Movie Reviews of ARGO and SEVEN PSYCHOPATHS by Howard Casner

Argo, the new thriller written by Chris Terrio and directed by Ben Affleck, has been described as one of those throw back Hollywood studio movies, one that isn’t based on a franchise or comic book, but is instead a solid, well written, professionally made piece of entertainment aimed at adults. And this is a very accurate description. But at the same time, this also means that it reduces a terrifying and important and politically complex situation to a routine thriller; has jokes that are as old as the Hollywood Hills (though I seemed to be the only one that laughed at the screenwriting/free meal punch line); and has character arcs and plot turns that are obvious and formulaic and have everything but subtlety (and the kitchen sink, I suppose).

But does any of this matter? Does anyone care? It doesn’t seem so. Mainly because it is also highly, if not, incredibly entertaining for the most part (or enough part to make it work very well on its own terms). Indeed, the approach may reduce the circumstances to a Casablanca like simplification, but it doesn’t ignore the historical reality altogether (and gives it more attention and depth than expected). The jokes may be stale, but they are still funny and delivered with the timing of pros. The plotting may be predictable, but it still keeps you on the edge of your seat. And the character arcs may be formulaic, but they still bring a tear to the eye.

So I suppose the conclusion is: go for the entertainment, but leave your aesthetic at the door.

The story revolves around a group of American embassy workers who manage to get out a back door and take refuge in the Canadian ambassador’s home during the 1979 Iran hostage crisis. To rescue these six people before the Iranian government finds them (and most likely would kill them), a CIA agent, Tony Mendez, is assigned to rescue them and he does so by coming up with the “best, worst idea” they have: Mendez will pretend to be a Canadian movie producer scouting locations in Iran and then take the six out with him pretending that they are part of his crew.

There’s nothing that wrong with the movie. It more than gets the job done. And it has some wonderful aspects to it, especially in some of the supporting roles. Alan Arkin plays a once big movie producer now reduced to accepting life time achievement awards and he plays his part as if it’s the role of his life (he may be as old as the jokes, but he makes them zing as if they’ve never been told before). John Goodman solidifies his career as one of our most enjoyable supporting actors as John Chambers, a make up artist who won an Oscar for the original Planet of the Apes movie. Victor Garber takes a nothing role as the Canadian Ambassador and fills it with such humanity, one wants to give him the Nobel Peace Prize. And there’s a scene at the end where the annoying Doubting Thomas/Debbie Downer character, who had bad talked the mission the whole way, fulfills his arc by suddenly becoming more invested in his playacting than the others, describing the fake movie they are not shooting to some Iranian guards as if he was pitching the project that could make or break him (which it could, I suppose).

At the same time, as fun as it is, one does wish it could have been better. The rest of the cast is filled with a bunch of TV actors as if the producers were hoping that casting them alone would cover up a certain flatness in most of the roles (it doesn’t, though, as hard as people like Bryan Cranston try). The second act drags a bit, and though the third act is exciting, it is also a bit over the top (so over the top, it’s obvious it didn’t quite happen this way—and it didn’t—the most suspense the real participants had at the airport was a ticket agent who suddenly disappeared for no reason for ten minutes, only to return with a cup of tea) and relies on the authorities turning into a bunch of Keystone Revolutionary Guards (one wanted to shout to them, “Just call the tower, you idiots”).

And then there’s Ben Affleck. Many, including yours truly, were relieved when he became a director. He wasn’t doing anything that interesting from an acting standpoint and his career seemed to stall. Then he gave us Gone, Baby, Gone and he was back with a vengeance. Since then, he has become a more than competent director. Unfortunately, he’s also gone back to acting and keeps putting himself in the lead in his films. There’s nothing wrong with his performance here, but like most of the supporting ones, he can do little with breathing real life into the role and I just kept thinking how much more interesting the film might have been if someone with more screen presence, like Jeremy Renner or Ryan Gosling or Michael Fassbender, had been in the lead.

But then I saw the movie Seven Psychopaths (the second feature by writer/director Martin McDonagh, who gave us the deliriously wonderful In Bruges in 2008) the same day as Argo and what a study in contrasts.

Where Argo was made with a studio finesse, …Psychopaths is a shaggy dog of a story; where Argo is the perfect movie to study for formula with all I’s dotted and tittles crossed, …Psychopaths feels made up as it goes along; where Argo is filled with a supporting cast of actors that seem to be used to cover up a lack of depth in the characters, …Psychopaths has one of the most impressively written ensembles inhabited by perhaps the best and most exciting cast of the year (even when it comes to using TV actors, Argo comes up with Kyle Chandler of Friday Night Lights where …Psychopaths uses Boardwalk Empire’s Michaels’ Stuhlbarg and Pitt); where Argo feels like the poster child of how-to screenplay books and college classes, …Psychopaths seems to revel in saying “fuck you” (and not just implicitly, but also explicitly over and over again in the screenplay) to anyone who thinks one should write according to the rules; and where Argo feels satisfied to be what it is, a well made thriller, …Psychopaths feels infused with the passion and a desire to really do something personal.

