Classics Corner: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

6 11 2012

I wish I could have voted for Jefferson Smith today.

It’s rare that a movie rings as true today as when it was released and far less common for them to be even more relevant in the modern era, but “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” does the unthinkable.  Granted, that’s less of a compliment to Frank Capra’s superb morality tale and more of a disgrace on a country more divided than it has been since the Civil War.  Though perhaps the problem is that a post-Watergate world refuses to see a Capra-esque worldview as anything other than naive fantasy.

If that’s true, then bury this country.  I rarely engage in idealism, but these classics of a bygone era inspire those sensibilities to come flowing out of me.  The times then might have been more innocent, and the world now might be far more hostile.  But there are still Jefferson Smiths among us.  There might even be one in us.

And obviously, there’s no one better than Jimmy Stewart to play the best of us, Jefferson Smith.  As a non-politician transported to Washington as a thinly-veiled ploy, he’s a symbol of the purity of the common man.  Yet set against the backdrop of a systemic culture of corruption, his high hopes are quickly squelched.  He’s a big proponent of building a camp for boys in his unidentified home state; however, when it collides with the entrenched interest of the other Senators planning to build a dam on that land, Smith finds himself in hot water.

We all like to think we would do what Jefferson Smith does.  He stands up for what he believes in even when it’s unpopular.  He fights for what he believes in even when it collides with the wills of more powerful men than he.  He is not swayed by fickle public opinion or the press.

Yet most politicians today switch their positions as soon as a poll suggest their voting bloc opposes their position.  They might not be the best of us or even the best for us – just the best choice we have.  On this election day, my hope is that the vision Capra had for an America where the average American’s purity can inspire real change in a sick society can become less of a hope and more of a reality.  Regardless of what party you support, we should all aspire to have a candidate who fights for his convictions with all his might like Mr. Smith.  And if you can’t vote for Mr. Smith, then be one.





REVIEW: Argo

1 11 2012

Every year, one movie speaks to a sense of now.  Whether intentionally (“Up in the Air“) or unintentionally (“The Artist“), their messages resonate with current concerns and taps powerfully into the zeitgeist.

I highly doubt that any movie in 2012 comes along and captures that spirit better than “Argo,” and if it does … then I’ll have to upload a picture of myself with a foot in my mouth to my Facebook page.  Some of the similarities to the current times could not have been foreseen, and no one wanted to foresee the tragic loss of four Americans to an attack on an overseas embassy.

Regardless, it happened, and it makes sure the immaculately constructed and taut opening that depicts the siege of the embassy in Tehran is viewed through an entirely different lens.  We think not only of the people trying to escape a volatile 1979 Iran but also of Ambassador Steven and his slain colleagues.  The painful coexistence of the now with the then is deeply unsettling, and it sets the tone for a movie that entertainingly and thrillingly historicizes the contemporary.

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F.I.L.M. of the Week (October 19, 2012)

19 10 2012

Illegal immigration is quite a hot topic, and growing up in Texas, it’s one that is discussed with flared tempers and higher stakes.  With all this talk of self-deportation and failed reforms, it’s easy to treat people like statistics and forget that what happens in our halls of legislation affects people’s lives.

“Which Way Home” reminds us of the perilous implications of our immigration policy and its failures, putting a human face on the issue.  Documentarian Rebecca Camisa cleverly avoids politics, never inter-cutting her stories of Central American children attempting to cross into the United States with shots of lawmakers in dark rooms far away.  We only get to see what directly affects the voyage of these journeymen, such as the Border Patrol and the other Mexican agencies designed to curb illegal border crossing and deport those who have made it into their country from Guatemala and Honduras.

From this perspective, we are trapped with the migrants, confined to their point of view, left to wander with them.  Camisa literally gets her cameras on top of the freight trains that transport so many immigrants to America and gently prods into the souls of the children (yes, some are even as young as 9).  She gets a peek into what motivates and scares them, what makes home so awful as to abandon it and what makes the United States so great as to flock to it.

