Month: January 2014

Not since American Pie has the all-American baked classic received this much attention in a film. In Labor Day, pastry dominates the vacuum created by a movie that wears its heart on its sleeve and ought to hide its melodramatic script in a drawer.

When he’s not Mr Fix-it-up-er or mopping their hardwood floor, escaped convict Josh Brolin is old-fashioned kidnapping Kate Winslet and her young-teenage son (Gattlin Griffith) after abducting them in a supermarket. Winslet hardly seems the type to talk to strangers, mind you. In fact she hardly seems the type to talk to practically anyone about much of anything. So when Brolin conjures up a wicked-looking chili out if kitchen scraps and a pot of coffee, we know where this is heading. By the time he roll up his sleeves and shows off his peach pie pedigree, Winslet is hooked. A few neighbors roll by checking in on Winslet and the boy but they come up empty in the Sherlock Holmes department. J. K. Simmons, biding his time here until his turn in the forthcoming Sundance winner, Whiplash, plays a concerned neighbor who might have played a larger role in this if director Jason Reitman wasn’t taking a day off from the superior screenplays he directed in Up In The Air and Juno.

By the time anyone figures out there’s something amis in the Winslet household, Brolin’s already schmoozed Winslet into waking out of her neurotic funk and personifying the Stockholm Syndrome. Some of his shaking her into experiencing genuine feelings for apparently the first time in ages seems believable. With two actors this good, Labor Day intermittently comes close to convincing. Then, just as quickly, like gnawing background noise, the screenplay’s overriding conceit comes right back to the fore. There’s just no getting over the soap opera quotient that is always bubbling under the surface. Sure, Brolin convinces that he’s quite a nice guy who must have had a good reason to commit the murder that gets him locked in the slammer for more than a decade. Furthermore, the always solid Winslet has no trouble throwing down enough emotionally troubled vibes that make it easy to grasp her vulnerability. When they perform a sensual dance together it sure is tempting to root for them.

Maybe at the very least Winslet can do conjugal visits in Labor Day 2 after Brolin gets thrown back into jail. Then after she bakes him a few pies, Brolin can pull a Jeckyl/Hyde and transform into his character in Old Boy. As ridiculous as that sounds, it’s no more ludicrous than the dollops of sentimentality that pervade Labor Day like a pie in the face.

3 Peachy Crushes (out of 5)

James doesn’t like Ben (Kevin Hart), who lives with James’ dishy sister. James (Ice Cube) is a real cop and a bit of a rogue one at that. Ben’s only notion of police work comes from his advanced knowledge of video games yet he’s somehow just been accepted into Atlanta’s police academy. In the first of many happy yet hackneyed scenes, we learn of Ben’s addiction to these games when his sizzling betrothed, Angela (Tika Sumpter) has to beg for his attention. Many cliched scenes soon follow as James takes Ben on a ride-along to kill two birds with one stone by discouraging him from a criminal justice career while keeping at bay the prospect of a wimpy brother-in-law.

Saving the film from disaster is pretty decent chemistry between stoic James and self-conscious Ben. It reminds one of The Heat, another film where odd-couple interaction between the leads trumped less than stellar material. Hart is no Melissa McCarthy but he’s sporadically hilarious and steadily watchable. (Bracing oneself for the doldrums of January/February movie releases, half the battle is to grade them on a “winter curve” of sorts. The alternative–to hibernate in front of TCM until the spring and ignore the whole batch–admittedly isn’t very sporting.)

Hart keeps throwing the viewer a life jacket when he repeatedly attempts to go all macho and comes up humiliated and scared. Like Curley in The Three Stooges or the immortal Stan Laurel, he’s the little guy trying to act brave in nasty situations. His first episode of whistling past the graveyard involves him trying to disperse a nasty looking group of bikers. When he mistakes a bearded female biker for a guy, two notions immediately take hold: Hart is a funny physical actor. And we’re in for a long movie.

By the time Laurence Fishburne rolls in we’ve had a few more simpering scenes. One involves a crazy man in a supermarket who keeps smashing things to the ground while disrobing and eventually rubbing honey all over his body. Ice Cube all but rolls his eyes as Hart gets tangled up with the honey and needs to get rescued himself. Then we’re suddenly thrown into a warehouse scene that felt so lengthy I began to wonder if it was a movie within a movie. Fishburn seems to suffer from the unnamed but totally familiar affliction of pointing guns at people but never pulling the trigger. John Leguizamo, who plays a Latin stereotype, also transforms into Hamlet whenever he’s got a gun to someone’s head.

