Junebug (2005)

I have wanted to write about this gem of a movie for 4 years, now... And every time I see it, I plan to sit down and ponder it with pen in hand. This WILL be the next post I write here, and soon... Stay tuned...

Transformers (2007)

Yes, yes. It's been over a year. Well over a year since I wrote about any films. Actually, I've intended to, many times. Even taken notes. Seriously. But no post.

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Okay - I totally lied about writing a Transformers post. It was pretty @^&#! fantastic, for its genre. I do have more to say about it, but work is precluding me from writing, these days. However, I DO want to keep this blog alive... so maybe a few posts over the holidays will make up for my silence. Stay tuned.
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March of the Penguins (2005)

The World is bigger than we can imagine. More intricate and complex and wonderful and terrible than we know. I suppose every being suffers from an inevitable, myopic perspective… At least, I know I do.

Director Luc Jacquet’s March of the Penguins is the fantastic, but true, tale of the Emperor Penguin’s migration in Antarctica (the continent at the South Pole). Having not seen the other documentaries nominated for Oscars yet, I can’t say this one is the best, but I can’t imagine a documentary getting much better than this one. It is an amazing, journey of knowledge and emotion… and it sparked for me an introspection along most unexpected lines.

Jordan Roberts’ narration carefully taps the viewer’s heartstrings, making this story one of love, bonding, endurance, separation, heartbreak, reunion, and survival. He uses words like “mother” and “father,” rather than “female” and “male,” in the telling of the Emperor Penguins’ story. It is a justified shift in nature documentary narration, though, because theirs is a tale of monogamous burden-sharing, for the good of each couple’s one chick. This is nothing like the documentaries we Baby-Boomers watched in grade school. (This is Not Your Father's Oldsmobile!)

You can see where this is going. As much as any ornithologist will tell you that the Emperor Penguin’s behavior has been genetically ingrained over thousands of years, I can’t help but anthropomorphize just enough to compare the seeming selflessness of these mates—for the good of their young—to our own human experience.

These are parents who walk (waddle, I mean) 70 miles of ice—and more than once in a season—for the survival of their kid (um, chick). For a penguin, that’s a long, long way. Don’t go saying, “Well, that’s like an hour in the car… it’s not that far.” These are waddling penguins we’re talking about, here. These are parents who hand off the egg to the father (after a lot of practice), so the mother can walk back (the 70 miles) to feed… the father then endures four months of 70 below zero to keep their egg warm and safe. (The magic number seems to be 70.) The same parents who, upon the mother’s return, manage to find each other amid an impossible throng—and not a day too soon. That they continue to take turns walking back to the ocean to feed, whilst the other nurtures their chick, just boggles my mind. What cooperation! What selflessness! What amazing parenting!

Have you ever been at Disneyland until after dark? The fireworks are like around 9pm and the park stays open until 11 or 12 or something. Inevitably, there are parents there with cranky, exhausted, sunburned kids… kids who should have left the park hours earlier. But dammit, “At $80 a pop, these kids are going to stay here until the park closes, whether they like it or not!” I’m just saying…

Back to the film… I was struck—not only by the commitment of these birds to the survival of their one charge—but by their tenderness toward their chosen mate. They mill about looking for that indescribable, elusive thing that makes one being choose another… a microcosm of the human condition. In the end, it looks like their success rate at coupling is much higher than ours. Of course, this may also have to do with the fact that their commitment is for one year and one year only. As Morgan Freeman so aptly narrates, come the next mating season, “all bets are off.” Hmmm.

Several times during the film, I emotionally braced myself for the sad, terrible truth of those who struggle and don’t survive… either the cold or the walk or the not eating or… or… or… But the terribly sad parts were alluded to with such sensitivity, that I never got that pit in my stomach. Call me a pansy, but I appreciated the phrasing “they fade away” rather than the more likely wording: “they perish, frozen and starving in the deadly cold.”

Speaking of which… There is one terribly sad part, where we endure a bereft mother mourning for her dead, frozen chick. You might want to send the kids to the bathroom for a potty break during this part (or fast forward the DVD). Nevertheless, it felt like a vital part of the story that has to be told… and I’m glad it was included.

Another aspect that I really appreciated was the exclusion of the filmmakers’ expedition and hardships in the making of this film. Because it was all saved for the DVD, the documentary remains unsullied by self-awareness, bringing the subject at hand (and only the subject) to the fore. Yet, I was glad for the few “making of” clips during the credit roll.

That having been said, the amount of effort that went into capturing these most extraordinary images is staggering, at best. The cinematography is nothing short of astonishing. Now let’s remember… it’s difficult for even the best DP’s to get beautiful images under controlled conditions. How these guys captured anything useable (let alone, spectacular), given the climate (like 70 below) and weather conditions (the wind-whipping snowstorms of the austral winter), is beyond explanation.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Alex Wurman’s beautiful score. This soundtrack is one I might just go out and buy… he’s a phenomenal composer.

I mentioned the DVD, but really… if March of the Penguins ever comes to a theater near you, run—don’t walk—to see it on the big screen. Most of us will (probably) never have the opportunity to personally witness the low, glowy-pink sun reflecting off ice cliffs in Antarctica… So go see this in the theater, if you get the chance.
5 dots.

