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Drama


Sofia Coppola’s fourth feature is a return to the lackadaisical moodiness of her breakout film Lost in Translation, but instead of a disconnected and lonely established actor (Bill Murray) in Tokyo, we get a young Hollywood star (Stephen Dorff) when he is not working, every bit as disconnected. He lives in the Chateau Marmont, beds beautiful women regularly, spends time with his daughter (Ellie Fanning), and fights ennui. Unlike Lost in Translation, however, Dorff and Coppola don’t have jet lag or the outsider in a foreign land to explain or sustain the languid pace and feel. Dorff is also no Bill Murray. The latter registered pathos and bemusement in an understated manner, while Dorff (Blood and Wine, City of Industry, Feardotcom), who normally plays the heavy, lacks the chops and just seems tired.  He is not aided by Fanning, who seems adrift, and the two fail to convey any familial connection.

The result?  Coppola has made a film about a bored person that is boring. While the director is intrigued by long repetitive scenes (identical twin strippers who perform for Dorff, Dorff’s daughter performing a routine on ice, lots of freeway driving), the feeling is not mutual, and the scenes play interminably. Most others just feel like your own day if you were a dull Hollywood actor.

This doesn’t even work as the anti-Entourage. Mood pieces can be nice, but you need some meat on that bone, and Coppola’s paltry output (4 features in 11 years) is perhaps explained by the fact she has little to say.

Zero Dark Thirty True Story: Everything The Movie Changed & Left Out

In The Hurt Locker, Kathryn Bigelow exhibited an expert feel for the milieu of a bomb disposal team in early post-Saddam Iraq. While her depiction of the mechanics of the team was the subject of debate, the desolation and immediacy of her scenarios was spot on, evoking the overburdened and overwhelmed sensibility of better-equipped invading/liberating armies since the time of the Romans. What kept The Hurt Locker from being a great film was the simplistic protagonist, Jeremy Renner, a danger freak and little more, with whom we were required to spend too much time.

In Zero Dark Thirty, Bigelow again utilizes a simplistic heroine, CIA officer Jessica Chastain, whose entire persona is a relentless “get bin Laden” zeal. Fortunately, the story Bigelow is telling is an intricate intelligence bureaucracy procedural and Chastain is progressively morphed from the driver of the story to an observer. To her credit, she remains disciplined and does not stray from the confines of her role. Chastain is emblematic of the effort and the desire to fight al Qaeda and eliminate its leader, and the film has refreshingly little interest in what makes her tick, her relationship with men, etc . . . the story is quite enough. This film is much like United 93, authentic, thoughtful, and gripping, even though we know the end.

Two other aspects make this picture extraordinary. First, it deals with politics in a subtle yet effective manner, opening with a clutter of 911 calls on 9-11, which creates the urgency necessary to begin the story, and acknowledging certain political realities (the failure of the CIA on WMD, the changing domestic political tenor on enhanced interrogation, and the Obama administration’s moves with regard to same) without gettng bogged down in their import or advocating for any particular position.

Second, of some controversy, Bigelow shows torture.  Torture assuredly occurred and was also assuredly of value in the war against al Qaeda. Just ask new National Security Advisor John Brennan: “There has been a lot of information that has come out from these interrogation procedures that the agency has in fact used against the real hard-core terrorists. It has saved lives.” The histrionic attacks on Bigelow’s film because it merely shows torture demonstrate the exact false and forced narrative that Zero Dark Thirty eschews. It is depressing that Bigelow had to actually say, “”Experts disagree sharply on the facts and particulars of the intelligence hunt, and doubtlessly that debate will continue. As for what I personally believe, which has been the subject of inquiries, accusations and speculation, I think Usama bin Laden was found due to ingenious detective work. Torture was, however, as we all know, employed in the early years of the hunt. That doesn’t mean it was the key to finding bin Laden. It means it is a part of the story we couldn’t ignore.”

Bigelow’s statement is echoed by Mark Bowden, author of Black Hawk Down: “Torture may be morally wrong, and it may not be the best way to obtain information from detainees, but it played a role in America’s messy, decade-long pursuit of Osama bin Laden, and Zero Dark Thirty is right to portray that fact.”

Juxtapose the statements of Bigelow and Bowden with the criticism of actor and activist David Clennon (“Torture is an appalling crime under any circumstances. ‘Zero’ never acknowledges that torture is immoral and criminal”) and you have the difference between Zero Dark Thirty and the spate of shit message movies that Hollywood churns out every year to show us the right path. The Clennons are terrified. By showing that torture may have gotten certain results, sweet Lord Almighty, we have endorsed torture, which we cannot hope to condemn unless we show it was a masochistic folly of absolutely no intelligence value.

