May 7, 2013
Side Effects

2013, Steven Soderbergh

If his statements about his retirement remain true, Side Effects is the last theatrically released film we’re ever going to be seeing from Steven Soderbergh. While it will be a damn shame not to be treated to his incredible versatility and bottomless talent as a filmmaker any longer, he sure went out on one hell of a high point. Looking at the trailers and marketing for Side Effects would have you believe that the film was going to be about a young woman named Emily Taylor (played by Rooney Mara) who suffers from an addiction to anti-anxiety medication that she begins taking due to the pressure of her husband Martin (Channing Tatum) being released from prison. With Jude Law cast as her psychiatrist Jonathan Banks, it was given all the appearance of an addiction thriller that would be centered around a lambasting criticism of pharmaceutical companies and modern America’s over-reliance on prescribed medication to deal with the dilemmas that occur in our daily lives and the potential risks involved within that. 

While this social commentary does serve as a running theme throughout the film, Side Effects is ultimately a world away from what the marketing would lead you to believe it to be. This isn’t me criticizing the marketing, but actually the exact opposite. It’s hard to really give too many details regarding the plot of the film, as the first act ends with a major twist that sends things careening into a vastly different direction than one would expect and that first shock is nothing in comparison to the ones that bring Emily and Jonathan’s story in a vast array of startling and unpredictable directions. The beauty of the marketing is that these days so many studios are afraid that audiences won’t come to see their films without knowing everything about them beforehand, so they spoil major twists or show the entire narrative in a two-minute trailer and basically rob the audience of any reason to go and see the film in the first place. The trailers for Side Effects, however, are almost entirely constructed out of events that take place within that first act alone and don’t touch on the events that occur after that first big gut punch of a twist. 

I won’t go into those plot details here, but I will say that Side Effects is the first film in a long time where I had absolutely no idea where it was going to take me next and as a result I was pinned up on the edge of my seat for the entire duration of it. With every jaw-dropping revelation came another twist in the narrative momentum, yet it was constantly pushing forward without slowing down to take a breath and still never felt as though it was rushing too quickly for me to keep up. Written by frequent Soderbergh collaborator Scott Z. Burns (who had actually planned the film to be his feature directorial debut before handing it over to his pal), the sharply written script takes a wonderfully economic approach to layering out all of the many turns that the narrative takes and allows the audience to catch up before switching things again into yet another surprising direction. As I said earlier, I had no idea where this story was going to go from one scene to the next and it made for one of the most exciting and focused viewings I’ve had in quite some time. 

A film like this, one that contains so many shocking turns, enters itself down a path with a lot of room for mistakes, but again it is to Scott’s major credit that it never gets too messy or contrived through any of the proceedings. There are surprises galore, but none of it ever feels like a gimmick, nothing that seems to exist purely for the intention of shocking the audience. Every twist is vital for the story as it is measured out and it’s the rare kind of twisting narrative that feels natural in its construction, rather than the large majority of “twist films” that seem to have been built purely out of that twist itself and consequently had the rest of the film lazily structured around that big reveal. Burns doesn’t build everything up to one big twist at the end or hit you with too many in a row, but rather evens it all out with a kind of rhythm that keeps moving steadily and doesn’t let your heart rest but also doesn’t fry your brain with too many turns. 

Along with the efficiency in the narrative itself, one of the many great things about Side Effects is in the depth that it brings to its characters. The film centers around both Jonathan and Emily, with each getting plenty of spotlight and their own paths to embark down. It’s tricky here to go into much detail on the brilliance of this without spoiling anything, but the two characters are polar opposites and the way that Burns and the actors handle their portrayals compliment each other so well while remaining in stark contrast to one another. There’s an openness to Law’s portrayal in which the actor wears all of his emotions on his sleeve and keeps the audience in his corner and fighting on his side when the chips are stacked against him, while Emily’s fragile mental state makes her harder to read and even more fascinating to try and decipher. 

I was admittedly not a fan of Mara’s Oscar-nominated work in David Fincher’s The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo so I went into this a bit wary of how much I was going to be able to admire her work, but she caught me off guard with a truly magnificent performance that I had no idea she was capable of. Suffice it to say I am definitely starting to see what these top directors in the industry are seeing in her, and if she can deliver more work of this caliber than I can easily see her becoming one of my favorites in short time. Her performance is probably the hardest to get into with much detail, but she is so incredibly believable and layered through every facet of her portrayal and her performance only becomes leagues more impressive as more of the plot is revealed and we discover more in regards to her state of mind. It’s one of those performances that starts off strong and only gains in excellence when you get to the end and are able to look back on how she built this character from start to finish. Truly phenomenal performances from both of them, one that I expected and one that I had no idea I was in for. 

The script and the performances alone could have held Side Effects up to a very high standard, but it’s no surprise that Soderbergh doesn’t slouch behind the camera and as always his technical prowess is on very fine display here. As he’s done for almost all of his films to this point, the director also served as the the cinematographer and film editor on the project and he once again delivered tremendously on both fronts. He shoots at odd angles that keep the viewer somewhat separated from the characters while still being able to properly explore their faces and try to uncover the delicate psychology of each of them, whether it’s the obviously troubled Emily, the slowly unraveling Jonathan or any number of the supporting characters, such as Martin’s mother who is played by Ann Dowd in an impressive small performance. 

Along with Soderbergh’s technical work I need to give a ton of recognition to composer Thomas Newman, whose score is so unexpected and yet completely fits what Soderbergh is going for and practically defines the tone of the picture through its distinctive nature and frequent, powerful usage. There’s a hypnotic, dreamlike quality to his composition that I found utterly transfixing and put me into a state that I wasn’t able to shake until after the credits rolled. Newman is a tremendous composer who has many great scores to his name (his 11 Oscar nominations should give some indication of that), but this may just be his finest to date, or is at least high among his top tier. 

If you haven’t seen Side Effects yet, I do hope that you seek it out and hope even more so that you’re able to go in knowing as little about the plot as you possibly can. The film would work on its own merit regardless of how much you do know, but watching it as fresh as you can will really allow you to be floored time after time through its plethora of unexpected twists and turns. This is a film that I could never predict, and in a lot of ways that makes it a perfect swan song for Soderbergh himself. Here’s a director who has always gone against the path set out before him, jumping from Oscar-winning prestige projects to intimate dramas starring adult film actresses to throwback action flicks and pandemic ensemble pieces and rarely ever missing a beat. If this is to be his final picture I will certainly miss him as I truly believe him to be the most versatile and unpredictable director in the business, but it’s only fitting that he would go out on a film that you have no idea where it’s going to go next. 

A-

7:31pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxkTgcF9
(Notes: 8)
  
Filed under: side effects film review steven soderbergh rooney mara jude law channing tatum ann dowd catherine zeta jones 
April 22, 2013
Broken City

2013, Allen Hughes

The private detective genre has become more and more rare to see on screen in the past few decades, and that’s a real shame. In an age focused on the oversaturation of 3D, visual effects and the sacrifice of developed plot or characters in exchange for more attention on blowing stuff up, these kinds of gritty and focused crime stories would be a welcome relief. The genre really hit its boom in the noirs of the ’30s and ’40s, and found a great resurgence in the ’70s with classics like Chinatown and The Long Goodbye but we barely see them anymore, so I’m always excited when a new one crops up. Broken City definitely isn’t the finest entry into this canon and obviously no one is going to even attempt to compare it to those greats of old, but for someone who is constantly hoping for more of these throwback detective stories I found it to be one that more than satisfied my appetite until the next truly great one comes along. 

Director Allen Hughes makes his debut here as an independent helmer, breaking off from his usual collaborations with his brother Albert. The two began their careers with the acclaimed Menace II Society, but have been met with largely negative reactions to their work since then, culminating in their disastrous post-apocalyptic tale Book of Eli, their most recent picture together. Separating from his brother seems to have done a world of good for Allen, as his assured direction here hits an old school rhythm that drives it along with a fluid ease from one scene to the next. Even as the plot gets hampered down somewhat by a final act that throws a lot at the audience in quick succession, Hughes’ direction keeps pushing forward with a momentum that carries it strongly. 

