And So it Begins...

My Favorite Scene: Fargo

2012-02-10T17:23:00.000-05:00

Fargo, that very perfect, very fictional masterpiece by Joel and Ethan Coen, is filled with moments that don’t matter. At first glance, half of the content that the Coen’s elect to feature in their 98-minute film have nothing to do with anything. Take, for instance, the remarkably awkward extended lunch between Mike Yanagita and Marge Gunderson. As the two high school pals chat it up in a dumpy restaurant, it becomes very clear very quickly that Mike is obsessed with Marge to the point of delusion. Their lunch ends, and although the scene is referenced one other time, it did nothing whatsoever to propel the film’s plot.

Neither does Carl Showalter and Gaear Grimsrud having sex with prostitutes in a dive motel (followed, naturally, by a post-coital viewing of The Tonight Show). What these scenes do, however, is set an unprecedented level of character development that many filmmakers deem too insignificant to highlight. When you go back and rewatch Fargo (and really, there’s never a bad time to go back and rewatch Fargo), keep track of how long Frances McDormand is in the film. I’d venture a guess that McDormand’s total amount of screentime ranks lowest among all of the actresses who have won the Best Actress Oscar. I mention this because, despite the fact that she really isn’t in the movie much, we know everything there is to know about Marge Gunderson.

That was an incredibly long-winded, ass-backwards way of backing into the scene I want to highlight, but I feel it is important to make mention of an aspect that’s often overlooked when discussing the film. Fargo is a great movie, and its many, brief interludes of character development are what make it that.

Which is probably why, in a film filled with endless amounts of pathetic desperation, I’m drawn to the moment that defines idiotic hopelessness in a way I’ve never seen a movie encapsulate.

The deal was simple: Carl (Steve Buscemi) and Gaear (Peter Stormare) were hired by Jerry (William H. Macy), to kidnap Jerry’s wife, Jean, so that Jerry could collect the ransom money from his father-in-law, Wade, a rich asshole who detests Jerry. When it’s finally time to swap Jean for the dough, Wade shows up at the meet instead of Jerry, which infuriates Carl to no end. Within minutes, half of Carl’s face has been blown off and Wade lays dead on the top floor of a parking garage.

The next time we see Carl, he’s pulled over on the side of the road, changing the “dressing” on his wound. And then he sees it. He opens the suitcase and sees that the $80,000 he was supposed to collect is $920,000 more than he anticipated. He takes out $80,000, sets it aside, and gets out of his car, case in hand.

He walks over to a fence line a few yards away, gets down on his knees and begins digging a hole in the snow with a tiny, red ice scrapper. Once the hole is dug, he places the loot in the ground and begins covering it with snow. Once buried, we’re privy to film’s best, most comical moment. Buscemi, in a fantastic bit of emotional expression, looks down the fence line: snow and fence. He turns his head and looks the other way: snow and fence. It’s all the same, for miles on end. He slams the red scrapper into the snow to mark where the loot is, stands up, studies his work, and walks away.

As Carl works his way back to his car, the film ingeniously cuts to a wide shot framing the red scrapper on the right, the car on the left, Buscemi in the middle, and a whole lot of nothing everywhere else. And all’s we can do is sit back and laugh. It isn’t currently snowing, but seriously, how long will it take for wind and/or snow to hide that ice scrapper? And when you consider how needlessly hostile Carl is to the psychotic Gaear minutes later, we can’t help but wonder exactly how Carl made it this far in his life.

This scene, as you may know, was made famous after the media went batshit crazy when Takako Konishi was found dead in the snow near Fargo in 2001. Media outlets reported that Konishi apparently made the trip from Japan to find the buried money depicted in the film, which was ultimately wildly inaccurate. At any rate, Fargo is (by far) one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen, for scenes precisely like this one.

It’s best to summarize the scene in Carl’s own words. Upon discovering how much money he’s really in possession of, Carl, through his half-mangled face, quietly blurts, “Jeshsush Sshrist. Jeshsush fucskem Sshrist.”

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

The Grey

2012-02-09T13:50:00.000-05:00

Early in The Grey, a plane carrying a group of misfits, thugs and ex-cons that drill for oil in Alaska, crashes in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. The one-dimension characters that survive (there’s the annoying buffoon, the know-it-all asshole, the gentle giant, the reserved thinker and, of course, The Leader) are soon battling hunger, the cold, and plenty of pissed of wolves.

At some point, the group, as instructed by Ottway (Liam Neeson), head in one direction or another to escape what’s coming to them. So for two hours, we’re privy to a group of tired, bitchy men, getting knocked off one by one as they slug around the cold, desolate wilderness in search of anything.

I mention the film’s running time (actually 117 minutes) because I was stunned to discover it only took up that much of my time. The Grey, as you’ll discover moments into the first act, is paced beyond exhaustion. It’s one of the slowest “action” films I’ve ever seen. It’s the kind of popcorn flick in which some characters take more than five minutes to die. Another extended scene of dialogue between three characters plays out almost entirely in one shot, and by the end of the conversation, the camera just stays put with one character. And stays. And stays.

Look, I get it. You don’t call Ingmar Bergman you’re favorite filmmaker if you’re not a huge fan of extended scenes and unbroken shots. That’s not the issue here. The problem is that The Grey, as directed by Joe Carnahan (who made the very brilliant Narc a decade ago), seems to be pacing his movie as a way of showing off, as if he’s saying to the audience, “Yeah, I made Smokin’ Aces, but I can exercise restraint too, so… Ha-Ha.” Every single scene in The Grey lasts longer than it should; if the movie were 30 minutes shorter, it would’ve been much better, maybe even great. But here’s what we’re stuck with. And the good news (yes, there is some) is that aside from its tendency to be incredibly boring, there’s nothing really wrong with it.

Since reviving his career as a badass in Taken, Liam Neeson has delivered some seriously entertaining performances. Yes, it is rather annoying (and very convenient) that his Ottway knows everything there is to know about wolves, the wilderness, the cold, death – you name it. But, I suppose, it’s Carnahan’s intention to make him into a modern day MacGyver (this is actually referenced directly by a character in the film), so, fair enough.

The rest of the cast is comprised of a handful of talented actors (Frank Grillo, the “Beethoven Trainer” from Warrior, is a highlight) who flesh out their respective characters, despite how underwritten they all are. And although the film arrives exactly how you envision it to arrive, you’re most likely to enjoy it, provided you know what you’re getting yourself in to. Time well spent? Possibly. If the film occupied less time… definitely. C-

In Character: William Fichtner

2012-02-08T13:24:00.001-05:00

As far as character actors go, William Fichtner has it all: an odd, distinct voice, unique facial features, weird name, the ability to elevate whatever film he’s in, and so on. I’ve been a fan of Fichtner’s ever since Robert De Niro told him there was a dead man on the other end of this fuckin’ phone. He’s played funny, whimpy, and baddie to pure perfection many times over, but, as you’ll see, it’s his rare, heartfelt performances that have stayed with me most.

Five Essential Roles

Underneath (1995)

Tommy Dundee

For his debut performance, Fichtner plays the all-out villainous Tommy Dundee, a local thug who coerces his girlfriend’s old flame, Michael (Peter Gallagher) to boost the armored car Michael currently drives.

As the blonde, spiky-haired Tommy, Fichtner is by far the best part of Steven Soderbergh’s curiously overlooked film. He’s nuts, no question, but he keeps everything internal, talking in that slow, purposeful way that Fichtner has made famous. Although there isn’t a whole hell of a lot of substance to The Underneath, it’s no surprise that its best scenes all contain Fichtner.

