Short Takes

TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY

I saw Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy while recovering from surgery.  I was not at my cognitive best, and I remember little about it other than that I enjoyed it.  Sorry, friend.  Not much good to you here.

MY DOG TULIP

My Dog Tulip is the animated memoir of a man who loves his dog about as much as a man can love his dog.  Problem is, the man is a terrible dog owner. 

The dog’s an Alsatian, which should live in a house with a big yard.  The man lives in an apartment and wonders why the neighbors complain about his pet’s barking.  The dog’s out of control, not properly housetrained or taught to heel, and her bad behavior alienates everyone around him.  The man doesn’t clean up his dog’s waste if nobody’s watching, leaving landmines around his neighborhood.  The list goes on.

Somehow, we’re supposed to see man and beast as the man does.  We’re supposed to smile at the dog’s foibles and sympathize with the man’s “human troubles.”  Me, I spent the whole movie waiting for Cesar Milan to show up and set this family right.  90 minutes of anger is not my idea of a good time.

WIN WIN

Win Win, on the other hand, is my idea of a good time.  Written and directed by Thomas McCarthy (The Station Agent, The Visitor), here’s a family drama with tension, humor, and pathos.  McCarthy has a great pen and a gift with actors, and it shows.

Judging by the cast he’s assembled, he must also have serious credibility in his profession.  Paul Giamatti (CDNW) stars as a struggling small-time attorney who shares a building with Jeffrey Tambor (CDNW), an accountant and his fellow high school wrestling coach.  He’s helping his best friend (Bobby Cannavale, also of The Station Agent) through a rough divorce.   Giamatti loves his wife, Amy Ryan (of ‘The Wire,’ which is required viewing) and his kids, but he’s swimming upstream and bills are due.  Enter the great Burt Young, who presents him with an opportunity, a burden, and a threat to his entire life construct.

And away we go.

Here’s the thing that makes Win Win special: McCarthy casts legitimately great actors to play these people, and it takes the time to let us get to know them.  Consequently, I felt immersed in their lives.  I laughed when they laughed, cried when they cried, chewed my fingernails when they got worried.  Win Win immersed me, engaged me, and moved me.  I loved it.

The Man Who Laughs

In The Man Who Laughs, one of the last great films of the silent era, Conrad Veidt plays Gwynplain, the victim of a horrible childhood disfigurement.  Someone once took a knife to his mouth, carving his face into a perpetual, horrific smile.

He’s a freak, a sideshow attraction, who also happens to be smart and sensitive and good.  How can someone like that hope to find anything approaching happiness in 18^th century England?

I’ll leave you to discover the answer.  More interestingly, you should know that The Man Who Laughs, though a Universal production, is among the last great gasps of German Expressionist film.  Director Paul Leni, one of the great German Expressionists, made Waxworks.  Star Conrad Veidt made The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari.  Executive Producer Paul Kohner, formerly head of Universal’s German arm, helped bring them together in Hollywood to make the picture (all three, German Jews, had fled the Nazis).  [Source: Roger Ebert]

Even more interestingly, you should know that this adaptation of a Victor Hugo novel is a genuinely gripping film.  As with most silents, it may take you twenty minutes or so to reorient your brain to the slightly different format.  Once you dial in, however, you’ll find a sympathetic hero, a seductive temptress, dastardly villains, sly humor, and a level of sophistication that’ll inspire you to want to view the movie a second and third time.  All this, plus swordfights, pathos, and even a heroic dog.  What more could you ask for?

So go into The Man Who Laughs to do your homework on German Expressionism, Victor Hugo, and even the history of DC Comics.*  Once you’re there, you’ll lose track of time, lose yourself in the story, and root for Gwynplain to overcome all who stand between him and happiness.  The Man Who Laughs is a historic film.  It’s an influential film.  Most importantly, it’s a good film.

*In 1940, Bob Kane, Jerry Robinson, and Bill Finger created The Joker character to serve as Batman’s nemesis in “Batman #1.”  According to Kane, they modeled the Joker’s look on Veidt in The Man Who Laughs.