Aiding in that continual drive is a commanding turn from Mark Wahlberg as the former cop who brings us into this world of political corruption with grave consequences. I’ve long considered Wahlberg to be an underrated actor and while it’s been great to see him stretch his legs more in recent years with comedic turns in The Other Guys and Ted along with one of the strongest performances of his career in the measured and intimate The Fighter, here we see him returning right back into his wheelhouse with a hard-boiled detective who refuses to be put down by his menacing opponent. 

The first act opens up the plot as the conventional story of Wahlberg’s Billy Taggart taking on a case for Mayor Nicholas Hostetler, played with scene-stealing gusto by the great Russell Crowe. Hostetler wants Taggart to investigate his wife (an underused Catherine Zeta-Jones), whom he suspects of having an affair. With an election coming up in a few days, he needs to know if there is anything that his opponent will be able to use against him to sully his reputation with the people. One could question why he waited until only a few days were left to hire Taggart, but as with most detective stories it’s better left just rolling with the punches and not trying to focus too much on slight little ticks in the plot. If you’re a person who does have too much trouble with those small malfeasances,Broken City will probably leave you rolling your eyes, especially as things open up for a bit too many twists, turns and contrivances in the final act. For me though, this was a very well-staged throwback to those gritty New York detective stories of the ’70s and was elevated by a sterling cast of fine talent. 

The script by Brian Tucker (his first script, and one that was on Hollywood’s annual Black List a few years ago) sets the stage for a big David and Goliath showdown between Wahlberg and Crowe, and both actors bring their trademark masculine presence to the table in order to create a commanding centerpiece that drives the majority of the action, but the supporting cast is rife with impressive performances in smaller roles that make some memorable impressions. Jeffrey Wright plays the cop angle whose alliance isn’t made clear until the very end, Barry Pepper gives stirring emotion to his portrayal of Crowe’s electoral competitor and Kyle Chandler makes his mark as Pepper’s campaign manager. I also want to give a special mention to Alona Tal, who plays Taggart’s secretary and strikes up some really enjoyable chemistry with Wahlberg in order to make their playful relationship something that lasted in my mind. There’s a whole subplot involving Taggart’s girlfriend, played by the gorgeous Natalie Martinez, that ends up being pretty silly and tonally off but really that’s my only major complaint with the film overall. 

Broken City doesn’t really strive for greatness, but it achieves exactly what it sets out to be. Traditional for sure, but it’s in a tradition of films that we don’t get to experience much anymore and I was more than happy to be able to embrace one of its kind. Allen Hughes has definitely given me confidence in his ability as a solo filmmaker and I look forward to seeing where he goes with his career next. With a standout supporting turn from Russell Crowe, reliable tough guy command from Mark Wahlberg and precise direction from Hughes,Broken City overcomes its few flaws to make for a gritty, hard-boiled detective thriller that stands out as something worth watching in the early part of the year. 

B-

7:25pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxjJfFMu
(Notes: 2)
  
Filed under: broken city film review allen hughes mark wahlberg russell crowe catherine zeta jones jeffrey wright kyle chandler barry pepper alona tal natalie martinez 
April 14, 2013
The Company You Keep

2013, Robert Redford

How far does idealism go? Does it require personal sacrifice? Does it conquer any and all familial loyalties? Can personal relationships take precedence, or does everything ultimately play second fiddle to your own moral convictions? These questions and many more ruminate deep within the many assorted characters of Robert Redford’s reflective new feature, The Company You Keep. Based on the novel by Neil Gordon, adapted to the screen by Lem Dobbs, the title proves to be the focal point for these characters as one’s decision in the opening scene sets into motion an outpour of ramifications for the former members of the Weather Underground activists. Set in the present day, the surviving members of this group have spent the past few decades in hiding, eventually having moved on with their lives and finally gotten to a place where they were able to create families and settle down into a place of normalcy. 

As the film opens, one of these members, Sharon Solarz (played with heartbreaking conviction by the great Susan Sarandon), has made the decision to turn herself in after decades of hiding. The story of her and her co-conspirators is taken up by young ace reporter Ben Shepard (Shia LaBeouf), and when he interviews her one of the first questions he asks is why she chose now to come forward and serve the sentence that she has long eluded. Her reasoning? It’s no surprise that the guilt became too much to handle, but she explains that her rationale for waiting so long was that she needed the time for her children to be old enough to remember her but not so old that they wouldn’t be able to live their normal lives without her. Played with superb chemistry by the simultaneously arrogant and naive LaBeouf against the tragic, hauntingly remorseful Sarandon, this important scene is one of many that delicately hits on that core theme of where your personal cause ends and your responsibility for those outside of yourself begins. 

The Company You Keep ponders on how far idealism can go before it gives way to an almost immature narcissism, if it does at all. Is it selfish to sacrifice your family for your personal cause, or is the true selfishness in putting your family above anything and anyone else? These characters are forced to ask this question of themselves and their personal answers drive the momentum of Redford’s film and clash them against one another. After discovering the decision that Solarz has made, widowed father Jim Grant (Redford) gets into contact with former comrades long left silent in order to seek out past flame Mimi Lurie (Julie Christie). Lurie is the answer to his need to protect his only daughter, and the plot here is driven by his search to find her, a search that sees him dig up old contacts and force everyone to reflect on the choices they’ve made. 

While Grant, whose real name is revealed to be Nick Sloan, is hunted for his crimes by the FBI, led by Terrence Howard’s dogged agent, Redford stages the majority of his film as a series of conversations between these former activists just trying to move on in their new lives. Digging up the history of these characters opens up a lot of old wounds that will never heal, and one of the primary strengths of The Company You Keep is in the way it posits that one can never truly outrun their past. Whether or not they’ve moved on and settled into new lives, these characters will never escape the sins of their youth and they will always be forced to live with the consequences of their actions. These people see the pain they’ve caused and that catalyst in the opening scene drives a story that causes them all to take a moment to look inside themselves and come face-to-face with the choices they’ve made. 

Led by Redford and LaBeouf, who proves that there’s still plenty of room in modern Hollywood for this kind of hotshot reporter even if it’s a dying career field, the director loads his ensemble cast with a plethora of tremendous talent. It’s nothing new to state that it’s hard in American cinema to find plum roles for veteran actors, but Company You Keep was built with more than enough room to get some of the finest talent of the day into roles that utilize their immense skill and for the most part they more than deliver. I wish that the film had been longer to give a little more development to some of the supporting cast, but still these actors are able to bring an emotional sincerity to their roles that is effective and lasting. The structure of Dobbs’ script sees these characters flowing in and out with most of them only lasting a scene or two, but each one manages to leave a mark in their reflective pondering on past transgressions. Redford’s cast is supremely capable here, effectively conveying their internal anguish without ever pouring too much of it out on the surface to devolve this more muted story into theatrics. 

Along with LaBeouf and Sarandon, the one who stands out in particular is Julie Christie, unsurprisingly making the most of her rare screen turn. When the characters played by her and Redford finally come together, all of those powerful themes come to a clash in a personal debate that sees both of them pushing against one another in service of their beliefs. While most of the characters in The Company You Keep are filled with remorse over their past, Christie’s Mimi has gone the opposite path and never given up her old ways. She still fights for the cause and Christie plays her resilience with a captivating determination that refuses to back down to Sloan’s emotional ploys. In this scene he looks at her and tells her that he can see her true self no matter how much she tries to hide it, that he sees it in her eyes and Christie’s natural gifts allow her to make that moment absolutely believable with the way we (and Sloan) can see her soul right through them. 

Redford really made his name working in the paranoia/political thrillers of the ’70s, delivered with great precision by directors like Sydney Pollack and Alan J. Pakula. The Company You Keep is undeniably a throwback to this lost genre of filmmaking (complete with that ace journalist protagonist, a character type we unfortunately never see anymore), but its reflective nature is deceptively employed over a plot that would more traditionally call for adrenaline-pumping sequences of action and suspense. It’s the thematic depth that Redford concerns himself more with than anything else, building the suspense out of these character interactions as opposed to quick-cutting action. It’s a film that feels very much rooted in a lost era rather than the modern day, a move that further compliments the fact that these characters can never escape that decade where they made those decisions whose consequences would reverberate for the rest of their days. Redford also throws in a nice little callback to his starring role in Pollack’s Three Days of the Condor, as his final scene here has him wearing the same outfit that he did in that excellent picture. 