Heat (1995)

Roger Van Zant

I’ve talked to people at great lengths concerning what, if any, purpose the Roger Van Zant subplot brings to Micahel Mann’s epic crime masterpiece. What I tell them is that, not only does stealing bearer bonds worth millions from Van Zant start the film’s plot, but the fact that De Niro’s Neil McCauley actually has the balls to try and sell the bonds back to Van Zant proves that McCauley is a guy whose only real virtue is money, which, as the film later proves, is really what the man is about.

It also doesn’t hurt that once threatened by McCauley, Van Sant hides in his office like a scared mouse – greasy and unshaven, pathetically waiting out what certainly will not be forgotten. I love Fichtner in this flick; he plays a pathetic worm so far out of his game to wondrous results.

Armageddon (1998)

Col. Willie Sharp

Just hear me out.

No one hates Michael Bay more than I do, and my distaste for his colossal headfuck of a disaster movie is perfect evidence of that. But, as always, I feel it is necessary to dish out credit where credit is due. And Willie Sharp asking Liv Tyler's character if he can “shake the hand of the daughter of the bravest man I’ve ever met,” is a line delivery that I find oddly moving among an epically disastrous disaster film. It’s an unforced, tender moment in a movie filled with virtually none of them.

Go (1999)

Office Burke

Who doesn’t love Officer Burke? When we first meet him, Burke has made a deal with Adam and Scott (Scott Wolf and Jay Mohr), two soap opera stars that were busted for carrying a bit of weed. If Adam and Scott help Burke catch their dealer, they’ll get off clean.

During their early moments together, Fichtner plays Burke as the straight-level cop, trying to be hip and relate to the Hollywood crowd. But it’s after the deal falls through that Burke is given a glorious new dimension.

Before long, Adam and Scott are eating Christmas dinner with Burke and his wife at Burke’s home. What happens (in the bedroom, in the kitchen, at the kitchen table…) is so goddamn funny in its randomness, that it’d be a real shame to ruin it here. If you haven’t seen Go, then do yourself a favor. Fichtner’s deliver of the line, “So, would you say you’re open to trying new things?” has several meanings, the varying interpretations of which make it no less funny.

Crash (2005)

Flanagan

I’m kind of indifferent toward Paul Haggis’s Crash. Upon its release, I called it the best film of the year. Now, I doubt it’d be in my top 50 of 2005. But despite my day-to-day battle with the film itself, Fichtner’s one scene kills me everytime.

Mentioned several times before we actually see him, Flanagan, a Michael Clayton-esque “fixer” for the District Attorney, is brought in to smooth out a sticky situation with Graham Waters, an LAPD detective played by Don Cheadle. In the course of their brief scene, Flanagan manages to racially insult Waters at least three times, and blackmail him into doing something Waters finds morally wrong, all while pouring a large glass of water without looking.

He’s smooth, concise and vicious. “Fuckin’ black people, huh?” Such a perfect asshole.

The Best of the Best

Nine Lives (2005)

Andrew

One thing that makes William Fichtner so effective is the way he uses his words. There’s the inflection of his voice, his penchant for playing scenes soft-spoken (or screaming his head off); his lines just always seem to… roll. Funny then that I consider his best performance to be one in which he doesn’t say a word.

In Rodrigo García’s rather remarkable (and remarkably little-seen), Nine Lives, Fichtner plays Andrew, a deaf mute who, in the span of a few minutes, desperately tries to convince his ex wife, Lorna (Amy Brenneman, never better) to fall back in love with him. And did I mention that he does this at his current wife’s funeral?

Nine Lives is a series of loosely connected short films that each take place over nine minutes, and are all shot in one take. And while some segments are weaker than others, the best ones leave us wanting more in the best possible way. In the case of Andrew and Lorna’s story, we’re presented with an actor who conveys such an immense amount of desperation in a very brief period of time, that we initially wish we could follow him, but we’re ultimately content leaving off where we do.

Other Notable Roles

In The Dark Knight

Contact (1997)

The Perfect Storm (2000)

Black Hawk Down (2001)

The Chumscrubber (2005)

The Longest Yard (2005)

Empire Falls (2005)

Prison Break (2006-2009)

The Dark Knight (2008)

Entourage (2009-2011)

Drive Angry (2011)

Previous installments of In Character include:
Guy Pearce
Shea Whigham
Viola Davis
Gary Oldman
David Morse
Michael Shannon
Emily Mortimer
John Hawkes
Jeffrey Wright
Elias Koteas
David Strathairn

Chronicle

2012-02-07T10:24:00.000-05:00

In Chronicle, three cookie-cutter high school caricatures (the repressed loner, the popular jock, the handsome philosopher) come in contact with an unexplained alien being, and soon find themselves able to move objects with their minds.

They start by hitting each other in the face with a baseball (really… that’s the best, most productive thing they could think of?), and evolve to flying high in the sky, tempting themselves with weekend trips to Hawaii or Tibet.

Cool concept, and one that could work given the restraints of the film’s modest, $15 million budget. It had the chance to be refined, and scale itself back unlike so many science fiction films made today. But, alas, Chronicle makes it through about 10 minutes before we realize how bad it’s going to be.

For starters, I’ve been an outspoken critic against the “found footage” narrative format since filmmakers thought they could capitalize on the success of Paranormal Activity. Basically, I think it’s a cheap ploy to “involve” the viewer more, and never have I seen the device abused worse than it is here.

In Chronicle, the main character, Andrew carries around a video camera wherever he goes, and that's how the film is captured.

Fair enough.

When he runs into a high school hottie (who records everything she sees for her blog), the movie cuts to her camera.

Okay, I’m with you.

And when Andrew and his buddies walk into convenience stores and hospitals, the movie cuts to the security cameras of those buildings. Or, near the end, when Andrew starts to flip the fuck out and destroy all of downtown Seattle, the movie cuts to the various cell phones capturing the havoc. And then, finally, when his camera is broken, and the hottie is nowhere to be found, and all the cell phones are gone, the movie just shoots from the point of view of a movie, because, you know, who notices these things anyway?

This flaw, and what a flaw it is, is just one failed aspect of the film. I haven’t even touched on the dismal acting (Dane DeHann, who plays Andrew, may very well deliver the worst performance of a high schooler…ever, while Michael B. Jordan, fantastic as Vince Howard in TV’s Friday Night Lights, takes a serious career misstep), the don’t-cry-for-me storylines (Andrew’s mother is bedridden with illness, his firefighting father is an alcoholic…yawn), the awful special effects (the crazier their antics get, the worse the effects become), and the completely unappealing storyline.

Upon researching the film, I discovered that the film’s director, Josh Trank, is the same age as me, and the writer, Max Landis is a mere five days older than I am. I mention this because yes, their age gives me context, and it does make me appreciate their efforts more than say, a seasoned director who attempts the same garbage (I’m talking Michael Bay, here). But noble efforts only get you so far. Trank and Landis may have made a successful movie (its opening weekend profit was double its cost), but it doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to call it what it is, which is utter crap. D-

In Appreciation: Ben Gazzara

2012-02-06T16:05:00.000-05:00

When it was announced on Friday that the great Ben Gazzara had succumbed to pancreatic cancer at the age of 81, I was struck with a profound sense of loss, similar to the passing of his good friend, Peter Falk last June.

Gazzara had it. He had the command, the effortless skill; it had it, and he could do damn near anything he wanted with it. He could be the tough guy, the quiet gentleman, the desperate friend, the compassionate lover – Gazzara could exceed the expectations set by most any role.

