MOVIES ARE MAGIC

The Hunger Games

The Hunger Games is a book that all my friends seemed to be reading over the past year or two. It’s young adult, and it’s a trilogy, of course. Ugh. Heaven forbid stories are told within one movie these days. I hear the novel is a quick and entertaining read. I wouldn’t describe the movie as such. It’s made in the typical style of all Hollywood action/adventure movies of this century, it has the same stock look, and the plot is predictable and contrived. There are zero thrilling scenes, zero inspired performances. There is just a slight waft of a fascinating premise that the film coasts on throughout its typically long running time, never as exciting as it suggests.

I do not enjoy the “young adult” genre, though I technically identify myself as one; I think the publishing industry intends “young adult” to mean 12-18. It should be called “teenager.” As far as teenager movies go, this is a decent one. It has strong, positive messages about feminism and individual strength versus social convention, about the vague and trepidatious paths of morality, and about the sickness in which our current society festers: one that boarishly applauds reality televison and wrestling matches and car crashes and celebrity fails and the like… perhaps there once was a more tranquil and lucid time, and perhaps there could be again… 

The narrative of The Hunger Games goes like this: In a world where the hyper-mediated, over-dressed, Orwellian post-apocalypse of the future meets the meek and drab feudal enslavement of the past, annual teenage death matches are enacted by the poor for the amusement of the tacky rich… in which a plucky girl shows bravery and wit to affect change to the system and grows as a young woman. Other than the fact that this plot seems to be derived from every other movie ever, this premise does indeed seem interesting, if not inherently entertaining. But the awkward storytelling is in the way of itself.

The Hunger Games has packaged its themes with no true artistry, no intellectual stimulation. The story telegraphs every plotline to its audience, recycles archetypal genre tropes repeatedly, and plays into the same conversation our culture has been having about love and selfhood for the past decade, adding nothing. Every character is a plot contrivance: the dreamy boy at home in the wilderness, the surly mentor, the cool, inspirational Lenny-Kravitz guy, the silly host of the games, each one of the game’s participants… Every twist is seen from a mile away: Wow, she volunteers! She shoots the apple! She’s saved at the last second! The film ends in a Twilight-esque love triange that will surely be played out for two more 120+minute movies. Great. That the director, Gary Ross, did everything possible to visually obviate every thought and emotion only furthers the lack of intellectual cruiosity that is requisite for such moviegoing. 

My biggest gripe with this film - the reason I insistently insult it - is because it is ultimately a kid’s movie, yet is treated as a cultural event. I’m sick of fantasy worlds and swordfights and guns and epic sagas where a young person goes on some bullshit quest - these stories have been clogging the box office since Lord of the Rings, maybe Star Wars even, and it’s nerdy, lame filmmaking. I want our cultural dialogue to be concened with more adult fare, more creativity, more intellectualism. It saddens me that this is what people flock to, what everyone agrees is good, what seems to be what adults, age 18-60, want at the cinema. This is not cinema. This is another okay movie that is treated like some big deal, and I don’t think we should act like parents who bask their children in praise for the most typical of work. We deserve better. 

Achievements of 2011

Awards seem more and more silly every year. This year, I’m thinking of skipping the Oscars and maybe watching the Independent Spirit Awards instead (though I don’t agree with all of their nominations either). That being said, recognition for outstanding artistry always seems appropriate and satisfying, if not mandatory. Here are my choices, in approximate order. Pictured are my clear favorites. 

Achievement in a Female Leading Role

Juliette Binoche, Certified Copy
Charlize Theron, Young Adult
Kristen Wiig, Bridesmaids
Kirsten Dunst, Melancholia
Rooney Mara, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Juliette Binoche is amazing. Her performance in Certified Copy is far and away the most impressive of the year, especially considering the extremely trickiness of the role. Comedians never get the acclaim they deserve, and Kristen Wiig will surely be no different, but she was awesome. Kirsten Dunst has garnered buzz with her role in Lars von Trier’s picture, but playing manic depressive doesn’t seem too hard; maybe she just makes it look easy. Unfortunately, there weren’t that many great roles for women in 2012…

Achievement in a Male Leading Role

Michael Fassbender, Shame
Ewan McGregor, Beginners
Paul Rudd, Our Idiot Brother
George Clooney, The Descendants
Brad Pitt, Moneyball
Steve Coogan, The Trip
Ryan Gosling, Drive
Bradley Cooper, Limitless 
Brad Pitt, The Tree of Life

Michael Fassbender’s portrayal as a sex addict is clearly the stand-out here. The role is so complex and interesting in his hands. Terrific. Paul Rudd does a great job with a winning comedic performance, as does Steve Coogan, playing (a version of) himself, no less. George Clooney does very well in The Descendants - better than he does in his more typical role in The Ides of March, in which he directs himself. Brad Pitt had two great roles in 2011, but it’s hard to praise acting in The Tree of Life when the direction and photography outshine the performances so wildly. Maybe it’s surprising to Bradley Cooper on this list, but Limitless is incessantly watchable, and it’s hard to give credit to anyone else - the premise is great but the screenplay sucks.

Achievement in a Female Supporting Role

Mélenie Laurent, Beginners
Carey Mulligan, Shame
Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids
Elena Anaya, The Skin I Live In 
Shailene Woodley, The Descendants
Elizabeth Banks, Our Idiot Brother 

How can you not fall in love with Mélanie Laurent in Beginners?! I have such a crush. She is simply luminous. Carey Mulligan brings the perfect amount of charm, fearlessness and complexity to her character in Shame - a far more compelling role than she has in Drive. Melissa McCarthy is a scene-stealer in Bridesmaids. Doesn’t Elizabeth Banks look like Parkey Posey? She’s as good in this one.

Achievement in a Male Supporting Role

Christopher Plummer, Beginners
John C. Reilly, Terri
Vincent Cassell, A Dangerous Method
Zack Galifianakis, The Hangover II
Rob Brydon, The Trip
Matt Damon, Contagion 
Kevin Spacey, Margin Call 

I fear watching any award show specifically because I cannot stand the thought of Christopher Plummer losing this award. I swell up with tears just thinking about him in this movie (and this still pictured above gets me every time). I have a great relationship with my father, but even so, I feel like Christopher Plummer provides a certain paternal fulfillment that is unparalleled in any film I can think of. Overwhelmingly good. These others are good too.