B+

12:23am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxiedRoB
(Notes: 9)
  
Filed under: the company you keep film review robert redford shia labeouf susan sarandon julie christie terrence howard brit marling brendan gleeson stanley tucci nick nolte richard jenkins 
April 13, 2013
To the Wonder

2013, Terrence Malick

You’ve just created a film, widely considered to be your magnum opus, encompassing a scope as epic as depicting the literal creation of the universe and the afterlife. So, what do you do next? If you’re Terrence Malick, you take things in a more intimate direction with a domestic psychodrama detailing the coming together and falling apart of an American man and French woman. Played by Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylenko, with support from Rachel McAdams as a former flame and Javier Bardem as a troubled priest, the drama at the core of To the Wonder is semi-autobiographical for the filmmaker and yet it’s ultimately just a metaphor for his more universal themes of faith and love. Played without a traditional narrative structure and mostly told in whispered voiceover inserted atop handheld footage of the lovers in the throws of emotion, To the Wonder could easily be the director’s most polarizing work to date, but for this viewer it worked like a charm. 

Marking only the sixth feature in his 40-year career, Malick’s infamous habit of taking many years to produce his films has taken a sharp turn, as To the Wonder’s release comes only two years after his previous effort, The Tree of Life. One couldn’t be blamed for having worry that his quick turnaround would result in something less inspired or comprehensive, but to my surprise I found To the Wonder to be his most emotionally potent work to date. Watching it, you get the feeling that this is a cinematic journey Malick had been sitting on for a long time and after he got the epic saga of The Tree of Life out of his system he was finally able to tell it. Of course, this being Malick, things were never going to be told by way of conventional narrative and at this point in his career the plots of his films have become practically inconsequential, serving as only the most basic of platforms for the cinematic poetry that he lays out on top of it all. 

Frankly speaking, this either works for you or it doesn’t and at this point in the director’s career, you know what you’re getting when going into a Malick film. With the minimal dialogue, frequent use of voiceover, breathtaking cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki (who worked with the director on Tree of Life) and swelling classical score, To the Wonder doesn’t mark anything new for the director and there’s nothing unexpected here but this is where his reclusive nature becomes a benefit to his canon. In recent years he has become much more prolific and right now he has at least two more films that we are apparently going to be seeing within the next few years, and I do worry that soon his incredibly unique way of filmmaking will start to feel tired and repetitive but for now each of his films remain a breath of fresh air. To the Wonder doesn’t see him go in any new direction, but rather continues him on the path that he has always been on, as with each film he becomes less concerned with traditional filmmaking and much more focused on eliciting emotional response and conveying thematic depth through a sensory approach. 

I’m sure one can interpret To the Wonder in many different ways and some viewers have left perplexed as to what it all means, but for me it was rather straightforward. As he did with The Tree of Life, Malick uses a domestic drama as a metaphor to enhance a throughline of universal themes. Those themes are delivered primarily through Bardem’s priest character, who spends his time wandering directionless and ruminating on whether god has left us or if he’s waiting to be found. Presenting that question on the absence of god unfolds a greater depth to the dismantling of the relationship between Affleck and Kurylenko’s characters, perhaps positing that with his absence also comes the absence of love. To the Wonder marks Malick’s first film to take place entirely in the modern day, and it should come as no surprise to anyone that it’s this modern setting that provides the environment for their romantic unraveling. 

As the film begins, the two lovebirds are as free as can be, frolicking as pure and innocent as children through wide open nature. They play in the sand and waves on the beach (not coincidentally the setting for Malick’s afterlife in his previous effort, perhaps foreshadowing the eventual outcome of their romance) and it’s when they return to the modern suburbia that things start to come apart. Malick has always been an artist who has clashed with the modern nature of man, and To the Wonder is another representation of that, as one could leave with the feeling that he thinks there is no more room for that kind of pure love and freedom in this modern world. It’s a rather harsh perspective, but Malick depicts it in a way that still manages to capture and illuminate the beauty that is out there within our grasp if we can only take the time to embrace it. It’s free in the open air, ready for us all, if only we can break from the cages that our modern world has locked us in. 

Along with his years in the editing room putting together his films, another aspect of Malick’s filmmaking that has become infamous is his refusal to allow the status of his stars to get in the way of his storytelling. Malick won’t ever let his actors take precedence over his thematic journey, and as a result many of the biggest names in the industry have found themselves working on his films only to see their parts end up on the cutting room floor. To the Wonder is no different, as notable actors Rachel Weisz, Michael Sheen, Amanda Peet, Barry Pepper and Jessica Chastain all shot footage that is nowhere to be seen in the finished product. However, this is ultimately a blessing, as Wonder is such an intimate tale that is focused on a quartet of figures played out very well by his talented cast. Ben Affleck, Rachel McAdams and Javier Bardem all turn in solid performances, but it’s Olga Kurylenko who really stands out here as one of the strongest performances to emerge from the director’s work to date. 

Through Affleck’s commanding physical presence, Malick keeps the film grounded to the earth but it’s with Kurylenko that he takes it to a more effervescent place and she really soars with his guidance. An actress who has mostly spent her career so far going the traditional post-model route of starring as eye candy in action films, Kurylenko gives a performance here that shows she has so much more to offer the world than what she’s been allowed to give. A stunning collaboration of artist and muse, there is a purity to Kurylenko’s portrayal that is frankly undefinable but captures an utterly enchanting beauty that brings the audience with her on a wide emotional spectrum. When she’s free as a bird, enraptured in the the throes of love and the wonder of life, your heart soars along with her and I found myself stuck with a wide smile on my face. Yet when the romance turns and she’s locked inside her domestic cage, broken and stripped of that love, your heart breaks along with hers and there’s a brutal tragedy that overwhelms the emotional palette. It’s an absolutely stunning performance that magnificently captures and compliments the poetic, ethereal quality of Malick’s filmmaking approach. 

B+

10:20am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxiax2xM
(Notes: 10)
  
Filed under: to the wonder terrence malick film review ben affleck olga kurylenko rachel mcadams javier bardem rachel weisz jessica chastain barry pepper emmanuel lubezki michael sheen amanda peet the tree of life 
April 4, 2013
Gangster Squad

2013, Ruben Fleischer

Usually when a film depicts events that transpired in real life, there’s a great care to honoring those involved by adhering as closely to the facts as possible while still understandably exaggerating it a little bit for more dramatic flare. Gangster Squad, the new film from Zombieland director Ruben Fleischer, does away with all that pretense by instead delivering a “true story” that feels more like it was ripped out of a comic book than from the headlines. Adapted from a novel by Paul Lieberman, which I assume was much more concerned with authenticity, Will Beall’s script goes straight for a shallow and cliched interpretation of the events and doesn’t even strive for any kind of depth to the matter. 

In some ways it’s a shame as one can only imagine what this stellar cast would have been able to deliver in this setting with more layered characters to work with, but I think where Gangster Squad does manage to succeed is in its deliciously over-the-top style and simplicity. Fleischer isn’t trying to fool anyone by pretending that his film is more than it is, so what we get is a handsome, polished bit of hollow fun that’s nice to look at but leaves nothing to think about. It’s style over substance entirely, but it doesn’t put on airs about being anything else. Fleischer clearly went in with the intention of taking this true story and making it pulp confection and I think he succeeds in just doing that. It’s a total caricature, but with such a dismal script I’d much rather see that than a director trying to give it any kind of a realistic approach. 

Granted, this means that anyone who is looking for any kind of originality or intellectual stimulation will be quite dissatisfied by their experience with Gangster Squad, but I for one can’t say that I had a bad time with it. It’s certainly nothing I would ever want to revisit or a film that I found remotely memorable, but the action flew by and I wasn’t bored for a moment throughout. The cast generally has fun with their roles, however hollow they are, and Fleischer’s style brings that comic book energy to it which I was fond of. Gangster Squad is excessively violent, entirely shallow and loaded up on every cliche in the book but it’s aesthetically stimulating and with drastically lowered expectations from all of the negative feedback it received I found myself having a surprisingly inoffensive time with it. 