King Kong (2005)

What a ride! Director Peter Jackson’s remake of this tragic love story between Beauty and the Beast is epic. I’m generally quite resistant to remakes, but as this has been Jackson’s favorite movie since he was 9, his own version is as true as true can be to the original film. He even went so far as to restore the giant spider chasm scene (albeit with bugs instead of arachnids), which was scrapped from the 1933 version due to “pacing issues.” (Legend says that actually, it was because some members of the audience who saw the sequence vomited.)

I was really surprised to see so many young children in the theater. The man sitting in the row in front of me had what looked to be a 4, 5, and 6-year old with him. I’m not sure which is scarier, the fact that these kids were brought to the movie by a supposedly sane adult or that not once, did any of them flinch or whimper. This is NOT a movie for children (or tweens, in my opinion). Most of it is way too scary.

I’m torn about Jack Black’s performance as the ambitious producer/director, Carl Denham. On the one hand his somewhat comedic spin was entertaining, but it did feel a bit like a caricature at times. Nevertheless, I love Jack Black… so it worked for me.

Somehow Adrien Brody manages to seem dreamy as the love-struck hero-at-all-costs, Jack Driscoll, despite his nose. I have nothing against big, crooked noses, but his is the biggest, crookedest one I’ve ever seen. Just before the first kiss, I instructed myself, “Don’t look at it! Just enjoy the kiss!” But I couldn’t not look… and there it was—all squashy. Oh, well. My point is that he is an excellent romantic lead, despite his nose—and quite handsome, in fact.

Naomi Watts gave an admirable performance as beauty Ann Darrow, which must have entailed endless hours in front of bluescreen. It’s probably a role difficult to sink one’s teeth into (not much dialogue and lots of screaming). Somehow, though, she managed to convey the entire arc of her relationship with Kong without words. From sheer terror to friendship to love, Watts took us on that journey every step of the way.

Production design, art direction, wardrobe, and hair/makeup were all fabu. Not sure they’ll get the nods deserved come Oscar time, but we’ll see. I loved the built bits on Skull Island—the wall, both in aerial and close shots, was gorgeous. Especially effective were the natives, who were some of the scariest aborigines I’ve ever seen.

Now on to the visual effects. For the most part, they were awesome. Really top-notch. I’m a little surprised, however, at their unevenness—as there were some truly awful shots that couldn’t have been finals (at least in my mind). But first, the good stuff:

Weta Digital really outdid themselves with Kong, raising the bar significantly since creating Gollum for the Lord of the Rings movies. The amount of research, reference footage, and software development that went into the 25-foot gorilla is staggering. I understand 132 motion-capture markers were used on actor Andy Serkis’ face, alone. Weta pushed the envelope on realistic fur, as well—Kong’s 5.5 million hairs were able to interact with environmental objects, such as mud and leaves. The pay-off was well worth the investment: Kong is one of the most convincing digital characters ever to hit the screen.

King Kong is among the 7 films in consideration for Oscar nomination (along with Batman Begins, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe, Star Wars: Episode III—Revenge of the Sith, and War of the Worlds).* Only 3 will end up being nominees. Someday the Academy will give us 5 slots, but not this year.

Although I think Weta’s Kong is well-deserving of a nomination, I’m aggravated that such an impressive film overall could include some not-so-impressive shots. For $207 million, I shouldn’t feel this way. My three biggest objections are:

1) Some poorly-pulled mattes and/or bad compositing for the small boats (for my non-VFX readers that means they looked cut-out and pasted-in to the water; for any supervisors or CG artists out there… please do chime in, as my analysis is by no means expert.)

2) The use of bluescreen plates in a few places where Naomi Watts’ digital double would’ve provided a much more convincing move. (Specifically, one wide shot comes to mind, where Kong is carrying Ann—and she seems to travel in a far more linear and level manner than Kong’s arm would naturally carry her—as if she’s a cup of hot coffee instead of a writhing woman.) This could simply have been a budgetary or scheduling issue, as Weta’s CG Ann Darrow is so good that she’s used as large as full-screen! (That’s impressive.)

And 3) I had a real problem with the airplanes in the final sequence. What we’ve come to expect when seeing filmed planes in flight is more detail, more glinting metal, and a better sense of airspeed. These planes were motion blurred more often than not, which just felt wrong. I don’t know why this would be the case. Any ideas? I remember a CG lens flare here and there, but no hot spots of sun on any metal parts. I realize that bi-planes in the ‘30s were covered in cotton airplane fabric, but there were plenty of metal parts still exposed, off of which the sun should have glinted. In this shot, the planes are flying into the sun, which is directly behind camera. Perhaps I’m nit-picking, I don’t know.

One of the places Jackson could have saved money is in the Brontosaurus stampede sequence. I’m not saying it should have been cut entirely (although the movie wouldn’t have been any worse for its absence), but it felt long. For sheer budgetary reasons, it’s not often that a sequence comprised entirely of VFX shots runs long, especially one with galloping dinosaurs in it. Setting aside the fact that this sequence tested the suspension of my disbelief beyond its limits (by the sheer speeds involved), the bits with the “little” (it’s a relative term) meat-eating-o-sauruses was overplayed. One or two shots of them would

have been plenty. And finally, the 10+ dino-pile-up at the end of the sequence seemed corny to me. Nevertheless, I rather enjoyed the bit where the herd of Brontosauri encounters the cliff.

This post reads rather negative, but only because I’ve highlighted a handful of shots in a movie running over 3 hours. It’s a terrific film and a fitting homage to one of the earliest and most enduring films in the history of cinema. View featurette here.
4 dots.

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*Films in close consideration that did not win the bakeoff include: Corpse Bride, Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, Fantastic Four, Kingdom of Heaven, Sin City, and Stealth.