Source Code

With his first feature, Moon, director Duncan Jones established himself as a filmmaker capable of creating the kind of fascinating, challenging science fiction we associate with Golden Age writers like Asimov, Bradbury, and Leiber.  With Source Code, his second feature, Jones delivers a science fiction thriller offering an intriguing premise, riveting execution, and a satisfying denoument.  Jones not only sticks the landing, he sticks the entire film.

Here’s the setup:  Captain Colter Stevens is an Army helicopter pilot who awakens strapped in a kind of time machine.  This machine comes with a twist: it puts him in the body of another man, and it can only send him to one 8-minute stretch in the man’s life: the 8 minutes before he dies.  Colter’s mission: discover who’s responsible for killing the man and everyone on the commuter train the man happened to be riding when it exploded. 

Go.  Fail.  Die.  Try again.

It’s a great premise, mixing aspects of Groundhog Day, “Quantum Leap,” and Day of the Jackal.  Jones fleshes it out with a strong cast, starring Jake Gyllenhaal (a favorite since October Sky), Michelle Monaghan, Vera Farmiga, and Jeffrey Wright.  He complements them with direction and photography that reveal enough to keep us oriented and in the game, but hide enough to keep us questioning and worrying our nails.

And it works.  We share Colter’s disorientation, his desperation.  We want what he wants, we feel what he feels, and we walk out of Source Code exhilarated, satisfied, and ready to live those 90 minutes over again.

With Moon and Source Code, Duncan Jones is officially two for two.  I can’t wait to see where he goes for number three.

Rango

Rango is a great Western.  It’s a great kids’ movie.  It’s just plain great.

This beautifully animated film both ribs and pays homage to the Western, and particularly the spaghetti Western.  It’s a tale of an evil boss and a new sheriff, and it references enough classics of the genre to keep the aficionado in deep clover.  More importantly, it tells its own Western story, and it does so well enough to capture the imaginations of children for whom it represents their first exposure to the genre.

Johnny Depp voices the titular Rango, a chameleon who dreams of adventure and heroism.  When he wanders into an Old West town populated with (beautifully rendered) desert creatures, he tries to blend in.  After all, that’s what chameleons do.    Next thing he knows, he’s the sheriff.  Now, if he can only figure out how to work that gun …

And away we go.  Rango has gunslingers, saloons, jailbreaks, and even a plucky belle struggling to save her ranch.  It also has great music, funny jokes, and the most beautiful animation I’ve enjoyed since Kung Fu Panda.  I loved it, my wife loved it, and my kids loved it.  Now, if only I can get ‘em to watch Stagecoach.

Blood and Bone

Blood and Bone is a simply constructed, competently shot fight movie.

Michael Jai White plays Isaiah Bone, an ex-convict trying to get by in LA.  He fights in elaborately staged “underground” matches whose production values would make Don King burn with envy.  Of course, he catches the eye of the local top thug, played with relish by the underappreciated Eamonn Walker (who nailed the role of Howlin’ Wolf in the underseen Cadillac Records.).  Oooh, there’s gonna be fightin’.

Ok ok ok.  You don’t queue up a movie like Blood and Bone to revel in intricate plotting and razor-sharp dialogue.  How is the fightin’?  It’s fine, really, but nothing spectacular.  Michael Jai White is a competent martial artist, but his choreographer lets him down with simple matches that lack spectacle.  I rocked along well enough for an hour and a half, but the only fight I remember as of this writing is the very first one.  I hoped for more from Blood and Bone.

Hamlet

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who love Shakespeare, and those have not been properly introduced.

If you fall into the latter category, you may not enjoy the 2009 RSC Hamlet, starring David Tennant and Patrick Stewart.  As a TV film of a stage production, it’s well, stagey.  The 1990 Zeffirelli Hamlet, starring Mel Gibson and Glenn Close, is much more cinematic and, in my opinion, a better introduction to the play for non-aficionados  (I love Kenneth Branagh.  I really do.  But his 1996 film struck me as bloated and flat.).

If you’re a member of the former category, however, you’ll love this Hamlet.  The staginess won’t put you off, and you’ll home in on the quality of the direction and performances.  You’ll find that David Tennant, who found fame playing the eponymous Doctor for four seasons of the BBC’s hit show ‘Doctor Who,’ is an actor gifted with range as well as charisma.  He goes big with his Hamlet, and that “bigness” sets off the intimacy of the soliloquies.  Patrick Stewart, as Claudius, demonstrates how even the subtlest of gestures or tics can illuminate a character and generate sympathy in unexpected ways.  With the same motion, he can show us why Gertrude loves him and Hamlet hates him, and he can make us do a little of both.