C

5:01pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxhvLiN5
(Notes: 2)
  
Filed under: gangster squad film review ruben fleischer ryan gosling josh brolin sean penn nick nolte anthony mackie giovanni ribisi emma stone michael pena robert patrick 
March 31, 2013
Welcome to the Punch

2013, Eran Creevy

Michael Mann gets a Brit kick in Eran Creevy’s sophomore feature, the cops-and-robbers thriller Welcome to the Punch. Coming off the breakout success of his debut film Shifty (which netted him a BAFTA nomination for Outstanding British Debut, among other accolades), Creevy is given a much higher profile and two name lead actors to tell his energized tale. Three years after criminal Jacob Sternwood (Mark Strong) puts a bullet into the leg of detective Max Lewinsky (James McAvoy), he comes out of retirement when his son is put in the hospital, giving Lewinsky a second chance to take down his Moby Dick once and for all. 

Opening with a bang, we begin by setting the stage for Lewinsky’s obsessive compulsion to get his revenge. As Sternwood and his gang pull off a robbery in the heart of London’s exquisitely shot industrial scenery, Lewinsky is in hot pursuit, neglecting his superior’s demand that he wait for backup and chasing Sternwood down into a series of tunnels on his own. Right away you can feel the influence of polished crime auteurs such as Mann or Nicolas Winding Refn, as Welcome to the Punch proves its title apt by giving one hell of an opening sequence to get the pulse going. The adrenaline rises for everyone involved, not least of whom being the audience, as Creevy proves himself a very assured director of slick action sequences, matching that truly breathtaking cinematography by Ed Wild with a killer score by Harry Escott and giving his second feature a pop that instantly pulls you in. 

Unfortunately, the film is never quite able to capture that kind of hypnotic energy once we flash to the present day and the narrative begins, but there are plenty of kinetic action sequences throughout that continue to demonstrate Creevy’s keen eye for bringing ferocious style to his viewers. Welcome to the Punch sets itself up as a rather conventional genre film, but where the writing may lack a depth of character or thematic weight it’s more than made up for in terms of sensory-appealing thrills and a hyped up rhythm that keeps things moving along at an appropriately rapid pace. 

Fortunate too, that Creevy’s increased profile after his debut has allowed him to line up a cast with plenty of talented faces, headlined by McAvoy and Strong with support from the likes of rising star Andrea Riseborough, David Morrissey, Peter Mullan, Johnny Harris and even Ruth Sheen in a memorable little role. McAvoy and Strong are the ones who truly impress though, and where the script may lack the time to bring more layers to their characters they are able to make up for it with their emotional understanding of these men and their internal struggles. 

McAvoy once again demonstrates his ability to take on a wide range of characters, playing a type that we’ve never seen from him before — a broken, defeated and resentful man who is quickly brought back into his aggressive, hotheaded ways when he gets the taste of blood for the first time in years. Strong, on the other hand, is able to take a relatively thin, vague character on the page and make him someone emotionally compelling as we get to spend more time with him and see his interesting morality scale lean one way and the other. 

The narrative trips itself up somewhat with a messy third act that falls into predictable realms of police corruption and overly convoluted, poorly explained schemes to benefit the hierarchy while threatening the lives of our main characters (for some reason) but the lack of coherency can’t get in the way of Creevy’s skill for adrenaline-fueled action filmmaking and that is where Punch really delivers. With that sharp, smooth polish made perfectly to highlight the impressive modern architecture of the sprawling, almost suspiciously quiet city throughout, this is one case where “style over substance” is something that proves to the benefit of the overall picture. 

An assured sophomore feature from a very promising filmmaker, Creevy proves himself here to be an adept director — just maybe not the finest writer. If you’re looking for a resonating character piece on the complexity of man this isn’t going to satisfy your appetite, but if you want a bloody, in-your-face crime flick with a great cast and a unique, adrenalized style than Welcome to the Punch is right on the money. 

B-

7:09pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxhbMnja
(Notes: 4)
  
Filed under: welcome to the punch film review eran creevy james mcavoy mark strong andrea riseborough peter mullan david morrissey ruth sheen daniel mays 
March 28, 2013
The Hunt

2013, Thomas Vinterberg

Why would a child lie? That’s the question at the center of Thomas Vinterberg’s The Hunt, a powerful examination of a small, close-knit community that is thrown into disarray by a young girl’s accusation that her teacher has molested her. Mads Mikkelsen stars as Lucas, the teacher in question, and he brings his trademark gift for searing vulnerability and genuine emotion to a role that is primed to bring the audience to levels of utter devastation. A divorced father, Lucas’ life seems to be looking up early on in the picture as his son wants to move in with him and he even begins a romance with one of the women working at his school. This all changes though when the young Klara (Annika Wedderkopp) makes an innocent lie that quickly spirals into something that will distort even his closest friends’ view of who Lucas is. 

Vinterberg, who co-wrote the screenplay with Tobias Lindholm, has a sharp eye for drawing the conflicting emotions out of his actors and almost everyone we see is in a palpable internal struggle with what they choose to believe. They all know and love Lucas, they’ve trusted him with their children and yet they can’t think of a reason why the uncorrupted Klara would tell such a twisted lie. As a result, Lucas quickly sees his once quaint life torn down around him and he is forced into a new one where he can’t even go to his local grocery store without enduring the scorn of others. To make matters worse, Klara is the daughter of his best friend Theo (Thomas Bo Larsen), a deep friendship that will of course never be the same again. 

The character work in The Hunt is superb, with everyone in the ensemble giving organic, emotional performances to match Mikkelsen’s commanding lead but perhaps even more impressive is the way that Vinterberg observes the thematic material that drives this study of human behavior. One lie is told and suddenly an entire town’s view on a man they have known for decades is altered forever, without a single piece of genuine proof. The power of words is a commanding theme of The Hunt, demonstrating how one can distort the truth, manipulate others and dramatically alter the course of a person’s future with nothing more than verbal communication. It’s a startling message that rings true for the way that society has grown accustomed to hearing the most despicable rumors and gossip only to respond without any skepticism, but rather a complete turn in their prior perspectives. 

Lucas is destroyed within this community, his personal and professional life and he’s never even given a chance to try and defend himself. It’s a tragic character that Mikkelsen handles with the utmost intelligence for when he should play it soft and when to really deliver to the audience the pain that Lucas is suffering with. There are many moments in The Hunt that could have veered strongly into melodrama with a more outwardly emotive actor in this role, but Mikkelsen makes all of the heaviest emotions feel entirely earned in the way that he crafts this performance through the smaller moments as well as the large ones. 

If I do have one complaint with The Hunt it would be that while most of the time the dramatic events are played appropriately honest, there are a few times where it slips a little too far into contrivance. Whether it’s manufacturing a scenario a little too conveniently for the most extreme emotional reaction or hammering its themes in more bluntly than it should have when a softer approach would have been more effective, there is the occasion or two where it can slide a bit away from its usually organic craftsmanship. 

This is especially true for its rather silly ending, where it takes the theme that no matter what when a stain like this is placed on someone like Lucas they will never be able to fully wash it away and really smashes you over the head with it — despite already having gotten it across vividly. Thankfully though, Mikkelsen is always there to keep things grounded in an emotional sincerity that otherwise could have been lost in these few misjudged moments. It’s a powerful film at its core, but surely wouldn’t have been half as wrenching a journey were it not for Mikkelsen’s marvelous portrayal holding it all together. 

B

7:59pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxhMOy0K
(Notes: 3)
  
Filed under: the hunt jagten film review mads mikkelsen thomas vinterberg thomas bo larsen anne louise hassing annika wedderkopp lasse fogelstrom susse wold 
March 28, 2013
La Haine

1995, Mathieu Kassovitz

“How you fall doesn’t matter. It’s how you land.” 

This quote opens and closes writer/director Mathieu Kassovitz’s sophomore feature La Haine, and thus it’s no surprise that it holds strong thematic weight in his chronicling of a day in the life of three mixed-race youths living in a French ghetto. The Jewish Vinz (Vincent Cassel), Arab Said (Said Taghmaoui) and black Hubert (Hubert Kounde) find themselves coming of age during a particularly heated time of social unrest in France. Raised in a society of violence and racism, this community finds itself coming to a breaking point, sitting on the edge of an all-out war between the police and the lower-class citizens. 