A History of Violence (2005)

I understand the filmmakers and distributor feel this movie has a secret that shouldn’t be revealed. So, as a courtesy, I’m adding this ADDITIONAL SPOILER WARNING. This is not a review to read if you’re trying to decide whether or not to go see the movie (as are, in fact, none of these posts). Rather, these are discussions for people who have already seen the films (which is why I try to spend as little time as possible explaining general storylines). Proceed reading at your own risk.

I really liked the premise of A History of Violence. The main thread was much like that of Unforgiven, a “revisionist western” where the hero had sworn off the violence in his past, only to have to commit further violence in order to “put things right.” I also thought about American History X: painful enlightenment that leads to the redemption of the very core of one’s being. There wasn’t any of that in A History of Violence, but there should have been. I like movies that raise the question of whether someone who has truly changed his heart deserves to move on with his life, without mucking about with all that jurisprudence and whatnot. But when they raise the question and then fail to explore the issue or provide an answer… then, not so much.

Now, for the record, I enjoyed this film and was quite entertained while watching it. However, the fundamental and more interesting questions that the story raises are barely addressed:
• the conundrum of deepest intimacy built on a lie;
• the nature of violence, personality, and one’s ability (or inability) to change those things;
• the precarious lines between vigorous sex based on danger and violent play, consensual sadism/masochism, and rape;
• the limits (or limitlessness) of love and forgiveness; and
• the nature of resilience: just how much a family can endure before breaking.
These issues are minimally addressed at best, trumped instead by cliché mob moments and some really kick-ass fight scenes. [They really were impressive fights. Hats off to Mortensen, to his stunt double and the other stuntmen in the film, to Cronenberg, and to Ronald Sanders, who did some stupendous editing.]

But I digress… Screening A History of Violence would have been a much more compelling experience, had the story built upon the central themes of humanity that the film itself raises. There’s a simple reason this movie is not up to the task of grappling with its own subject matter, and that is its lack of fleshed-out characters. If only they had been more than sketches, more than two-dimensional cookie cut-outs. Norman Rockwell’s small-town American characters have so many more specifics than the people in this film… and Rockwell’s folks are frozen in a single image! [A 2-hour movie has 172,800 still frames with which to convey individuality and depth of character.] We know so little about the principals in A History of Violence, that we don’t even find out Edie is a lawyer until halfway through—and we get that from an off-hand comment. Without unique, specific, substantial characters, the film languishes—tending more toward uninspired gangster stereotypes than palpable drama.

Another example of the incomplete pictures we get and the ensuing confusion which follows can be seen in a tiny subplot concerning the teenage son, Jack. This kid is bullied by the (cookie-cutter) school athletes (the ones we’ve seen in every teen movie). The taunting and teasing is so cliché, it hurts to watch. After Jack’s father, Tom, has displayed such “out-of-character” heroics at the family diner, Jack miraculously takes-out three jocks with great aplomb, leaving the bullies on the floor, bruised and bleeding.

Hmmm. What felt real about this scene? NOTHING. Way out of left field. Made no sense… TOTALLY didn’t track with Jack’s character (what little we knew, that is). It would have only been plausible, had Jack turned out to also be hiding a secret identity. (But let’s not go there…) What’s worse: there’s no reason for the scene. One of the first things I learned way back in film school (a million years ago), was that if the scene doesn’t move the story forward in some meaningful way (or explain something critical that the audience really needs to know), you should seriously consider cutting it.

The list of unexamined issues in A History of Violence goes on: what about the sex scene on the stairs? It was a rape… wasn’t it? And yet the consequences are minimized. Not resolved. Not dealt with at all. Why was this (really brilliant and amazingly acted) scene even in the movie, if the questions it raises were never going to be addressed? I’m frustrated that so many really intriguing themes were brought up, only to leave us in the dark.

This is never more true than at the very end of the film. Cronenberg delivers a deliciously nerve-wracking scene of utter silence as his finale. The audience holds its collective breath, waiting for resolution. Through only posture and gesture, we learn how Tom feels about his relationship to his family and how he feels about the wake of misery and death his choices have caused. We learn how his children feel about him. But throughout the film—the end being no exception—Edie’s internal monologue (and her external one, for that matter) are kept at a distance. The lights come up and the credits begin before we find out what happens. I honestly don’t know if she was about to say,

• “Our family will never be safe so long as you stay with us. The vengeance will never end, and you know it. Get out and never come back.” or
• “I don’t care how many men Joey Cusack killed. I married Tom Stall and I want him back. We want him back in our lives forever.” or
• “How could you have let three people base their entire lives on a lie? I will never feel safe with you again and I will never be able to trust you again. Get out.” or
• “Don’t just sit there… eat!”
Of course, my hunch is that Tom came to say goodbye to his family because he knows things will never be the same again. He knows the mob runs thick in his veins and he, as Joey, made his bed a long time ago. But this would be me wanting to make some sense out of the story. Frankly, neither a tragic ending nor a Hollywood ending would satisfy, anyway, because the journey getting there was unexamined. Since this is the case, why bother ending the film?

I realize this sounds like a terribly negative review. It is mostly about script content, not about performance. As far as the craft of acting, I thought everyone did a superb job, given what they had to work with. I think Ed Harris could have been a little more chilling, somehow. Perhaps if he’d made some unlikely acting choices (the way Johnny Depp always does), his character would have felt more menacing. But then, that would be attributing specifics to a character… and that simply wasn’t done in this movie. An honorable mention to William Hurt, whose bit (but key) part as the mob-boss brother, was entertaining, though caricatureish.