Things come full circle when Angela re-enters the film as –what else?–a woman taken hostage. At gunpoint. Ride Along does its best take the viewer hostage as well but Hart puts his foot down. His silly ass saves. (If you insist on attending January films).

2.5 Buddy Films With Extra Comedy and Action On The Side (out of 5)

In this John Wells adaptation of Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer-prize winning play, The Weston family, long-marinated in misery and malevolence, let it all out at a post-funeral meal. The verbal fireworks are ugly enough to make the most dysfunctional family seem rather normal by comparison. A testimony to the bounty of Meryl Streep’s extraordinary talent and strong buttressing performances by Julia Roberts and a fine supporting cast, August: Osage County scorches. Were you to believe some of the prevalent critical opinion, it has all the cachet of numerous other misguided adaptations of acclaimed stage productions. I heartily disagree.

With all the charm of a rattlesnake, Violet Weston is pretty much losing her grip. She’s a cancer patient/pill addict/truth-telling scourge who’s not even above screwing her own daughters out of their inheritances. Just when it seems she’s out of it, she comes to life with an extra clarity that pierces through the comfort zones of her three daughters, her sister, and their families. If you don’t mind feeling more than a little uncomfortable, there are great rewards here. Roberts is better than she’s ever been and Streep continues to amaze. Their mother/daughter dynamic rollicks with tension on the surface–then hints at underlying subtleties underneath. Has Roberts run away because she sees in her mom a frightening reminder of herself?

Roberts has moved out of the Pawhuska, Oklahoma locale of her hometown to get away from Streep, only to find herself returning for the funeral of her poet father (Sam Shepard). Her siblings Juliette Lewis (zanily affected) and Julianne Nicholson (boringly earnest) bring their own entirely different dramas to the table, as does Streep’s sister, Margo Martindale. Martindale’s husband Chris Cooper seems to be the only calm and sane presence. He’s a joy to watch as he does his best to quietly harness the worst of the vituperative pyrotechnics. Then, in a truly mesmerizing scene, he steps up when you least expect it.

Mostly, though, it’s just plain fun watching Streep have such a good time trashing everyone else to smithereens. Whether she’s wearing a ludicrous wig or sporting her chemo-strewn natural ‘do, there lurks a streak of charming vitality throughout her roaring and shrieking spitefulness. Her despairing rants are those of a sad yet proud survivor. She clings to what’s left of her life one insult at a time.

4 Fussing Family Feuds Fantastic (out of 5)

It’s no joke that Scarlett Johansson is generating Oscar buzz as Samantha in Her despite the sum of her role consisting of a remarkable voice but not one visual appearance. Instead, she provides the distinctive, albeit disembodied voice of a computer operating system. Convincingly conveying the notion that she possesses an autonomous consciousness, Johansson gives an adorable, insightful performance.

Her is written and directed by the wildly inventive Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation). Fresh off an acting role in The Wolf of Wall Street, Jonze once again appears in this film. Savvy cinephiles may recognize that Jones provides the voice of a cyber-character.

Her also stars Joaquin Phoenix as Theodore Twombly. Twombley’s a nerdy yet sensitive “letter writer” for BeautifulHandwrittenLetters.com. Theodore is vulnerable yet instinctive, and above all, tender. He’s good at writing romantic letters because he understands people’s sweet spots. Once the sexy and savvy yet innocent Samantha gets a hold of him, he’s toast.

Jonze’s screenplay approaches the notion of sexual attraction from a new angle. Here he removes the visual component and relies exclusively on the aural to unleash the powers of Theodore’s imagination. For Theodore, Samantha is a perfect match. She can tune into his emotional needs in a manner that proves both perceptive and humorous. She also smoothly leads the interactions while giving Theodore the illusion that he is actually leading. The “games” Samantha plays work on such an ideal level, they are highly prone to lose their footing once a physical surrogate (Portia Doubleday) is introduced, or the perfect machine begins to develop the all-too-human qualities of growth and self-doubt. “I don’t like who I am right now,” says Samantha at a key juncture. “I need time to think.” Conflicting needs will drive a wedge through the “perfect” machine/human relationship just as assuredly as they would unravel a human/human encounter.