This production’s biggest surprise, however, is Oliver Ford Davies as Polonius.  Davies, who earned the undying enmity of all people everywhere by appearing in not one, but all three, of the Star Wars prequels (Sio Bibble, governor of Naboo.  Hey, everyone has bills to pay.), steals every scene he’s in.  His Polonius is smart, funny, wily, and beginning to succumb to senility.  His dialogue drips off his tongue just so, and we in the audience light up every time he enters the frame.  In fact, I’d say his is a definitive Polonius: someone worth trusting, worth obeying, worth avenging.

So, there you have it.  Outstanding performances, reasonably well shot in an RSC-for-tv kind of way, and as good as any Hamlet you’re likely to see.  This Hamlet is a winner.

Game Change

I loved Game Change.

Granted, I follow politics the way normal people follow sports.  I burned with envy when my wife would come home from her job in Georgetown and report that she saw some junior senator from a jerkwater state like New York at a restaurant.  It killed me when my job status prevented me from volunteering for my presidential candidate of choice.  I’ve burned hours upon untold hours debating the minutiae of American policy with fellow obsessives on internet message boards.  I read all those Woodward books.  This is my thing.

Game Change gave me not just a peek, but an extended tour behind the curtain of the 2008 McCain presidential campaign.  Now, if you take the time to read an obscure blog like mine, you’ve probably already read about the HBO film’s remarkable performances, fair portrayal, and overall quality.  I agree, and I’ll be shocked if Ed Harris and Julianne Moore don’t win at least Emmy nominations.  But my favorite thing about the film was the sense it gave us of being caught up in tricky decisions.  It’s four days ‘til you have to name a vice presidential nominee and you’re trailing an opponent who seems unassailable: what do you do?  Your hastily vetted choice turns out to be wildly underprepared and may be melting down:  what do you do?  You’ve allowed a measure of populism and fear to enter your campaign, and it’s turning ugly and spinning out of control: what do you do?

This stuff, the gap between ideals and actions, the strategizing and counterstrategizing, are what makes so politics so fascinating.  Game Change brings the fascination home, and I loved every minute of it.  If you have HBO, see it this month.  If not, queue it up.  You’ll be glad you did.

The Ides of March

The Ides of March reminds me of the (very good) Robert Redford film The Candidate.  Where The Candidate focused on Robert Redford’s candidate for Senate, The Ides of March focuses on Ryan Gosling’s consultant to the presidential primary campaign of George Clooney.  Both films are about ambition and compromise, and both succeed.

The Ides of March, based upon a stage play, relies upon its performances to sell its dialogue-heavy running time.  This works, and it works thanks not only to the aforementioned Gosling and Clooney, but to pros like Paul Giamatti, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Jeffrey Wright, and Marisa Tomei.  Watching them perform, we feel like we have seats to an all-star production on Broadway.  Granted, it’s a production that feels earnest even while it tries to plumb the depths of self-interest and manipulation (Clooney, the Democratic Primary candidate, gets off all the Democratic talking points and zingers that left-leaning writers shout at their televisions during news conferences.), but I welcome earnestness when done well.

Does the plot twist and turn?  Yes, in ways both expected and surprising.  Do we feel for the characters?  Yes, though our loyalties shift.  When the credits roll, are we glad we spent 90 minutes with these people?  Yes, because they’re played by world-class actors speaking interesting dialogue in a story that, while not dazzling in its originality, benefits from being one well told.  I enjoyed The Ides of March.  If you like smart stories about interesting people, you probably will, too.

Short Takes

Here are some short responses to some of the films I've managed to see over the last couple of weeks:

MY WEEK WITH MARILYN

I’ve never cared about Marilyn Monroe one way or another.  Sure, I enjoyed Some Like it Hot as much as the next guy, but she never lit my fuse like, say, Barbara Stanwyck does.