So whereas Argo is fun and extremely entertaining (and you will not be disappointed if you see it), Seven Psychopaths is something else: a wonderful, witty, perhaps brilliant rag tag of a movie that does nothing you expect and surprises you in ways that very few movies do.

The basic story line revolves around Marty, a screenwriter who is blocked, (Collin Ferrell, who along with Renner, et al., would probably also have been a better choice for the lead in Argo) and his best friend Billy (Sam Rockwell, in perhaps his finest performance to date), who makes a living kidnapping dogs with his friend Hans (a heartbreaking Christopher Walken). All Marty has for his opus is the title, Seven Psychopaths, but nothing else. But in working out his storyline, he finds himself caught up in Billy and Hans’ world, especially after they abduct a dog from the sociopathic mobster Charlie (Woody Harrelson, who seems to be having more and more fun the further he gets away from the role that first made his name, that of obtuse, country boy Woody in the TV series Cheers). Let’s just say that chaos, violence and hilarity ensue.

McDonagh does some remarkable things in Seven Psychopaths. The story is ridiculous. It’s almost never believable. It’s so over the top, it makes Scarface look like Little Lord Fauntleroy. But the more preposterous the movie becomes, the more caught up you are in the whole stupid, insane mess. And just when you don’t think it can get any more outrageous, McDonagh pulls a rabbit out of his hat (both figuratively and literally) and doesn’t just go one level higher, he makes a tiny adjustment and suddenly you’re so emotionally caught up in the whole thing, you find yourself on the verge of tears. No matter how far from reality the story gets, there’s something so real at the core, that the emotions at times sweep over you in ways that never make any sense, but yet, there they are. How does he do it? I don’t know. But there’s no point in fighting it; resistance is futile.

In the end, though I think Seven Psychopaths is a far superior movie to Argo, I think both represent what I wish movies would be. If you’re going to do a studio driven, formulaic movie that doesn’t try to be anything more than what it is, at least make them as entertaining and intelligent and enjoyable as Argo. But if you’re going to write something personal, if you’re going to revel in being independent and taking movies in a new and unique direction, then movies like Seven Psychopaths are indispensable. Argo is the future of the studios. Seven Psychopaths is the future of filmmaking.


Movie Reviews of THE ORANGES and DIANA VREELAND: THE EYE HAS TO WANDER by Howard Casner

The Oranges, the new film written by Ian Helfer and Jay Reiss and directed by Julian Farino, feels as if it’s about a group of suburbanites who would like to be in a John Updyke book, but can’t seem to get up the energy for it. It’s a character study of three marriages, two straight ones as well as the Boston or faux homosexual one of the two husbands. And if you don’t know which one is of most concern to the writers, then you obviously have never heard the term bros before hos. The movie is all about what happens when one husband starts an affair with the other husband’s daughter. At least I assume it’s an affair. No sex is shown and it all ends up being a bit cute and cuddly, as if they were afraid the Lifetime channel might not want to air it. The whole thing is narrated by Alia Shawkat, who plays the daughter who doesn’t have an affair. Exactly why this character was chosen for this somewhat thankless task is a bit unclear. The movie is filled with scenes she doesn’t see first hand and she never seems to learn anything of any significance. The movie might have been interesting if it had been about her realization that nobody likes or cares about her because she’s too plain and dull to be of any importance (so unimportant that even her father prefers the daughter across the street). But alas, twas not to be. The leads are played by Allison Janney, Oliver Platt, Catherine Keener and Hugh Laurie. All are very good, but apparently all are here because no one has come up with the idea of using them for a movie version of Edward Albee’s A Delicate Balance yet. Maybe next year.

Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has to Travel (the new documentary directed by Lisa Immordine Vreeland, Bent-Jorgen Perlmutt and Frederic Tcheng) is about the ground breaking American fashionista that revolutionized the way we thought about what we wear though the pages of Harper’s Bazarre, Vogue and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In the movie, Vreeland is portrayed as Auntie Mame meets Anna Wintour: someone who cries out Live!, Live!, Live!, but still makes her assistants cry. It’s based on an as told to biography written by George Plimpton and is narrated by two people pretending to be Plimpton and Vreeland reading excerpts of the book and the interviews. The actor playing Plimpton is fine, but Annette Miller, as Vreeland, is a bit much at times. She has the voice of Lauren Bacall coupled with the vocal inflections of Bette Davis. I’m not convinced the film rises about what is, a fairly standard bio doc, but it is highly entertaining and at times fascinating (though one does get a chill here and there when Vreeland seems to see her sons as utterly unimportant to her life).