It’s these revealing, in-the-moment revelations that give “Which Way Home” such a quiet power.  And while there are the occasional moments of sensationalism like a dead body floating in the river (that’s the opening shot), the movie draws its strength from the words and faces of the immigrants themselves.  Who needs second-rate dramatizations of the passage like “Sin Nombre” when Camisa provides a much more jarring glimpse with real life?





REVIEW: The Master

18 10 2012

It has been a very long time since cinema has been graced with anything quite like “The Master.”  Everyone must concede that whether or not Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film works for them on a personal level, as a piece of cinematic art, it is one of the few films of our time that deserves to be called truly iconoclastic.  It answers to no man, no convention, and no expectation.  It boldly sets sail into uncharted waters, and even if that ride isn’t one of unparalleled brilliance, it’s one of true unfamiliarity.

If you are looking for the film to entertain, you’re likely to find yourself disappointed.  “The Master” is an extremely challenging watch, particularly on a first viewing when you expect to feel the plot building towards some sort of a decisive climax.  It really doesn’t.  Anderson, who writes all the films he directs, takes a very unique approach to this story by really just letting the characters marinate on screen.  They have very little forward momentum and just seem to sort of let themselves be blown around by the wind.

Which means that if you want to enjoy “The Master,” or get anything out of it, you are going to have to engage with it on a much deeper level.  Namely, I highly recommend that to even begin to extrapolate some meaning from it, you need to see it twice.  You are going to have some snap judgements on the film that may be incorrect due to the assumptions and the expectations you carried in with you.  Absorb the basic chain of events, ruminate on them for a little while, and then go back.  Without worrying about the outcome of events, you’ll be able to start seeing how many levels Anderson’s script is working on.

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REVIEW: Holy Motors

17 10 2012

When I saw Leos Carax’s “Holy Motors” in Cannes, I presume that I walked into the thousand-seat DeBussy Theater with significantly less knowledge of film, particularly French film, than most of that audience.  (Heck, Benh Zeitlin, the director of “Beasts of the Southern Wild” was casually sitting a row behind me!  A few hours later, he accepted the prize for the Camera d’Or.)

But for whatever disparities in the experiences we brought in, that audience came out the same way: a little confused, but very entertained and extremely invigorated by the power that cinema still continues to wield.  Carax’s film is one that defies logic as its episodic plot cruises along the streets of Paris, getting stranger and stranger with each passing scene.  And don’t worry, Eva Mendes’ armpits get licked in the first 30 minutes … and it gets wierder than that!

Carax gives us all we could ever want from a movie: motion-capture sex, murder, an accordion parade through a cathedral, biting off people’s fingers, a Kylie Minogue musical number on a rooftop, talking vehicles, intrigue, actors, silent film allusions, and monkeys.  How could someone possibly put that all into a single movie?  You have to see it for yourself.  You just have to.

All I’ll give you is that a mysterious man, Monsieur Oscar, rides around Paris in a limousine; he gets in as one person and leaves as another.  The role requires a dynamic performer, and Denis Lavant might be the best shape-shifter on screen I’ve ever seen.  The man went all-in for the role, and he is wickedly brilliant.

I can’t say I understand “Holy Motors.”  It’s an enigma.  But if you have the chance to see it now, do yourself a favor and give it a chance because it’s rare you find a movie so cryptic and well-made that actually manages to entertain you in the process.  While most films this oblique manage to piss you off so much that you don’t even want to riddle out the meaning (“The Tree of Life” comes to mind for many), Carax makes you desperately crave getting to the bottom of the film.

His “Holy Motors” is a cult classic in the making, one that will be shown as a midnight movie for decades.  Experience it for yourself – prepare yourself for a ride like no other.  B+





REVIEW: Hysteria

16 10 2012

In high school, I was incredibly involved in the close analysis of theatre. In college, I’ve switched over almost exclusively to film.  But since I write a blog reviewing movies, I think you probably know which medium I favor.

So you may be surprised to hear me recommend that you read a play rather than watch a movie, but the invention of the vibrator has been done better by a playwright.  While “Hysteria” is fine and dandy – OK, that was being way too nice, it was actually vapid and unremarkable in every way – the topic has been handled with far more thought by Sarah Ruhl in “In The Next Room (The Vibrator Play).”  Ruhl’s play was nominated for a Tony Award; I think Tanya Wexler’s film will be lucky to compete for a spot in my year-end most forgettable list.