When the lights came up, I thought I liked this movie more than I ended up liking it later, after more thoughtful examination. Perhaps this kind of film wasn’t meant to be pondered… just experienced as good popcorn fun and left at the theater. But it could have been so much more.
2 dots.

The Constant Gardner (2005)

I’m so glad it’s Fall! Nearly all Oscar-contending movies come out once the kids are back in school. The Constant Gardner kicks off a season of what I hope will be far better fare than the dreck Hollywood has been dishing out over the last… oh, I don’t know how long, actually. We seem to have made a lot of crap over the last year or so. I haven’t the authority to speak for the studios, but I apologize nonetheless for Hollywood’s abysmal and apathetic attempt at filmmaking of late.

There is a lot to love about The Constant Gardner, which works as both a political thriller and a love-story-in-reverse. I understand this is an inspired and faithful adaptation of John le Carré's best-selling novel, which I now feel compelled to read. One more book to put on the list. I’m thrilled that emotionally effective, non-linear storytelling has once again been translated to the screen.

Director Fernando Meirelles (City of God) paints Africa as the unmistakable primary character in this film: embracing her saturated colors; earnest townspeople; animated, rhythmic music; and rich culture. At the same time, The Constant Gardner exposes unapologetically the chaotic

uncertainty of third-world life, the corruption of those in power, and the resultant predatory exploitation by first-world corporations of a populace lacking options. Africa is such a strong character in the film that the story never feels like it is about a “cause,” but rather about people. About nations of real people. So much of the film smacks of documentary—even between the lead actors and “extras,”—that I wonder what was actually scripted, if locations were enhanced or built at all… and whether there were any “professional extras.” My hunch is that there was no need to manufacture verisimilitude and that much of what we see was indeed interaction with non-actors in their normal setting. Kenya felt raw. True.

Thoroughly as engaging is the love story between quiet, unassuming British diplomat Justin Quayle (Ralph Fiennes*) and his unlikely wife, a fiery activist named Tessa (Rachel Weisz). Both performances were seamless and inspired.

Justin’s physical trek—which becomes more and more dangerous, real, and alive during his quest—mirrors his emotional arc, as he is transformed from a once-quiet and reactive diplomat to an investigative fugitive operating off the grid, under false identities. Justin’s character blooms painfully before our eyes during his bittersweet journey, as he meets Tessa’s true essence only after her death. Fiennes is sure to win Oscar consideration, if for no other scene than that in which Justin finally breaks down in front of Tessa’s old home, the place where they first made love.

Weisz does a superb job of keeping the audience guessing about ever-zealous Tessa’s fidelity to her husband. She is so brash, passionate, and unabashed—both in her sex life with Justin and in her social interaction throughout Justin’s political arena—that it’s easy to jump to conclusions when confronted with subtle possibilities that all is not what it seems. Every time I learned a logical explanation for what I thought would be a blot on her character, I realized that I understood who Tessa was as little as her husband does. The audience’s uncertainty is Justin’s own experience… and his jealousy (and our curiosity) are as engaging as the mystery and suspense of the political story.

I’ve never quoted a review on my own site before, but Peter Travers’ words in his Rolling Stone review are so eloquent, I can think of no other way to put it:

“It's a love story between a man and a ghost, and Fiennes and Weisz give every gesture and glance a haunting erotic urgency. The underrated Weisz is electrifying in her richest role to date. And Fiennes plays this reluctant hero like a gathering storm, his performance growing in power as passivity ceases to be an option.”

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the excellent performances by a top-notch supporting cast, including Danny Huston (The Aviator, 21 Grams), Bill Nighy (Love Actually and the upcoming Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest), and Pete Postlethwaite (Amistad, In the Name of the Father).

All that said, I’ve been trying to figure out why I’m reluctant to give this film the elusive 5-dot rating. We had a saying when I was growing up that you’re allowed to complain or criticize something only if you have a suggestion as to how to solve the problem. I’m having a hard time coming up with any ideas that would address my feeble objections. The best reason I can offer for giving The Constant Gardner only 4 dots is this: When I leave the screening of a perfect, 5-dot movie, there is always an unmistakable, ebullient enthusiasm that I, frankly, just didn’t feel when I walked out of this film. For all the amazing, incredible, most excellent aspects of The Constant Gardner, I still didn’t exit with a fire in my belly and a feeling that this was one of my favorite films, one I’d like to own and watch over and over. That’s as best as I can do for an explanation. Nevertheless, I expect The Constant Gardner to garner nominations for at least Best Directing, Cinematography, Editing, and Actor, if not for Best Picture.
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Ralph Fiennes is soon to be seen in several upcoming, coolio films, including: Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (Okay, well not seen, exactly... more like heard.) and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Can't wait!!
4 dots.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

I didn’t mean to watch it again. It just happened… and I couldn’t turn it off. This is one of those exceptionally rare, perfect movies. A 10.
I’m not even sure I can articulate why Eternal Sunshine is such an amazing film… but I’ll try. I was wiping my tears away as the end credits were rolling, even though I’ve seen this film 6 times times (at least), trying to figure out why it affects me so much (I’m not really a crier, you see). I think I understand, now.