Achievement in Directing

Mike Mills, Beginners
Lars Von Trier, Melancholia
Terrence Malick, The Tree of Life
Steve McQueen, Shame
Nicolas Winding Refn, Drive
Abbas Kiarostami, Certified Copy
David Fincher, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
Michael Hazanavicius, The Artist
David Cronenberg, A Dangerous Method
JJ Abrams, Super 8

This is a very hard category to consider because a director’s role is so vast. Technically, it is the director’s job to direct the actors, as well as oversee each and every department on a film set. Many directors also oversee pre-production and post-production, especially if the work is auteur and of a singular vision. David Fincher directs as well as anyone, but I can’t ignore the fact that he is handling someone else’s material here, in addition to the fact that I don’t really care about said material. Ultimately, a detective thriller isn’t going to match up in my book to a poetic and visionary passion project, which the top spots go to.

Achievement in Writing

Mike Mills, Beginners
Lars von Trier, Melancholia
Pedro Almodovar, The Skin I Live In
Abbas Kiarostami, Certified Copy
Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris
Jesse Peretz/Evgenia Peretz/David Schisgall, Our Idiot Brother 
Kristen Wiig/Annie Mumolo, Bridesmaids 
J.C. Chandor, Margin Call 

Writing and directing are such weird categories because, when done really well, they feel the same. I know that Beginners is a great screenplay and is well-directed, but I’d rather just acknowledge Mike Mills for making a terrific film. The two tasks seem so intwined as to be inseparable. But of course, we do separate them. Some movies owe more to their screenplays than others. Woody Allen, for instance, writes better than he directs (especially lately), in my opinion. So even though Midnight in Paris was just a good movie, it’s a great, fun script. 

Achievement in Photography

The Tree of Life
Melancholia
Drive
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
Martha Marcy May Marlene
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
Contagion
Beginners 

I have omitted writing the names beside the titles because I figure that no one cares that Emmanuel Lubezki was the cinematographer for The Tree of Life, and he’s the most famous person in this category! Except, interestingly, Steven Soderbergh, who serves as director of photography for Contagion and all of his other films as well, and he’s damn good. Suffice to say, these are the best-looking movies from the year.

Achievement in Editing

Melancholia
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
Page One: Inside the New York Times
The Skin I Live In
The Artist
Super 8
Drive
Beginners

In the case of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the editing is too good. It should be longer! But it’s cut from scene to scene so expertly that I’ve recognized it here. Generally, great editing goes unnoticed, except with a film like Requiem for a Dream, where the editing is such a major part of it. Flow might be a better term for this category…

Achievement in Music

Drive
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
The Artist
Contagion
Midnight in Paris 
Beginners 

These movies, especially Drive, have great music in them. Cliff Martinez scored Drive and Contagion both. There are other songs in these films that make them great soundtracks, so I’m not sure how to best award that, since the composer obviously didn’t write those songs. Anyway, whatever. I guess this is why people generally don’t care about technical categories. I’ll stop with this one, though I’m tempted to do Art Direction. It’s hard for me to care beyond that as well. Sound mixing vs sound editing? Please. 

Best of 2011

1

 

Beginners
Mike Mills

Like an ee cummings poem, Beginners is a beautifully unique and small film about life and love and everything and the world turning in your mind like memories that hold you tight, softly and like heavy air. It’s a perfect movie to see alone or with someone dear, a tender movie to fall in love with and savor. The actors feel like perfectly flawed people you (want to/so badly!) know and are and cherish. Being alive. Magic.

2 

Shame
Steve McQueen  

Totally adult, and totally great, this is a delicious film about psychology, human interactions and interconnectedness, sex, rote fucking and behavioral patterns, contemporary social politics and utter loneliness. The performances and direction are magnificent. As a culture, we severely lack a mature, direct discussion of sexuality; this film fills such a void, with aplomb. It’s nuanced, engrossing, and incredibly provocative. 

Melancholia
Lars von Trier 

This is an opus; it’s a love letter of sorts to the all-consuming power of sadness and negativity. It’s a magnificent achievement of a film, barely contained by its two-dimensional limitations, and hypnotically powerful. It bleeds with intense detachment and hate and cynicism, and yet is achingly beautiful and profound. Some sequences are so technically perfect that the craftsmanship alone makes me weep, let alone the devastatingly crushing moral and philosophical implications.

4

The Tree of Life
Terrence Malick 

More operatic than cinematic, The Tree of Life is the grandest film of the year, if not the best. Mind-bogglingly ambitious, and a bit much as a result, it nonetheless achieves unparalleled heights of beauty and perplexity in a refreshingly non-narrative format. I fell in deep love with this film, then got bored, resented it, then felt nostalgic and loved it again, all within its running time. Epic. Experimental. A true theatrical experience. 

5 

The Trip
Michael Winterbottom 

The Trip is expertly wry and witty and simply hilarious. Comedies are too often overlooked as light fare, and this film is certainly enjoyable as such, but it also contains kernels of immense insight and humanity. More a comedy of manners than ha-ha comedy in the general sense, this film is a masterpiece for anyone with a subtle, dark, cringe-inducing sense of humor. It’s made all the better by its high-brow self-awareness and expert craftsmanship.

6

Our Idiot Brother

The most unexpected delight at the theater this year, Our Idiot Brother is a charming comedy about indie culture, lampooning everything from organic farms and crowded Bushwick lofts to fashionable sexuality and the finer points of selling out. It’s replete with Chelsea artists, scandalized socialites, arcane police-state drug laws, trendy greenmarkets, creative-class parents and misunderstood, gifted children. The perfect New York comedy, and starring the perfect cast of now.

7

Drive

The most overrated movie of the year still qualifies as one of the best, if simply for its stellar stylization of an existentially empty narrative. Achieves blissful tones through synthetic audio and smooth palette, and races like adrenaline in your veins. The first half is mesmerizingly cool; the second half is cathartically bludgeoning. The void of meaning is aestheticized so much that you forget you’ve seen a very clichéd narrative.

8 

The Skin I Live In
Pedro Almodovar

A slick puzzle of a film from the master of cinematic melodrama, The Skin I Live In is aesthetically polished and intellectually curious. This is a very strange and twisted labyrinth of a story, made all the more tantalizing by the way in which it is told, which is to say, unconventionally. And yet, an undercurrent of familiarity accompanies the macabre action. Thought-provoking and fun.

9 

Bridesmaids

You know, great.

10

Young Adult

Honest, bitingly bitter, poignant, sad, funny, good to look at, easy to watch. 

11 

The Future
Miranda July 

Weird, daring, thoughtful, sensitive, small and sweet, and like a song that stays in your head that you can’t name. A strange dream of a film.

12

The Artist
Michael Hazanavicius

Simply delightful. Feels like going to the movies. That it’s silent and black and white is impressive and audacious. Not a risky film otherwise: it’s a genuine crowd-pleaser and very easy to enjoy. The title is annoying.

13

The Descendants
Alexander Payne 

Enjoyable, touching, not brilliant. Not on the level of the director’s previous work in terms of bite, but a good story with some lovely performances.