As La Haine opens we are told that a friend of these boys is in the hospital in critical condition as a result of riots that took place the night before, while on the opposite side of the law a police officer lost his handgun in the calamity. Early on it’s revealed that Vinz is in possession of the weapon and he vows to Said and Hubert that if their friend dies he will take vengeance on the life of an officer. This sets the stage for the tensions to build between this trio of friends over the course of La Haine, but in terms of driving narrative Kassovitz keeps it relatively unfocused. Spanning a 24-hour period, La Haine is presented more as an examination of the anger that is being built inside this lower-class culture rather than it is any kind of linear telling of a story. 

The film was a deeply personal one for Kassovitz, who was inspired to write the script after his own friend had died due to police abuse and you can feel the rage pouring out of him not only on the page but in the way that he has styled the picture as well. La Hainedoesn’t hold back for a moment, capturing the anger of this culture with its bombastic, in-your-face style that grips you in the opening moments and refuses to let go until the very end. It puts you into an almost hypnotic trance, invading the viewer with the kind of aggressive emotions that drive these youths against the system and even one another. 

Upon its release, many claimed that La Haine was an “anti-police” picture but I never saw it as that. These boys aren’t just rebelling against the police; their aggression spreads towards all areas of their day-to-day living. The film opens in the ghetto that the boys call home, but when they make an excursion to the upper-class areas of Paris we are shown that their vitriol isn’t spared from anyone. A journey into an art showing presents us with a scene depicting them lashing out against these upper-class citizens in the same manner that they do against the police, and throughout the picture they even at times confront one another, showing that their rage has no set direction. These boys are mad at the world and the police that abuse them on a daily basis are simply the easiest target for that anger to direct itself towards. 

Some criticism was thrown at La Haine for its strictly male perspective and the lack of females anywhere to be seen, but this is another area where I think those detractors are misguided. As the saying goes you write what you know, and it’s logical that Kassovitz would only address such a personal project from the eyes of young men similar to himself. It’s a blessing really that he didn’t try to force in a female touch into La Haine, as bogging this down with a conventional romance subplot would have only done damage to the overall product. 

There are women to be found throughout the picture, but Kassovitz further demonstrates one of his many themes by making his lead trio just as narrowly focused on them as they are anything else. These boys aren’t interested in romance and when they meet attractive women all they want is sex as quick as they can get it, approaching the fairer gender in the same way that they would a confrontation with the police. Their interactions with the opposite sex are just a continued exploration into the violence-bred aggression that these boys have developed over years of living in an abuse-filled society. As Kassovitz makes his point known, hatred breeds hatred. 

As a director, Kassovitz would disappoint in his follow-ups by finding himself heading in a direction filled with conventional genre fare and Hollywood pictures, but none of that could possibly lessen the impact that La Haine had on youth culture and cinema itself. A punch to the gut of the film system and to a fractured society, the young filmmaker took his personal story and drew out of it a riveting picture that doesn’t take one minute to let you catch your breath. La Haine beats with the rhythm of a youth culture raised on violence and rap music, and these young artists keep up the energy full throttle until the very end. 

Kassovitz gets the bulk of the credit here no doubt, but La Haine couldn’t be the great success that it is without performers able to properly capture that unquenchable rage. Said Taghmaoui and Hubert Kounde nail their parts well, but the real breakout star here is Vincent Cassel who is the absolute liverwire that draws you in and cements Kassovitz’s startling approach. In one of his first film roles, the young Cassel is the driving force steering his director’s vision and the two combine to bring one searing, explosive and incredibly memorable picture to the screen. 

A

7:03pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxhM7nN4
(Notes: 9)
  
Filed under: la haine film review hate mathieu kassovitz vincent cassel said taghmaoui hubert kounde 
March 27, 2013
Billy Liar

1963, John Schlesinger

We all like to occasionally spend some time getting lost in our own head, imagining the world the way we’d like it to be. Well, young William Fisher likes it a bit more than most. The title character of John Schlesinger’s sophomore feature Billy Liar, Fisher spends most of his day avoiding his mundane real life by creating an entire elaborate country in his mind called Ambrosia. Here there are parades thrown in his honor and he never has to deal with the hassles that plague his young working-class existence. 

Set in England in the early ’60s, there still remains a post-war anxiety that Schlesinger wisely underplays in favor of more universal themes. That’s not to say that the social climate is irrelevant though; quite the opposite in fact, as in the background we see the buildings of Billy’s town constantly being torn down and built back up. The fractured, damaged ruins of the still recovering country make a poignant environment for this journey of a young man who is trying to figure out how to construct himself in his own way. Billy was part of the first generation too young to experience the war first hand, and you can feel tension from this in the way that the members of one era interact with another. Throughout Billy Liar there is a resentment demonstrated by his elders towards Billy due to his lackadaisical nature, be it from his father or his boss at the funeral parlor where he works. His more fanciful nature clashes with the blue collar sensibilities of all those in his life, driving Billy further into his world of make believe. 

It’s not just the older generation that Billy feels too stilted by however, as even his companions aren’t lively enough to satisfy his hunger for excitement. Hence Billy earns the moniker of the title by constantly telling lies big and small, trying to create something in this squalored town to keep himself entertained. When we meet Billy he is already engaged to two women (both of whom have never met his family, as he’s told one lie after another to avoid happening), but he’s interested even further by the beautiful Liz when she comes back into town. Played in a luminous breakthrough performance by Julie Christie (who makes a solid case here for most gorgeous woman ever on screen), there’s a freedom and excitement to Liz that may be just what Billy needs. Could running away with her be the answer to end all of his troubles? Billy flirts with the idea, and one of the most interesting aspects of Billy Liar is the way that it portrays the indecisiveness of youth, the struggle to make the choices to grow up and affect change even when you spend your whole life complaining about your current circumstance. 

Adapted from the stage play by Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall (which itself was taken from Waterhouse’s novel), Schlesinger’s film is a refreshingly honest depiction of the mindset of youth and even 50 years later I find it to be one that I could relate to at an immense level. Looking at William Fisher I saw a much closer representation of my own self than I do in any of the similarly aged characters of modern cinema. Billy Liar was the film where Schlesinger brought Julie Christie to the world and these days it is perhaps most remembered for being her big coming out (Schlesinger would direct her to her Oscar-winning performance in Darling just two years later) but even more impressive is Tom Courtenay’s performance in the title role. 

An actor who has spent most of his career on stage rather than in film, Courtenay has as a result never really gotten his due as a talent in cinema (despite two Oscar nominations) but here he commands the screen in a way few have been capable of. Billy Fisher is a character who rebels against the world around him, constantly lying and avoiding his responsibilities and in the wrong hands this film could have fallen apart with him being portrayed a detestable child. With Courtenay in the role however he is not only remarkably empathetic but also full of a winsome spirit that made it a pleasure to watch him on screen. 

A refreshing alternative to the somber tones that occupied the majority of the British New Wave, Billy Liar is a film full of life but also not one that treats itself too lightly. It’s certainly an easy film to watch and Schlesinger’s immense talent for pacing allows it to fly by, but he also makes room for that undercurrent of social change that makes way for some thematic depth running through the picture. Not only that, but the primary exploration of Billy himself heads into some dark territories at times that deceptively contrasts the more jovial tone. 

A landmark picture of its country and time period, Billy Liar’s influence was felt immediately in pictures like The Graduate but even today you can feel its touch strongly on the work of directors like Wes Anderson. His Rushmore in particular feels as though it’s cut from the same cloth, and I doubt it’s a coincidence that the lead character shares his surname with Fisher. Schlesinger would soon go on to hit a stretch of incredible films that would include Midnight Cowboy and Marathon Man and while I love those pictures as well it is unfortunate that Billy Liar wasn’t able to achieve a similar level of continuing appreciation on a wide spectrum. Its influence and themes are just as strong today as they ever were and anyone who loves movies should make the effort to give Billy Liar a look. 