First and foremost: story. There is nothing without story. This one is brilliantly original. Charlie Kaufman is a screenwriting god (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation). What starts as desperate attempt to erase the pain of a relationship, becomes a journey through love once felt. The essence and foundation of the relationship was still there, buried by newer, more unpleasant memories. When Joel Barish (Jim Carrey) realizes that he

wants to stop the erasing process, but can’t, he enlists the help of the object of his erasure, Clementine Kruczynski (Kate Winslet)… but it is the Clem in his memories (having access to no one else during the procedure).

The second brilliant aspect of Eternal Sunshine is the way in which the story unfolds. I’m so glad that a few filmmakers have taken the chance* to tell stories in a non-linear format. Not all audiences need to be hit over the head with blatant, linear, exposition draped over tired, standardized plot (the “Hollywood formula”). Pandering to the lowest common denominator does not serve the more brilliant and inspired scripts. If you don’t know what I mean, or think this one is the only movie like it, rent Fried Green Tomatoes (1991) and Memento (2000), two very good examples of stories that would never have the same impact if they were cut chronologically.

The cleverness of this plot and the inspired method by which it unfolds are made accessible by the familiar and identifiable feelings of Kaufman’s characters. Even though Eternal Sunshine is about two very specific people with intricately defined personalities and histories, there is a universality to the story; it’s much bigger than the sum of its characters or plot. There

are episodes, moments, images, and feelings throughout that resonate with anyone who lays themselves vulnerable before this film. Kaufman’s characters are an unlikely match because they are so very different from each other. But this personality range and the demons that they each struggle with as individuals cover the gamut of human experience. Somewhere within the experience of Joel and/or Clem, you will see yourself. This is the mark of great writing, in both novels and screenplays. It is why we read books and why we go to the movies: to see ourselves. To understand who we are, who we wish we were, who we could be.

Where does an actor end and their character begin? If we’re lucky, we will never see the seam that joins the two. It is definitely such in Eternal Sunshine. Carrey takes on this difficult, un-Carrey-like role. Winslet assumes the more Jim-Carrey-ish one. I am astounded over and over again at the transformation of these actors. It’s not often that a moviegoer can leave their preconceptions and baggage at the door. When you can truly forget you’re watching Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet, you've got something there.

What a treat it must have been for production designer Dan Leigh to work from such an inventive script. Memories, dreams, the subconscious… what a playground for creating the film’s look. What does a memory look like when it is fading? Still there, but starting to go? Signs, books, faces… the specifics blank-out before the whole memory goes black. The “sets,” wherein our memories take place, crash and crumble. They break. How do we remember related events? Joel walks out of the bookstore and into someone’s living room. A slat fence in the sand at the beach, leads away from a bed in a sandy beach-bedroom… Our brains are funny this way. Leigh did an incredible job conveighing this.

Of course, the captain of the ship, the impetus and glue that made everything work together as a singular vision… was Michel Gondry, co-writer of the story and director of the film. His vision and leadership served the script utterly. It is Gondry we ultimately have to thank for the gift of this film.

So… why did I cry? Because—not only was the story true and real with regard to what are, in essence, the most important aspects of our humanity—but because the love between Clementine Kruczynski and Joel Barish endured erasure. Love prevailed, even without memory. These people get to start a relationship (for the first time, in their perspectives), but knowing how it has ended and might end, again. They are going in with an understanding of the specific pitfalls of their specific match, because they did it before. They get something most people do not: perspective and a second chance. This is a perfect film.
5 dots – One to own.

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*A brief discussion, here, of the disgust and disdain I feel for “Filmmaking by Committee.” The last movie on which I worked had no less than 3 audience test screenings. I suppose from an investor’s point of view, there might have been value in shooting additional scenes that explained story points that confused the audience. It’s really difficult for me to reconcile the fact that the art of cinema is inseparable from the business investments that fund it. Shooting exposition to make clear that which you’ve muddied is a little more forgivable, however, than shooting two endings and using the more popular in the theatrical release.

Unfortunately, this has been going on for a long time. The original ending for Fatal Attraction had Alex Forrest (Glenn Close) slitting her own throat, using the butcher knife that had Dan Gallagher’s (Michael Douglas) fingerprints on it. In the end, the police come to the lovely country house and take Dan away from his wife and child… his fate uncertain. Audiences were so angry at this ending, that the filmmakers re-shot it, not only making the seductress die at the hands of her lover, but die a 2nd time at the hands of his wife (because dying twice is better than just once). After all, it’s satisfying to see the jilted wife have the final word, right? Ugh.

The feature film on which I just started working (we are still in preproduction) has two endings. They’re both in the script. They’re both in the budget. We’re going to shoot both of them, I’m afraid. The tail wagging the dog.

Audiences should not tell filmmakers how the story would be best served. Filmmakers should be braver than that. Be storytellers, dammit! Not just peddlers of shiny entertainment. And this is why I am grateful to Charlie Kaufman and Michel Gondry. They are storytellers.

Broken Flowers (2005)

I thought I'd seen a Jim Jarmusch film before this one... but looking at his filmography, I guess I haven’t. I certainly know his name well enough. There were lots of things I liked about this little movie. But it was undeniable, in the theatre, that a collective "What the Hell" rose from the audience when the music for the end credits began. What? That's it? That's the end? I'm assured by those who know, that the end was typical Jarmusch... but I'm not sure that helps me, much.

Bill Murray masterfully plays Don Johnston (Johnston with a T), who is a tough character to crack. He is so closed, I found myself constantly wanting to know why he was that way and what he was thinking. A Don Juan quality was attributed to his past, completely not in keeping with the

character we see before us in the present. What in the world happened to this guy to make him so sedate and antiseptic... completely disengaged from life? If he had been a Don Juan of sorts, he must have been a much different guy in the past.