14

Certified Copy
Abbas Kiarostami

Makes one’s mind swim with intellectual rigor and dreamy, hallucinatory confusion. Challengingly sophisticated. A true puzzle of a film, though difficult.

15
A Dangerous Method

This is a film that celebrates the cerebral, and a pleasure to behold for those of us stuck in our heads, as it centers on Freudian principals of psychoanalysis and the relationship of sex to our unconscious lives. If only it was even more dedicated to fascinating conversations about human motives and less interested on the historical human drama of Dr. Jung and his patients.

Terri

A small, rather forgettable film that we need more of. Honest, true to life and full of heart, this movie doesn’t lose itself in ambition; rather, it aims for a portrait of a loner kid and relates to anyone with a sense of empathy in the process. 

If a Tree Falls: A Story of the Earth Liberation Front

The most intriguing documentary of the year deals with terrorism, but not in the way you may think: activists from Oregon have been slapped with the label (and the corresponding prison sentences) for being a bit too environmentally conscious, as it were. It’s an enraging story, and sad to see how the United States decides to handle it. Where are our priorities?

Bill Cunningham New York

The portrait of an old man going about his business, this movie is a joy, if simply for the example Bill Cunningham sets for us: live your life doing what you love, and everything will be fine. If only we were all crippled by a fundamental lack of self-realization as he. A very interesting portrait.

Page One: Inside The New York Times

Busy and bombastic and overflowing with material, this look inside the newspaper at a crucial moment in history - the dawning of new media, the dying of print, etc - is fascinating, and makes for good conversation afterward.

20
Like Crazy

This is a pure love story. It does’t leave out the complicated bits: it’s made up of them. Break-ups, second thoughts, painful yearning for one another, on top of the usual frolicking courtship and sweet embraces. It’s told with a cool, youthful voice but doesn’t try too hard. Succeeds where (500) Days of Summer fails.

Super 8

The best blockbuster of 2012 is a fun story of aspiring filmmaker kids, with aliens thrown in to appease the summer crowds. Terrific action sequences and a deft handling of the material all around.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Not exactly sure why this movie had to be remade, but it certainly justifies itself: looks amazing, exciting to watch (again), solid performances, some really neat fancy title sequencing, tight soundtrack. Good movie. The best part is its embedded commentary on photography: photos are everywhere in this movie. Very meta, very smart.

Midnight in Paris
Woody Allen 

Simply an enjoyable escape of a film that plays lightly in its pleasurable conceit.

Martha Marcy May Marlene
Sean Durkin 

This is a good film, except that it’s so monotone. It’s photographed expertly and put together well, but feels a bit dull, as much of its action is confined either off-screen or inside the character’s mind, which we don’t quite see. Still, manages some great weirdness and dread, and offers some interesting criticism on lifestyles and human behavior.

25
Moneyball

A really good movie about sports that doesn’t need any actual baseball action - in fact, the scenes that center around actual baseball are what slow the film down. Really, a thinking man’s sport’s film, and quite entertaining. A must for anyone that cares about the game beyond the games themselves - box scores, analysis, trades. Very fun look at the business of the game.

Margin Call

Good movie about the financial collapse on Wall Street. Feels a bit like a play. Has some good asides peppered throughout. Drags a bit. 

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Well-done action blockbuster that alludes to revolution and the 99%.

Limitless

Overlooked and underrated studio picture with an amazing premise, bogged down by pretty awful screenwriting and annoying plot contrivances. Why not just show us how limitless things can get?! Why bother with all these silly obstacles?! Still, a very fun film to watch one night.

Contagion

Expertly handled and prescient for sure, something’s missing in this picture. It doesn’t stay with me for long. It’s too cold, perhaps, or too safe. Still, a good movie, but disappointing.

-

Here are the remaining films (in order by release date) that I saw this year, so that you know what I’ve intentionally excluded:

Cold Weather
Cedar Rapids
Battle: LA
Your Highness
Hanna
Win WinCave of Forgotten Dreams
Everything Must Go
Thor
The Hangover II
Cars 2
Terrible Bosses
Friends with Benefits
Submarine
The Ides of March
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy 

And here are films I want to see that I missed:

Film Socialism
We Need to Talk About Kevin
Weekend
The Interruptor
Into the Abyss
Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives
Le Quattro Volte
A Separation
Pina
Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop 
Take Shelter
Le Havre 
Trust
Margaret 
No Strings Attached
Tower Heist
50/50 

-

Notes:
* Names appearing under certain titles indicate auteur work
** The only bad movies that I saw that I recommend avoiding are Battle: LA, Thor and Submarine.

Drive

It’s hard keeping up with Ryan Gosling these days. He’s everywhere. He was amazing in Half Nelson, and amazing again years later in Blue Valentine. Both great films. Now he’s in every movie, and I can’t exactly tell what sort of career he’s creating (besides an obviously successful one) and which of his films are meant to be interesting. Sometimes it’s best to go into a movie blind. I didn’t know anything about Drive when I went to see it, except that (according to my buddy Erik, who took me to see it one day after his first viewing) it had a Sofia-Coppola-like ambient texture and pace. That sold me on it, as I adore mesmerizingly slow and arresting visual poetry. I’m big on the phrase feature-length music video.

But of course, Drive is not really like a Lost in Translation or Somewhere. It starts off with similar sensibilities to an extent: lush moodiness, casually remarkable camerawork, an immaculately curated atmospheric soundtrack. A distinct difference though, is Drive’s pointedly noir attitude. It’s sparse dialogue is more indebted to a tough Clint-Eastwood-esque efficiency than to a provocative auteur experimentalism. Also, almost immediately, the film is infused with dread, which slowly but surely unfolds itself.

The film coasts along in low gear for a while like a serene scenic drive, introducing peculiar characters, setting up basic plot points, until near the end of the second act, when it shifts gears into something decidedly higher and more confrontational. Guns are fired. Adrenaline. A splattered head. Heavy beating. It’s easy to think of our modern times as being desensitized to violence, but that’s because violence is generally depicted so callously, and with such little blood or evidence of pain. This is not that kind of violence. This feels very real. I’m gripped, and not by the narrative. Gosling’s protagonist makes some decisions that feel more like plot devices than genuine behavior, but I suppose when such a character has no name, no ties to anything or anyone, and no definitive moral compass, he can basically do whatever the plot necessitates. (This plot turns out to be of the bag-of-money/death-list variety.)

There are songs that start with a quiet piano or acoustic guitar and whispered vocal that then crash into loud, pounding rock. Drive doesn’t feature these sort of songs, but it behaves like them. Restrained quiet and fierce energy make for a satisfying juxtaposition - one that translates into film almost just as well (though nothing is more primal and directly satisfying as music.) The third act of Drive is hard rock (or heavy metal, or maybe gangster rap), with bits of symphonic beauty tied in for cohesiveness. The soundtrack itself sticks to wonderful electronic tones and 80s synth pop nods.

