HEY, OLD FRIENDS, WHAT DO YOU SAY OLD FRIENDS: Movie Reviews of Colossal and Truman by Howard CasnerPosted: April 23, 2017 | Author: Donald | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Anne Hathaway, Austen Stowell, Cesc Gay, Colossal, Dan Stevens, Jason Sudeikis, Javier Camera, Nacho Viglando, Ricardo Darin, Tim Blake Nelson, Tomas Aragay, Truman | 4 Comments »
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In Colossal, the new Sci-Fi, rom com hybrid, Anne Hathaway plays Gloria, an alcoholic unemployed journalist who gets thrown out of her boyfriend’s apartment after one drinking binge too many. She returns to her home town where she runs into Oscar (Jason Sudeikis), an old friend she knew as far back as elementary school and only vaguely remembers. He gives her a job at his bar and the next thing you know, a Godzilla like monster is making occasional appearances in Seoul, Korea. And the next thing you know after that, is that Gloria is somehow responsible.
And no, I am not making this up.
Colossal is proof that you can have the most ridiculous, absurd and unbelievable events happen in a movie if the characters react to them in a logical and believable way. Read the rest of this entry »
First, a word from our sponsors. Ever wonder what a reader for a contest or agency thinks when he reads your screenplay? Check out my new e-book published on Amazon: Rantings and Ravings of a Screenplay Reader, including my series of essays, What I Learned Reading for Contests This Year, and my film reviews of 2013. Only $2.99. http://ow.ly/xN31r
I had a very disturbing thought after watching Interstellar, the new thinking man’s sci-fi blockbuster by the Nolan brothers, Jonathan and Christopher (who also directed).
Earth is on its last legs and our only hope is to find another planet that we can move to. In other words, we’ve destroyed this world, but no worries, we’ll just pack up shop and move to another one and start all over. That is, until we use that one up and have to move again, I suppose. And again. And again.
I guess it’s no big deal. After all, we still have a possible 8.8 billion planets to make our way through. Which means that it’s a problem I won’t have to worry about in my lifetime.
But I’m not sure here. I guess when all was said and done, I didn’t find the ending to the movie to be as glorious a paean to the human spirit as much as I think I was supposed to. Read the rest of this entry »
There has been a lot of controversy over movies that have opened in the last few months (or as they are known in Hollywood, the ones more likely to have a chance at being nominated for an Oscar). For Zero Dark Thirty, it’s the use of torture (oh, sorry, I mean, enhanced interrogation techniques; but you say potayto and I say, etc.); for Argo and Lincoln, it’s historical accuracy; for Django Unchained, it’s the use of the n-word and Tarantino’s take on slavery. But none of them have shown the vitriol and ferocious debate that one major motion picture has created in the hearts of true movie goers: Les Miserables and its non-use of lip synching. While all the objections of other films could be summed up by someone putting words in other people’s mouths, it’s only Les Miserables that hasn’t done it—literally. And still has gotten in trouble for it.
Les Miserables, the movie version of the long running Broadway musical, is probably an experience you either go with or you don’t. For the record, I did. As with others in the audience I saw it with, I was often on the verge of tears at this large, sweeping story that takes place in France during the revolution (no, not the French revolution of 1789, dude, but the June Rebellion of 1832—if you didn’t know that, you are so obviously not a Les Miz fan). It’s a story that has all the virtues of 19th century literature: a huge, all-encompassing, complicated story; tons of coincidence; young people falling in life or death love with a look across a crowded room (or alleyway here). It also has all the defects of 19th century literature: a huge, all-encompassing, complicated story; tons of coincidence; young people falling in life or death love with a look across a crowded room (or alleyway here). Again, you either go with it or you don’t.
I don’t know how William Nicholson (who adapted the play to film) and director Tom Hooper did it. There’s no reason for this movie to work. It probably should have resulted in an over the top, campy musical adaptation filled with picturesque poor people dancing in the streets. But that’s not what happened. Instead we have a deeply moving and often overpowering story of man’s inhumanity to man and the power of spiritual redemption.