Don's depressed existence in his well-appointed estate contrasts that of his Ethiopian neighbors. Winston's house is abustle with children and chaos... and unmistakable love. There is LIVING going on next door. Although Winston (Jeffrey Wright) works three jobs to support his wife and five children, we sense there is nothing broken here. It is all good. Winston is more wise and whole than he leads on... and I wonder whether he was the one who

actually sent the pink-stationery letter Don receives (a la "Amelie"), a letter allegedly from an ex-girlfriend of 20 years previous.

It doesn’t really matter whether the journey Don embarks on is concocted by Winston as an adventure to help Don re-engage in life—or whether it is merely in deference to Winston's amateur sleuthing to solve the letter mystery. The fact is that Don goes, updating his frozen memories of youth with the harsh reality of whatever happened to so-and-so.

Twenty years is a long time to reconcile in one's mental file. The women Don knew as a young man have now lived, loved, lost, become emotionally imprisoned, mentally imprisoned, changed sexual orientation,

festered in their anger, and in one case, died. These are the flowers from Don’s past, now broken.

The reason that the end of this movie frustrates me so much is NOT that there is no resolution to Don’s quest to solve the mystery of the pink letter. That payoff is secondary to the one I really wanted, which was to see him changed as a result of the trip. I wanted to feel that Winston’s encouragement and orchestration of the trip was not for naught. I wanted to know that when Don returned to his cold museum-house, that he wouldn’t spend the rest of his days on the couch staring through the droning television.

As the film ends, however, we don’t know who sent the letter, we don't know if Don really has a son, or if his life was at least changed for the better, because of the adventure he undertook. Although we do get Don’s philosophical offering that “The past is gone, the future isn’t here yet… all there is—is THIS,” I couldn't trust that he would act on this in his own life,

once he got home. I just didn’t feel assured that he would ever take his own words to heart.

The last stop Don made—to the cemetery to visit the ex-girlfriend who had died five years earlier—was the most important of all the visits, in my opinion. It is the only time in the movie when we get a glimpse of any emotion from him. This was the love of his life, the one who got away. Although we’re sure she wasn’t the letter-writer, perhaps the trip would have left Don a changed man if she had been alive when he embarked on the quest. Perhaps that thought is what caused his tear: the knowledge of redemption that might have been.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the great performances by an impressive ensemble of lead women in this film: Sharon Stone, Frances Conroy, Jessica Lange, and Tilda Swinton. Although their screentime was limited by the episodic nature of Don’s journey, each actor was able to bring great depth to their roles. These women were individuals steeped in backstory. You just know that those 20 years were specific for each actor, worked-out clearly in their minds.

I would love to hear your thoughts, if you’ve seen the film. I feel I need to wrestle with it. Maybe someone out there has more insight into the Broken Flowers than I do.
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Must Love Dogs (2005)

I wanted desperately to adore this film. It had everything I was hoping to relate to: Diane Lane playing me, only much prettier; quirky internet

dating anecdotes; a silly family; Dermot Mulroney and John Cusack, a great supporting cast, and a sweet but gi-normous, black dog. What’s not to love?

The script. It’s as if they got as far as giving the pitch to the studio, but never bothered to write the screenplay. That’s what’s wrong with “high-concept” movies… the TAIL is wagging the DOG.

Must Love Dogs has MOMENTS that are quite charming. Most of them ended up in the trailer. But these moments were like pearls with no through-line to string them onto… just tidbits never adding up to a greater whole. Some scenes tried very hard to be heart-warming, but that just made them even worse.

It bothers me that this movie wasn’t better, it really does. I’ve been thinking about it and wondering what the fatal flaw was… and then I remembered something my writing teacher, Jack Grapes, reminded us of: “Voice creates character; character creates plot.” Therein lies the failure of this movie (and many others).

The characters were generic, 2-dimensional cut-outs. Each one had a sign around its neck: “Sexy, 40-yr-old single woman who’s given up finding a mate,” “Concerned sister,” “Sensitive, Doctor Zhivago-loving boat-builder,”

“Red-herring love interest who turns out to be a jerk,” “Gay brother in a stable, healthy relationship,” “Womanizing father,” “Kooky, trailer-trash lady with a heart-of-gold,” and so on. Unfortunately, none of these characters—not even the leads—were developed further than their labels indicated. Character creates plot. So… in the absence of developed characters, we have what? A high-concept script that muddles through a painfully mediocre story.

I have to make an admission that has nothing whatsoever to do with this film. It’s about John Cusack. I adore him. I can’t help myself… I always have. One year when I was in the throes of depression, I decided a good goal to keep me going would be to see every film listed on his filmography. (I’m a little obsessive, once I set my mind to a task.) I only had trouble tracking down a couple… and I watched every last one. He got me through the tough times. I would never say no to him… and DAMN, does he look sexy in a buckskin duster, riding a horse! I’m yours, John, forever and ever!
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Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)

I have to admit that I went into this movie with a bad attitude. With a few exceptions, I feel there is a special circle in Dante’s Hell reserved just for studio executives who green-light remakes of perfectly-good movies,*

sequels to bad originals, and film adaptations of television shows, comic books,** and video games. However, the lure of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp was enough to make me go, albeit skeptically. I am now eating lots of crow pie, crow gumbo, roast-crow, crow-melba, and even crow a-la-mode.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is a supreme example of a remake that left out the right stuff, added even better things, and changed bits all for the better.