When news of his passing broke, I did what I always do when people I adore in the film business die: I went home and watched as much of his work as I could. I watched him gently control a section of the Bronx in Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam, steal a scene from Jeff Bridges in The Big Lebowski, have an amusing affair with his neighbor in Happiness, and defend his honor in Anatomy of a Murder.

There was so much to take in: The Spanish Prisoner, Buffalo ’66, Dogville, and, of course, his revelatory work as part of the John Cassavetes troupe with wonders like Husbands, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie and Opening Night.

But after all these, the Gazzara role I found myself watching repreadtly this weekend was his heartbreaking turn in the “Quartier Latin” segment of Paris, Je’Taime.

The segment, directed by Gérard Depardieu and Frédéric Auburtin, is a simple dinner conversation between Ben (Gazzara) and his wife, Gena (played by Gazzara’s longtime friend, and the segment’s writer, Gena Rowlands). Seconds into their chat, we come to understand that this is the final conversation Ben and Gena are to have before they are officially divorced.

They talk about their time apart, the younger man Gena has been seeing, and the much younger, and recently pregnant, woman Ben plans to soon marry. “I never understood anything about you,” Ben politely offers at one point.

Ben carries himself amicably, but completely unapologetic; a modest contrast to Gena’s fidgeting pleas for reconsideration. They issue playful jabs, joking and prodding, and when she leaves, he doesn’t dare walk her out, offering only a gracious, “bitch” as a parting term of endearment.

Like all of Paris, Je’Taime's best segments, “Quartier Latin” is wholly effective in the very short time it has to tell its story. But there’s something I found haunting (or heartbreaking, or amusing, or all of the above) in Gazzara’s indifference. Sure, Gazzara was better in other roles, but I have a sneaking suspicion that when I want to remember the skill that one of my favorite actors possessed, I’ll refer to “Quartier Latin” time and time again.

Watch “Quartier Latin” in full here.

7 Movies with Great Football Scenes

2012-02-05T20:07:00.000-05:00

Professional football, as a spectator sport, doesn’t interest me in the slightest. Never has, never will. So, as one of probably 14 people in America not watching the Super Bowl this evening, I decided to put together my list of the best football scenes from movies. To clarify: this is not a list of the best football movies ever made. Some of the films here are complete crap, while others contain very little actual football. What they all have in common, however, are sequences of fantastic game play.

I may not enjoy watching football in real life, but if it’s done well cinematically, I’m all in. Here goes.

7. Jerry Maguire (1996)

Cameron Crowe’s magical romantic dramedy dedicates very few minutes of screen time to football, but that doesn’t make its climatic Monday Night Football sequence any less thrilling. Rod Tidwell’s performance at the game will, quite literally, make or break Tom Cruise’s down-and-out sports agent. So when Cuba Gooding Jr. scores the game-winning touchdown, we revel in celebration. And when we discover that he is unable to get up, we share a collective horror with Maguire and Tidwell’s family who watch from home.

It’s a great, albeit brief, moment of play. And it’s worth noting that the scene contains my favorite shot of cinematographer Janusz Kaminski’s career. Watch when the trainers knell over Tidwell, trying to wake him up. There’s a moment when the trainer claps his hands in front of Tidwell’s face. The camera dips to slow motion, the stadium lights flicker above. It’s fucking beautiful.

6. Rudy (1993)

Again, there is actually very little football played in Rudy, and while the final, triumphant game is exciting and emotionally satisfying (Charles S. Dutton’s reserved performance helps with this), the main aspect to highlight from this film is its training montages.

Aside from the film that occupies the second place on this list, Rudy contains the best football practices ever filmed. The scenes use slow motion only when necessary (a complete rarity among sports films), develop its lead character remarkably, and highlight some of the best original score ever recorded for a sports flick. You know the music. If not, prepare to be humming it for the next few days.

5. Remember the Titans (2000)

If you went to grade school in America in the year 2000, then you were most likely shown Remember the Titans at least a dozen times (you know, because it’s all about overcoming adversity, and understanding each other... or something).

Point is, I’ve seen this movie so many times that I have grown completely sick of it. And while I take issue with the heavy-handedness of its can’t-we-all-just-get-along sentimentality, the movie definitely gets its football scenes right.

Denzel’s sideline pep talks, his refusal to conduct “trick plays,” and his ultimate relent to doing just that; it all works so well that you wish the movie would never have to take the time to show anything else than what’s on the field.

4. Varsity Blues (1999)

A few of my friends could kill me for this, but I hate most everything about Varsity Blues. I think it’s immature, forced, and completely unsexy, which is fine for a sports film, except when the movie is trying so hard to not be all of those things.

Its football scenes, however, manage to be everything the rest of the film is not: thrilling, amusing, and, at times, pretty damn funny. Sure there are a few too many plays of convenience that result in wins (the movie makes the blocking of a punt look as though it can be done on command), but for the most part, it captures its football games with enough intensity to keep me interested. Which, given the rest of the film, is one hell of an achievement.

3. Friday Night Lights, TV Show (2006-2011)

Speaking of plays of convenience, the Friday Night Lights television show was all about The Final Play. I haven’t actually counted, but I bet 80 percent of the football games depicted over the show’s five seasons were won or lost on the final play of the game. It builds tension, sure, but the tactic definitely gets old after a while (especially during marathon viewing sessions via Netflix).

No matter, the football scenes are much to thank for Friday Nights Lights' greatness. Although the outcome was often predictable, the actual game play was consistently thrilling. Also, I could dedicate an entire post to the best locker room speeches in film history. There have been many, but no one has had to convincingly pull off as many as Kyle Chandler’s Coach Taylor. Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose. That’s goddamn right.

2. Friday Night Lights (2004)

I wasn’t expecting a whole hell of a lot the first time I saw Peter Berg’s Friday Night Lights. But from its first practice scene, I was completely hooked. The jumpy (yet fitting) editing, the handheld camerawork, the Explosions in the Sky on the soundtrack, Derek Luke’s abs, Billy Bob Thornton’s scowl, Tim McGraw’s rage – it all works in a way that no other film (or show) about high school football has been able to best.

And that’s just the damn practices, because when it’s game time, Berg shows us that he has the ability to display serious command of his work. It’s a power that he hasn’t even alluded to in any of his other films. Point in fact, the championship game is nearly the best football scene ever captured on film. Nearly.

1. Any Given Sunday (1999)

Oliver Stone’s Any Given Sunday is the best film ever made about football, so it’s fitting that it contains the best football scenes in cinematic history. I could talk for hours about the strengths of the football in this film. The restless cutting, the rapidly shifting music, the slow motion, the focus of the camera (it manages to find a ball on the ground, a cheerleader on the sideline, and a player reading a newspaper, all with equal skill), and, of course, the entertaining trash talk.

As Steamin’ Willie Beamen, Jamie Foxx (then known only for his comedy), is a revelation to sports movie acting. He’s selfish and cocky about his limitless skill, yet able to exercise restraint when necessary. Without him, the battles on the field would work, but they would be lacking in charm.

The final game in this film (which is so epic it appears to take place in real time) is the best football game ever filmed. It’s long, engaging, riotous, and is equipped with such a satisfying conclusion, that I can watch it again and again and never grow tired of it. Forget the Super Bowl, Stone’s vision trumps anything found in real life, and then some.