A

4:44pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxhGLTuw
(Notes: 3)
  
Filed under: billy liar film review john schlesinger tom courtenay julie christie 
March 23, 2013
Being There

1979, Hal Ashby

Watching Hal Ashby’s Being There, I debated in my mind whether the reason the film wasn’t working for me was due to it feeling dated or if it was something that was just never going to appeal to me in the first place. Upon reflection, I came to the decision that it fell into the latter camp but not for the reasons I initially thought it did. At first I was thinking that maybe it just wasn’t for me, but the more I think about it the more I realize that it should have appealed directly to my taste. In premise, Ashby’s adaptation of Jerzy Kosinski’s novel (written for the screen by the author himself) had the potential to be a biting satire that would bring intelligence along with plenty of laughs. If it had met that, it could have easily been something that I adored but what came out instead was a flat, inconsistent film that didn’t appeal to me strictly due to its inability to bring anything of value. It wasn’t the genre or satire that didn’t work for me, it was the product itself. 

Casting Peter Sellers in the lead should have given him a role that felt practically built for the talented star, and with an ensemble cast surrounding him that included great actors like Shirley MacLaine, Melvyn Douglas and Jack Warden this one had all the ingredients for a riotious experience with brains to boot. Unfortunately, none of these pieces came together as Ashby’s direction feels too static, Sellers is never allowed to go far beyond the surface vacancy of his character and Kosinski’s script can never decide what exactly it wants to be. Being There, ironically given its title, feels like a film that never knows where it belongs. It starts off with a somewhat musing opening act, but once the meat of the plot starts moving along things take a quick and dreadfully dull turn for the worse. 

A simple gardener named Chance (Sellers), who has lived his whole life confined to the mansion of his employer, is let loose on society when his boss dies and he has no knowledge of the outside world. Having been educated entirely through television his, Chance’s ignorance and lack of social understanding gets him into countless misunderstandings with the people he meets until one of these leads him to the estate of Benjamin and Eve Rand (Douglas and MacLaine). Benjamin is a trusted adviser to the President himself (Warden), and through this connection Chance is eventually put up on a pedestal of political value determined entirely on the basis of the world’s inability to comprehend someone so blissfully unaware. They take Chance’s simple-mindedness for profundity and he becomes a sensation across the nation. 

On paper all of this has everything required to match the best of political satire with social commentary, but Ashby and Kosinski refuse to find an effective middleground. Instead, what we get are small samplings of the potential for something much stronger that is never reached. There’s a scene in the later stages of the film where the great Shirley MacLaine is painfully degraded (referring to the actress, the character does it consensually) to the act of having to exaggeratedly masturbate on the floor of Chance’s room while he watches television and eventually begins an attempt to imitate some stretches he sees on a program. It sounds like something that could have been hilarious in a different film, but instead this scene alone is clear evidence that Ashby and Kosinski didn’t have a clue what they were doing, as it couldn’t feel less appropriately placed within the context of the overall product. 

The worst part of all is that the inconsistency in tone doesn’t even create for a picture that can hold the attention, and as a result Being There is quite frankly one of the dullest films I’ve ever had the misfortune of watching. I found it an almost torturous experience of tedium that only got more trying as it progressed towards its faux-profound ending. Clearly I’m in the minority here with my extreme distaste for the film — it was nominated for several Oscars, received rave reviews, still remains an incredibly well-regarded picture and is often cited as one of the best from the works of both Ashby and Sellers — but nothing about this hopelessly dry picture worked for me. It had all the potential to be something with major bite, but the result is a toothless disappointment. 

D-

5:40pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxgy1JjI
(Notes: 3)
  
Filed under: being there film review hal ashby peter sellers shirley maclaine melvyn douglas jack warden 
March 23, 2013
Leatherheads

2008, George Clooney

If Leatherheads had been made in the 1940s, chances are it would have starred Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart and Katharine Hepburn and been directed by Howard Hawks. Made in the 21st century however, what we get instead are George Clooney, John Krasinski and Renee Zellweger led under Clooney’s own direction. That’s not to say that Leatherheads is immediately inferior just by comparison to what it is calling back to, but more so that Clooney and his team are clearly striving to attain the kind of undeniable charm and likability that a group such as those would have produced in the swinging days of these kind of sly romantic comedies. 

Set in 1925, the original script by Duncan Brantley and Rick Reilly places us right on the cusp of the boom for professional American football. At the time, the sport was a joke and despite the immense popularity of college football, any player worth his salt would go on to more profitable endeavors once they graduated. That’s where war hero Carter Rutherford (Krasinski) finds himself, right on the edge of his football days ending with no desire to continue into the professional game. Dodge Connelly (Clooney), on the other hand, is an aging pro player who is hoping to kick up some major interest in his team and the sport in general by signing the immensely popular Rutherford on for a few games. 

Rutherford eventually agrees and hits the road with the team, though two plots collide when reporter Lexie Littleton (Zellweger) gets a scoop that Rutherford’s stories of bravery in war aren’t as heroic as the world has been led to believe. She goes along with the team as well, and Leatherheads thus presents itself as the intertwining screwball antics of this love triangle between the three leads along with a more traditional football movie as the game becomes more popular and legitimized. It’s not a bad setup, even if it is somewhat tonally confused, but the thing that holds Leatherheads back is that it just doesn’t have the kind of energy for what it’s trying to go for. 

Lately there’s been a swell of dissent building against Clooney in certain communities (particularly that of the online persuasion) with people getting sick of seeing him in film, but I for one most certainly do not count myself among that movement. For me, Clooney’s charm has never worn thin and I can watch him in anything at this point and find myself impressed and entertained. While Leatherheads doesn’t score many high marks, the one thing that does help to keep it afloat through its faults is Clooney’s performance which turns on the charm and feels right at home in the kind of wit that hearkens back to a forgotten day. If only he had actors alongside him who were also as appropriately cast in this little slice of nostalgia. 

Krasinski is a very likable presence, and while he tries his best to pull off the Jimmy Stewart type the film was released back when he was still struggling to make that transition from television actor into a big screen player and you can definitely feel him still trying to work out some kinks. More than that though, the major mistake here was casting Zellweger as the leading female as she turns in a performance that proves how quickly washed up her talent had already become by that point. She had been waning for a few years since her early-’00s peak and this was just another step for her on the way back down to obscurity. While Clooney and occasionally Krasinski are able to bring an energy that fits in tune with the homage that Leatherheads wants to be, the whole thing comes to a screeching halt whenever Zellweger comes on screen. 

I think that a movie set in this genre could most certainly work in our present time and there are many reasons why Leatherheads should have really worked, especially with Clooney starring and directing as there really isn’t a more perfect modern actor to pull that off. I can’t say that it’s all bad and I most certainly didn’t find anything especially offensive about it that left me with a sour taste, but for every aspect of the film that brought a little charm there was something else that held it back. For every sharp line of dialogue there was a moment that fell flat and for every performance that fit with the nostalgic tone they were going for there was one that felt far out of place. Leatherheads isn’t a bad film at all, but it’s just a middle-of-the-road, forgettable affair. Certainly not a black stain on anyone’s record, but definitely not something that you would look to highlight when promoting any of them either. 

C

12:03am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxgud6rD
Filed under: leatherheads film review george clooney john krasinski renee zellweger 
March 22, 2013
Elevator to the Gallows

1961, Louis Malle

A seamless blend of brooding American noir with the energy of the coming French New Wave, Louis Malle’s Elevator to the Gallows is one of the best debut features I’ve ever seen. A simple premise in design, this adaptation of Noel Calef’s novel centers on lovers Julien Tavernier (Maurice Ronet) and Florence Carala (Jeanne Moreau) as they conspire to off Caral’s husband, who happens to be Tavernier’s boss. Coming out of the gate strong with a smooth rhythm that calls to mind the work of Jean-Pierre Melville, Malle doesn’t waste any time getting into the thick of the action and soon a complication with the building elevator has Tavernier trapped at the scene of his crime with no way out. 