Perhaps we can delete the great line where one interrogator tells Chastain to be careful because the domestic political winds are shifting and she doesn’t want to be “the last one holding a dog collar” and substitute it with, “you know, upon reflection, this stuff we’ve been doing . . . It’s just morally wrong and maybe even criminal.”

A 6 year old girl, Hushpuppy (Quvenzhané Wallis) lives in functional squalor in a poor, bayou fishing community – The Bathtub – cut off by a levee in Louisiana. What passes for the comminity’s teacher tells her that one day, the ice caps will melt, the Bathtub will be swamped by water, and prehistoric beasts will roam the earth. As a storm comes, most of the inhabitants evacuate, except for Hushpuppy, her disturbed father, and some boozing stragglers and abandoned kids. They create a floating bar, a drunken, drifting haven, but their world is dying around them.

This is a mystical, beautiful picture, told primarily through the eyes of the girl, who speaks to her dead mother and imagines beasts marauding her world. The breakdown of her surroundngs after the flood, the fevers of her own imagination, and her introduction to civilization (they are forcibly evacuated) is gorgeous and moving and Wallis’s fierce maturity is captivating.

This is a real life fable (“a passionate and unruly explosion of Americana”, per A.O. Scott) with barely a semblance of a plot, so beware – it does meander. But it is rightly nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, as is Wallis for Best Actress. Her confident, self-possessed performance is one of the strongest child turns I’ve ever seen. The non professional actor Dwight Henry (he’s a New Orleans baker who read for the part during down time and reluctantly took it because he was starting a new business) is also noteworthy, giving a raw, jarring performance. Filmed on location, the film’s rendering of nature reminded me of Terence Malick, but unlike Malick, first- time director Benh Zeitlin connects with actors as well as his surroundings. I’ve never seen a film quite like it.

Okay, technically, this BBC production is not a film, but I have watched both seasons, the second of which is currently on demand on the BBC channel, and they merit a good recommendation.

The competition to theater releases from television series, mini-series and films is stiff.  My unscientific list, just from HBO, demonstrates that as a “studio” it is as prolific and successful as any —

SERIES OR MINI-SERIES
The Sopranos
Rome
John Adams
Deadwood
Angels in America
Game of Thrones
The Wire
Boardwalk Empire

FILMS
Taking Chance
Barbarians at the Gate
Too Big to Fail
Into the Storm
Path to War
61*
Wit

If I haven’t listed an HBO series, mini-series or film, it is not that I made an omission – it means that some of what HBO puts out, like Treme and Hung and Carnivale, isn’t all that great.  But the network’s hit-to-miss ratio is impressive.

BBC’s output is similarly strong and pre-dated HBO’s reign. The Hour is a lovingly detailed show depicting the creation of a BBC television news program in 1956.  In season 1, we were introduced to producer Bel Rowley (Romola Garai), anchor Hector Madden (Dominic West of The Wire) and reporter Freddie Lyon (Ben Whishaw, James Bond’s new Q) as they developed the program while investigating Cold war intrigue. Season 2 brings us police corruption intersecting with a high-level blackmail scheme. The look is very time-specific and classic, and because of that, The Hour has been favorably compared to Mad Men, but it is much more story-driven and deliberate.

I realize television viewing time is limited by so many strong options. Much to the consternation of many folks who have highly recommended certain shows, I haven’t been able to tackle Homeland, Breaking Bad, or Justified, having committed to Downton Abbey, Sherlock and, for a time, The Walking Dead. If you can fit The Hour into the schedule, you won’t regret it.

Hitman Joseph Gordon-Levitt seemingly has the simplest job in the world.  A crime syndicate in the future sends bound targets back in time to a field, where “loopers” like Gordon-Levitt kill and dispose of them.  The loopers get paid in silver until one day, an older version of a looper is sent back to be killed by his younger self.  Strapped to that older version is a pile of gold, the final reward.  When the older Gordon-Levitt is sent back, he is Bruce Willis, and not unexpectedly, Willis thwarts his own execution, and the fun begins.

A blast of a movie, and upon scrutiny, for a time travel film, it does pretty well from a logic standpoint (though some disagree). What matters, however, is that the logic holds up well enough to allow you to be carried away by writer/director Rian Johnson’s fresh and intricate script and his nifty vision of two futures.  The Terminator, for example, was so riveting, you didn’t have the chance to think, “Hey.  Why didn’t Skynet send the Terminator back in time to the hospital where John Connor was born?  Aren’t babies easier to track down and execute?”

