amount of Oscar® caliber talent that shares the screen, but with the exception of Day-Lewis, doesn't get to prove it. He is amazing in whatever he does and this role is no different—in fact, the most delightful thing about Nine is finally seeing him act as a somewhat traditional leading man. He's sexy, he's well-dressed, he hasn't killed anyone (that we know of) and good God, he even sings!
But it's not enough to make up for this pieced-together series of vignettes that are too weak to amount to a quality musical.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Today I saw Vicky Cristina Barcelona, starring Javier Bardem and Scarlett Johansson.
The writer and director of this film, Woody Allen, is to me the Prince (as in Artist-formerly-known-as) of the film industry: he has a writing style all his own, he's quirky, he's short, he's neurotic and he cranks out more material than the vast majority of his contemporaries. The material-cranking is a good thing for those who are entertained by everything he does; not so much for true film connoisseurs. But the law of probability does work in his favor from time to time, and this movie is no exception.
Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Johansson) are American friends who spend a summer in Barcelona. Early in the trip they meet Juan Antonio (Bardem), a Bohemian artist who has eyes for both of them. Though Cristina is the one clearly suited for him, the soon-to-marry Vicky becomes conflicted by her feelings for him as well. And that's all before Juan's ex-wife Maria Elena (Penélope Cruz), who is prone to attempting murder and suicide, returns to her former home.
There are so many minor twists and turns that take place, it would be spoiling the film to reveal them, but I will say that in the true spirit of Woody Allen, there is plenty of sex, love, passion, confusion, indifference and unsatisfaction among the characters.
The movie moves at a pleasantly quick place, breezing through Spain as if on a cruise of the country, and the performances are excellent by all. Bardem is especially charming with his refreshing comedic deliverance during scenes with Cruz.
All in all, this dialogue-driven ride is just a story about a few friends and lovers, but it's certainly a fun tale to witness.
The writer and director of this film, Woody Allen, is to me the Prince (as in Artist-formerly-known-as) of the film industry: he has a writing style all his own, he's quirky, he's short, he's neurotic and he cranks out more material than the vast majority of his contemporaries. The material-cranking is a good thing for those who are entertained by everything he does; not so much for true film connoisseurs. But the law of probability does work in his favor from time to time, and this movie is no exception.
Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Johansson) are American friends who spend a summer in Barcelona. Early in the trip they meet Juan Antonio (Bardem), a Bohemian artist who has eyes for both of them. Though Cristina is the one clearly suited for him, the soon-to-marry Vicky becomes conflicted by her feelings for him as well. And that's all before Juan's ex-wife Maria Elena (Penélope Cruz), who is prone to attempting murder and suicide, returns to her former home.
There are so many minor twists and turns that take place, it would be spoiling the film to reveal them, but I will say that in the true spirit of Woody Allen, there is plenty of sex, love, passion, confusion, indifference and unsatisfaction among the characters.
The movie moves at a pleasantly quick place, breezing through Spain as if on a cruise of the country, and the performances are excellent by all. Bardem is especially charming with his refreshing comedic deliverance during scenes with Cruz.
All in all, this dialogue-driven ride is just a story about a few friends and lovers, but it's certainly a fun tale to witness.
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