Ruhl understood that there’s a very strong parallel between what happened in the Victorian era with women’s health and sexuality and what is happening now.  When such a relevance is inherent in the material, you can’t ignore that!  But Wexler does, and her film suffers from being cursory and surface-level to the point of fault.

If you’ve read “In the Next Room” and then watch “Hysteria” (which admittedly few probably have), you will undoubtedly be disappointed in Wexler’s blunder.  But even if you haven’t read the Ruhl play, I still think you’ll be disappointed … just in a different way.

You’ll find the film has no urgency.  You’ll find the romance between Hugh Dancy’s Dr. Granville and Maggie Gyllenhaal’s loony Charlotte Dalrymple is unconvinced and undeveloped.  You’ll find that, whether you watch from intellect or for humor, there are better ways to be stimulated.  Pun fully intended.  C / 





REVIEW: The Avengers

15 10 2012

There are two kinds of people in this world: those that prefer “The Dark Knight” and Christopher Nolan, and those that “The Avengers” and Joss Whedon. I count myself absolutely and unapologetically in the first camp.

I’m not saying it’s impossible to like both; indeed, I did enjoy “The Avengers.” That point might be lost in this review since I will be attacking the ideology of filmmaking that produces movies like it, but Whedon recaptures the fun spirit that has been lost in Marvel films since Jon Favreau’s original “Iron Man” in 2008.

He doesn’t provide nearly enough justification for the wasting of four hours of my life on “Thor” and “Captain America,” but then again, I’m not the target audience. Just the sight of those figures will undoubtedly bring joy to many fans; I need a little bit more of a reason to care. I need to know why a purely expository story for “The Avengers” with little drama of its own is worth my time and money.

Whedon definitely embraces the inherent childishness of the comic books and places that as the center of the film; Nolan merely uses the familiar characters of renowned series as a facade to explore important social and cultural issues. There’s no discussion of serious issues in “The Avengers,” unless you count how New York would recover from the $160 billion of damage done to the city in the movie’s bloated climax.

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REVIEW: Tower Heist

14 10 2012

I’ll set the scene for you: it was a dark and stormy Saturday night.  OK, I don’t know if it was raining, but it was the Saturday of the last weekend of spring break and no one was on campus.  Thus, it was a perfect night for a movie.  I was tired after a long day of flying on airplanes, and I really just wanted a throwaway, lowest-common-denominator type of film.  Something that was pure entertainment and would just make me smile.  Laughing wasn’t even necessary.

Tower Heist,” surprisingly, filled my need quite nicely.  Perhaps my exceptionally low expectations are making my enthusiasm a great deal larger than it actually is, though.  This isn’t a movie I intend to ever watch again, but for the one time I did watch it, the ride was decently enjoyable.   Which is really all I could have wanted from the movie.

Sure, the humor is sophomoric and stupid, and it’s a far cry from Ben Stiller’s “There’s Something About Mary,” Eddie Murphy’s “Beverly Hills Cop,” or Matthew Broderick’s “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”  But this Occupy-esque comedy does manage to deliver a few small satisfactions.  It’s a particularly great time watching Murphy, who seems alive for the first time since “Dreamgirls.”

As a con man brought in by the staff of a hotel to execute a “Mission: Impossible” type plan to rob their über-one percenter boss (Alan Alda as a thinly veiled Bernie Madoff caricature), Murphy has the best lines and the best moments.  You might even see a flash of Axel Foley peeking out from behind the levels of Hollywood hardness.  Go back to the classic comedy if you want the real deal, but “Tower Heist” will do for the moment if you’re folding laundry and it happens to be on Cinemax.  B-





REVIEW: End of Watch

13 10 2012

There’s a very specific kind of movie you’d immediately think of when I say a “cop movie,” and it is exactly that kind of film that “End of Watch” so ably resists becoming.  It avoids clichéd conventions of the buddy cops but doesn’t set up its two protagonists as polar opposites and rivals either.  They aren’t fighting some overly symbolic battle against evil, nor are they navigating a disturbingly grey world.