While he struggles to manufacture an escape, Florence is left with no idea of where he is and consequently finds herself wandering the night streets of Paris, lost, confused and heartbroken when she is put under the impression that her lover has taken off with a younger, flashier dame. The lady in question is local flower girl Veronique (Yori Bertin), and the twisting narrative of Gallows includes a key side-plot where her and her boyfriend Louis (Georges Poujouly) steal Tavernier’s car and go for a joy ride through the country. Separated by fate, the stark isolation of Tavernier and Carala is contrasted well by the pop-jazz energy of Veronique and Louis’ criminal tryst. 

Released in its home country in 1958, Elevator to the Gallows predates the New Wave by a few years but you can certainly feel how its tempo and atmosphere would influence the works that were about to take the film world by storm. While the lovers-on-the-run section of Malle’s film bursts with the carelessness of youth, Tavernier and Carala find themselves under much more somber circumstances and its here that Malle takes plenty of influence from the golden age of noir that had been dominating much of the past few decades in American cinema. 

While Ronet does a solid job at capturing the soldier’s determination of Tavernier, one of the defining aspects of Gallows was in how Malle delivered to the world the screen icon of Jeanne Moreau. The actress had starred in several other films before it was released, but no one really knew her all too well and after it hit the screens that wouldn’t ever be the case again. Stripping her of all makeup and wisely utilizing close-ups on her face as much as possible, Malle breathlessly brought to life the immense talent of his leading lady as we follow her on her lost voyage through the night on a neverending search for her lost love. Photographed with gorgeous cinematography by Henri Decae (who would go on to do further extraordinary work in films like The 400 Blows and Le Samourai), the Paris night popped gloriously on screen and the image of Moreau sauntering through it would define her forever onward. 

Of course what Elevator to the Gallows may be most remembered for today is the original score, composed by none other than Miles Davis himself in a completely improvised one-night recording session that he had with Moreau and Malle in his studio. Davis’ sounds are iconic in their own right, and the combination of his music, Decae’s images and Moreau’s presence created for some kind of cinematic glory that perhaps can’t properly be captured in words. However you try to describe it, this is pure film magic and it’s only one part of an altogether brilliant picture. 

Elevator to the Gallows is sometimes referred to as somewhat minor and simple in its plotting, but especially for a debut picture this one has some intricacies in its writing that are greatly undervalued. As the parallel stories begin to intersect in the final act, you can feel the walls closing in on this post-war community of criminal self-servers and it all leads to a powerfully morose ending that leaves no one with a happy fate. Combining the finest elements of American noir and the upcoming French New Wave, Malle’s debut is one that has more than stood the test of time and remains one of the finest first features put to screen. Don’t underestimate this one. 

A

10:39pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxguF30a
(Notes: 4)
  
Filed under: elevator to the gallows film review louis malle maurice ronet jeanne moreau yori bertin georges poujouly miles davis 
March 20, 2013
The Station Agent

2003, Thomas McCarthy

The Station Agent is such a simple, beautiful little movie. Writer/director Thomas McCarthy has this incredible ability to write these true, layered and deeply human characters that I feel is incredibly underrated. He did solid, if not particularly exceptional, work on his other two features, Win Win and The Visitor, but The Station Agent really demonstrates his talent for capturing heartfelt emotion. His debut picture, this is far and away my favorite of his work to date, aided in large part by a whole ensemble of magnificent performances. Portraying a lonely dwarf who inherits a train depot from his only friend when he unexpectedly passes away, Peter Dinklage really breaks through as an actor with a keen eye for hitting dramatic and comedic beats with equal talent. This depot he relocates to is set in the middle of rural New Jersey, a place that hardly sees anyone passing by or wanting to make a stay there, though by happenstance his new home happens to have a hot dog vendor parked directly across the road from it. 

Running the stand is Bobby Cannavale’s character, and the inimitable actor brings a bounce and energy that is vital to keeping the rhythm of the film going and refusing to let it get too sullen in the face of Dinklage’s more reclusive leading figure. Along with these two, there’s a third main role portrayed by the always brilliant Patricia Clarkson and I firmly believe this is her finest performance to date. As a woman grieving for the loss of her only child, she captures a serene peace and heartwrenching tragedy that few of us will ever have to endure. She received an Oscar nomination this same year for her work in Pieces of April and while she’s excellent there as well, this is the role that should have earned her the accolade (and if it were up to me she would have ran away with the trophy itself). When it comes down to it, the entire film deserved a bounty of nominations and though it received none that’s no reason to let it go ignored as a result. McCarthy beautifully crafts this intimate character portrait that is light on plot but instead gives wide room to explore the layers of its characters and develop them through their new relationships. 

It’s no bold statement to say that someone of Dinklage’s stature is hard up for great roles working in the film industry (look at the rest of his filmography and you’ll mostly see generic comedic relief bits where he was cast specifically to be made the punchline of some jokes), but McCarthy gave him one hell of an opportunity here and he totally ran with it. One of the most pleasantly surprising aspects of The Station Agent was that he made it first and foremost about the characters as full human beings, rather than writing a dwarf in a leading role for the sole purpose of exploring the trials and tribulations of living as such. This could have easily been the “it’s hard to be a dwarf movie”, but McCarthy was interested in something far more universal than that, just with a unique perspective. 

That being said, another brilliant layer to this remarkable script was that he was still able to naturally fit in depictions of what a struggle it must be to exist day-to-day with that kind of circumstance. Just walking down the street we see children mocking this man, or convenience store workers taking a picture of him so they can show their friends and no one even thinks twice about what they’re doing — this is a human being but he’s treated as something to be amused by, and while McCarthy never digs too deep into the dark places that could send a person he also doesn’t let it slide by unaddressed. The Station Agent would be nothing without Dinklage’s versatile, breathtaking performance at its center, but when it comes down to it the whole thing spoke to me in a powerful way. It’s one of those lovely independent pictures that was able to have me laughing heavily one second and trying to fight back tears the next. 

One thing that I did take particular appreciation of was how McCarthy used the train depot itself as a kind of symbolic purgatory for these characters, which I think he handled in a subtle but effective manner. The main trio collide as lost loners, pining for the life that they used to have and stuck in this barren place where nothing ever changes. They’re practically cut off from society out here, living in isolation as a means of escaping the difficulties of the real world, and I think that the way they transition over the course of the film is so beautiful. Finding each other allows them to find themselves in different and unique ways. McCarthy doesn’t hammer you over the head with any of this, but it’s all handled in an intimate and organic way that I found deeply involving. It’s the best kind of metaphor, one that the viewer can certainly see if they want to look for it but is never shoved down your throat and if you don’t want to search for a deeper meaning in it than you can still admire the picture fully without that. 

The Station Agent never strives to be anything overly complicated or innovative, but it accomplishes exactly what it sets out to achieve. So many of these independent dramedies that have emerged in the past decade or two are loaded with a grating blend of quirky characters and manufactured scenarios to manipulate its characters into forced emotions, but what McCarthy manages instead is to craft a charming little observation of a certain type of person who we very rarely get to see properly explored in film. It’s a light, enjoyable breeze of a film that flows by without ever hitting any snags but it doesn’t shy away from the darker shades of these characters and their struggle with personal loss either. The Station Agent is a film that you can tell comes directly from the heart and it absolutely won me over. 

A-

12:58am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxggwMug
(Notes: 9)
  
Filed under: the station agent film review thomas mccarthy peter dinklage bobby cannavale patricia clarkson michelle williams john slattery 
March 17, 2013
Body Heat

1981, Lawrence Kasdan

The 1980s were a bit of a dead time for popular American cinema. Sure, several established names like Woody Allen hit creative peaks and delivered some genuine knockout pictures but in terms of emerging directors there just wasn’t the kind of excitement that came from the decades surrounding it. The ’70s are perhaps the finest decade the country has ever seen, as major directors brought an edge and grittiness that produced an abundance of intelligent, visceral and resonating works. American cinema was revolutionized in the ’70s and until the ’00s I don’t think they had been nearly as exciting since. Then the ’90s of course brought the independent movement which saw massively influential names like Steven Soderbergh, Jim Jarmusch and Quentin Tarantino once again redefine the game with their unique visions and distinctive voices. 