There’s one particular scene in which Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn has borrowed nicely from Vincent Gallo (Buffalo ‘66) for a surreal romantic moment, in which time seems to stop so that we may savor it, and from Gaspar Noé (Irreversible) for a brutal pounding in of somebody’s face. (Indeed, Noé was consulted for this shot.) The love and hate happen right next to each other. The outcome is quite delightful. This scene is the film in a nutshell.

Drive is an interesting, distinctively post-modern movie. It uses retro stylization, almost camp in its declarative force - a cursive font in bright pink is used for credits and promotion - and music to match. It takes a page or three from the Quentin Tarantino book on film - heavy in references, heavy in cherry-picked near-exploitive period specificity (the 80s in this case), heavy in gore and revenge fantasy fulfillment. It turns between atmospheric beauty and hyper-graphic violence quite adroitly. I am quite pleased by all of these things. Ultimately, though, this film is glossy trash, proudly announcing itself as style over substance. I don’t strictly mean this as an insult. It’s  Marshall McLuhan’s (and the Republican party’s mantra) style as substance. Substance matters, but style matters more. I actually most often prefer it myself. My fear is that, with such excesses in celebration of style, we might forget that we still live in a world where substance matters a great deal. Do we even know what it looks like anymore?

Contagion

There’s a lot of blue and grey and yellow in Contagion. The film depicts a realistically disastrous present, full of cold science and cold shoulders. People are sad; angry too, but not in a red way - more of a resigned, wintery way. Blue. There are multiple perspectives, a multitude of realities at work, networked together like a mapping of our globalized modernity. Doctors rush to contain the outbreak, morally conflicted between protocol and instinct. Those in power perhaps cut to the front of the line, putting their families first. No one is traditionally good or bad, exactly. Just people, giving life a go. The virus is the thing. But of course, the virus, thriving in a bleak winter during bleak times, elicits all sorts of questionable behavior: the government acts quickly to contain and immunize, but is it motivated by pharmaceutical profit? The blogosphere scrutinizes and offers its own agenda, but how can it be trusted? People become pitted against each other, every family out to grab the last case of water or supposed herbal cure while stepping on the neck of their neighbor. There is morality to be gleaned here, but no character is clearly benevolent or malicious. Grey. And then there’s the sickness itself. Death. A sallow, vile sweat that overcomes the hapless multitude of victims, who keel over in dehumanizing suffering. In death, freedom from earthly troubles. A light at the end of the tunnel, if only. Yellow.

Steven Soderberg has been hard at work compiling perhaps the most unique and interesting resumé of any working director. He is a master craftsman, and Contagion is but the latest in his polished, impressive oeuvre, complete with signature soundscapes, camera angles and edits. He has made movies more incendiary (Traffic), more pensive (Solaris), more buzz-worthy (Sex, Lies and Videotape) and more star-studdedly entertaining (Ocean’s Eleven). But Contagion ably, if perhaps routinely, combines all such facets of his game. The cast is strong, the script is laudable, the direction, of course, pristine. It’s always nice to see big names turn up for parts perhaps beneath their marquee status in order to achieve something bigger than the sum of its parts. I’m not convinced that this does just that,  but I’m impressed by the effort, and entertained in the meantime. There are some unfortunate moments: certain lines delivered (by Jude Law, and by some bitch medical administrator) feel awkward and extraneous, even didactic. But overall, the film avoids preachiness, and does a fine job of getting under one’s skin.

Even if I wash my hands every hour and avoid touching my face every minute, I’m susceptible to all the germs that we live amongst. It’s quite literally unavoidable, and it makes for a panicky time at the onset of any such event. But even barring an outbreak, paranoia is always a threat. The virus is a frightening adversary because it exists in one’s mind as much as anywhere else - it’s invisible. My dad used to warn me, in high school, to drive with utmost caution at 2am after a party. I’ll be fine, dad, I’d say. It’s not you that I’m worried about, Keith - it’s the other reckless drivers out there on the road. One can point to a single incident of vehicular manslaughter (of which there are many, of course) to instill in one’s mind that the possibility, despite any mathematical reality, is constant.

There was a hurricane scare in New York at the end of our 2011 summer. It was treated as the biggest deal, sort of a media event. Lines at grocery stores went out the doors. The subway was shut down. Plans were made as if civilization was ending. Everyone bought into it, many fleeing town. Suddenly the news was on all the time, simply reminding the city to stay on edge. In a way, the city came together, bonded over the looming doom. Of course, the hurricane passed by New York City with virtually no effect. (Other places weren’t as lucky.) Even when the threat is an empty one, the (collective) mind harbors dark thoughts. If enough people tell you to be afraid, you will be. No one is immune to fear. Contagion is about a virus like H1N1 or the bird flu, but it’s really about mass hysteria, crowd control, the individual versus the mob, and the politics of a culture injected with a sense of its own mortality.

Our Idiot Brother

Our Idiot Brother is a great little indie film masquerading as a big-budget, mediocre summer comedy. It’s the portrait of a care-free man, who, when put upon, holds a mirror up to our collective anxieties, here embodied by lovely actors who charm and delight throughout the well-structured narrative. I laughed; I cried. I loved it.

I expected it to be a lot clunkier and stilted than it is, for the jokes to be telegraphed in, for the scenes to be laborious and plodding. Credit is due to the direction and the script, all coming from new-comers to the Hollywood comedy scene, which is very refreshing. The casting is unbelievably good. (Steve Coogan?! Adam Scott?! Amazing.) The actors improvise a healthy amount of the jokes within the script, and they totally nail it! Perhaps I’m partial, as the story takes place in a particular kind of New York, with its various pockets of hipsterdom and cultural superiority. It’s all so exactingly lampooned… with a kind, touching sympathy.

It should be noted that this is effectively an independent film. The largest company involved was the distributor, The Weinstein Company (which explains its ad campaign and theatrical distribution). The production companies are Big Beach Films and Likely Story. No sign of Fox Searchlight to muck with development or production, which it has done so many times (Juno, (500) Days of Summer, Little Miss Sunshine… Our Idiot Brother is better than all of them.)

There is a particular Hollywood touch to which the does film succumb, for better or worse: everyone is very attractive. The family members at the heart of the film are all crush-worthy, of course, but even at parties and on the sidewalk, each person is meticulously cast to look just right. This indulgence, while decadently delicious to inhabit momentarily, is horribly insincere. Another common insincerity that Our Idiot Brother flirts with (but sidesteps, barely) is to portray the houses and wardrobes of the characters as impossibly good. It’s the ‘Friends’ dilemma - no six friends in New York can occupy such a great floor plan in the West Village with jobs such as theirs. This movies does a little better, housing Zooey Deshanel and Rashida Jones as lesbian lovers, for instance, in a Bed-Stuy-type loft space with five other roommates. Elizabeth Banks seems to be doing a little too well for how her career seems to be going, but otherwise, the filmmakers reign in their own fantasies in favor of a world more genuine and convincing. 