Why I Hate The Help

2012-02-03T16:15:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I came across one of the harshest, most wildly bold essays I’ve ever read concerning film. The piece, entitled “Is The Help the Most Loathsome Movie in America?” is searing, direct and, most importantly, 100 percent accurate.

In Touré’s essay for Time Magazine, he compares the experience of watching Tate Taylor’s film to that of “visual waterboarding,” saying that the movie depicted a world where "blacks are basically a step away from slaves,” which, whether or not you liked the film, is a very true statement. The essay also effortlessly captures how completely reductive the film is, among other things.

Let’s move away from the fact that The Help is not well written, very clumsily edited, aimlessly shot and does nothing at all to achieve what its tagline promises. Basically, let’s take film criticism out of the equation.

Touré’s comparison to the lack of consequence or violence in the film as being “historically absurd,” and “Dalí-esque” is ingenious. That was one of the many issues I had with the movie, and the main one I want to discuss here.

The era surrounding The Civil Rights Movement is something that fascinates me. I love reading and studying about the fight, the struggle, the pain, and the subsequent accomplishment. With that in mind, I am in no way a historian, and I’m not going to pretend to be one. I don’t need to see a maid be beat (or shot) by her employer, or a man be lynched by bloodthirsty whites for a film to be effective. I don’t take issue with a PG-13 movie detailing a very un-PG-13 time in American history (Spike Lee’s masterpiece, Malcolm X is evidence of this). But I do need substance. I need to believe that the world the characters are living in is indeed real, which is certainly not the case in The Help. Imagine a history teacher showing The Help to his or her sixth grade students. With no prior knowledge of African-American struggle in America, these kids would assume that life in the Deep South wasn’t that bad for black people in the ‘60s.

My go-to argument for The Help is that it is a Lifetime Movie of the Week. No style, no substance; glossed-over schwag desperately grasping at the tender hearts of its viewers. And that’s me being kind. Because, after all, who am I to intrude on the opinions of other people?

It isn’t just members of the Academy who drank the Kool-Aid – the movie netted roughly $144 million in profit and was received moderately well among critics. This praise isn’t without merit. I’ve said from the beginning that Viola Davis and Jessica Chastain did wonders with the remarkably weak material they were given (I’m talking about Taylor’s script, not Kathryn Stockett’s book, which I have no intention of ever reading – period). I still do not understand the praise for Octavia Spencer, her performance seemed like a cookie-cutter Mad Black Woman role, or, as Touré asserts, a modernized Hattie McDaniel.

When I first saw The Help, I was genuinely apathetic, calling it long, boring and forgettable. I gave it a C- and thought it’d go away. Obviously I was wrong (and obviously, I’d grade it much lower now).

In short, I think The Help is a huge step back. I think it’s misleading, misguided and inaccurate to the point of bafflement. You can like the film, fine; but you can’t say that it “got it “right.”

Talking about steps back, I find it interesting (or sad, or pathetic, or, perhaps most importantly, scary) that the only none-white actors in contention for Oscars this year were nominated for playing servants. Perhaps I’m digressing from my main point here, but, yes, I understand that very few movies are made that give minorities a chance to shine and earn Oscar nominations. And I’m not even saying that last year contained a host of overlooked, Oscar-worthy performances by minorities (because it really didn’t). I’m saying that, this is 2012, and it shouldn’t take a movie about servant black women fighting The Man (or Hispanic gardeners fighting for legal status) to remind Oscar voters that minorities can act too.

When Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer win their Oscars later this month, you won’t hear me complaining. The movie they represent is a serious digression, but their Oscar wins will be rather progressive. But be warned: movies like The Help are dangerous. They say that it’s okay to sidestep serious issues and show people that, well, it isn’t really all that bad. Again, I don’t need brutality to have a film be effective (point in fact, no film moved me more last year than the PG-rated Hugo), but I do need it to be correct. At least in the world it creates. The Help appears to take place in reality. I would strongly argue otherwise.

Read Touré’s masterful essay here.

The Iron Lady

2012-02-01T21:27:00.001-05:00

I need someone to help me out with The Iron Lady. While watching it, I was reminded of most dreams I have. My dreams are typically a series of events that start and end without warning. New characters are brought in with no introduction and zero context, the narrative is non linear and nonsensical, and in the morning, I try my best to piece it all together.

That’s the exact experience I had with Phyllida Lloyd’s flawed Margaret Thatcher film. The movie is 105 minutes long, and I think I was able to follow about 10 of them. I’m a pretty sharp guy. And when it comes to movies, I’m shaper than Hattori Hanzo’s steel. My point is: I pay attention in films; it is very difficult for me to not “get” something. But I honestly hadn’t the slightest clue what the fuck was going on in The Iron Lady. It’s a muddled, discombobulated mess that ranks among the very worst biopics I’ve ever seen.

When it begins, Thatcher (Meryl Streep) is old and decrepit, and, as it turns out, certifiably schizophrenic. At home, despite being surrounded by several aides and caretakers, Thatcher divulges in extended conversations with her husband, Denis (Jim Broadbent), who has been dead for years. They eat breakfast together, poke fun at each other, and so on. I don’t know a whole lot about Margaret Thatcher, but The Iron Lady makes it sincerely look like she has gone insane. Is this true? Is she completely nuts? (I’m not being sarcastic here, I honestly do not know.)

The film spends equal time cutting back and forth between Thatcher talking to her dead husband, and her rise to political power several decades earlier. The dead husband stuff is pretty straightforward, but no less engaging. The flashbacks of her younger years are the scenes that went straight over my head. No supporting characters are introduced and no context is ever given to any scene, it’s as if Lloyd and screenwriter Abi Morgan (who co-wrote Shame, my favorite script from 2011), assumed viewers had an innate, insider’s perspective of British politics in the ‘80s. I don’t give a shit about the politics of my own country, let alone one I do not reside in. So for politically apathetic people like myself, a film like The Iron Lady needs to make its points clear and moderately assessable, in a way that is (hopefully) fresh.

I suppose Meryl Streep’s second place Oscar status (directly behind Viola Davis) is to be expected. But does her performance really merit it? Not in my eyes. Many people have praised Streep’s performance as a “flawless impersonation.” Since when is an impersonation sole grounds for an Academy Award? Yes, I’m fully aware how many actors have won Oscars for playing real life people. Some of those performances justified awards, others did not. Good make-up and a lot of yelling isn’t enough. Where’s the substance, the cohesion – where is the movie that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve awoken from a bad dream? D-

What the Guilds Tell Us

2012-01-31T10:34:00.001-05:00

Now that the major Guild Awards have been handed out, we have as firm a grasp on who (and what) will win Oscars next month as we’re likely to get.

Sure, we still have the British-favored BAFTA awards, and the remarkably fun Indie Sprit Awards to get through, but those have little to no impact on who takes home Oscars.

By looking at who has won Guild Awards, we’re likely to see this year’s Oscar winners. Note: The Writer’s Guild Awards are on Feb. 21, which matter none to Oscar voters, as voting will have ceased by then.

Producers/Directors Guild

The Artist, and its director, Michel Hazanavicius, recently took home their respective Guild honors, and they are the clear front-runner for Best Picture and Best Director. I’ve heard talk of The Descendants stealing Picture, and Scorsese possibly nabbing Director, but expect the first silent film nominated in 82 years to take home top honors.

Screen Actors Guild

Best Actor

Up until Sunday night, George Clooney seemed like a lock for his emotionally effective work in The Descendants, but with stateside newcomer Jean Dujardin winning the SAG for The Artist, I think he is currently ahead. Is it possible for voters to write-in potential winners? If so, I’d like to champion a Fassbender steal.