Gordon-Levitt is uncanny as a young Willis (they’ve even altered the contours of his face to cement paternity), Willis is gruff Willis, and Emily Blunt (the Brit fashionista assistant in The Devil Wears Prada) is surprisingly convincing in a tough gal role.  Jeff Daniels is a good choice as an off-beat heavy, and Noah Seegan and Garret Dillahunt impress in small roles as the men tasked to hunt Gordon-Levitt and Willis down.  The standout performance, however, belongs to child actor Pierce Gagnon, who manages to be terrifying and then sympathetic.

Johnson’s 2005 noir high California school flick – Brick – was similarly inventive.  Johnson is not exactly prolifiic, but if Looper is the norm, I can wait.

Christopher Nolan’s last entry to his Batman trilogy closes the story out in satisfying fashion and even leaves room for the rise of Robin (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) should Warner Brothers need a fiscal stimulus in the future. The story is the same as the prior two pictures. A reluctant Bruce Wayne/Batman (Christian Bale) is drawn back into the fray when his beloved Gotham City is threatened. This time, the threat comes from Bane (Tom Hardy), a muscular beast who wears a mask not unlike a greyhound. Much like The Joker, Bane seeks to test the mettle and morals of Gotham.  Bane’s appeal is Occupy Wall Street on steroids. The city is shut down and isolated by a moving nuclear device controlled by Bane, and as its time runs out, the new masters judge the rich and powerful (the villain Scarecrow plays Robespierre) while Bane’s henchmen and at least a certain portion of the citizenry pillage their apartments.

This is actually the most interesting part of the movie, begging the question, “Why does Batman dig this fickle town so much?” Unfortunately, less time is devoted to the occupation’s class warfare and the internal de-evolution of Gotham and too much to Batman’s angst, Alfred’s (Michael Caine) regret that Bruce did not have a normal life, and some corporate skullduggery that is . . . eh. The movie is also a bit too solemn. I applaud the darker, starker vision of Batman and his story, but we are, in the end, talking about a man who dresses up like a bat. With the exception of a few smart quips from Catwoman (a lithe Ann Hathaway), the movie is largely humorless.

Still, the action is first-rate and the big finish does not disappoint.

Image result for The Perfect Storm crew

A Gloucester fishing boat captained by George Clooney goes out to get some fish and is soon in “the perfect storm.” Based on Sebastian Junger’s best-selling book about the fate of the Andrea Gail, the visuals are occasionally impressive but this is no Captain’s Courageous. The characters have a working class look but not the feel, and Clooney, who normally chooses well, is too damn dreamy to be the salty sea dog (he would have been better as the telegenic and wide-eyed meteorologist who captures the storm on his Doppler).

A better skipper would have been John Hawkes, the crewman furthest to the right above, who was nominated for an Oscar for Winter’s Bone and should be nominated again this year for The Sessions.

Junger’s book delved deeply into the precarious, brutal and chancy world of commercial fishing, but the script elects to show hard drinkin’, hard lovin’, misunderstood men of the sea while on land, and on the water, a boring band of brothers. The screenplay is either hackneyed or just plain dull.

Here’s a taste.

“This is the the moment of truth”

“Billy, you’re not gonna’ like this but I’m gonna’ say it anyway.  You be careful.”

“I always find the fish.  Always.”

“Last night was worth it. There’s nothin like sleepin’ with you… just sleepin’… lyin next to you… all warm and sweet… Me wishin’ the mornin’ would never end.”

“You just caught me on a good night. I’m doing what I was made to do – and I’ve got a feeling I’m going to do it even better this time.”

And when crew member John C. Reilly is about to drown, he doesn’t scream or panic. Instead,  being a man of the sea, he says to no one in particular, “This is gonna be hard on my little boy.”

Hard on the audience as well, John.

There’s also a lot of forlorn women looking out the window for these good men of the sea (Diane Lane is completely wasted). Old Spice commercials are filled with greater verisimilitude.

Director Wolfgang Peterson made it to Hollywood on the strength of his gripping U boat drama Das Boot, but since then, he’s gone to sea twice, with The Perfect Storm and the even worse Poseidon.

He needs to stay on land.

 

Lawless (film) - Wikipedia

I wonder how a movie like this gets made these days.  Tom Hardy, Jessica Chastain, and Shia LeBeouf can’t open it, the milieu (1930s backwoods of Virginia) doesn’t relate, it can’t be cross-marketed with a soundtrack, and the script, which could override all of the above if it were really good, is not.  In fact, there is not a memorable exchange in it. Hardy is colorless (he resonated stronger with a mask in The Dark Knight Rises), Chastain a stock dancer with a heart of gold, and LeBeouf showy, always “acting!”