What begins with the tropes of a human-potential movement sensitivity session turns itself on its head. Jonze makes the unusual relationship seem perfectly integrated into Theodore’s peer group while convincingly juxtaposing Theodore’s deep-seated doubts. One moment he and Samantha are on a hilarious double date with his co-worker and his girlfriend, who take Samantha in stride while communicating with her via cellphone. The next moment Theodore’s morose with the realization that Samantha is no Catherine (his ex, a very good Rooney Mara). In fact, she’s at the very least a different species, and, it’s increasingly clear, one who’s fundamentally destined for remoteness. Theodore talks about the aftermath of the “honeymoon phase” when Samantha complains they aren’t having as frequent sex. The experiment between he and Samantha itself undergoes a very similar transformation. It’s funny, it’s tender and exhilarating; then it’s awkward and off-center. Heightened sensitivity morphs into the desensitized commonplace, mirroring a familiar trajectory of a traditional relationship. Its tragedy feels more intense because it started off so ground-breakingly promising.

Jonze offers often uncanny insight into the emotional alphabet of romantic relationships. The insecurities and reassurances, the flirting and fulfillments of a budding relationship all seem stone-cold real. Does Jonze seems less assured when he’s demonstrating the societal effects of intimate internal interacting with a hyper-technology? Lured by a perfect first half where Jonze’s premise never seems on shaky grounds, it may seem so. Yet what seems like an arbitrary aside to go global actually works to achieve an alarmist view of a world gone out of kilter while no one notices. In street scenes preoccupied pedestrians talk with their devices throughout the film. In fact they seem to do nothing but talk with their devices.

Far removed from his manufactured misanthropic persona in the pseudo-documentary I’m Still Here, Phoenix rocks brilliantly here. His interactions with pal Amy (Amy Adams, excellent as always) who herself is experiencing a budding cyber-relationship, are fraught with gentle affections of a more straightforward sort than those with Samantha. Yet nothing is obvious. His journey from despair to euphoria and onto something else entirely would have felt dangerously superficial in the hands of most other actors.

Theodore forces us to relate to his notion that “sometimes I think I’ve felt everything I’m going to feel…and the future will only offer lesser versions of what I’ve already felt.” For Theodore to discover that he was anything but unique in experiencing the delights of Samantha is a sad revelation indeed. Her warp-speed ability in processing the everyday (she reads an entire book in two-hundredths of a second) should have been a tip-off she’d also be out on some different plane regarding the important stuff. If you think love is blind, watch out for the machine.

4.5 “Pretty” Love Machines and High-Waist Pants (out of 5)

Perusing the dozens of Best Film Top Ten lists, I’m struck with the same sentiment as in years past:

Some cockamamy choices indeed! Far be it from me to stand in judgement of anyone who seriously included Only God Forgives or The Counselor, as more than one prominent critic has. They must simply be the smartest critics in the room, grasping a hidden angle that no one else got–more power to them! On a similar vein, I can appreciate the out-of-the-box nature of To The Wonder and Leviathan, and even Upstream Color enough to bend over backwards offering respect to particular visions of filmmaking that, while essentially unsatisfying, at least bend the rules to an extent they extend for consideration a new thesis of filmmaking.

In compiling a Best of the Year list, however, vision is only one of several criteria. Artistry that lends itself to watchability as much as to experimentation must, in this humble observer’s view be given at least equal if not extra weight.

Thus my of course subjective list, where my main criteria is how hard a film hit me–whether dramatically or comedically, or both, and, as the ice cream on the cake how unique its concept was, with craftsmanship always important.

Best Dozen (ranked): Before Midnight, American Hustle, Gravity, Blue Is The Warmest Color, 12 Years A Slave, Blue Jasmine, Short Term 12, Stories We Tell, The Spectacular Now, This Is The End, The Wolf of Wall Street & Mother of George

Next Dozen: The Way Way Back, Mud, Deceptive Practices: The Mysteries and Mentors of Ricky Jay, August: Osage County, Prisoners, Side Effects, Disconnect, Dallas Buyers Club, Nebraska, Frances Ha, The Great Beauty, Sightseers

Honorable Mentions: Enough Said, Frozen, Captain Phillips, A Hijacking, 20 Feet From Stardom, Kings of Summer, All is Lost, Computer Chess

Best Films of 2014 (so far): Young and Beautiful, Stranger On The Lake, Like Father Like Son

 

Best Lead Actor:

Matthew McConaughey, Dallas Buyers Club

Chiwetel Ejiofor, 12 Years a Slave

Toni Servillo, The Great Beauty

Tom Hanks, Captain Phillips

Leonardo DiCaprio, The Wolf of Wall Street

Miles Teller, The Spectacular Now

Best Lead Actress:

Kate Blanchett, Blue Jasmine

Adele Exarchopoulos, Blue Is The Warmest Color

Julie Delpy, Before Midnight

Brie Larson, Short Term 12

Amy Adams, American Hustle

Meryl Streep, August: Osage County

Best Supporting Actor:

Jared Leto, Dallas Buyers Club

Michael Fassbender, 12 Years a Slave

James Franco, Spring Breakers

Bradley Cooper, American Hustle

Sam Rockwell, The Way Way Back

James Gandolfini, Enough Said

Best Supporting Actress:

Lea Seydoux, Blue Is The Warmest Color

Jennifer Lawrence, American Hustle

June Squibb, Nebraska

Julia Roberts, August: Osage County

Sally Hawkins, Blue Jasmine

Lupita Nyong’o, 12 Years a Slave

Favorite Scenes of 2013

Tom Hanks on the examination table at the conclusion of Captain Phillips. Jennifer Lawrence and Amy Adams finally meeting in the lady’s room in American Hustle. Toni Servillo picking apart his haughty socialite adversary with subtle yet devastating style in The Great Beauty. Leonardo DiCaprio hosting aboard his yacht the FBI agent who’s investigating him in The Wolf of Wall Street. A distracted, frazzled Cate Blanchett talking the ear off of her seatmate aboard the plane at the outset of Blue Jasmine. In Blue Is The Warmest Color, the cafe scene between Adele Exarchopoulos and Lea Seydoux, leaving Exarchopoulos possibly wiser, infinitely sadder.

Highly fond of recent Coen Brothers efforts Burn After Reading, A Serious Man, and True Grit, I looked forward to their latest offering. Taking place in the pre-Dylan folk music milieu of early 60s Greenwich Village coffeehouses, Inside Llewyn Davis has much bark: it’s musical numbers–and insufficient bite: its story of a dour, shrugging sad sack intent on making it in the business yet quick to allow his quirky, self-destructive behavior to hold him back. The film certainly has its moments, including a spellbinding small turn by John Goodman, but I fail to share the extent of the love it’s been given by much of the critical establishment in vaunting it to the near top of the year’s releases in year-end polling.

“It’s not new music and it never gets old,” Llewyn (a sound Oscar Isaac) explains. Most of the songs performed are folk standards with Ewan MacColl’s “Shoals of Herring” (which Davis sings to his catatonic father) and “The Death of Queen Jane” standing out. “Dink’s Song: Fare Thee Well” is performed three times during the film, and a couple of Dave Van Ronk (who was the loose inspiration for the Davis character) tunes and a Tom Paxton song add to the mix. The film contains a Peter, Paul, and Mary take-off as well as representations of fellow folk scene hallmarks the Kingston Trio, The Clancy Brothers and Jean Richie. The latter two acts are referred to by Davis as “four micks and Grandma Moses”. His disdain for his performer counterparts, will, by film’s end, result in him heckling the Richie-like character and yelling out loud at her concert, “I hate fuckin’ folk music.” The film’s cleverest song, “Please Please Mr. Kennedy (Don’t Shoot Me Into Outer Space)” was also the one altered for the film from its original form as an anti-draft song. Similarly, heavyweight leftist folk singers of the time like Pete Seeger and Tom Lehrer, are nowhere to be found.

Kindly put, Davis’s human interactions are hit and miss. His sister keeps throwing him out after he curses in front of her kids, the girl he just got pregnant (Carey Mulligan) is hyper-pissed at him in no small part because her boyfriend (Justin Timberlale) is Davis’ friend and benefactor, who keeps finding Llewyn studio gigs; and make-or-break talent bookers (F. Murray Abraham as Bud Grossman, an obvious clone of legendary Albert Grossman) reject him. He also insults the wife of the uptown denizen and Columbia professor Mitch Gorfein (Ethan Phillips), not long after losing their cat, Ulysses. Ulysses will keep showing up in the film almost as frequently as Professor Gorfein and forgiving spouse Lillian (Robin Bartlett) inexplicably keep inviting Llewyn back. For this viewer, the Ulysses device came off as dull as it sounds.

Equally drab is the complete lack of drive on Llewyn’s part. It takes a nearly superfluous scene in terms of Llewyn’s story arc to enliven the proceedings as Goodman’s sardonic wild jazz guy spends the whole time trashing Davis. Unlike the lead characters in previous Coen films, such as A Serious Man,whose victimization wasn’t matched by an equally intense self-absorption, Llewyn seems to quietly revel in his rut. Perhaps that’s the Coen Brothers’ point.

Yet the feeling lingers that after the atypical-for-the-Coens runaway success of True Grit, the brothers may be engaged in a little purposeful, compensating obliqueness. As reticent as True Grit was straightforward, Inside Llewyn Davis, while effective in fits and starts, unfortunately takes on the personality of its lead character.

3.5 First There Was Folk, Then There Was Dylan (out of 5)