REVIEW: Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

16 01 2011

I have no problem with Hollywood approaching the 2008 financial collapse; look no further than my “A” for Charles Ferguson’s documentary “Inside Job.”  But it’s a slippery slope to walk on, and Oliver Stone’s slanted “Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps” does a total face-plant as its blatantly pointed activism destroys any legitimacy the movie might have.  Compared to Ferguson’s fascinating investigation and research, Stone’s allegory is a cowardly and vicious attack on the system of greed that the original film highlighted in 1987.

There was no reason to resurrect Michael Douglas’ Oscar-winning character Gordon Gekko at all, and Stone’s haste to use him as an instrument in unleashing a tirade against Wall Street renders his transformation senseless.  In the first film, he was a slimy representation of greed and excess, and an antagonist meant to be deplored.  Yet in 2010, he has been conveniently reassigned to the voice of the writer and his liberal sensibilities.  No matter where you fall on the political spectrum, this move just doesn’t work under the basic conventions of storytelling.

The movie’s main plot is mostly independent of Gekko, tying him in through a broken relationship with his daughter Winnie (Carey Mulligan).  She’s engaged to Jake (Shia LaBeouf), a young upstart banker who gets caught up in the idea of creating something from nothing that he ultimately winds up without anything.  After the suicide of his mentor, he finds himself reeling and very lost.

Sure, it has its entertaining moments, but the whole movie just reeks of a misplaced sense of political vindication.  Stone doesn’t challenge, inform, or educate, and there’s nothing left for the audience to ponder.  The deranged manifesto that is “Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps” is just a series of thinly veiled pot-shots on everyone involved in the financial meltdown, less based on the facts than on the opinions and convictions of its hardly neutral filmmakers.  C- / 


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REVIEW: The Ghost Writer

7 09 2010

There are plenty of political thrillers thrown at us each year, and despite being directed by Oscar winner Roman Polanski, “The Ghost Writer” has little to distinguish itself from the countless other entries in the genre.  Thanks to solid direction and capable acting, it definitely ranks among the upper echelon of similar movies.  Yet at the same time, there’s nothing that jumps out and makes you think “now THAT is the work of an Academy Award winning director.”  (It’s almost impossible to top “The Pianist,” and I don’t expect Polanski to do so.)

It’s your prototypical tale of intrigue involving the usual chain of events: suspicion, investigation, and ultimately startling discovery. Ewan McGregor’s Ghost takes on the lofty task of adapting the verbose memoirs of former British Prime Minister Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan) after the first ghost writer drowns.  The Ghost senses that there might be foul play afoot in the unforeseen disappearance, and sure enough, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.  He stumbles upon a web of deceit and betrayal where allegiance and alliance are never certain.

There are some nice twists in the end, but the build-up can get a little tedious at times.  Nothing is ever boring because it is a Polanski movie, after all.  There is often an occasion where the movie thinks it’s a lot better than it is.  Maybe it’s this Polanski-instilled confidence that elevates the movie a few rungs above mediocre.  He does a good job of escalating the tension slowly over the movie until the end when it could be cut with a knife.  The tautness is also due in large part to Alexandre Desplat’s brassy score, sometimes quirky but always blaring.

In short, “The Ghost Writer” doesn’t quite measure up to the Roman Polanski standard.  But not quite measuring up to his standard is exceeding a whole lot of other ones.  B+ /


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