Best Actress

Don’t pay attention to the Golden Globes, Viola Davis is going to receive one of the longest Oscar standing ovations in years once her name is called as the winner of Best Actress.

Best Supporting Actor

Christopher Plummer. Next.

Best Supporting Actress

Of the major categories, this is always the hardest to handicap. Marisa Tomei beat Vanessa Redgrave, Anna Paquin trumped Holly Hunter, Juliette Binoche stunned Lauren Bacall, Kim Basinger beat Gloria Stuart; Marcia Gay Harden, Tilda Swinton – all genuine surprises. No matter, expect Octavia Spencer to win this as expected, unless Bérénice Bejo rides The Artist’s hype, or Melissa McCarthy reminds voters that it’s okay to give out awards for funny performances.

Best Original Screenplay

This is will be the quickest speech of the night, as Woody Allen won’t be there to accept his award.

Best Adapted Screenplay

Aaron Sorkin is favored for a repeat win for his work on Moneyball with Steven Zaillian (who won for writing Schindler’s List). But I see Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash winning for their Descendants script. Either, or.

BAFTAs will air Feb. 12

Indie Spirit Awards, per usual, will air the night before the Oscars, on Feb. 25

101 Cinematic Reasons Why I Love the ‘70s

2012-01-28T11:55:00.088-05:00

1. “Chapter One. He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion. Eh uh, no, make that he, he romanticized it all out of proportion. Better. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin. Uh, no, let me start this over.”

2. “The Korova milkbar sold milk-plus, milk plus vellocet or synthemesc or drencrom, which is what we were drinking. This would sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence.

3. “You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets.”

4. This opening shot:

5. Woodstein

6. Harriet Andersson as Agnes

7. Ingrid Thulin as Karin

8. Liv Ullmann as Maria

9. Kari Sylwan as Anna

10. The Kisnki/Herzog collaboration

11. The fact that All the President’s Men won the Oscar for Best Sound

12. Best Song, 1971

13. The repulsiveness of Noah Cross

14. “You see this? This is this.”

15. This image:

16. The camera pans over to his hands. He reaches in his coat for an antacid tablet. As he brings the tablet to his mouth, the camera follows his hands to reveal his face. We’ve seen him before, but it’s as if we’re seeing him for the first time. The jacket. The pale skin. The mohawk. Here is…

17. The wickedly clever editing in The Conformist

18. The fact that, after 40 years, the chase scene in The French Connection still amazes

19. “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

20. “Luca Brassi sleeps with the fishes.”

21. “Leave the gun, take the cannolis.”

22. “Why are the curtains open?”

23. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

24. “I knew it was you, Fredo, you broke my heart.”

25. “I WAS STEPPED OVER!”

26. The tollbooth.

27. The horse’s head.

28. Hyman Roth.

29. The impossibly impeccable, but far too brief career of John Cazale:

30. “I'm 42 and she's 17. I'm older than her father, can you believe that? I'm dating a girl, wherein, I can beat up her father.”

31. All 281 flawless minutes of Scenes From a Marriage

32. Dun-dun. Dun-dun. Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun.

33. “Well I’m the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

34. “THEY’RE ALL GONNA LAUGH AT YOU!”

35. James Earl Jones’ voice

36. Sonny talking on the phone with Leon

37. This room:

38. The many filmmaking tricks that are revealed in Day for Night

39. Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence – the very best female acting performance I’ve ever seen

40. “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.”

41. Jon Voight and Ned Beatty stopping their canoe on a river bank, and the subsequent horror that follows

42. How Ingrid Thulin makes smiling at her husband one of the most haunting images I’ve ever seen

43. The relationship between Emmi and Ali

44. “Now you get to play the game.”

45. The fact that The Sting still manages to trick me

46. “THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!”

47. R.P. McMurphy offering Chief a stick of gum

48. Barry Lyndon dueling with Lord Bullingdon

49. The fact that Rocky loses the fight

50. You should be dancin', yeah.

51. “…one shot.”

52. With his newfound, Best Picture-winning success, Woody Allen does precisely what nobody wants him to do and makes a masterful drama

53. The sound of a heart pounding in Midnight Express

54. "YOU HAVE MEDDLED WITH THE PRIMAL FORCES OF NATURE!"

55. The fact that Robert De Niro won an acting Oscar while in competition with the guy that taught him how to act

56. The stitches scene in Kramer vs. Kramer

57. 1941 is released, and we’re all reminded that no one, including Steven Spielberg, is perfect

58. Peter Faulk splitting a six pack with his two pre-teen kids

59. Bergman, Ingmar finally working with Bergman, Ingrid:

60. “Can I confess something? I tell you this as an artist, I think you'll understand. Sometimes when I'm driving on the road at night… I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion. The sound of shattering glass. The flames rising out of the flowing gasoline.”

61. The cameos in Nashville

62. “You can either surf or you can fight!”

63. “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.”

64. “It smelled like…”

65. Basically everything Robert Duvall says and does in Apocalypse Now

66. Chicken salad sandwich:

67. “$20?! Let’s go da movies!”

68. The football game in M*A*S*H

69. Best Documentary Feature, 1974

70. Every single frame of McCabe & Mrs. Miller

71. The fact that this film is still my favorite Herzog film:

72. The remarkably accurate character introduction of Johnny Boy

73. “Viddy well, little brother. Viddy well.”

74. “What the hell you wanna go and fuck around with that river for?” “Because it’s there.”

75. Runners up: Brando, Nicholson, Pacino, Redford. Winner: Lemmon.

76. The impossibility of choosing the more impressive filmography: Pacino or De Niro

77. The fact that the scariest scene in the film is little Reagan getting poked and prodded with needles

78. Max who?

79. The fearlessness of Cybill Shepherd’s performance in The Last Picture Show

80. George Lucas releases American Graffiti, the best film he’s ever made

81. “Making a film is like a stagecoach ride in the old west. When you start, you are hoping for a pleasant trip. By the halfway point, you just hope to survive.”

82. Hal Ashby’s filmography

83. Hercule Poirot’s final monologue

84. The slow motion bar scene cut to “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”

85. “He'd kill us if he got the chance.”

86. Foreman’s audacity of mixing real mental patients with actors

87. “ATTICA ATTICA!”

88. “Listen, you fuckers, you screwheads. Here is a man who would not take it anymore. A man who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is a man who stood up.”

89. Beatrice Straight’s five minutes of screentime

90. “Is it safe?”

91. The quiet, unobtrusive observation of Harlan County, U.S.A.

92. The way Jason Miller jerks his hands away from a mental patient in The Exorcist

93. "I am the Wrath of God."

94. Best Foreign Film, 1972

95. Jimi Hendrix doing the Star-Spangled Banner

96. “Sex and death - two things that come once in a lifetime... but at least after death, you're not nauseous.”

97. “Don…Corleone.”

98. “How do I look?” “You look great.”

99. “Forget it, Jake, it’s Chinatown.”

100. “The horror…the horror”

101. “I was cured all right.”