Of course, much of this has to do with the original source material, a French musical by Claude-Michel Schonberg, Alain Boublil and Jean-Marc Natel, if for no other reason in that it’s not exactly a musical. Though there are a few lines spoken here and there, Les Miserables is more an opera. So instead of a story in which the authors had to create clunky transitions to songs sung by the various characters (which can result in a certain disconnect and call attention to the artificiality of what is going on), we instead have a story whose dialog and emotion is only heightened by music, a stirring score that just sweeps you along whether you want it to or not. One can make the argument, I suppose, that the original story by Victor Hugo has been shrunk by the usual necessity of telling a big story in a smaller venue; but one can just as easily make the argument that the story has also been enlarged and deepened by the expressive and impassioned music.
But much of the success has to be laid at the feet of Nicholson and Hooper who had the dubious honor or taking a stylized staged production and setting it against the hyper realistic background that is almost inherent in film; an almost impossible task, but one the two have more than succeeded in as far as I’m concerned. And they do it by throwing out all that stagy stylization (except the music, which, of course, can’t be gotten rid of) and adapting it and filming it all with a deathly seriousness. There’s barely a trace of musical comedy or Broadway tinsel here. They don’t even use the cute Dickensian approach that was so successful in Carol Reed’s film version of Oliver. It’s a straightforward look at poverty and injustice filled with people who are desperately poor, starving, having no hope. And the way Nicholson and Hooper film it, it’s often devastating in its realism, a realism that, in fact, may make it more difficult to return to the original. Once one has seen Hooper’s staging of the fight at the barricade, the chase through the sewers, the stunning visuals of 19th Century Paris, can the stage ever again satisfy (sort of “how you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm, once they’ve seen gay Paree” type thing)?
One can almost tell how much Nicholson and Hooper have succeeded by pointing out the one major failure, the “Master of the House” number, a comic look at the innkeepers (Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter) who have so badly abused the young Cosette. On stage, this number is a real show stopper. In film, it’s a real show stopper too, but in a totally different way. This is the one number that is all musical comedy and writer and director just couldn’t seem to find a way to fit its style into the rest of the movie and so it falls ponderously flat. A close second is the song Suddenly, the only one written expressly for the movie (seemingly in an effort to get an Oscar nomination), a number that feels stylistically inconsistent and doesn’t really add anything to the film as a whole.
And there are some structural issues that can be traced to both source materials, the original musical and the book by Hugo. From the stage, we get a story that jumps from scene to scene leaving out transitional details that result in a story that is at times told in a somewhat clunky manner (as in the scene at the court where a false Valjean is on trial). From the book, we have a plot that has two stories—one, the conflict between Valjean and Jabert, and the other the love story of Cosette and Marius. The two overlap in the middle, but just as one winds down (Valjean/Jabert), the other is still going strong and it takes awhile to wrap things up.
But the rest of the movie is ravishing and ravishingly filmed, the camera often soaring above the actors to show a world that is being watched by God (astounding cinematography by Danny Cohen). The CGI that enables the filmmakers to show a 19th Century Paris often takes one’s breath away. The design aspects (costumes, sets, production design) are stunning.
And then there is the acting. It’s a superlative cast, with nary a false note (pun intended) to be had. They succeed for the same reason as Nicholson and Hopper: they all play their roles with a devastatingly seriousness. It’s probably Hugh Jackman’s (Jean Valjean) best performance. There’s no point in talking about Anne Hathaway as Fantine; I couldn’t improve on anything that hasn’t already been said. The young lovers (Eddie Redmayne and Amanda Seyfried) make us believe in not just love, but overpowering passion, at first sight. The one major issue, as has been pointed out by better men than I is Russell Crowe as Javert. His singing is a bit lacking (to put it diplomatically). But I don’t think he’s quite the weak link everyone maintains, mainly because his acting is so sure and strong and he is often filmed against overpowering backdrops that help bring an intensity to what he is saying that his singing cannot. At the same time, all I could think is how more interesting it would have been if Sacha Baron Cohen and Crowe had switched roles.
As for the non lip synching? Sorry, guys, but I thought it was a brilliant decision. It brought a dramatic intensity to the acting that I haven’t seen that often in musicals. But like the movie, it’s probably something you go with or you don’t, and for the record, I did.