Augmenting dream worlds is pretty common in film; perhaps it’s unavoidable, since, like commercial aesthetics, the film industry constantly sells its own look. In worse cases, this insincerity is combined with efforts of greatly overreaching sincerity - artistic touches added to communicate the coolness of something. Aforementioned movies like (500) Days of Summer (which, in the title alone, is so awfully, pretentiously self-aware that it’s sickening) portray themselves as indie in the face of being mass consumed. The excessive quirkiness (through edits, camera angles, wardrobe flourishes) apparent in those films are absent here in favor of consistent subtlety. Nods (and cutting jokes) are made constantly to marginalized lifestyles made up of hippies, vegans, localvores, bohemians, artists, writers and hipsters, but the jokes, hilarious as they are, are worked into the pace, rather than flagged for our attention.

Our Idiot Brother is a thoughtful and emotional picture. It begins at a greenmarket, where Paul Rudd’s title character, while exuding benevolence and love, is unjustly arrested. Immediately, politics and the surreally absurd laws that govern the United States have me feeling acute anger and sympathy. The film then settles into a pleasant, groovy pace until much later, when the film’s glide is broken just slightly, and we bear witness to a psychological tone that adds depth and further humanity to the protagonist. Why do people behave the way they do? How are such lifestyles cultivated? The movie wants to go there. Like the brilliant Groundhog Day, it errs on the side of light and breezy, but eludes to its darker, more philosophical themes enough to provoke thought and emote sincerely. More movies need to handle heavy topics. Many, many films of recent years address the issue of suspended male adolescence, but few, if any, bring much insight into their safe filmmaking. Our Idiot Brother, while similar to Will Farrell and Judd Apatow pictures in many ways, has much more soul. 

The Future

Miranda July is an awesome, talented and interesting person that makes art and films about being rather ordinary. Her characters (in The Future, and in her amazing debut feature Me, You and Everyone We Know (2005)) are mopey hipster slacker types that might have her creative eccentricity, but certainly not her drive. I’m at odds while watching The Future, knowing that Miranda July herself is certainly living a fulfilled life, while her character, Sophie, struggles to actualize herself within the span of one month, at which point she and her boyfriend will adopt a cat, which will in turn end their lives. They’re 35 years old, after all; the cat will live five years probably (they picked a sick one to diminish their commitment); once the couple turn 40, their lives are essentially over. I place myself somewhere in between Miranda July herself, and the character(s) she plays. Closer probably to the characters.

If you had just one month to live out your vague ambitions, what would you do? Quit your dumb job? Cancel your internet? Have an affair? Sure, why not. Life is a creative, improvisational act. Maybe you’d video yourself dancing for 30 days straight and put all the dances on the internet, but maybe that’s just a bit too much work to actually do. Or maybe it’s not what you actually want to do; you just think it’s what you want to do. Where does your passion really lie??

The theme of this film isn’t so much the future as it is the present. We always wonder what life will be like in five, ten, 50 years. But really, we wonder about what to do right now. I think about the future a lot. I picture myself in a spacious room with sunlight spilling in from an ocean view, typing away at an old-school typewriter. I have an advance, or a grant, or a lot of money made from an indie film picked up at Cannes by a legitimate distributor, so I can work at my own pace and meditate on the passage of time. My lover is in the other room, and maybe we have a child. So what do I do right now? If you said submit something to a film festival, or start thinking about having a kid, or start to make enough money to afford a beach house, you’d be wrong. I’m gonna pour myself a glass of wine and stare out the window.

The Future is like all the floating anxiety inside your head: it stays with you and you don’t really know why. Sure, you’ll forget about it, see other films, get involved with more (or less) important things, but you’ll come back to it. It’s an interesting picture, made in an odd, sensitive way. The narrative structure is quite strange, the pace is slow and bewildering, the characters are just barely dimensional, and there’s a cat that narrates its scenes in a style rather off-putting. I can’t say I even enjoyed watching The Future, but I very much enjoy thinking about it afterward. That the future is something you can even think about after it’s already happened? Well that just blows my mind.

I saw the future, and it was good.

Beginners

Beginners is movie about love, about emotions, about understanding and about becoming yourself. It’s a film about the passage of time, of life happening to you, through you, of you.

Beginners is a film of sweet and aching beauty, of sincere and humble vision and small, soft wonder, in which a despondent man is brought to life through his father’s lesson of living, and through the affections of a wonderful woman. It’s a film to fall in love with, to savor, to consider and to remember. It’s of tears and crying happily, of cherishing moments, of delicate wisdom and the bonds that we make that vivify us.

Mike Mills’ debut feature, Thumbsucker, is also amazing, filled with humanity and uniqueness. This film feels even more personal and uncategorizable. Ewan McGregor gives a kind and gentle performance as the protagonist, struggling to understand love and face mortality. Christopher Plumber is absolutely fantastic as Ewan’s father. He brings such soulfulness and jouissance to a his late-bloomer character. I’d like to see him receive Oscar attention for his supporting role. The relationship between these two is perfectly tender. Melanié Laurant, well I just have the biggest crush on her, even more so now (following Inglourious Basterds). She’s amazing. The writing and directing and editing and photography is all fresh and splendid. It doesn’t push, doesn’t try too hard, isn’t too showy. It just succeeds.

This movie is magic.

<3

xoxo

The Hangover Part II

The Hangover (2009) is one of those films that totally nails it. It’s a blast. It has a cast that, at the time, was under the radar. Bradley Cooper, billed 14th in his best film role always and forever - Wet Hot American Summer (2001), was the lead. The only other big films he had starred in were Wedding Crashers (2005) and He’s Just Not That Into You (2009), and he certainly wasn’t the lead in those films. Ed Helms, billed 2nd, just had TV under his belt - ‘The Daily Show’ and ‘The Office.’ And Zach Galiafinakis, billed 3rd, was still mucking about on the internet and in bit parts until The Hangover. To put it simply, this film completely blew up these careers. It came out of nowhere. Of course, for some of us, the poster was enough to expect big things, as was the case with Old School (2003), Todd Phillips’ first great film. When you have a sense of the players involved, it’s exciting to imagine the possibilities. The Hangover delivered.