The Bondurants are bootleggers in Franklin County, Virginia.  On principle, they won’t pay off the authorities, which smacks of stupidity more than honor or savvy business sense.  The authorities hire Guy Pearce to shut them down. Pearce must have sensed what a dreary endeavor this was to be, so he took on the affectation of a sexually dysfunctional dandy/germaphobe.

And he hates hillbillies.

Character developed!

Pearce goes too far, Hardy brings hell and damnation with him, and it ends with an underwhelming shoot-out and an interminable voice-over coda by LeBeouf.

Steven Soderbergh’s semi-rags to not-quite-riches story of a young Tampa male stripper and his introduction to the world confirms two things.

First, Soderbergh is one of those rare talents who can direct most any kind of film, be it jokey caper flicks (The Oceans movies), intricate ensemble thrillers (Contagion, Traffic), meditative crime pictures (Underneath, The Limey), comic crime pictures (Out of Sight), period pieces (King of the Hill), star vehicles/accessible treacle (Erin Brockovich), action flicks (Haywire), and biographical comedies (The Informant).  Hell, Soderbergh even coaxed a passable performance from porn star Sasha Grey (Entourage, Slut Puppies 2) in The Girlfriend Experience.

Second, while Channing Tatum is a huge star, he’s also going to be an enduring one.  He showed a real affinity for comedy in 21 Jump Street and in Magic Mike, he reveals depth to go with his light touch.   He is undeniably attractive, but he’s also winning and vulnerable.  He will be touching the erogenous, mommy and soulmate zones of female viewers for a long time.

Tatum is one of a troupe of male strippers under the sway of club owner Matthew McConaughey, who has taken oily to new heights.  The men live in a bubble world, scoring $500 a night to dance for Tampa’s enthusiastic females, while living a dream of sun, fun and ecstacy (the drug and constant and varied sex).  Tatum, however, has a bigger dream.  Though he wants equity in the club, which will soon be going big time in Miami, he has other irons in the fire.  When he becomes the big brother to a new 19 year old dancer (Alex Pettyfer), he falls for Pettfyfer’s protective sister (Cody Horn) and rethinks his situation.

Soderbergh manages to make the world both enticing and seedy (though not as comic as Demi Moore’s milieu in Striptease, it is a similar evocation), which makes Mike’s dilemma convincing.  Tatum delivers his crisis of conscience and his desire to “be something” so you buy in.  A weakness, however, is Soderbergh’s decision on too many dance/strip/hump sequences.  Admittedly, I am not the target audience for these scenes, if they were meant to be erotic or titillating, but save for one scene where Horn actually watches Tatum ply his trade (her response is equivocal, a mix of fascination and discomfort), I don’t think that’s where Soderbergh was heading.  Indeed, the male revue world is loudly bacchanalian, with women whooping and hollering in mock lust and real joy, a jarring contrast to the world of female stripping, where, as Larry Miller used to joke, the men eye the strippers like lions eye antelope.

Liam Neeson works in Alaska as a sniper protecting workers from wolves.  He’s at the end of his tether, trapped in a faraway hell where all around him, the dregs do the hard work in a barren wasteland, drinking, drugging and fighting at night.  Near suicidal, Neeson grabs a flight to Anchorage, which goes down in a part of the frozen tundra controlled by a marauding wolf pack. Neeson leads a group of men in their attempt to survive the elements and the wolves.

At first blush, The Grey seems a drearier, heavier The Edge, without the sharpness of a Mamet script or the tension born of a romantic entanglement.  Surprisingly, given the director’s track record, this story of men turns out to be a great deal more than a thriller.  We learn a little about each of the survivors, and Neeson, who was ready to throw his life away, draws purpose from and provides comfort to men suddenly facing death.  There is a beautiful scene after the crash, where Neeson consoles a gravely injured passenger, tells the man he is dying and asks him to think of one he loves to walk him out of this world.  What follows is indeed very thrilling, but also deep and even elegiac.  As characters meet their fate, you find yourself empathizing strongly with them, not only because of their plight but because you have invested in them.

Neeson is strong as a lost man reconnected to humanity through this nightmare. He should be nominated for an Oscar, but given the vehicle, it cannot be. The ensemble cast is also formidable, with special mention to Frank Grillo as an ex-con survivor who naturally resists Neeson’s leadership.

The Grey was directed and co-written by Joe Carnahan, who helmed the excessive and stupid Smokin’ Aces and The A Team, so things are looking up.