As Brian Taylor and Mike Zavala, Jake Gyllenhaal and Michael Peña give assured, confident, and assertive performances as two ordinary cops who find themselves drawn into a web of crime beyond their wildest imagination.  We follow them through their days on the job in the same way a slice-of-life British drama would … although the characters in those movies usually don’t uncover grotesquely disfigured bodies or virtually enslaved humans.

These shocking sights are made all the more unsettling by writer/director David Ayer’s sparing use of them.  Sensationalism in a sensational movie by nature loses its sensation.  When those same sights punctuate the quotidian, they jolt us out of our slouched position in our seats.

Ayer’s execution isn’t exactly flawless; his opportunistic seizing of the “found footage” filmmaking style feels a little bit forced, and then it is abandoned all together.  “End of Watch” also suffers some minimal damage from ridiculous ethnic actors – I mean, come on, do the Hispanics really not know another word in English other than the f-bomb?  But overall, he crafts one hell of an emotionally involving, sensorily engaging, and wholeheartedly engrossing police drama that never strays far from a firm base in reality and humanity.  A- 





F.I.L.M. of the Week (October 12, 2012)

12 10 2012

casino_jack_and_the_united_states_of_moneySeveral centuries ago, William Shakespeare wrote “all the world’s a stage.”  The statement remains accurate, but perhaps the best modern revision of his quote would be “all the world’s a market” or “all the world is a product.”  Alex Gibney, the ever-ready documentarian of our times, continues his pattern of presenting a particularly disturbing episode and then explaining the cultural factors that caused it.

He did it to the luster of an Oscar in “Taxi to the Dark Side” in 2007, and in 2010, he did it again with “Casino Jack and the United States of Money” (albeit without Oscar gold).  His look at the culture of corruption running rampant in Washington, D.C. is absolutely frightening.  Seriously, it will make you want to audit your Congressman.

Lobbyists have always been very buddy-buddy with Congress, getting their foot in the proverbial door of a Representative to convince them of the benefits of passing certain legislation (that’s in favor of their client, of course).  And Jack Abramoff was the ultimate lobbyist.  A prime salesman and great people-person, Abramoff rode into Washington on the coattails of the Republican Revolution of 1994.  Sadly for Hollywood, this meant no more films from Abramoff, a producer who wrote a 1989 Dolph Lundgren jingoistic action film.

Unfortunately for Native Americans and poor Pacific Islanders, though, Abramoff got to work with the new leadership in Congress and managed to get big money for himself, for his cronies, and for his buddies in the House.  See Jack bribe, see Jack corrupt, see Jack get brought down.  And pick your jaw off the floor when it’s all wrapped up.  It takes a lot for a documentary to get you worked up, but Gibney does it with ease.  (Oh, and don’t worry, Jack is already out of prison too.)





REVIEW: Bellflower

11 10 2012

Independent film allows for new filmmakers to arrive with a bang.  With “Bellflower,” the debut of Evan Glodell, there really existed the opportunity to have that bang given all the flashy pyrotechnics his film had to offer.  Yet in spite of all the noise, the movie heralds the arrival of a new voice … and it arrives with a thud.

The movie proves that it’s going to take a long time for a mumblecore action movie to work.  The new film movement, one that glorifies the DIY, cinema verite styles that have propelled a generation of attention-craving opportunists with cameras to fame via YouTube, is still in its infancy.  It doesn’t know what it is.  It doesn’t know what it can be.

But you know what, good for Glodell for taking the risk.  But for the sake of my eyes and ears, he was the wrong person to take it.  If anyone is going to combine one of the least mainstream movements in film with the most formulaic, adrenaline-pumped genre today, let it be the Duplass brothers.  With “Cyrus,” they proved that their style of comedy can be a modern, stammering, meandering answer to the über-literate that dominate the substantive ranks of the genre (I’m talking Woody Allen, Alexander Payne, and company.)

Glodell and pals can’t even figure out how to reproduce even the slightest authenticity in human conversation.  Every interaction between characters always ends with a shouting match of who can scream the F-bomb the loudest.  If you’ve lived a second in the real world, you know that’s just not how it goes.