Where The Hangover succeeded with rather low expectations, The Hangover Part II fails with epically high expectations. This is probably why there wasn’t an Old School Part II. Everyone knows what to expect here. And we get exactly that. These actors have become bankable stars. Here, they prove their stardom by cashing in big time. But it’s not exactly fair to say they play it safe. The envelope is still pushed: there’s a still image in the end credits (again), for instance, that parodies photojournalist Eddie Adams’ horrific photograph of that Saigon execution from the Tet Offensive. Offensive is right - Roger Ebert, though he loved the first, lambasts this comedy for going to far. Comedy can’t go too far. I love that the guys went for this. You can’t know where the line is unless you try to cross it. A premise in which everyone gets so fucked up they can’t remember anything is the perfect way to examine our secret cultural predilections. Maybe one of them is to be calloused to cultural sensitivities.

I, for one, enjoyed this film. What’s not to like? What, it’s too similar to the first one, which was great?? Sure, I’d be disappointed in a lack of ingenuity if I was seeing a new Wes or PT Anderson film. (Indeed, every Wes Anderson pic after The Royal Tenenbaums is somewhat disappointing for this very reason.) But this is big budget comedy here. What’s next? Complaining that sex with your girlfriend is the exact same as last time?

It is true: this sequel is nearly identical to the original. The plot turns mirror the first one beat for beat. They’re still searching their pockets for clues, still talking to bit characters to piece it all back together, still rushing back in time for the wedding. Drugs in the marshmallows instead of the yager / A monkey instead of a baby / Justin Bartha is expunged because he left the camp fire early instead of being left on the roof / Face tattoo instead of missing tooth / Chang is invited to join instead of showing up villainously / It’s the new brother-in-law that’s missing instead of the groom. Oh, and it’s in Bangkok instead of Vegas, which is perfectly fitting. Still plenty of jokes. One of the opening scenes in Zach’s house is hilarious, for instance. (He was introduced quite well in the original, too.)

To be sure, this isn’t as good as The Hangover. Overall the jokes are less funny, and it’s disappointing as an audience member to be fed more of the same. But hey, I take it for what it is. No one forced me to buy a ticket. Speaking of: this film made even more money than the original, which had already shattered records. It cost $80 million to make (vs $30 mil for the original) and took in $581 million at the US box office (vs $467 mil for the 1st), becoming the highest-grossing comedy and highest-grossing R-rated film ever, and it’s for this reason that we can expect more of the same, from all of Hollywood.

What we should really be complaining about is the state of mediocrity and predictability with films in general. It’s not Todd Phillips’ fault that he gets to throw in every raunchy joke he can think of, or an intense car stunt into his comedies (which he does really well btw). It’s probably demanded of his brand by the studio. What’s sad is that there are no daring stories being told - that every film, no matter the genre, follows the same basic narrative structure. If the Hangover guys choose to really take a risk next time, this is what I’d like to see: Bradly wakes up and stumbles from his bed. He falls on the couch and wakes up Ed, who passed out there. They order some greasy food and smoke a bunch of pot. Zach comes downstairs with some girl he took home, who leaves in shame. Maybe little journeys are taken in their minds that seek comfort, clarity and sanctuary from too much debauchery. Otherwise, they watch TV all day.  That’s a hangover.

The Trip

This fucking guy. Steve Coogan is a real piece of work. He’s unabashedly self-entitled and pompous, and downright hilarious to watch. The Trip is a brilliant film by Michael Winterbottom about a guy named Steve Coogan on a road trip with fellow actor Rob Brydon. They both play themselves, or at least, versions of themselves. Steve plays the egocentric, sullen, self-conscious artist type, struggling, apparently, with romance and career aspirations. Rob is the more contented, settled down of the two, and, were you to ask Steve, the far more obnoxious. They go on a five-day tour of northern England’s upscale restaurants, which was intended as a romantic getaway with Steve’s sort-of-girlfriend, but manifests instead as a difficult excursion of sparring impersonations, pretentious food, fleeting female conquests and, for good measure, introspection, set against picturesque landscapes.  

The Trip is dry British comedy. Maybe it’s not for everyone. There’s not too much to the film. Basically: conversations in a Land Rover, pictures of food, phone calls made in natural settings, hotel banter. That’s basically it. But as a character study, it’s very amusing, and a delight to watch the actors engage with one another. It’s photographed well and edited briskly, though because there’s little that can be called “action”, it might feel a tad slow, a bit monotonous. That being said, I challenge anyone to not laugh heartily at scenes regarding the departure time of a medieval army, or the historical and scientific details of natural beauty. 

Director Winterbottom includes a somewhat heavy touch on the existential emptiness of Coogan’s life, which I found to be a bit much, particularly since I identified with him strongly. He’s a very particular protagonist: feeling superiority in his distinguished talents (with delusions of grandeur), lustful (partly out of joy, partly out of self-validation), competitive in all things (from having a bigger hotel room to achieving more superficial success), insecure (in age and aging, mediocrity, loneliness). Like Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm, he seems to vocalize or act out private thoughts usually checked by a societal superego. That the film skewers him incessantly for such qualities is a testament to its dark humor and sharp insight. There is no salvation. Only a stark coda that seems to ask Why? Who knows. Who cares. It’s funny.

Midnight in Paris

Have you been to Paris? Oh, you’ve got to go. Ernest Hemmingway and Scott Fitzgerald are there, as are Pablo Picasso and his beautiful muse Adriana. They show up in your dreams, or hallucinations if you prefer, of a more perfect time in history, when art was more glamorous, romance more celebrated, life more lived. Gertrude Stein might go over your latest manuscript. Salvador Dali, Man Ray and Luis Bunuel might even sit down for a drink with you and blow your fucking mind.

Such is the charmingly zany scenario in Woody Allen’s 41st film, Midnight in Paris. Owen Wilson takes the journey as the Woody-esque protagonist, wisely forgoing Woody’s typical muttering cadence, but holding on to his baffled charm, such as it is. Owen Wilson is an effervescently charismatic presence on the screen, and this role suits him and Allen both.

There is really nothing wrong with this film, and yet, it’s no masterpiece. It’s a neat little idea, executed ably. It looks a bit like television, like many of Allen’s later films. It’s paced that way too. The dialogue is full of pithy banter, but not especially insightful. The ending is a happy one, and isn’t tacked on. It concludes in a genuinely satisfying way, which is what we all want out of life. I very much enjoyed this film as an outing to the cinema with friends. It feels like a movie should feel for, say, a double date: romantic but not erotic, dreamy but not perplexing, intellectual but not challenging, enjoyable but not hedonistic.

This is a good, safe movie. I guess it should come as no surprise, then, that it bears the distinction of being Woody Allen’s most financially successful film ever made. Something about that boggles my mind. It scores a 92% on Rotten Tomatoes. It is ‘universally acclaimed’ on Metacritic. Surely it’s good, but that good? It is considered to be a return to Allen’s old form, thus far surpassing in quality Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008), Cassandra’s Dream (2008), Match Point (2005), Melinda and Melinda (2004), Sweet and Lowdown (1999), Celebrity (1998), Deconstructing Harry (1997) and Everyone Says I Love You (1996). Supposedly, according to aggregate critic sites, his last great film was Bullets Over Broadway (1994). I happen to believe that all the films I’ve just listed are good, some great.