Movie Review of CRAIGSLIST JOE by Howard Casner

In 1941, the great writer/director Preston Sturges made a film called Sullivan’s Travels about a movie director tired of making shallow escapist comedies and so disguises himself as a hobo and hits the road for research to make the great American drama, “O Brother, Where Art Thou” (yes, it’s where the Coen bros got the name for their movie). In 2011, in Craigslist Joe (the new documentary directed by Joseph Garner), Kristos Andrews (in the title role) goes off the grid for a month to see if he can survive by depending upon the kindness of strangers that he meets through craigslist.org.

The main difference in these two movies is that Sullivan’s Travels is fully aware of the inherent fallacy in the central character’s journey: the director is not, nor ever will be, a truly homeless person and thereby, there is something condescending and shallow about what he is trying to do (which makes up much of the humor).

But Craigslist Joe never seems to realize this disconnect. In fact, Andrews travels around with a cameraman to record everything, which is probably going to kind of sort of make him a lot more disarming than your everyday street person. And no matter what Andrews claims, he is never really homeless. He has an apartment and family and money back in Los Angeles; he goes off the grid not because he has no other alternative, as truly homeless people do, but by choice. He is also, dare I say it and risk the taint of controversy, white. Which is important, because it is just about impossible to believe that if Andrews was anything else, was truly homeless (and/or a minority), was truly one of those unshaven, scary looking people on the streets, some of whom haven’t had a bath in months, he would have never been treated with the same respect.

So there is something wrong at the heart of this documentary. It purports to say that America is a generous nation that has its heart in the right place and will go out of its way to help those in need. That may very well be true. But that’s not what this movie proves. Instead, all it really demonstrates is that Americans are more than willing to help someone—as long as that person really doesn’t need any help (and is white).

At the same time, strangely enough, in many ways Craigslist Joe is a more than engaging movie that is well worth seeing. First of all, it’s a lot of fun. Andrews finds all sorts of strange and odd things to do on line that are fee (including a gratis break dance class—something that tells the audience that Andrews shouldn’t quit his day job, whatever that is exactly). As a result, the first thing one wants to do when one gets home after seeing the documentary is to log on and see just what this community based website has to offer that one never knew before.

But more important, the movie finds its real heart in the wide range of people that Andrews runs into as he traverses the U.S. These are one fascinating group of people of all backgrounds and beliefs from regular, everyday neighborly types; to charming and warm new agers; to slightly odd (but not quite) people who just like to drive places; to perhaps the most emotionally riveting of all, an actress who has a brain tumor and has become a hoarder (and gives one of the best defenses of hoarding I’ve ever heard).

This is where the movie soars. Not in its shallow commentary on the state of America’s generosity, but in this cross section of people the movie covers. This is the movie’s true message: not that people will help those that don’t require too much of them, but that we are a rich (hold for the cliché) tapestry of differences, a ragtag group of pied people. Garner may have gotten part of it wrong, but in the end, he got quite a bit of it right.


Movie Review of COMBAT GIRLS by Howard Casner

In Combat Girls (the new German import written and directed by David Wnendt), Nazism is alive and well and living in Germany (well, at least the Neo- kind), but I guess that’s not really a surprise to anyone, which is perhaps the main issue with this film. As heartfelt and earnest as it is, I’m not convinced that it really tells us anything refreshing and unique about the new Neo’s that other films haven’t already.

The movie is basically a character study of two young women, Marissa (Alina Levshin), a 20-year old with anger management issues and a mother who doesn’t like to be touched, and Svenja (Jella Haase), a 15 year old baby Nazi who has a step-father who makes her get straight A’s in school and forces her to go through a whole pack of cigarettes at once when he discovers that she is smoking behind his back (don’t you hate when that happens).

There’s some indication that originally this was suppose to be a character study of three young women. There’s this third one, Melanie (Anne Laszus), a sort of Goth like creature lurking around the corners of the story. It’s unclear why she isn’t given the attention that other two are, and it’s too bad; a triumvirate might have made the film a little stronger. Instead, Melanie just throws the whole thing a little off balance and one wonders why she’s even in the movie at all.

The big problem is that one waits a long time for something really engaging to happen and that comes about when Marissa, in a fit of pique, runs two teenage Middle Eastern immigrants off the road, and like Paul on the road to Damascus, has a sudden conversion: she actually feels guilty and ends up trying to help the younger one make his way to Sweden. It’s an odd turn in the plot; she’s almost as puzzled about her new attitude as the audience. Levshin, who won the Lola for her performance (that’s German Oscar for those who aren’t in with the in crowd), attacks her role with the ferocity of a linebacker on steroids. She has the most complex character and somehow sells this fascinating contradictory aspect of her persona.