I could care less about whatever the characters had to say, so naturally I couldn’t be bothered to care about what they do.  Their dialogue doesn’t articulate what they want, and the actors don’t bring any revelations to light.  And if it’s all just about style, about cool shots and explosions, then the mumblecore movement may have just found its answer to Michael Bay.  I don’t care if he’s on the totally opposite side of the spectrum; anyone that crazy needs to be kept far away from a camera.  D





REVIEW: Win Win

10 10 2012

It’s been well over a year since “Win Win” hit theaters, and I’ve somehow managed to avoid writing a review.  It was my favorite movie of 2011, and I’ve seen it no less than five times.  Why the wait?  I think I admire Thomas McCarthy mastery far too much to shame it with words that don’t accurately describe just how stirringly brilliant this movie is and how strongly it resonated with me.

I don’t even think it’s hyperbolic in the slightest to say that if Frank Capra were making movies today, they would look a whole lot like “Win Win.”  Light-hearted while tackling serious themes and always celebrating the decency of the average American, McCarthy captures all the buoyancy of the old classic comedies but doesn’t fall into a trap of idealistic naïveté.  The writer/director finally strikes gold after “The Station Agent” and “The Visitor” just barely missed the mark.  (He did co-write “Up” as well, which is as close to pitch-perfect emotionally as you can get.)  This movie, for my money, puts him in the highest echelon of modern humanist filmmakers alongside Alexander Payne and Jason Reitman.

McCarthy’s film, much like Reitman’s “Up in the Air,” is one distinctly of its time but also for all times.  “Win Win” shows how the specific money crunch resulting from the recession can cause us to commit immoral deeds, but it’s also a more general parable about weathering hard times by standing firm in our convictions.  The movie never feels like a morality play, though, because McCarthy never preaches.  He just tells a story by truthfully depicting human emotion and conscience.  That’s where the best drama always comes from, and the conflict that plays out is so compelling because we never doubt its authenticity.

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REVIEW: Compliance

9 10 2012

I had heard “Compliance” was controversial.  Now I realize that reaction is just an indication that most moviegoers don’t know their classic psychological and sociological studies like they should.  Craig Zobel’s tightly wrought procedural of people in a tense situation following authority illogically into depravity is merely a modern illustration of a 1960s study by Yale psychologist Stanley Milgram.

Milgram was curious to investigate the effects of authority and the limits of obedience.  He changed a few variables, but the results were pretty consistent: people pretty much obeyed what the person in charge of the situation said.

The experiment involved administering a shock to someone who missed answers to questions (obviously a simulation for ethical reasons), and in some of the trials, the person being shocked would cry out to stop the shocks or bang against the wall.  Merely by saying “you must proceed,” the person administering the shock continued in spite of their nagging qualms about the morality of their decision.

You can’t just write off the actions of the people in “Compliance” as fictional, they aren’t.  Nor can you comfort yourself by believing it to be an isolated incident; Zobel flashes a title card before you walk away informing you of 70 other “Compliance”-like incidents happening across the country.

And now that I’ve told you about the Milgram Experiment, you can’t just write these people off as just being too idiotic to disobey.  (Although for a good chunk of the movie, the characters are so blatantly moronic that it’s easy to lose sympathy for them.)  Just because these people work at a ChickWich, a fast-food restaurant that appears to be on the level of Long John Silver’s, doesn’t mean their stupidity is the reason they allow a remote authority figure to dictate to them that they can commit grossly immoral acts against Becky, a cashier accused of pilfering from a customer.

Zobel slowly but surely peels back the layers of civilization until he reaches total debasement.  The characterization might be weak, but “Compliance” is about something bigger than just people.  It’s about a culture that conditions us to obey whoever is barking orders at us, no matter how sick they might be.  He cleverly uses the character of Sandra, played marvelously by Ann Dowd, to grapple with the after-effects of such a shocking revelation of our basic nature.  The effect: it’s impossible to be a complicit member of the audience – or you sure as heck can’t leave without feeling guilty about it.  





REVIEW: Trouble with the Curve

8 10 2012

Chances are you’ve already seen “Trouble with the Curve” … but you just don’t know it yet.