The fact is, everyone speaks of late Woody Allen as generically awful, but really, it is only a four-year period of truly blah films: 2000 - 2004. Sweet and Lowdown (1999) is very good, and Melinda and Melinda (2004) is good. There are other duds peppered in there, but I take exception to the claim that the aforementioned movies are any worse than Midnight in Paris, which is essentially more of the same from Woody: indulgent fantasy set amongst a privileged class, facing tragicomic fates set against jazz music. Sure, this one has a magical Charlie Kaufman-esque twist, but otherwise it plays out like any other late Allen film. As a big fan of many of them, I’m slightly confused as to why this film is suddenly so much better than anything else he’s done. This surely isn’t a return to his classic films (1977 - 1992 as I see it).

Having said all that, I look forward to one day seeing this flick again on video, preferably with a girl that loves Paris.

The Tree of Life

In a Q&A with David Gordon Green, director of George Washington, All The Real Girls and Your Highness, I asked him to speak to the relationship between his earlier, quiet, contemplative films and his recent stoner comedies. Do we really need more Terrence Malick-type films? That was basically his response. Of course, the answer is yes. For me, a Terrence Malick film is a sort of dreaming, of epic thoughts and visual poetry, and as such, it epitomizes the objective of cinema. As many directors as possible should make Terrence Malick movies, because this sort of actually seeing our world is our world’s epic secret.

Everyone is all about Terrence Malick these days, and it’s great to see, because The Tree of Life is absolutely amazing. I have a personal relationship with it insofar as my artistic ambitions occupy these same spaces: the cosmos entwined in our multitudinous existence, the passing of time and eternity, nostalgia, nature and romance, the sun, the sky, the mind’s eye. The Tree of Life lavishly sings about all of this; I would have liked it more, of course, if I had made it.

The opening chapter to the movie is its grandest, and hypnotically beautiful. It contains breathtaking film from all around the world, and is profoundly poetic in its editing and mental eye. The audio is primarily the protagonist’s voiceover, whispering religious and sentimental thoughts, underscored (or overscored) by a dramatic classical soundtrack. This simple recipe for transcendence is punctuated by its own sense of self, which is ostentatiously triumphant. The film is more operatic than it is cinematic, and pretentious throughout, which furthers its own sensational ego. I don’t know how I feel about this aspect.

Terrence Malick is deft at handling his overflowing material, but just barely. The storyboard - not to be mistaken as any sort of traditional narrative - is awkwardly heavy at times: too much running time is spent on the slices of life as a 1950s child, too little to the boy as a grown man. These are Terrence Malick’s memories (ostensibly), seeped in nostalgia, with shades of love, hatred, fear, ambiguity, confusion, etc. Oh, to be the director himself and totally bask in this film, surely the finest piece of cinema ever made (by its own standards). It is defiantly experimental, and joyous in its unique voice. It is totally grand, so there is a loss, then, of older Malick - or younger Malick as it were: there is no room in this opera for the small pieces of film like Badlands and Days of Heaven, where subdued subtlety and careful delicacy created the emotional moment.

There were times when I thought the sold-out opening weekend audience at the Landmark Sunshine would chuckle or burst out laughing, given the gravitas of certain moments (a la Black Swan), but the film does well at demanding reverence. I was amused by the grandeur of it all, and in love with the feelings it creates. It made me smile deeply and appreciatively, and bordered on a joke the way life itself does. I was disappointed with the screening experience, not specifically because my seat wasn’t ideal or the theater was somewhat awkward, but because we don’t have marble palaces in which to screen cinema. If only theaters were constructed in a more revering, distinguished manner, so that the transcendent experience could be extended to the experiential.

This latest of Malick’s follows his two mid-career pictures, both which feel more traditional to me, though neither really are: The Thin Red Line is a stream-of-consciousness ensemble piece regarding World War II, war in general, the significance of a man’s life, man’s place in nature, and the passage of time which, in 1998, contrasted vividly to the straightforward story being told in Saving Private Ryan. The New World, especially in its very first scene, addresses the cosmic significance of discovery, of mystery, of the creative power of man, all within a historically clear vision of the colonization of America. Neither film, while surely poetic and lush and beautiful, carries the same weight as The Tree of Life, which is interesting, since this film focuses on an even more specific, less weighty story than war or imperial exploration: that of a suburban family. But of course, family, childhood and psychology are intensely probable and philosophical. And of course, the more particular, the more universal.

The Tree of Life is a phenomenon. It manipulates the essential materials of filmmaking: light, time, the world, for the purposes of transcendence, much like the 1992 film, Baraka, or other non-narrated documentaries, like 2005’s Our Daily Bread. But it adds complex characters played by Hollywood stars, and a bravado of spiritual discovery even more ambitious. It is a film to be savored, to be watched again and again, to contemplate and appreciate and love.

Bridesmaids

It’s just so great to see comedic genius being given a chance to shine. It doesn’t feel like it happens that often. Recently, it’s happened for Zach Galifianakis in The Hangover, and Rob Corddray in Hot Tub Time Machine. It’s happening for Louie CK on his FX show “Louie”. It happened for Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld on their show(s) (though sometimes Larry just copies himself without much reinvention). And of course, there’s Annie Hall, The Jerk, Trading Places, Wayne’s World, Wet Hot American Summer, and many others. But most of the time, comedic voices are held down by institutionalized mediocrity, as has been the case with Kristen Wiig, who is entertaining on SNL probably, but never genius. Film and television are capitalist industries, guided shrewdly (for profit, with curtailed risk) by business types. Rarely are exciting jokes and stories let alone - more often, they’re negotiated, edited, or phoned in. Every terrible SNL movie was probably at some point a brilliant comedy. 

Bridesmaids feels left alone to the people that should be making funny movies. There’s honesty, integrity, laughs across the board, and pieces of our collective experiences worth mocking, considering, cherishing. It doesn’t feel compromised. It doesn’t feel like Kristen Wiig just wanted to star in some big movie - it feels like her passion project, which makes me feel passionate as part of the audience. She’s great. Melissa McCarthy is also great. I thought she was some under-the-radar secret talent, but I guess she has a show on network TV. I’m sure it’s not nearly as funny. Here, she really goes off, and it’s awesome. Rose Byrne is terrific too as Wiig’s foil.