Gone is the Everlasting Gobstopper spy story, wherein Charlie is the only child who passes the test because he returns the candy. Instead, the spy idea was incorporated into the backstory of the factory closing. Gone also is the scene that always upset me when I was little: the one where Charlie and Grandpa Joe deliberately disobey Wonka in the Double-Bubble Burp-A-Cola Room. That scene made Charlie no different from all the other disobedient children and it always made me mad.

The most notable addition was the deliciously awful backstory of Wonka’s childhood, which offered the impetus for a truly fun character arc. The Headgear-from-Hell was classic Tim Burton. Wonka’s miserable backstory allows us to forgive all manner of odd behaviors and attitudes we witness him displaying as an adult. Johnny Depp is a god. (Did I say that aloud?) He really is, though. Role after role, he demonstrates that making bold, original choices*** is why he is a true gem in Hollywood, unlike any other.

Depp’s Wonka is complex (and *@!&%$#ing funny). There’s a reason he can’t even say the word “parents” and that he has no desire to get to know the children he’s invited to the factory. There’s a reason Wonka is relatively happy, being shut up in his fortress all those years, his only company being the very miniature, but lovely and talented Oompa-Loompas.

Another story twist that I really liked, which ties into Wonka’s character arc, is that Charlie is faced, in the end, with an unexpected dilemma. It’s unexpected to Charlie and his choice is an unexpected dilemma for Wonka. That is, when Charlie learns that he has inherited the factory and he asks if his family can come live there, too… Wonka’s answer is NO (unlike the original movie). I love that it’s something Wonka never expected to have to deal with… Charlie shows great wisdom and fortitude in his choice, inadvertently sending Wonka into a crisis he (Wonka) cannot quite put his finger on. The final resolution of the story (especially the very last scene) is wonderfully satisfying.

The brilliant changes and updates Burton made in this version of the film include an entire room of squirrels sitting on stools, shelling walnuts. The CG squirrels were perfect… and much funnier than the golden egg-weighing scales from the original movie. The change is also apropos, since the child that gets tossed away for being a “bad nut” obtained her golden ticket through a very similar roomful of human workers, shelling Wonka bars at her father’s behest.

The Oompa-Loompas were another update, re-imagined as miniature people (like around 10” high)**** who all resemble Deep Roy. One of the things I love about the Oompa-Loompas is their penchant for song and dance numbers. Each song was different. Gone is the haunting “Oompa-Loompa-Dippity-Do” theme that is bound to be stuck in your head, now that I’ve mentioned it. Instead, each number was in a different style. For example, while Augustus Gloop’s song was very Busby Berkeley,

including some lovely formations in the chocolate river, as seen from a bird’s eye view… Veruca Salt’s song was much more Partridge Family (complete with sunny-yellow jumpsuits). What made their numbers even funnier was the distinct impression I got that their rhythm wasn’t quite spot-on and their dance moves were, well, just a little stilted. Wonka’s reaction to his workers’ songs was priceless. Like a parent watching their child in a school talent show, he was all smiles, bopping along in what might be construed as hopeful support that the offering would be received well by their audience.

I realized I’ve gone on a bit too long for a blog post, but this movie was thoroughly inventive, even though it was a remake (a veritable miracle in my book). The writing was chockfull of funny material, including a great 2001 reference. A definite must see, suitable for the whole family.
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*Of course, I am a complete hypocrite, as some of the best people with whom I’ve ever worked are now working on the remake to The Poseidon Adventure… and to this day, I’m envious and wish desperately that I were on the show. As it turns out, however, I’ll be starting a new movie in only a few short weeks… so perhaps there’s a reason for everything.

**And with the comic book remark, I’m also being a hypocrite… because the last movie I worked on was a comic book adaptation. Paid the rent for 19 months. What am I complaining about? I guess my livelihood and my appreciation for what makes a good movie are on different channels.

***Who can’t WAIT for Pirates of the Caribbean 2? And by the way, in case you didn’t know, they’re pulling a Lord-of-the-Rings and filming 2 and 3 back-to-back!

****I recently saw a documentary on the little people who worked on The Wizard of Oz, who made less than the damn dog did, per week. I'm not sure they've every been paid fairly. I wonder how many have lost acting jobs, due to advancements in VFX. The price of "progress" can be cruel, I guess.

The Woodsman (2004)

Gutsy, powerful, true, and human, Nicole Kassell really shows her mettle in her directorial debut, The Woodsman. Perhaps the reason she had the

fortitude to make this poignant film on such a taboo subject is because she was straight out of film school (NYU). Would that more seasoned filmmakers with longtime careers at stake could be as courageous as she. And talk about guts… I can’t think of many actors—okay, I can’t think of any—in their “right mind” (career-wise), who would dare to take on a role with so many stigmas attached. Kudos to Kevin Bacon for rising to the challenge.

Kevin Bacon's Walter is a convicted pedophile attempting to assimilate into society after 12 years behind bars. Bacon's work in The Woodsman is riveting and honest… maybe the best performance of his (exceedingly underrated) career. I'm talking Oscar-worthy. Though there were rumblings of the possibility he could get acknowledged for this work, the subject matter was far too untouchable for mainstream Hollywood to recognize. The Academy did not nominate him for an Oscar.