That said, My Week with Marilyn made me care about Marilyn Monroe quite a lot.  The story reminds one of My Favorite Year: a show-business neophyte befriends a star, to mutual benefit.  Michelle Williams plays Marilyn in the full flower of her stardom, every bit as dazzling and insecure as history remembers her.  Lawrence Olivier (the brilliant Kenneth Branagh) has hired her to come to England to film a movie, and she’s so intimidated she can barely function.  Enter Colin Clarke, the neophyte and audience surrogate, who finds himself in the Star’s confidence.  

Soon enough, I was in.  Through Clarke’s eyes, I came to see Marilyn as an impossibly tough, delicate, and ultimately inscrutable woman entirely worthy of fascination.  So much did this film pique my interest, I’m queuing up the Olivier/Monroe pairing The Prince and the Showgirl.  I want to spend more time with Marilyn.

THE MUPPETS

Hey, you.  Yeah: you.  You like big production numbers?  Silly jokes?  Evil villains?  Boom: here you go, then.  The Muppets is for you.

Here’s the story: Jason Segel and Amy Adams help the Muppets reunite and put on a show.  That’s it.  Have at it.

So, enough about The Muppets.  Let’s talk about Amy Adams.  If ever an actress could lay claim the to the title, “The Next Julie Andrews,” it’s her.  She can sing.  She can dance.  She can act.  She can do all three at the same time, and do them well.  In fact, I’m kind of sorry that she was born too late for the era of the Great Hollywood Musical.  Given the right material, she could have passed in to legend, like Andrews.  She’s young, still, and she has plenty of time.  I loved watching her in The Muppets, I think she’s the real deal, and I hope someone out there is building a musical around her. 

I’d be there.  Opening day.

THE DESCENDANTS

 

The Descendants is one of those films that takes a basically likeable guy, piles a ton of manure on his head, and observes.  George Clooney (CDNW) plays the guy, nearly everyone else plays pilers, and we observe. 

The result?  A rich and rewarding character study of a man going through the hardest period of his life, told with tenderness and care.  The Descendants is worth your time.

BRIDESMAIDS

Bridesmaids revels in the comedy of the uncomfortable.  I found it so writhingly uncomfortable that I couldn’t wait for it to end.

ATTACK THE BLOCK

Attack The Block introduces us to a gang of young thugs in training, exposes them to an alien menace, and tries to get us to root for the thugs as they battle monsters.

I never could bring myself to care about the thugs.  Thus, I felt no tension.  Many of my friends laud this film as an innovative monster movie with a nifty hook, but to me it was just another chore.  Pass.

THE CAPTAINS

William Shatner is a terrific interviewer.  He’s so blithely self-absorbed that he puts his subjects at ease, comfortable in the knowledge that all they need to do for the next hour or so is sit back and hit the softballs he tosses between monologues.  And then they’ll inadvertently say something genuine, reveal a doubt or a weakness, and whammo!  He homes in, relentlessly questioning until he gets at its kernel, and we learn something.

In The Captains, Shatner interviews the actors who’ve played the Captain roles in the five Star Trek TV series, as well as the one who played Kirk in the newest movie.  Of the group, Avery Brooks is the most slippery and Chris Pine the least reflective (I’m not saying he’s callow or dumb, just that he’s not yet at that stage of his life path.).  They come across as a smart bunch, they know how to tell good stories, and Shatner really gets it out of them.

If you love Star Trek or if, like me, you’ve outgrown it but still love the idea of Star Trek, you’ll love The Captains.  As for me, I understand that William Shatner has an interview show on basic cable somewhere.  I’m going to look it up.  The man is really good at this.

Real Steel

Real Steel.  It’s a fighting movie without any actual fighting.  Yes, enormous animated robots duke it out in various venues, but they’re just robots.  This could be a movie about slot car racing or flying model airplanes.

Here’s the deal: it’s the near future.  Hugh Jackman plays a derelict drifter, one whose sole possessions appear to be a semi truck, a rock ‘em sock ‘em robot, and a 6-pack of cheap beer.  Oh, and he must have a full gym and a nutritionist and a personal trainer and some actual motivation in there, too, because I’ve never heard of a derelict drifter in the kind of shape this guy’s in.  Anyway, he drives from town to town, putting his ‘bot in small-time bouts for chump change and making bets he can’t cover.  He’s bad at it.  Enter a long-lost son.  Time to grow up.  Time to make something of himself.  All that.  You’ve seen it before.

