Harry Brown

I think the world of Michael Caine.  From Alfie to Jaws 3: The Revenge to Cider House Rules to Inception, the actor has created a body of work best defined by the word “work.”  Highbrow, lowbrow, and everywhere in between, Caine brings his A game to each role.  I respect that kind of work ethic.  I respect Michael Caine.

So what a pleasure to see Harry Brown, a vigilante thriller starring Caine as one of the best doggone actors ever to pick up a fake Glock and take the fight to the hoodlums blighting his neighborhood.  What a pleasure to watch Caine act the hell out of his character’s loneliness, his pain, his fear, his anger, his resolve.  What a pleasure to find the cop and buddy roles filled by Emily Mortimer (Transsiberian) and David Bradley (Argus Finch in the Harry Potter films).  The professionalism, the integrity Caine and his fellows bring to their roles elevate Harry Brown’s simple vigilante story into a class on how to do a mid-budget thriller.

The film itself?  It feels like a remake of Death Wish.  Violence upon those he loves traumatizes a quiet citizen of a decaying city into bloody action.  That’s really all there is to it and, while it does a fine job of setting a somber tone and commenting on Kids These Days, it’s not what makes this film worthwhile.  Caine, as a hopeless old man whose support network disappears, one by one, until he’s ready to lash out, is what makes this film worthwhile.  He’s sad, he’s hopeless, he’s mad as hell, he’s resolute, and he’s as completely realized a character as you’re likely to see this year.

Harry Brown represents a respectable entry in a respectable body of work.  Well done, Michael Caine.

The Joneses

What a clever premise.  In The Joneses, David Duchovny and Demi Moore play the “father” and “mother” of a “perfect family,” an upscale clan which always has the best of everything: the coolest new cars, the most stylish clothes, the niftiest consumer electronics.

They’re plants.  No, not plant people like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, though that would be pretty cool.  It’s just that they aren’t really married.  Their kids aren’t really their kids.  And they don’t really own any of their cool stuff.  They’re stealth marketers, living in a house their company leases and using their good looks, charisma, and subtle salesmanship to become the tastemakers whom the tastemakers follow.  They track their effectiveness in local sales rates of luxury goods, and they compete amongst themselves to put up the best numbers in their demographics.  The locals?  Well, maybe they can afford to keep up, and maybe they can’t.  That’s not the Joneses problem.

Thus does the film (directed and co-written by former ad man Derrick Borte) skewer our consumer and credit culture with bite and wit, reflecting on how much we define ourselves by our stuff and how much we define ourselves by how our stuff stacks up against the neighbors’ stuff.  And I’ve gotta tell ya, it worked.  I wanted The Joneses’ house.  I wanted their cars.  I wanted their clothes and their gadgets and all the rest, even as I knew I was watching a film about how artificial those wants can be.  And when things started going wrong, as the laws of drama dictate they must, I wanted The Joneses to pull through.  Not only did they sell me on their stuff, they sold me on themselves.

The Joneses worked as satire and as drama, and it made me think about my buying habits and the impulses that drive me to purchase some gadget before I pay off my cars.  The Joneses was sharp and could be unkind, but I learned from its insights and recommend it to you.  This is a good film.