But the story of Marissa and the immigrant is only one-third of the movie, if that. In the end, everything else falls a bit flat. Wnendt never really does that strong or engaging a job of dramatizing why these three women would become “combat girls”. Instead, one comes away from the movie with the moral of the story being: if your mother doesn’t want to touch you; if your step-father is too strict; and if you have a baby when you’re very young and they take it away from you, you’re more likely to become a Nazi.

Perhaps so. It’s certainly a stronger theory that Michael Haneke’s in The White Ribbon where the rise of Adolf Hitler seemed to be blamed on kids not being allowed to masturbate. But I’m still a tad on the skeptical side.


Movie Review of END OF WATCH by Howard Casner

End of Watch (written and directed by Training Day’s David Ayer) is basically the 21st century version of Adam 12, but instead of the bland, slightly robotic offspring of Jack Webb’s Joe Friday from Dragnet, we have two bullying, near psychopathic officers with messianic complexes (or asshole pricks as we say in the vernacular). I’m not sure it’s an improvement, but I am glad that LAPD police cars still have the words “to preserve and protect” in quotation marks as they did in Friday’s day (this last is an in-joke for anyone who’s seen Thom Anderson’s Los Angeles Plays Itself).

The movie is basically a series of episodes over a year or so in the life of Officers Brian Taylor (Jake Gyllenhaal) and Mike Zavala (Michael Peña), two partners who banter like the best of them. And that is the strongest aspect of the movie. Gyllenhaal and Peña act their characters for all they’re worth, playing off each other’s lines with a well, practiced feeling of improvisation. Ayer has a definite ear for how his characters talk and relate to each other.

But still…these are one scary set of dudes, bro. I mean, these dudes are scary. I certainly wouldn’t want to meet them in a well lit alley, much less a dark one. And that’s not the worst of it. There’s only one thing worse than asshole pricks. That’s asshole pricks that are always right.

And man, are these guys amazing or what? Well, the movie opens with a wild chase scene where the two officers force the other vehicle to crash and then take the two bad guys out with the greatest of ease. They answer a call on abducted kids and they find them tied up with duct tape in a back closet (no fool these guys, they can see through a drug addict’s paranoia like no one else). They decide to stop a truck on a routine traffic violation and are almost shot, discovering drug money in the process. They make the enemy of a cartel by answering a noise complaint and discovering a house trafficking in illegals. But most amazing of all, they save three children from a burning house with a single bound (well, a double bound, they actually go back for the third kid). Man, after awhile, it was like watching Meryl Streep’s life story in the Defending Your Life.

I mean, are these guys insufferable, or what? At the same time, Ayer does do something very well here. As much as you want these guys to get their comeuppance, when you realize how it’s going to come, you find that’s it’s really the last thing you want. And the ending is powerful (in spite of the fact that it, like many of the action scenes, are based on the cliché that people only get shot when it’s convenient for the plot). It socks you in the gut and you repent of all the awful things you’ve been wishing on these guys up until then.

The story is based on the conceit that Brian is filming everything. Well, sort of. Sometimes it seems obvious that what is happening is not being, or couldn’t be, caught on a camera. In addition, Brian is doing it for a school project, in spite of the fact that he never goes to school; never does homework; and never finishes the project. So in the end, the conceit is so inconsistent and arbitrary, one wonders why Ayer used it in the first place. At the same time, there are some scenes that, because they are filmed this way, give the whole enterprise a stronger feeling of realism.

The supporting cast has some unusual suspects in it. Anna Kendrick plays Brian’s girlfriend and then wife, Janet, and America Ferrera plays Orozco, a fellow officer. Both are both very good, but it may be unclear exactly what they are doing here in supporting roles. Kendrick is an Oscar nominee for Up in the Air, and Ferrera has won numerous awards (including an Emmy and Golden Globe) for her TV series Ugly Betty. Is this really the best that filmdom can do for these two talented actresses? Just throw them away in some minor role in an independent film? Is this really the state of American movie making today?

In the end, how one feels about End of Watch will probably depend on how much one can stomach the central characters. I guess I’m a pussy. For me, they were so obnoxious and annoying I found myself identifying with David Harbour, one of their fellow officers and bullying victims, who keeps warning them that they are playing with fire and are going to get burned. He’s out of the picture half way through, but I sympathize: I couldn’t figure out who was worse to deal with, the bad bad guys or the good bad guys.


Movie Review of LOOPER by Howard Casner

The dystopian future in Looper, the new time travel movie written and directed by Rian Johnson, is every Democrat’s nightmare of what would happen if the Republicans regained control of the government: no middle class; no social safety net; everyone has guns; and China rules the world economy.

Everyone seems loopy over Looper (sorry, couldn’t resist), but I have to admit it left me more than a bit under whelmed. The basic idea, the conceit, it absolutely brilliant in its high conceptiveness (I love making up words): as anyone who has seen the previews knows, time travel has been invented in the future, but has been outlawed, and only bad guys use it to send people back it time to be assassinated by hired killers, called Loopers (the main one here played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt). But then things didn’t quite go as I expected. In fact, once this conceit was established, I found the plot just one arbitrary decision after another until I felt the writer was driving the story rather than the concept and the characters changing the gears.