101 Cinematic Reasons Why I Love the ‘80s

101 Cinematic Reasons Why I Love the ‘90s

101 Cinematic Reasons Why I Love the ‘2000s

'70s Answers

1. Manhattan

2. A Clockwork Orange

3. Mean Streets

4. Barry Lyndon

5. All The President’s Men

6-9. Cries and Whispers

12. Shaft

13. Chinatown

14. The Deer Hunter

15. Patton

16. Taxi Driver

19-21. The Godfather

22-25. The Godfather Part II

26-27. The Godfather

28. The Godfather Part II

30. Manhattan

32. Jaws

33. Taxi Driver

34. Carrie

35. Star Wars

36. Dog Day Afternoon

37. Cries and Whispers

40. Network

41. Deliverance

42. Cries and Whispers

43. Ali: Fear Eats the Soul

44. Deliverance

46. The Exorcist

47. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

50. Saturday Night Fever

51. The Deer Hunter

52. Interiors

54. Network

55. The Godfather Part II

58. A Woman Under the Influence

59. Autumn Sonata

60. Annie Hall

62-64. Apocalypse Now

66. Five Easy Pieces

67. Mean Streets

69. Hearts and Minds

71. Woyzeck

72. Mean Streets

73. A Clockwork Orange

74. Deliverance

75. Save the Tiger

77. The Exorcist

78. Nosferatu the Vampyre

81. Day for Night

83. Murder on the Orient Express

84. Mean Streets

85. The Conversation

86. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

87. Dog Day Afternoon

88. Taxi Driver

89. Network

90. Marathon Man

93. Aguirre, the Wrath of God

94. Cries and Whispers

95. Woodstock

96. Sleeper

97. The Godfather

98. Kramer vs. Kramer

99. Chinatown

100. Apocalypse Now

101. A Clockwork Orange

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

2012-01-27T10:44:00.001-05:00

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close represents all that is bad among the wasteful critical darlings of this year’s awards season. It’s more needlessly sentimental than The Help, duller and more didactic than War Horse, and more boring than My Week With Marilyn, Albert Nobbs and The Iron Lady combined. In short, the film is a perfect cinematic encapsulation of everything that went wrong in 2011.

After his father (Tom Hanks) dies in the World Trader Center on “the worst day,” ten-year-old Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn) spends a year or so trapped worse than ever in the isolation of his tortured mind. (Oskar clearly has some form of Asperger’s syndrome, despite his incessant claims otherwise.) Then one day, between epic bouts of scrapbooking, ripping out his skin, hiding in his closet, and telling his mother (Sandra Bullock) that he wishes she was dead, Oskar finds a small key in his father’s closest.

In no time, Oskar is thumbing through phone books, writing down every instance of the name Black (which was printed on the envelope where the key was found), and soon sets off on a journey to find what the key unlocks.

And this is the exact moment where the film lost me. I had put up with Oskar’s constant manic-depressive episodes, Sandra Bullock’s look-at-me-I’m-really-trying acting and Tom Hanks’ futile performance, but when Oskar stood on a rock in Central Park and announced to us, via arguably the most annoying narration in the history of cinema, that he was going to visit every person with a Black surname in New York and its surrounding boroughs, I all but checked out.

For starters, because Oskar is afraid of seemingly everything, including public transportation, he opts to walk to the hundreds of “Black” homes. His first stop is in Brooklyn. Now, let’s think about this. A walk from the edge of Central Park to the edge of Brooklyn via the Williamsburg Bridge would take roughly two hours, even longer for a ten-year-old. So that’s minimum four hours (there and back) for one home. But considering the film’s fondness for montage, Oskar appears to hit about 10 homes a day. Continuity, so it seems, is not this film’s strongest quality.

As directed by the always well-intentioned Stephen Daldry (Billy Elliot, The Hours, The Reader), Extremely Loud is an excessively long, terribly annoying, cringe-worthy misfire. Not even the likes of Max von Sydow (as a mute neighbor who accompanies Oskar on some of his journey) can save the film from its many weaknesses. (For the record, von Sydow earned his Supporting Actor nomination, but not above the likes of Albert Brooks and Ben Kingsley.)

The film, it must be said, has a resolution that I found oddly satisfying, which only managed to anger me more. Toward the end, Viola Davis and Jeffrey Wright, two actors who have no idea how to do wrong, are relied on to deliver, which they do, and then some. But what’s five good minutes stuck underneath 120 minutes of pure garbage? Damaged goods, that’s what. D

In Character: Guy Pearce

2012-01-25T21:14:00.007-05:00

Ask me who my favorite living actor is and, without very much thought, I may quite easily say Guy Pearce. I’ll see anything he’s in, doesn’t matter. Why? Because whether it’s a shitty Adam Sandler flick, a generic action movie, a psychological masterpiece, or a Best Picture-winning war film, Pearce makes it worthwhile.

He’s also, as you’ll see, arguably our greatest living chameleon. His voice, hair, build, mannerisms; it all varies by role. Rarely does he resemble what he actually looks like, or who he actually is. And, no offense to the real man, but I’m perfectly okay with that.

Five Essential Roles

The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994)

Adam Whitley/Felicia Jollygoodfellow

Interestingly enough, the most recent Guy Pearce performance I’ve seen is the one that put him on the map, and damn if it isn’t a dozy. As a loud-mouthed, free-spirited drag queen, Pearce presents something quite unlike anything he’s done.

For starters: he’s actually funny. Don’t get me wrong, I love Guy Pearce, but the dude doesn’t exactly have a penchant for taking on overly humorous characters. Adam (or Felicia), however, is bloody hysterical. Really, who else can turn a flashback about being molested by their father into a genuinely hilarious gag? Adam, like the film as a whole, is funny, outrageous, and when appropriate, pleasantly sincere.

L.A. Confidential (1997)

Edmund J. Exley

Pearce’s breakout role (at least in America) was as the straight-laced, wildly intelligent Ed Exley in Curtis Hanson’s masterful crime thriller. As Exley, Pearce is the constant voice of reason – a man unwilling to bend the rules, until his incredibly corrupt police department forces him to.

I love Spacey’s Jack Vincennes and Crowe's Bud White, but no character captivates me more here than Exley. In fact, Pearce is responsible for the film’s best, most crucial moment, when Exley calmly tells Spacey why he became a cop.

“Rollo Tomasi,” Pearce says.

“Is there more to that, or am I supposed to guess?” Spacey asks.

Oh yeah, lots.

The Proposition (2005)

Charlie Burns

The Proposition, as Pearce has said in interviews, is by far his favorite of all the films he has done. Fitting, given how brilliant (and brilliantly badass) it is.

The proposition in question is simple: Stanley, a stern, diligent lawman, tells Charlie Burns, the middle brother of a ferocious family of outlaws, that he has nine days to kill his older, psychopathic brother, Arthur – if not, Stanley will kill Charlie’s younger brother Mikey. So the gaunt, despondent Charlie sets off to find a man who cannot be found, exposing himself to a host of violent and thrilling situations.

The Proposition is a very good (and curiously overlooked) film. It’s shocking in its violence, unrelenting in its style, and fierce in its acting. Toward the end of the film, Pearce commits an unexpected act of violence that is followed by possibly the single greatest line delivery of his career. No need to spoil it here, but if you’re a fan of Pearce (or movies in general), The Proposition is not to be missed.

The Hurt Locker (2009)

Staff Sgt. Matt Thompson

Considering Pearce is in Kathryn Bigelow’s Best Picture winner for a matter of seconds, his character may seem an odd choice for this list. But Staff Sgt. Matt Thompson is precisely the type of performance that allows a character actor to thrive.

When I first saw The Hurt Locker, I knew next to nothing about the plot, and had virtually no knowledge of who starred in it. When Guy Pearce showed up in the very first scene, I was immediately enthralled. (Never mind that he’s gone just as quickly, because, you know, war is hell.) Many times in this series, I've mentioned that the mark of a truly great character actor is the ability to get in, get out, and leave your indelible mark.