My only slight complaint is that there is no male presence in this film. Of course, it’s a bullshit complaint, because there’s no shortage of male presence in film generally, but nonetheless, I thought I’d mention it. I’m referring here to the Bechdel Test, which was derived to point out the systemic marginalization of women from mainstream film. That test posits three questions: are there at least two women in a movie? Do they talk to each other? Do they talk about something besides men? Most films fail this test. That’s not to say most films are anti-feminist, nor is this film anti-male. But it’s interesting to consider. Surely, men should see this film (ideally with women). And it’s nice to see Judd Apatow produce something female-driven, but with the same mix of raunchy humor and sweetness. 

More about the film: my additional complaint is that not enough screen time was given to the other bridesmaids. The airplane scene is so much fun, and it was sad not to see them actually continue in that vein. Instead, we get more scenes with Wiig’s dumb roommates, who take up too much screen time. Ellie Kemper and Wendy McClendon-Covey feel underused here. I wish they were around more. Also, great to see Tim Heidecker smiling, but too bad he does absolutely nothing else. The two men that do speak are great, particularly Jon Hamm. His relationship to Wiig is really ripe with comedic possibilities, and together, they both really go for it. The cop is a good guy, clearly. I’m glad he’s in the film, but it’s the most conventional plot line, and therefore the least interesting. 

I’d like to end here by speaking more to weddings in general, not as filmic devices, but as social constructs. Why are they so dramatic? Why are friendships staked to them? Why must they be such a big deal? This movie is built on the outlandish traditions that we accept, and how such traditions further mock the ordinariness of our single lives. The characters played by Wiig and Maya Rudolph are best friends forever. And here comes Tim Heidecker to swoop Maya off her feet. There is something intrinsically missing to this scenario that I fail to grasp: the profundity of such a commitment in regard to birthing and raising children. I suppose, as a young man, this is lost on me. Having said that, I remain confused as to why weddings must be so expensive, why the relationships all around the bride and groom are evaluated and possibly changed, why taxes favor married couples, why we still ascribe to this idea of ownership - how a father gives his daughter to another man, how a ring must cost this much… originally, wedding rings were given as an actual thing of value, so that if the husband were to die or run off, the woman would have a sort of life insurance, assuming she had no means herself, which was generally true. 

My female friends speak quite negatively of bridal showers, of registries, of feigning excitement over silverware and pillows. They speak of how their engaged friends seem to change: how a reasonable, educated, liberal person could become obsessed with gifts from Pottery Barn. Weddings seem to epitomize the disgusting nature of our fervently capitalist society; they seem to cement the stereotype that women love shopping. Men don’t seem to have the same issues, but they do have issues. Bachelor parties are often excuses to indulge in the excesses of bachelorhood - namely unaccountability and irresponsibility, usually in the form of heavy drinking, with or without sex and drugs. Surely there is something wrong with a future that seems to banish such behavior. Does hanging out with your friends really end when you promise yourself to an intimate partner? Married life has a bad rap. I blame the weddings.

Everything Must Go

Good title, but generic. Decent movie, but forgettable. Lots of very good photography, but it doesn’t look as good in my mind when recollecting it. The story is an interesting one, on paper anyway: man loses job, loses wife, loses house. She puts his stuff out on the lawn. (What a bitch.) What does he do? Drinks, mostly. Then slowly picks up the pieces, duh.

Will Ferrell is a brilliant comedic actor. Why is it that comedians don’t get recognized by the Academy awards? This is Farrell’s second turn at indie drama (following 2006’s Stranger than Fiction), and it’s a well-done, subdued performance, with enough of Ferrell’s dark pathos to imbue an otherwise boring character with an edge. But in truth, his work in his biggest comedies blows this out of the water (specifically Anchorman!). Ferrell needs to be recognized as the comic genius he is; I feel like he’s trying to prove something with roles like this, like he’s capable of “real” acting. Of course, he is clearly capable. There’s a saying: drama is hard, but comedy is even harder. His true talent feels somewhat squandered in Everything Must Go. Unfortunately, it’s not what Punch-Drunk Love was for Adam Sandler.

Of course, PT Anderson directed Punch-Drunk love, and perfectly created a complex, soulful dramedy for Sandler to inhabit. A man named Dan Rush directed this film. I don’t know this new director, but my bet is that if he were mixing me a drink, he’d start well enough with healthy amount of whiskey in a glass, then add some ice, then add some cola and let it sit for too long, and then, before handing me the glass, add a bunch more cola, worried that it’d be too strong. I’d prefer no cola, honestly, let alone too much. Perhaps it was the studio execs that weakened the emotional tenor of this movie. Regardless, it suffers from what many quirky indies suffer from: too much softness, predictable pacing, and safe, typical storytelling. I haven’t read the original short story, or any Raymond Carver for that matter, but I’m guessing it feels edgier and fresher than this.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams 3D

The Chauvet cave of Southern France is a natural wonder that was completely sealed off even oxygen for tens of thousands of years, until 1994, when some explorers re-discovered it, and the paintings inside that date back to the Paleolithic era. These paintings are the oldest known forms art we have. As such, the cave itself is safeguarded like a vault. Werner Herzog was granted unprecedented access to make this film, as no cameras or crews had ever been allowed entrance. That this film has come to be is itself a work of art.

As a piece of cinema, Cave of Forgotten Dreams is not nearly as impressive to watch as the Chauvet cave likely is to behold. I think what make caves so interesting is their physicality, of feeling rock and sediment surround your human body, and the sublime feeling - the mix of beauty and terror - that gives your soul. Cinema is totally different. Cinema is about pictures and sounds. It’s about sitting in a chair and ideating images. Even three-dimensionality can’t change the essence of cinema. But I suppose Herzog had to try. When given the opportunity to photograph the oldest paintings on earth, might as well shoot it in 3D, since cave walls aren’t flat. I was hoping for something more creative, given that this seems like the first time an independent auteur has used 3D. But let it be noted: 3D is never a good idea in cinema, ever. It’s a scam. We pay $3 more to borrow glasses that make the screen darker. 3D is bullshit.

Werner Herzog is the only filmmaker to have made a movie on all seven continents. His résumé speaks for itself: he’s amazing. His Bad Lietenant: Port of Call - New Orleans from two years ago was an exciting thrill-ride, so obviously he’s capable. Grizzly Man (2005) stands out as a totally captivating documentary of a peculiar subject. But Cave of Forgotten Dreams feels phoned in. The interviews with the various scientists and neighbors are more dull than one would hope, and the time in the cave - both at the beginning, shot with an amateur camera, and at the end, shot quite nicely - leaves much to be desired. Herzog is good at waxing philosophical, but how deep can we go here? Is it really that hard to imagine what the painters were dreaming about? The paintings are of horses and rhinos and other animals, stampeding. Earthy creatures are captivatingly beautiful in their form and movement, and the powerful spirit that currents through each living thing warrants spiritual reverence. It is as true today as it was when it was written.