Look, Jackman’s a super-talented man, Dakota Goyo, who plays the son, is a super-talented boy, and it’s hard to screw up the “man-child grows up and bonds with his kid” storyline.  But that storyline is really just a framework for the film’s showcase battles between various androids, and I couldn’t bring myself to care about them.  Not because I didn’t care about Jackman père et fils, but because a fight in which the contestants neither tire nor feel pain is no fight at all.  I’m not holding myself out as an expert fighter, here – I’m basically going on memories of Plebe boxing at USNA.  But I remember how I felt after only three rounds, when it was all my opponent and I could do to keep our gloves up and lob feather-light jabs at one another.  Real Steel’s robots can’t know what that’s like, so I couldn’t care about them.  And since I couldn’t do that, well, the movie’s marquee moments fell flat.

I think Jackman and Goyo could have carried a movie about a down-on-his-luck boxer who needed someone to believe in him.  The very conceit of Real Steel, however, left me with no skin in the game.

The Hangover: Part II

The Hangover: Part II is a misnomer.  The Hangover told a crass, yet funny, story about a bunch of guys who had a big night in Vegas that went horribly wrong.  It was a self-contained narrative that set up its situation, developed its protagonist, faced its villain, took its bow, and went home.  It wasn’t a Part I of anything.  The Hangover: Part II tells the same basic story, but in Bangkok.  The situation’s nearly identical, the protagonist is identical, the villain is extraordinarily similar to the villain in the last picture, and even the bow is the same.  They should have entitled the film, The Hangover: Let’s Make Some More Money.

Ok.  But is it funny?  Actually, yes.  I didn’t laugh as much as I did for the first film, but I did laugh out loud once or twice and chuckled often.  I liked the characters, I enjoyed the setting, I thought about 25% of the jokes worked, and I generally had a pleasant time.

Would I see The Hangover III: Salt Lake City?  I doubt it, not unless they can find somewhere else (dramatically) for these people to go.  Even a reasonably funny retread is still a retread.

In Time

In Time is a workmanlike dystopian haves vs. have-nots science fiction picture. 

Here’s the story: in a few hundred years, someone figures out how to halt the aging process at 25.  To stop overpopulation, at 25 a one-year counter starts ticking off on the person’s arm.  Once that counter goes to zero, the person drops dead.  As with any economic system, people separate into haves and have-nots.  Everyone seems more or less ok with this, until one man (Justin Timberlake) trips to the fact that the haves are rigging the system.

It’s a neat premise that follows in the grand tradition of science fiction as social commentary and popular entertainment.  Add that Timberlake is a likeable film actor and that both his love interest/accomplice (Amanda Seyfried) and antagonist (Cillian Murphy) know how to hit their marks, and you have a fine picture.

So, what’s the difference between “workmanlike” or “fine” and “good?”  Ambiguity.  Vision.  Creativity.  In Time feels like a low-budget third draft.  It’s all too simple and clear to be actually “good,” and the use of time as a metaphor for money stops being interesting after about ten minutes.  Toss in a future LA whose very best neighborhood appears to be the Wilshire District around 7:00 am on a Sunday and technology that’s only about $100,000 worth of production budget cooler than our own, and you wind up with “workmanlike” and “fine.”

And yet, workmanlike and fine are, well, fine.  I don’t recommend that you go out of your way to see In Time, but if dystopian haves vs. have-nots science fiction is your thing, well, have at it.

Warrior

The poster for Warrior tells you most of what you need to know about the movie.  Two guys who appear to know their way around a hypodermic needle are going to fight.  One of them’s probably the bad guy, and one of them’s probably the good guy.  There’s gonna be a training montage, and someone’s going to look to a woman in the audience for inspiration.

For the most part, you’d be right.  Nevertheless, Warrior steps enough outside that mold to keep itself interesting, and it delivers a fine montage, great fights, and enough of an emotional wallop to choke me up at the end.  See, the fighters are brothers.  With issues.  They bond.  I’m a sucker for that kind of thing.