First, I find it almost impossible to believe that all the future governments would have gotten together in order to ban time travel (this is perhaps the Republicans’ nightmare view of what would happen if the Democrats regained power—world peace and cooperation). But let’s let that go; I’m more than willing to at least give that much on the basic set up (hey, I can be a good sport at times).

But things started falling apart for me when it was revealed that at some point, the looper’s future self is sent back for assassination. Why? Well, the only reason really given is that time travel is so illegal (you know, as opposed to only so-so illegal–like marijuana, maybe), they have to be disposed of. Okay, fine. But a week later and I still haven’t figured out the cause and effect here.

When this future looper is sent back, his present day counterpart kills him (himself); realizes that the time has come for him to retire; and he’s given a big payoff so that he can live out the rest of his life the way he would like. Thirty years to be exact. Why thirty? Why not thirty-one? Why not twenty-eight? Why not thirty-three and a third? Do I hear forty two years, one hundred and twenty two days? Again, a week later and I still haven’t figured out the cause and effect here.

But the arbitrariness doesn’t stop there. There are actually two, count them two for the price of one, conceits to the story. It’s not just a high concept movie, it’s a HIGH high concept movie. Some people in this future have suddenly obtained a genetic mutation that gives them a telekinetic ability. I’m not sure why Johnson fell he needed this to be part of the plot. To be ruthlessly honest, it feels like the sort of thing that is added when a writer doesn’t trust his basic concept (which, if so, is too bad, because again, the concept is brilliant) or it’s the only way he can force an ending based on the premise first given. It’s not that it doesn’t play a part in the story, but it just seems so…arbitrary, and not nearly as interesting as the original idea of loopers. But a writer’s got to do what a writer’s got to do, I guess.

It all leads to a showdown on a remote farm run by the only empathetic character in the story played by Emily Blunt (though for me, I just didn’t find her interesting enough to empathize with). You see (and stay with me here), in the future some ruthless gangster has gained control of all gangs and is systematically getting rid of all loopers (how anyone could know what is going on in the future is never explained). This leads to a child being raised by Blunt, a cute as a buttons, barely out of his nappies boy who has such an advanced stage of the telekinesis gene, that in the future it will give him the power to take over everything. (Exactly why he only takes over the gangs when with power like this he could take over the world, well…whatever).

So this new boss must be eliminated, because the men he sends out after Gordon-Levitt’s future looper (played by Bruce Willis) accidentally kill his future wife and Willis must stop this from happening. So, the goal is kill this kid so he won’t grow up to be a ruthless, sociopathic gangster that will do anything to gain power as opposed to the way everybody else grows up if the new boss never came along—ruthless, sociopathic gangsters that will do anything to gain power. But at least the future wife will still be alive (well, I guess—I mean, she died unintentionally so it could have happened no matter who ran the gangs, but a reason was needed for the future looper to come back, no matter how….arbitrary, I guess).

Wow, that was kind of exhausting.

At the same time, the movie is technically arresting, creating a very convincing nightmarish future, though perhaps the most impressive and moving shots are not the crumbling cities, but a lonely diner and farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. There are also some beautiful shots of an Asian city in the future that would be perfect for one of those 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles. And there are also some moments of wit, not just in the dialog, but in the way Gordon-Levitt mimics Willis’s facial expressions. But perhaps the emotional high point is the rather stunning and deeply emotional moving way Johnson ends the story; no matter what had come before, the ending does get to you.

This is the second time that Gordon-Levitt has joined forced with Johnson. They first worked together on the high school, hard boiled film noir Brick, a cult favorite (something I have little doubt that Looper will also become). I actually sorta have the same issues with Brick as I do here. The concept of teenagers acting like Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall and talking like Sam Spade was arresting at first (though my immediate reaction was actually, I’ve seen Bugsy Malone, I don’t quite get the originality here), but in the end, I started losing interest because I felt the concept was driving the story and little else. It was the same here.

But also like Brick, I realize I’m going to be on the outside of the zeitgeist here. Johnson is brilliant at concepts and is every studio’s dream. The fact that he and I don’t see eye to eye will probably in the end say more about me than him.


Movie Review for THE MASTER by Howard Casner

I am quite convinced that Paul Thomas Anderson, the writer and director of the new sorta controversial film The Master (sorta because in the end, the controversy surprisingly didn’t revolve around whether it was or wasn’t a story about Scientology, but whether it was any good or not) fully understands his movie and everything that happens in it.  Unfortunately, if I’m going to be completely honest here, I didn’t understand anything in it.