If you’ve seen “Gran Torino,” you’ve seen it.  Clint Eastwood is just doing a PG-13 version of his cranky, stubborn Walt Kowalski.  Don’t get me wrong, I still find that fairly entertaining though as I intend to pattern my 80-year-old willful disregarding of social conventions on him.  As aging Atlanta Braves scout Gus, he’s still got the ability to make curmudgeonly charming once again.

If you’ve seen “The Fighter,” you’ve seen it.  Amy Adams essentially does a dolled-up reprisal of her role as Charlene the MTV Girl, a tenacious sports groupie and strongly opinionated woman.  Here, she’s got some of those same qualities on display as Gus’ daughter Mickey, a baseball enthusiast looking to climb the corporate ladder but faces casual workplace misogyny.  She gets called onto the road to assist her ailing father, reawakening her love for the game.  Adams is a bright and fun presence on the screen, but it’s hardly of the caliber of performance David O. Russell got out of her.

If you’ve seen … really any Justin Timberlake movie, you’ve seen it.  Whether it’s “The Social Network,” “Bad Teacher,” or “Friends with Benefits,” it’s the same old schtick for the former N*Sync frontman.  It’s less Sean Parker-ish here, however, since the character doesn’t have nearly the dimensionality of an Aaron Sorkin creation.  Timberlake tackles the role of Johnny, a failed baseball player turned novice scout.  Gus has made, then broken, then made his career … and may have made his dreams with Mickey.

If you’ve seen “Moneyball,” you’ve seen this movie.  Even though “Trouble with the Curve”  is about the human calculations of baseball while Bennett Miller’s Best Picture nominee glorified computer models and statistics as the new great tool of baseball, both share an equal goal of bringing back a romanticism quickly disappearing from America’s pastime.

But strangely enough, “Moneyball” does a better job achieving this drawing parallels between computer pixels and the bright stadium lights.  “Trouble with the Curve,” clunking along at a leisurely pace it doesn’t earn (I mean seriously, it feels like an extra innings game), can only muster up cliches to show how much it loves baseball.  The game has seen better, and it deserves better.  C+





REVIEW: Your Sister’s Sister

7 10 2012

All too often, small-scale indie comedies fall into the “coulda been a contenduh” category.  They have great potential to succeed, but like Greek tragic heroes, all have some kind of flaw that prevents them from achievement of their goals.

I’d feel bad beginning my first sentence of a generally positive review with unfortunately because that could give an impression that I thought unfavorably of the movie … but unfortunately, Lynn Shelton’s “Your Sister’s Sister” makes one of the most common indie comedy mistakes: resorting to mainstream conventions.  For the first two acts, the movie feels fresh and incisive like a Woody Allen movie from the 1970s.

The humor flows so naturally from Mark Duplass and Rosemarie DeWitt, who play Jack and Hannah, two dilapidated souls seeking comfort in solitude in a quiet lakeside retreat.  Neither realize the other will be there, though, resulting in some initial awkwardness (as is the territory these types of movies generally tend to dwell in).  Then, they start peeling back the layers of each other’s facades, revealing all sorts of startling truths about each other.  And as they start to connect emotionally (as well as become more and more intoxicated), a physical connection just seems to occur naturally.

Then Iris, played by the gorgeous Emily Blunt, arrives … and introduces utter chaos into the house.  She is Hannah’s sister and Mark’s best friend, thus rendering their romantic evening a subject unable to be broached.  The two new friends, having seen each other laid bare, now have to sort out their true feelings while masquerading as something they aren’t.  Shelton lays out some fascinating conditions for which the drama can unfold, but then she rapidly shifts gears.

In the third act, as the characters begin to really grapple with what has gone on, “Your Sister’s Sister” takes the easy way out.  It relies on dumb montages and hokey, hyperbolic monologues to get Hannah, Mark, and Iris out of their conundrum.  I can’t tell if the ending is just lazy or if it was directed by someone entirely different.

It satisfies, sure, but it doesn’t soar like the rest of the film.  Shelton concludes it far too cleanly to be consistent with the tone of the rest of “Your Sister’s Sister.”  Let messy people dwell in their messiness.  It’s more authentic that way.  B