Stuck in the middle, the ’80s took a step back from that dark edge of the ’70s and certainly didn’t come close to the creative energy of the ’90s. Instead we were given directors like Rob Reiner and James L. Brooks, who somehow got massive amounts of critical and audience adoration despite their insistence on delivering one hopelessly flat, vanilla picture after another. Thankfully, the boom of creative and much more interesting voices in the ’90s resulted in these kind of directors being quietly dismissed to the point where now they’re left turning out flops that are barely seen and even less liked such as How Do You Know and The Magic of Belle Isle; but for that unfortunate decade it was these kind of films that dominated in terms of ticket purchases and critical accolades. 

Among those uninspired voices that took the main stage in the ’80s was Lawrence Kasdan, who after meeting great success writing The Empire Strikes Back and Raiders of the Lost Ark decided to turn his eye towards directing. These days you’re likely either dismissing or disliking his films like Dreamcatcher or his latest Darling Companion, but he was a major player in his first decade on the scene with popular works such as The Big Chill and The Accidental Tourist leading him to multiple Oscar nominations, including two for Best Picture for each of those. While these easily digestible pieces of fluff fit in line with the works of people like Reiner and Brooks, Kasdan’s debut feature actually showed off a talent with much more of a dark shade to him and someone who had so much more promise that he was never able to come near again. 

It’s always exciting when a director comes right out of the gate with a remarkably impressive picture that demonstrates great potential for someone who will produce memorable works for years to come, and always a major disappointment when that debut ends up being by far the best thing they’ve ever done. Such is the case with Kasdan though, and his first effort Body Heat, a scorching neo-noir that set the screen ablaze. Written and directed solely by Kasdan himself, Body Heat takes the basic framework of Billy Wilder’s classic Double Indemnity and imbues its own unique voice, primarily in the form of the Florida setting during the midst of a brutal heatwave. Each character is glistening with sweat in practically every scene, and when leading stars William Hurt and Kathleen Turner (in her debut performance) join forces in the bedroom it almost feels as if the heat will melt right off the frame. You can feel that sweat pouring off the actors as they play out the noir thrills of schemes, betrayals and sexual power games. 

When it comes to male actors I don’t think anyone dominated the ’80s the way that Hurt did, giving one astonishing performance after another that constantly rose above the material that he was given and this was an early demonstration of the kind of waves he was about to make for the rest of the decade. Playing a somewhat inept, sleazy lawyer who falls under the spell of Turner’s femme fatale, Hurt gets you to root for a character who at his core isn’t particularly worth rooting for. Part of that is due to his inherent skills as an actor (which were relatively untested at the time), and part of it comes from Turner’s turn as the dame who drives her seductive claws into him and refuses to let go. 

Body Heat plays out a relatively standard narrative of the noir genre, but being credited as one of, if not the first true “neo-noir”, Kasdan is able to pull out the kind of sex-soaked drama that frankly wasn’t allowed to be seen on screen during the genre’s golden age decades prior. He brings noir into a new age here with a debut picture that thrills, intoxicates and delivers on every drop of promise it opens up with. Along with Hurt and Turner there is room made for several memorable supporting characters, the best of them being a low-level con played by Mickey Rourke in a performance that isn’t given much screentime but seers itself into your memory for long after the picture is over. Rourke was another actor who really dominated this decade (I’d say him and Hurt were the two finest of the era), and here we get an early dose of the kind of incomparable screen presence he was born with. 

While I can admit to having a slight affection for the vanilla mixing of comedy and drama in Kasdan’s follow-up, The Big Chill, there’s no denying that he never again came near the kind of skill he demonstrated in his first feature. Taking the best of a forgotten genre and updating it for the new age, Body Heat oozes raw sexuality and the actors deliver on the heated emotions of the filmmaker’s ace script. The ’80s were a sad time for popular American cinema, but this stands strong as one of the finest American debuts of all-time and the only disappointment in it is the fact that Kasdan never lived up to the potential he was bursting with here. 

B+

10:46pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxgWe0Xp
(Notes: 2)
  
Filed under: body heat film review lawrence kasdan william hurt kathleen turner mickey rourke 
March 17, 2013
The Wages of Fear

1955, Henri-Georges Clouzot

In a hopeless wasteland of a South American village, four men are recruited by an American oil company to transport dynamite across a 300-mile pipeline in order to put out a soaring fire. Without the proper safety equipment to secure the explosives, any bump in the road or sudden stop could send their trucks to kingdom come, the men perishing in a massive blaze. Looking to outsource the suicidal task to men outside of their own union, the company finds four Europeans living as outcasts to take on the job. These men have no families, no one to miss them or cause a stir if they expire and the men readily take the opportunity to earn a sizable paycheck in exchange for 300 miles of putting their life right on the edge. 

What would compel such men to take on such a gamble with their lives? Is it strictly the money? Is it the desire to do something right with their lives, helping to put out a fire that would continue to spiral otherwise? Or is it an unidentifiable compulsion that drives them into this nail-biting ride of close calls and raised stakes; a foolish desire to do it just for the sake of doing it? Henri-Georges Clouzot’s The Wages of Fear doesn’t offer up a detailed explanation as to just what drives these men, but rather lets the question hover over their journey as one just as compelling as the journey itself. 

Opening up in this decrepit small town, one has to wonder what led these assorted ruffians to the lowdown barrens in the first place. We get some small samplings of backstory for a few of them, but this question is another that is mostly left up to our own imagination. This unidentified village isn’t a place one strives to end up in, but rather one you’re forced into and it calls into question the pasts of these men to have led them here. Spending their days hopelessly looking for any odd job to keep them going, each man dreams of escaping this town and when this dangerous task is offered up by the American oil company they finally see a way to get out of what they believe to be a living hell. 

They’ll soon come to understand just how fortunate they were though, as this journey is loaded with one life-threatening scenario after another and none of them will come out of it the same man they were when they began — if they survive it at all. The men — arrogant Mario (Yves Montand), aging ex-gangster Jo (Charles Vanel), damaged German Bimba (Peter van Eyck) and terminally ill Luigi (Folco Lulli) — all come from different backgrounds with their own life history, but they each take on this rigorous trek and are tested in their courage…or perhaps their brazen stupidity. A reckless endeavor by any measure, their metal is put on the line and while Jo cracks under the pressure (and is ostracized as a result), the other three form a bond through this experience and come together in their struggle against the grueling fate that lies before them. 

The Wages of Fear has received the lion’s share of its massive praise over the decades for being one of the most white-knuckle thrill rides put on screen and while I can’t say I agree with that area of its acclaim, there is certainly much more to it than that. Clouzot’s refusal to paint these men into traditional easy-to-root-for types is admirable, defying expectation at every turn with their callousness and cruelty, particularly in the form of Montand’s Mario. Exploding off the screen like a European answer to Kirk Douglas, when we meet Mario he is vicious towards his lover Linda (played with knee-buckling sexuality by Clouzot’s wife Vera), treating her literally as though she is his dog rather than his equal and while most films would try to give this leading man a heroic arc to win over the audience, Clouzot remains almost determined to keep him detestable and self-serving. 

Mario naturally draws the most attention, but over the course of its 150-minute running time all four of these men are given plenty of opportunity to grow and allow the audience to gain a deeper understanding of them. While I did feel that the middle act had a tendency to drag in multiple stretches, perhaps the most admirable aspect of The Wages of Fear for me was in its exploration of these four men and, by extension, the nature of man as a whole. Clouzot’s film is loaded to the brim with deep political themes, a scathing indictment of the treatment of foreign workers from American companies and resonating social relevance, but I find it to first and foremost be a powerful study on what drives men and what brings them crumbling to their knees. 

The Wages of Fear doesn’t present its protagonists as courageous, heroic figures but instead it calls into question the very nature of the traditional “hero” in on a base level. Is it courage and bravery that calls them into the heat of battle, or something much less noble? Like the many other questions that Clouzot raises throughout his impressive picture, this one isn’t given an easy answer but rather offered up for each viewer to reflect on themselves. Not as tense or suspenseful as I would have liked it to be, The Wages of Fear still delivers plenty of goods to leave practically any viewer satisfied by the time it reaches its shocking, memorable finale. 

B

6:34pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZlWstxgVOkve
Filed under: the wages of fear film review henri georges clouzot vera clouzot yves montand charles vanel peter van eyck folco lulli