 

The basic plot is about the intersection of two men, broken down alcoholic Freddie Quell (played by Joaquin Phoenix, giving it his all), and the leader of a cult in its infancy Lancaster Dodd (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, who isn’t quite as effective).  But it’s this intersection that is the main issue for me and the reason the movie never quite got off the ground: these two men who become absolutely fascinated with each other (to a homoerotic degree), but without any convincing reason for it.   It all begins when Quell makes his drunken stupor way onto Dodd’s boat and instead of being thrown into the brink, Dodd takes Quell under his wing.   Why?  I haven’t the faintest idea.  And why does Quell stay?  Well, other than free room and board and the ability to make his bootleg whiskey with the approval of Dodd, I also haven’t the faintest idea.  And without clear and understandable reasons, or at least convincing ones, I’m not sure that this story can ever really work.

 

Phoenix plays his role with a stooped and nearly hunchbacked set of shoulders and a distinct (or often, indistinct) mumble.  Like Anderson and the film, I’m not sure what Phoenix is trying to do here, but in many ways, I think Phoenix is at least doing it rather brilliantly.  Quell is sexually obsessed, seeing erotic possibilities in everything (from standard Rorschach tests to a somewhat bizarre scene at a private home where Dodd sings “I Will Go No More a Roving” where, from Quell’s perspective, all the women are naked—well, Amy Adams is sorta naked—she presents herself rather modestly, but that’s what three Oscar nominations and a strong agent can do for you).   What may be hard to believe is that women go ga-ga over him when there are much better looking men around.  If his character made sense, then his performance might be much more memorable.  But there are times when it seems he’s do the ultra-method approach to cover up that there is something lacking on the page.

 

Hoffman has a different issue and here, for me, Anderson makes the same mistake he made in There Will be Blood when he cast Paul Dano as an up and coming preacher of national repute.  It was impossible for me to believe that thin-voiced, scrawny Dano could ever become a Billy Sunday and I still claim that only people who have never seen a preacher at a revival service could think so.  In the same way, Dodd is supposed to be the leader of a cult about to go big.  But Hoffman, who is one of our finest character actors (a modern day Charles Laughton in many ways), shows almost no charisma and gives no indication as to why his character would be able to attract anyone to his beliefs.

 

The rest of the cast get the job done.  Amy Adams has moments here and there, but like the rest of the actors, she seems a bit lost as to what is driving her character.  In the end, the best performance is probably given by Christopher Evan Welch as a doubter who questions Dodd at a party scene—but in his defense, he has the best written part.

 

Even the cult that Dodd’s creating doesn’t feel all that impressive or seems that well thought out.  The most interesting aspect of it is a series of questions Dodd asks Quell that forces Quell to confront something about himself that is unpleasant (this is the only scene that indicates that Dodd might be more than the man behind the curtain).  The least interesting aspect of the cult seems based on a basic past life regression belief (certainly an effective approach to attracting believers, since many cults have been built around reincarnation, but not particularly original or exciting).  The most puzzling aspect is a series of strange exercises that Quell is put through in order to help him break away from whatever it is that is holding him back—but since these exercises make no sense and seem arbitrary (which may be the point, but I don’t really know, which is the main issue I have with the movie), they don’t really connect (and go on forever—the food is terrible, but such large servings punch line).

 

The strongest parts of the film are the technical aspects.  It’s beautifully shot, the cinematographer (Mihai Malaimare, Jr.) capturing a stark beauty of the post war world.  The sets (production design by David Crank and Jack Fisk and set decoration by Amy Wells) give a haunting period feel and make us regret that so much of this architecture is being lost.  But perhaps most impressive are the costumes by Mark Bridges that make full use of what is perhaps the strongest line of design in American history for both men and women (and these are perhaps some of the best tailored outfits I’ve seen in a movie for some time).

 

I admire Anderson and have loved such films as Hard Eight, Magnolia, Boogie Nights and Punch-Drunk Love (though only half of There Will Be Blood).  He is one of our finest filmmakers.  But in the end, for me, The Master was basically Elmer Gantry but without Elmer Gantry or Sister Sharon Falconer, perhaps not the best approach.

 

P.S.  For those trivia lovers out there, that’s Patty McCormack, the bad seed from The Bad Seed, as Mildred Drummond.


Review of Movie ARBITRAGE by Howard Casner

Shortly into the movie Arbitrage, the new 1% thriller written and directed by Nicholas Jarecki, I began to wonder whether I stumbled into the wrong theater.  According to the previews; reports from friends; reviews; etc., I was expecting a story about a semi-sociopathic financier, a Bernie Madoff type, who would do anything and betray anyone to survive (including his virtuous and untainted daughter), and who was about to pull off a deal that would destroy everyone but himself, but who is temporarily derailed when he causes a Ted Kennedy Chappaquiddick type accident that results in the death of his mistress via manslaughter.  He is then pursued by two righteous police officers and a D.A. who are tired of the wealthy getting away with murder.