Yes, yes, yes.  We’ve seen a number of the story elements a million times.  And really, how do you do anything new with a shot of supporters back home cheering at their television sets?  But hey, I liked these people all the same.  I cared about them and I cared who won the big fight, and why, and how.  Warrior is a perfectly respectable entry in the “fight movie” catalogue.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Rise of the Planet of the Apes, a film about the roots of the Great Ape Revolution, is something of a misnomer.  Earth is already the planet of the apes, since we humans fall into that category.  Perhaps a better name might be Rise of the Planet of the Rest of the Apes.

Nevertheless, Rise of the Planet of the Apes does the impossible.  During the film’s climactic man-ape battle on the Golden Gate Bridge, we viewers know that mankind’s only hope is the complete destruction of the apes fighting to get across that bridge.  Nevertheless, we root for the chimps and gorillas and orangutans.  We, the audience, root for the success of our enslavers.

Wow.

Rise does this not only by anthropomorphizing a chimpanzee, but by making the anthropomorphization of said chimpanzee the actual subject of the film’s narrative.  We begin in an African jungle.  The chimp’s mother is captured, dragged away from her tribe, and injected with some kind of super chimp serum.  Later, when the mama chimp gives birth, we bond with her cute li’l offspring.  So does James Franco, who plays a scientist who adopts the infant and raises it like an odd cross between a child and a dog.  As the chimp will soon learn, however, Franco’s family represents the sum total of nice people in the entire universe. 

Here’s the problem: chimps don’t stay cuddly forever.  When they grow up and they get angry, they can kill people.  After our hero chimp, named Caesar (modeled by the talented Andy Serkis), attacks the Francos’ mean neighbor, he’s packed off to a facility for primates (No, not a hockey arena.  This is a facility for higher primates.).  The facility, more prison than sanctuary, becomes Caesar’s crucible: the place where he grows out of his trust for humans and into his role as leader of the ape revolution.  By the time he leads his comrades across that bridge, we’ve seen him endure so much cruelty at the hands of humankind that we really do root for him.  We want him and his comrades to find a better life, to find a way out from under the thumb of their enslavers.  What a wonderful exercise in cognitive dissonance!

The film couldn’t pull this off without selling us on its world, and Rise succeeds through smart casting, brilliant animation, and solid scoring.  The Franco family includes the likeable Franco himself, the also likeable John Lithgow, and the luminous Freida Pinto (of Slumdog Millionaire).  Brian Cox leads Team Evil, with help from Tom Felton and David Hewlett, and all three sell their villainy with gusto.  (They also all happen to be English, which calls into question the seriousness of the flag-less ape threat.)  {Note: If I were a better writer, I could have come up with a better Eddie Izzard callback.  We do what we can with what we’ve got.}  The animation, well, it’s wonderful.  We believe in these apes.  We believe in their weight and momentum and the emotions on their faces.  The music, well, I’m a Patrick Doyle fan and I have been since Henry V.  His score builds the world and fills in emotional beats that animated apes may not have been able to convey on their own. 

In short, not only does Rise of the Planet of the Apes work, it works wonderfully.  This ape found himself rooting for the competition against his better judgment, and he never thought that would happen.

2011 Round-Up

Annual Round-Up: 2011 Edition

I don’t get to see many movies in the theater.  Consequently, I don’t feel that I can write anything approaching a definitive “Best Of” list for 2011.  I can, however, share with you the best films among those I saw, big screen or small.  Here they are.

The Best:

#5.  Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol.  Fast-paced, funny, exotic, and exciting, Mission: Impossible: Ghost Protocol is everything a spy action-thriller should be.  Its superspies and supervillains are appropriately super, its action sequences are breathtakingly exciting, and the whole thing hangs together with a sense of adventure and fun that had my whole group smiling as we walked out the door.

#4.  Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II.  The final episode of the Harry Potter series ties it all together.  The story twists often enough to keep us in suspense, the characters get the finales they deserve, and the entire franchise comes out as among the most successful long-form cinematic stories ever told. The Harry Potter films have had their ups and downs, but this one ends the series on a high note.

#3.  Hugo.  A film of technical audacity, Hugo succeeds from its first image, a swooping flyover of a near-fantastical version of Paris.  Its use of 3D technology is assured and masterful, and it tells a touching story while bathing us in aesthetic joy.  This is a delightful, wonderful film, and I can’t wait ‘til my children are old enough to see it for themselves.