The thing that makes this movie so watchable is the fact that it is a character study, not a lecture on morality. This movie is about a person, not an issue. Walter struggles desperately with his desires—and his own self-judgment is enough for us. He deeply believes that what he is compelled to do is terribly, terribly wrong. Kassell walks an impossibly fine line, presenting a lead character who desires to commit (and has committed in his back-story) heinous and unfathomable evil against the innocent. By the end of the movie, it is not certain that Walter will find healing—but I felt a desperate hope for his success.

There were a few story points that bothered me in this film, but not enough to not recommend seeing it. The biggest problem for me—and without doing actual research into the penal system, I have no real grounds on which to question it—is that a convicted pedophile would be, upon his release, allowed to live directly across the street from an elementary school. The exposition went something like… no other landlords would rent to him… or some such thing. But would a department of corrections allow this to happen? It seems unlikely, but then, I may be giving way too much credit to a very broken system.

The second issue I had was with Kyra Sedgwick's Vicki, Walter's newfound girlfriend. [We suppose this is the first normal, adult sexual relationship Walter has ever had.] My issue does not lay in Sedgwick’s acting, which was fine… my issue lays in the writing of the character. As Vicki’s backstory goes, she was the victim of child sexual abuse, perpetrated by

each of her three brothers in succession, as they became old enough to commit atrocities against her. My first reaction was that I couldn’t believe Vicki would have the desire or capacity to stay with Walter after learning his secret—but I could be wrong. I don't know enough about the pathology of sexual abuse survivorship to understand how this could be true. Perhaps it has to do with forgiveness and redemption. Since her brothers have all grown to be upstanding family men and since their secret crimes remain unacknowledged or denied, it’s possible that Vicki’s relationship with Walter is a conduit for her own forgiveness and healing. There is no regret or repentance to be found among her brothers—but this other person, Walter, desperately wants to live a normal life. Maybe that’s enough for her… or maybe she’s just an extraordinary soul with nothing but hope for those who are earnest. Or maybe these reasons don't hold water, and the character is just badly written. I don't know.

The crux of the movie lies in an incredibly excruciating conversation between Walter and a young girl named Robin (Hannah Pilkes), which is so seamlessly and honestly portrayed that I think I forgot to breathe during the whole scene. Again, I have to say that Bacon is nowhere to be found. There is only Walter, who is absolutely as moment-to-moment-real as any actor could ever hope to offer. If I had been in charge of the Oscars, Kevin Bacon would have received five statues for this performance.

This is a tough film—but it feels more important than it is tough. People should see this. Put it on your Netflix queue.
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War of the Worlds (2005)

Admittedly, what drew me into the theater were the visual effects, the subject matter, the fact that it was a remake of a delicious classic, and

Spielberg... so I went despite Tom Cruise. It was a decent ride, as summer blockbusters go... but could have been much more engaging if the script had undergone a little structural scrutiny.

The biggest sticking point for me - and something that sets this movie apart from the original 1953 film - is the story's perspective. Instead of being a fly on the wall as military scientists try to analyze Earth's situation, we follow a blue-collar divorcee (Ray Ferrier), whose only dimension is that he's less-than- motivated as a father. The only thing Ray can do is run... and try to keep his children safe. Okay, it makes for a slight character arc ["You know, I learned something today..." as Stan Marsh would say.] but that's not enough. Some would argue that an audience's experience is mostly voyeuristic rather than experiential, but I think most really engaging movies allow the viewer to participate vicariously through the main characters. We WANT to understand what's going on... we WANT to be part of the solution to save the day... I found myself more interested in the soldiers on the battlefield, talking to Command & Control on a combat radio, than I was in Ray & Co. continuously running for their lives.

Another script note has to do with the whole "Ogilvy's Basement" sequence. Tim Robbins did a good job playing a man who'd lost his entire family, decent enough to take in Ray and kids... but edgy enough that you wonder whether the house really belongs to him, whether he really lost a family... or whether he's actually an escaped, shovel-wielding serial killer just posing as a kindly basement-owner. The problem is that the entire movie comes to a screeching halt in the basement. We spend so much time down there... it's evident that Josh Friedman (Script consultant for Hitchhiker's Guide, which I will restrain myself from discussing at this time, and screenwriter of Chain Reaction) and David Koepp (screenwriter: Spider-Man, Jurassic Park) clearly had no idea what to do with Act II. I'm sorry to say it, but Act II stalled and sputtered... limping its way to the third act.

Dennis Muren, who supervised the visual effects (Star Wars: Episodes I, II, & VI; A.I.; Jurassic Park; T2; The Abyss; Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom; E.T.), did not disappoint (but how could he?!). Muren did a positively stupendous job on WotW... I can't wait to read the Cinefex article on the show.

Notable was the inimitable and captivating Dakota Fanning (Rachel Ferrier), whose performance was seamless. You can't tell where the actor

ends and the performance begins - she's all real, all the time. With 18 credits to her name since 2001 (including Man on Fire, Cat in the Hat, Uptown Girls, Sweet Home Alabama, and I Am Sam),
it's hard to believe she's only 11 years old. It's too bad that her co-star wasn't able to keep us engaged; if anyone could capture Ray's heart, it would've been Fanning's Rachel. Compare the casting of Tom Cruise to that of a more successfully written parent-rescuing-child-from- alien-monsters-movie in Sigourney Weaver's Ellen Ripley in Aliens (1986).

All in all, War of the Worlds was a good ride and a visual delight... best enjoyed in a theater, at a matinee price. Those who are waiting to see it on DVD will miss out on the spectacle that only the big sheet can provide.
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