 

That is not the movie I saw.

 

Instead, I saw a film about a financier noble in heart, though weak in action, who desperately, and by, yes, illegal methods, is trying to save his company before it goes belly up, costing him not just everything he has, but also the savings and money of all his investors and the jobs of all those who work for him (including his daughter).  After a horrifying accident not caused by manslaughter (unless I’m simply unaware of the intricate parsings of said term—and I very well might be), but by the character falling asleep at the wheel, his greatest crime is leaving the scene of an accident.  He is then pursued by a sociopathic officer who seems to have some sort of personal vendetta against the wealthy man (though none is every revealed), to such an extent that he willfully manufactures evidence and gets the DA to lie to a grand jury in order to convict the financier for something he didn’t to (our taxpayer dollars at work, I guess).

 

Okay, po-tay-to, po-tah-to.  But you can see where I’m coming from.

 

In the end, though, even looking at the movie from my point of view, Arbitrage is not much more than an entertaining enough thriller that gets the job done.  It’s not quite a roller coaster ride, but it’s not boring.  Just a bit of a let down.

 

The cast is headed by Richard Gere as Robert Miller, the non Bernie Madoff/non-Ted Kennedy, Bernie Madoff/Ted Kennedy role.  Gere’s charming, though I think he’s been better in recent years.  But he has one great scene where his character finally traps the illusive Mayfield, the businessman who keeps putting of buying Miller’s business, and Miller shows the brass balls that made him what he is.  He out bluffs said Mayfield and finally gets a deal that saves anyone and everyone.

 

There are some nice faces in the supporting roles, like Stuart Margolis as Syd Felder, Miller’s lawyer who gives Miller (what seems to be to me) questionable legal advice; and Chris Eigeman as Miller’s almost Zen like business manager.  Both are welcome sights.

 

As for the rest, Tim Roth plays his “righteous” officer role rather broadly, in the way that actors often do if they don’t find their characters inherently interesting (probably a good choice here since his role isn’t particularly interesting).  Susan Sarandon is around to pick up a paycheck.   And the extras are filled out with some of the tallest Amazonian secretaries I’ve ever seen, which may suggest something about Jarecki and/or the casting director that I’d rather not know.

 

Perhaps the two characters that are written the most puzzling are Brooke, Miller’s daughter (played by Brit Marling) and his surprisingly dowdy mistress Reina (played by Monica Raymund).  Both are just a bit too incredibly naïve for me to have any empathy for.

 

Brooke is suppose to be this alpha female financier, but in all the years she’s been in the business, has yet to grasp the concept of imperfection in her parents.  She’s shocked, shocked (in the best Captain Renault manner) that her father is involved in some shady dealings.  Really? I mean…Really?  When Sarandon talks about it, she acts like Brooke just lost her virginity when her daughter’s at least thirty years old, for God’s sake.  (It reminded me of the reaction from all these men about what happened between Monica Lewinsky and Clinton—an “how dare you with my daughter” type response that only made me think: “you do realize she is over twenty one, right?  Just how long were you planning on protecting her virginity, anyway?”)

 

Reina, meanwhile, spends most of her time pouting because she’s not the center of her patron’s universe and is just now realizing that her lover is not going to leave his wife.  Again, really?  I mean…Really?  She also seems incredibly ungrateful that Miller pays for her luxurious apartment that no artist could ever hope to afford in New York; arranges shows for her; and buys her paintings.  At one point, Miller tells his daughter, “You’re not my partner, you’re my employee.”  I felt that this line would be much more appropriately delivered to Reina.


Movie Review: THE EYE OF THE STORM and KEEP THE LIGHTS ON by Howard Casner

The Eye of the Storm, the new period film written by Judy Morris and directed by Fred Schepisi, employs the Merchant/Ivory recipe for making a film, along with the same results.  Take a classic novel (here one written by Nobel Prize winning Australian Author Patrick White); add a lot of money, time and energy on the technical aspects of the film (cinematography, costumes, sets, etc.); then fold in a roster of well respected actors (Charlotte Rampling, Judy Davis, Geoffrey Rush).  Let it all simmer together until voila: a meal that is sumptuous, but more than a bit dull.

 

The story revolves around Elizabeth, an aging matriarch nearing death, played by Rampling with a courageous lack of vanity (i.e., make up) that even surpasses Bette Davis’ performance in Mr. Skeffington (okay, okay, a little too inside a reference there, I admit it, but you go with what you got).   Elizabeth’s two children (Rush and Davis) don’t love her (and it’s not long before you figure out why), but they dutifully gather to wait for the inevitable: the reading of the will.