Case in point.

Animal Kingdom (2010)

Sgt. Nathan Leckie

Much like The Proposition, Animal Kingdom is a far-too-hidden Australian wonder that will surely please anyone who views it. The movie tells the story of the Cody family, a small group of people who lie, cheat, steal, kill, in order to fuel their criminal lifestyle.

The movie is full of deplorable (yet impossibly charismatic) characters, and by the time Guy Pearce shows up, some seriously heavy shit has gone down. In short, I was expecting Pearce to follow suit and play one of the many crooked cops we see in the film, and it was wholly refreshing to observe the contrary. Sgt. Leckie, for all intents and purposes, is an earnest, straight shooter. He aims to do good and instill justice, nothing more.

Leckie’s sense of determined purpose is much needed against the scum that occupies most of the film. The character could play as ordinary and boring, but not in Pearce’s hands. In fact, his controlled, heated conversation with Jacki Weaver near the end of the film is one of the movie’s best moments. He’s cool, calm and collected, but always on the edge of losing it. A true marvel of a performance.

The Best of the Best

Memento (2001)

Leonard Shelby

It’s undeniable: Guy Pearce’s most known performance is also his best. Leonard, for those unknown , is desperately trying to track down his wife’s killer. Problem is, he cannot retain new memories. To offset this condition, as he prefers to call it, he follows strict guidelines, taking scrupulous notes, shooting multiple Polaroid’s, and tattooing vital facts onto his body.

Memento, on paper, relies solely on its gimmick of playing in reverse order. Many films of this nature attempt to survive on its tricky narrative device, but writer/director Christopher Nolan is too smart for that, which is confirmed by his casting, among other things.

I’ve always thought that Guy Pearce plays Leonard like a cute, lost, blonde, puppy relying on animal instinct to figure something out. He beats, he chases, and he kills innocent people, yet we always root for him, which is where the genius of Nolan’s film lies. We sympathize with a killer because we know that he thinks he’s doing the right thing. Every depraved action is done out of love and justice.

Leonard is funny (“I don’t, feel… drunk"), frightening (“I want my FUCKIN’ LIFE BACK"), clever (“No he’s… chasing me"), and, perhaps most significantly, terrifying. The final scene of this film (so, really the beginning) perfectly explains Leonard’s motivations for the story we’ve just witnessed. The information he has, accurate or otherwise, is entirely brought on himself. It’s an ingenious trick pulled off by Nolan’s tense script and fluid direction, as well as Pearce’s unrelenting madness.

Now, where was I?

Other Notable Roles

In Factory Girl

Ravenous (1999)

Rules of Engagement (2000)

The Count of Monte Cristo (2002)

The Hard Word (2002)

Factory Girl (2006)

First Snow (2006)

The Road (2009)

The King’s Speech (2010)

Mildred Pierce (2011)

Previous installments of In Character include:
Shea Whigham
Viola Davis
Gary Oldman
David Morse
Michael Shannon
Emily Mortimer
John Hawkes
Jeffrey Wright
Elias Koteas
David Strathairn

Oscar Nominations: Pathetic Personified

2012-01-24T09:39:00.003-05:00

I’ve long since written off this year’s Oscars, declaring that they will be as boring and predictable as last year’s, but the recent announcement of the 84^th annual Academy Award nominations has me at a loss for words.

They are, in short, the most baffling, misguided set of nominations that I can remember. Were there highlights? Sure, I suppose. But the lack of certainly outweighs the positives. Don’t expect a lot of Oscar talk from me over the next month, because, really, who wants to blab about something so painfully awful?

Best Picture

The Artist

The Descendants

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

The Help

Hugo

Midnight in Paris
Moneyball

The Tree of Life

War Horse

Yes, it is nice to see The Tree of Life here, and although I’m willing to put aside my complete abhorrence for War Horse and The Help, did voters actually see Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close? It was extremely boring and incredibly idiotic.

Best Director

Woody Allen – Midnight in Paris

Michel Hazanavicius – The Artist

Terrence Malick – The Tree of Life

Alexander Payne – The Descendants

Martin Scorsese – Hugo

Malick is a genuine surprise. A surprise that hasn’t a chance at hell at winning. But, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?

Best Actor

Demián Bichir – A Better Life

George Clooney – The Descendants

Jean Dujardin – The Artist

Gary Oldman – Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Brad Pitt – Moneyball

Yep, I loved Demián Bichir in A Better Life, I thought it was one of the great, unspoken performances of last year. And I’m also very glad that Oldman gets to celebrate his first Oscar nomination this morning. But were they (or anyone else on in this category) better than Michael Fassbender in Shame? No, they were not. By far the Academy’s most egregious oversight in years.

Best Actress

Glenn Close – Albert Nobbs

Viola Davis – The Help

Rooney Mara – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Meryl Streep – The Iron Lady

Michelle Williams – My Week with Marilyn

Not much to say here, as it was either going to be the equally deserving Mara or Tilda Swinton (for We Need to Talk About Kevin) who took the fifth spot in the category that Viola Davis is going to (justly) win.

Best Supporting Actor

Kenneth Branagh – My Week With Marilyn

Jonah Hill – Moneyball

Nick Nolte – Warrior

Christopher Plummer – Beginners

Max Von Sydow – Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Did you all know that Jonah Hill did a better job than Albert Brooks in Drive? Yeah, me either.

Best Supporting Actress

Bérénice Bejo – The Artist

Jessica Chastain – The Help

Melissa McCarthy – Bridesmaids

Janet McTeer – Albert Nobbs

Octavia Spencer – The Help

Hey, Shailene Woodley, you were the best part of your film and deserve to be here more than any of the actual nominees. Better luck next time.

Best Original Screenplay
Woody Allen – Midnight in Paris
J.C. Chandor – Margin Call

Michel Hazanivicius – The Artist
Annie Mumolo & Kristen Wiig – Bridesmaids

Asghar Farhadi – A Separation

Margin Call was so plain and ordinary (okay, the acting was great), that I didn’t even bother to review it. Tom McCarthy (Win Win), Mike Mills (Beginners), and, you know, Steve McQueen and Abi Morgan (Shame), are much more deserving to be here.

Best Adapted Screenplay

George Clooney, Grant Heslov, Beau Willimon – The Ides of March

John Logan – Hugo

Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon & Jim Rash – The Descendants

Aaron Sorkin & Steven Zaillian – Moneyball
Peter Straughan & Bridget O’Connor – Tinker Tailor Solider Spy

All solid scripts, no bitching to be had. I’m losing steam here anyway.

Best Cinematography

Jeff Cronenweth – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Janusz Kaminski – War Horse

Emmanuel Lubezki – The Tree of Life

Robert Richardson – Hugo

Guillaume Schiffman – The Aritst

Well, at least Lubezki made the cut. But will he win? No, of course not. Don’t be silly.

Best Score

Ludovic Bource – The Artist

Alberto Iglesias – Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Howard Shore – Hugo

John Williams – War Horse

John Williams – The Adventures of Tintin

I knew Harry Escott’s masterful, simplistic Shame score wouldn’t be recognized here, but no Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo? Yeah, I’m done writing about these nominations.

Click here for a full list of the nominations. But be warned: it only gets worse.

Haywire

2012-01-23T16:26:00.003-05:00

I dig Steven Soderbergh. I’ve seen every one of his films, listened to every director’s commentary he’s recorded, driven absurd distances to sit in on lectures he’s given, and so on. I love the overall composition of his films, from his choice of fonts (which he spends days mulling over), his varied use of lenses and filters, his penchant for non-linear storytelling – I love it all. And while he’s made some less-than-mediocre films, I’d spend two hours watching a Soderbergh flick that documents the complexities of the phone book. If his name is on it, I’m seeing it.