#2.  13 Assassins.  Everything a movie should be, 13 Assassins is a perfect film.  It’s a “men on a mission” picture that deserves comparison with The Seven Samurai, with beautifully composed shots, thoughtful editing and sound design, well-realized characters, and gallons and gallons of Kensington Gore.

#1.  The Tree of Life.  Audacious, thoughtful, brilliant, and utterly moving, The Tree of Life is the most philosophically ambitious film I’ve seen since The Fountain.  Meant for big screens and bigger speakers,The Tree of Life is a quiet and introspective film about meditations on the meaning of life.  How does one reconcile “big screens and bigger speakers” with “quiet and introspective?”  Terrence Malick finds a way and in so doing draws his audience into his meditative place.  Of all the new releases we saw this year, this is the one that had my wife and me up talking well past midnight.  Bravo.

The Worst:

#1 and Only:  Transformers: Dark of the Moon.  I had a “Bottom 5 Worst Films” list ready to go.  On further consideration, however, numbers 2-5 were The Magnificent Ambersons compared to Transformers: Dark of the Moon.  This is a rock ‘em sock ‘em robot movie that put my three boys, all hepped up on Twizzlers and soda, to sleep.  I say again: this is a film about battlin’ bots that puts little boys to sleep.  So never mind that the characters are horrid, the story ridiculous, the action sequences incomprehensible, and the entire production put together by people who, apparently, actively hate us.  Transformers: Dark of the Moon is painfully, agonizingly, apocalyptically dull.  Not only is this the worst film I’ve seen this year, it’s the worst film I’ve seen since Transformers.  I’m glad I missed the second one.  I’ll be sure to miss the next.

Drive

Drive is confused.  Nevertheless, it works on the surface and provides an engrossing hour and a half at the movies.

Drive’s core story purports to be the parable of the turtle and the scorpion.  You know the story: Scorpion asks Turtle for a ride across the river.  Turtle says, “No.  When we’re halfway across, you’ll sting me.”  Scorpion replies, “Think about it: if I sting you, we both die.  What would be the point of that?”  Turtle sees Scorpion’s logic and tell him to climb aboard.  Halfway across the river, Scorpion stings Turtle.  As they’re both drowning, Turtle says, “Why did you sting me?”  Scorpion replies, “You knew what I was when you agreed to carry me.”

In the film, Ryan Gosling’s driver wears a satin jacket with a scorpion embroidered on the back.  Toward the end of the narrative, he tells one of his adversaries, “If you carry a scorpion, you’re going to get stung” (or something to that effect).  Problem is, his adversaries don’t even know who he is until it’s too late.  The parable doesn’t hold, because Drive’s real point is “don’t mess with scorpions.”

Ok, so something got lost between drafts.  Nevertheless, Drive succeeds because it features an interesting lead, supporting characters with surprising subtlety, and a sufficiently complex plot to keep us on our toes until the closing credits.

Ryan Gosling plays Driver, a character similar to Alain Delon’s Jef Costello in Le Samourai and George Clooney’s Jack in The American.  An introvert with a gift and a passion for his work, he says little and controls his face and body language.  This makes him a cool, yet blank, slate: a projection screen for the aspirations and/or desires of the audience.  When he notices the disturbingly skinny Carey Mulligan, he toys with making the single greatest mistake a character like him can make: he connects.  You probably think you know where this is going, and you may well be right.  However, it still works because Mulligan’s character isn’t just another damsel to distress.  She’s a fully realized human being, perhaps more fully realized than our protagonist; and so are the people to whom she’s connected, and to whom they’re connected.  Even the villains fascinate us with their back stories and their agendas, a fascination facilitated by remarkably unique, yet effective, casting.

Soon enough, these characters find themselves embroiled in a well-executed story of trust, doubt, and revelation that engages our imagination and helps us forget that we’ve seen this protagonist’s character arc before and we know how it’s going to end. 

The result? Though it’s little mixed up on its central parable, Drive delivers a tale well told in an immersive world.  You could do much, much worse.

Pontypool

Pontypool does great stuff for nearly its entire running time.  It kinda blows it right there at the end, but you’ve got to give this picture credit for how much it gets right.