 

Schepisi, who has made some wonderful films in the past (The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith and The Devil’s Playground to name a few) can never quite get the tone right here.  It’s all a bit much and off center (is it a comedy, a drama, a tragicomedy; is it a breath mint, a candy mint).  And Morris can’t quite find a focused enough through line to hook the story to (it’s almost unclear why Rush’s character is even in the movie, he really has so little to do with it all but mine it for an autobiographical play he writes in the epilog).

 

Everyone and everything is filmed for maximum decadence and decay.  And in case you don’t get it, there are shots of worms eating their way out of pears; flies caught in mason jars of preserved fruits; and gardens overflowing with earthworms.  But perhaps the most bizarre bits are Helen Morse as the appropriately named Lotte, Elizabeth’s companion and housekeeper, performing cabaret numbers in 1920’s drag, singing as if the Nazi’s were nipping at her rear end and she were a cast member of Luchino Visconti’s The Damned (though I doubt it would have helped if her act had been modeled on Bob Fosse).

 

Everyone tries hard and the movie reeks with sincerity.  But in the end, what everyone is trying to do here is all a bit too vague.  To return to the opening metaphor, it’s a soufflé that just refuses to rise.

 

I’ll just make this next one short and sweet.  Weekend was a movie about two gay men who somehow convinced themselves (and the audience) that a three day, one night stand had more romantic meaning than it did.  The characters weren’t very interesting and it was like watching paint dry.  Keep the Lights On is about ten years in the life of two gay men and the difficulty of maintaining their relationship since one is a drug addict.  The characters are marginally more interesting and the paint dries a little faster, but that’s about it.


Movie Review: LAWLESS

There is an absolutely lovely and thrilling moment in Lawless, the new based on a true story film written by Nick Cave and directed by John Hillcoat about a trio of bootlegging brothers deep in the hills of Virginia.  When Jack, the youngest of the clan, decides to court the preacher’s daughter by swigging a full mason jar of white lightning and attending Sunday service, he enters a white clapboard building where long-bearded men in dark coats and women in crisp bonnets and starched dresses sing a hymn by shape noting, an almost feral and mesmerizing way of making music.

 

When the congregation ends the hymn, they proceed to the tradition of washing one another’s feet.  When the preacher’s daughter takes Jack’s foot in her hand, it is way too much for him and he runs outside, leaving a shoe behind ala Cinderella, getting sick along the way.  This look at a religious service, an offshoot of Quakers and Mennonites, felt like entering new and unexplored territory, the sort of breathtaking scene one goes to movies to experience.  And Hillcoat gives it its due.  Unfortunately, once it’s over, we’re back to the more than familiar standard tale of bootlegging and moonshining.  But it was nice while it lasted.

 

Lawless is lovely to look at with ravishing and picturesque frames of the hills of Virginia in full, fall foliage and stark ones of lonely bridges in wintertime.  The costuming and sets give the story an intense period feel.  But in the end, Lawless feels like a movie in search of a story.

 

The plot is a bit general.  Some corrupt lawmen from Chicago come to town to take over.  But the Bondruant brothers, being the alpha male Ayn Randians that they are, refuse to buckle.  The story sort of lumbers along after this, making its way through a series of episodes that don’t feel like they’re really leading anywhere and with no satisfactory explanation as to why the Chicago gangsters take so long to try to wipe out the Boudrants.  And it all ends with one of those shoot outs that made me ask the friend I was with, “Just how close do you actually have to be to someone in this movie before you can hit them?”

 

Because of this lack of a clear and strong through line, the screenplay tries to hang the story around Jack’s neck and make his coming of age character arc the linchpin that holds it all together, to mix a metaphor or two.  But since Jack’s character is so annoying; because he’s such an idiot that you want to hit him up alongside his head; and since his journey isn’t all that intriguing or interesting, this probably wasn’t the best idea.  He does have a journey and he does get somewhere.  He reaches manhood the moment he can get himself to finally kill someone.  Of course, a lot of people had to die first so he could learn this, but as they say, you got to crack a few eggs to make an omelet.  But still, the lesson got learned and I guess that’s all that matters.

 

The cast does the best they can.  Jason Clarke, as Howard the middle brother, who has a very expressive face and eyes, and Mia Wasikowska, as the mature for her age preacher’s daughter, probably give the best performances.  Tom Hardy mumbles through his lines, an approach that worked for Marlon Brando, but doesn’t quite have the same effect here.  Shia LaBeouf plays Jack and whether you think he’s any good or not will probably depend on how much you like his awkward, semi-nerdy, insecure becoming a child-man schtick.  For my money, I think he acquits himself quite admirably, and it’s not really his fault that his character isn’t that interesting.  But a special note must be made of Guy Pearce who plays Charlie Rakes, the Chicago germaphobe and sociopath with a messianic complex.  A preposterous performance in a preposterous role, it almost has to be seen to be believed.  One can’t tell if he’s terrible or he’s playing it exactly the way it was written, or both.