Stephen McHattie plays Grant Mazzie, a has-been shock jock relegated to reading the school closings listing at a third-rate AM station in the sticks somewhere outside of Ontario.  He has a deep, gravelly voice, perfect for radio; and a tired, weathered face, perfect for film.

Mazzie is settling in at his new gig when the first reports of something very disturbing start trickling in.  There’s a gun battle at a nearby lake.  A mob surrounds a doctor’s office.  People start killing each other in particularly nasty ways.  Everything’s quiet in the church basement where radio station’s studio is tucked away, but it sounds like the end of the world out there.  What’s going on?

Pontypool nails this.  McHattie gives a virtuoso performance as a man going from depressed, angry, and a little drunk to skeptical, worried, then scared.  Lisa Houle and Georgina Reilly, as his engineer and assistant, respectively, give him people to bounce off, to fight, to work with, but it’s his show.  His reaction to the offscreen threat makes it real, and it shows us how the anticipation of horror can be scarier than horror itself.

It’s at the end there, when the revelations and realizations hit, that Pontypool falls apart.  But right up ‘til then, when it’s all mystery and dread, this movie is fantastic.  Pontypool may be a qualified winner, but it’s a winner nonetheless.

Special Treatment

Isabelle Huppert is an aging prostitute who specializes in fantasy fulfillment for an upscale Parisian clientele.  Bouli Lanners is an aging psychoanalyst who specializes in sitting out of his upscale Parisian patients’ sight lines and saying nearly nothing at all.  Their ennui is palpable, and Special Treatment underlines it with a score that seems to have been written entirely in a minor key and played by a cellist whose dog just died.

Great.  An hour and a half of ennui among the Parisian professional class.  If I wanted 90 minutes of ennui, I’d have lunch with coworkers from my former (office) job.  At least they told jokes.

Yes, the characters’ lives intersect in unexpected ways.  Yes, they grow and develop.  And, yes, Special Treatment does everything it wants to do.  What I wanted it to do, however, was entertain me.  That was not included in the special.

The Guard

I enjoyed The Guard.  I think I’d have enjoyed it more if I were Irish, because the picture’s many jokes seem calibrated for the Irish audience.  Nevertheless, how can anyone object to spending an hour and a half with Brendan Gleeson, Don Cheadle (CDNW), and Mark Strong?

Gleeson plays a rumpled, pleasantly corrupt local sergeant of the Garde in a village in the Irish countryside.  When FBI special agent Cheadle comes to town to stop a trio of drug smugglers (including the omnipresent Mr. Strong), we get a redemption tale and a fish out of water comedy and a buddy cop movie, all in one.

But why would you want to watch a redemption tale / fish out of water comedy / buddy cop movie, anyway?  Two reasons: #1, you will probably never go to Galloway, Ireland, so this is the closest you’re ever going to get.  #2, the dialogue is so well written and so well performed that you’ll enjoy listening to it for an hour and a half.  You may not laugh out loud (particularly if you aren’t Irish), but you’ll nod and smile and have a pleasant time.

I’ll take good dialogue and a pleasant time any day of the week.  I’d see The Guard 2 with a smile on my face.

Moneyball

When I heard that Moneyball was in production, I thought it would fail.  How do you take a book about statistical analysis and turn it into a narrative film?

Moneyball succeeds by changing focus from the book.  The book, as I said, is about statistical analysis and uses one team’s experiment with it to educate the reader.  The movie is about Billy Beane, the manager of said team, his journey, and how his grasp of the potential of statistical analysis changed his sport, his team, and his life.

Brad Pitt plays Beane as smart and savvy, yet insecure.  He’s a baseball guy, but he’s so totally a product of his lifelong immersion in the sport that he’s a baseball guy only.  When he spots an influential whiz kid (Jonah Hill) in an opposing manager’s office, he understands the value of a completely different perspective.  It’s a perspective so different that betting on it could cost him his career.  There’s your drama.  There’s your movie. 

Now, I like baseball.  I go to several games per year, I follow the Nationals in the Post, and believe that Marconi invented radio specifically to give the world the magic that is Vin Scully.  But you don’t have to like baseball to like this movie.  You have to like scrappy underdogs, you have to like things that don’t go boom, and you have to like Brad Pitt.  I like all three, and I like this picture.  I want to see it again as soon as I can.