Lucky for me (and everyone, really) his new Haywire is pure Soderberghian bliss. It’s his first all-out action film, and it’s exactly what you’d expect from an auteur capable of remarkable flare and unparalleled restraint. It’s the kind of action flick where the fight scenes are viewed in medium shot, by a mostly unmoving camera, and void of the distractions of lambasting music and exaggerated sound effects. The man shoots (and synchs) fights exactly how fights look and sound. Now, tell me, when the hell was the last time you saw a movie do that? The Bourne Identity this is not.

In Haywire, Mallory (ex-MMA fighter Gina Carano, in a deeply controlled debut) is a Special Ops asskicker on the run from the people she used to work for. Why her former employers want her dead is initially, purposefully lost on us – it’s how they go about silencing her that makes for such compelling cinema.

Now, this being a Lem Dobbs-scripted Soderbergh flick (the two recorded the most infamous director’s commentary of all time for The Limey, the execution of which they disagreed on, to put it kindly), the content is complicated and deliberate. Attention is demanded, names must be remembered, and notions of plot holes are to be ignored. If the film holds something back, it’s because Soderbergh and Co. want it held back. My point is, Haywire is a tad bit ingenious in its storytelling, and to ruin that here would be cruel.

I will say that throughout her ordeal, Mallory is in the company of some thoroughly fleshed out characters, played by actors at the top of their game. There’s an excellent Channing Tatum (yes, excellent) as Mallory’s one-time partner, Ewan McGregor as her cold boss, Bill Paxton as her levelheaded father, Antonio Banderas as a quiet high-level exec, Michael Douglas as a government pusher, and then who shows up but Michael Fucking Fassbender, the man currently occupying the position of Coolest Person on the Planet.

Carano and Fassbender occupy the film’s most thrilling minutes, starting with a playful game of cat and mouse that results in a fight scene rivaling any from recent memory. Punches are not pulled; this is the real deal, and, much like the movie as a whole, I loved every minute of it. A-

My Favorite Scene: He Got Game

2012-01-20T16:34:00.001-05:00

Warning: Critical plot details will be divulged in this post. The ending will not be spoiled, but important elements will be revealed.

I love everything about Spike Lee’s masterful basketball drama, He Got Game. I love the simplicity of its plot, the virtuoso performances by unlikely actors, the original Public Enemy songs juxtaposed with Aaron Copland’s classic movements, the crisp, fluid camerawork – everything.

Although the film failed to find an audience and ignite critical praise, it still baffles me that when Lee’s films are discussed, He Got Game is often considered a noble failure. I couldn’t disagree more, in fact, I think it is one of the best, most personal films of his career.

A little background, for those unfamiliar. Jake Shuttlesworth (Denzel Washington) is serving time in Attica prison for accidentally killing his wife. Soon into the film, the Warden advises Jake that if he can convince his son, Jesus (Ray Allen), a basketball phenom with Michael Jordan-like talent, to go to the Governor’s alma mater, Big State, then Jake will be released from prison early. Problem is, Jesus has been estranged from Jake since he went away, casually stating a few times to his friends and family that he “has no father.” Despite this, Jake is released from prison for one week (under strict supervision) to talk his son into going Big State.

For the next two hours, Lee’s film chronicles a tumultuous father and son rivalry, while detailing the highs and lows of a star on the rise. And after failing to convince Jesus to enroll in Big State, the two meet on an outdoor basketball court, where Jake proposes a finally hail Mary idea. One on one, father and son. If Jake wins, Jesus goes to Big State, if he loses, he’ll leave Jesus alone indefinitely. The terms are agreed upon and what follows is the most exhilarating six minutes of basketball ever captured on film.

The scene is filled with obvious metaphorical undertones – the teacher becomes the student, to the victor goes the spoils, and so on – but taking it at face value is worthy enough.

When the game begins, Jake is the obvious aggressor, outplaying his son with each passing point, his skill peaking at his impossible third basket, when he rolls the ball off his let forearm, before laying it up into the hoop. Slowly but surely, Jesus, who remains levelheaded and even-tempered throughout the game, as any serious athlete would, begins to wear Jake down, shooting everything and missing nearly nothing. And this is wear the scene really takes off.

As Jake grows increasingly fatigued, Copland’s music begins to perfectly emulate Jake’s sense of commitment, grief, and ultimate shame, while the cinematography’s oft-implored slow motion heightens the overall sentiment.

It’s difficult to articulate the emotion that is evoked from me during this scene. The appeal for forgiveness from Jake, for example, that’s suggested in lines like, “Everything you got you got from me,” is utterly heartbreaking. Or how I am inexplicably moved by the words, “I ain’t givin’ up, I’m teachin’, brother, I’m teachin’.”

Once Jake loses the game, and literally picks himself up off the floor, he holds his arms up in a final, devastating plea for understanding. What follows is the moment that I want to draw particular attention to.

I am equipped with a particularly filthy mouth. Despite having an extensive vocabulary and healthy vernacular, I choose to curse, and curse often. Nothing is off limits, provided that no one is being offended. I say this because, I do not shy away from any spoken word, except what is commonly referred to as the “n” word. I don’t say it, I don’t sing it, I don’t like hearing it. I don’t tolerate it from friends who are trying to be funny or trying to “relate.” It’s a word that, quite simply, repulses me, which is what makes the final line of this scene so effective.

Standing defeated in the middle of the court, Jake looks at his son and tells him to, “Look out for yourself, look out for your sister. You ain’t gotta worry about me no more.” And then comes the most significant line of the film, and perhaps, the single best line of dialogue Spike Lee has ever written. “But you get that hatred out your heart, boy. Or you gonna end up just another n____. Like your father.”

Although Jesus’ facial expression doesn’t change, that line from his father clearly has an impact on him. (It should be noted that as Jesus, Ray Allen, then a rookie for the Milwaukee Bucks, delivers the best film performance by an athlete in the history of cinema.) As the camera gracefully tracks Jake walking away, he is soon forced to turn around and face his son directly; which is where, I think, Jesus finally accepts all that he and his father have been through.

I strongly caution that only repeat viewers watch the scene provided below. To watch it without the context of the rest of the film would be a real shame. Much like Jesus, you may get it, but all the pieces will have yet to fall into place.

Fore more of My Favorite Scenes, click here.

In Character: Shea Whigham

2012-01-18T22:25:00.003-05:00

With his bug eyes, short stature, and uniquely raspy, southern drawl, Shea Whigham has asserted himself as one of the best, most revered character actors in contemporary film (in my world, at least).

Whigham has made a career playing hilarious and terrifying supporting characters (or, in some cases, both). Whether he’s starring in one of television’s most popular dramas, or appearing for roughly 20 seconds mumbling different variations for the word “whoa,” Whigham always stays imprinted in the viewers' mind.

Because of his appearance, Whigham typically manages to get a laugh from the audience, no matter what he’s doing. Fair enough, but for me, he’s gone from being “that guy” that’s popped up in various flicks, to an actor that will singlehandedly propel me to see a film. I love Shea Whigham, and here’s why you should too.

Five Essential Roles

All the Real Girls (2003)

Tip

In David Gordon Green’s All the Real Girls, Paul (Paul Schneider), a self-described womanizer, falls for Noel (Zooey Deschanel), which his best friend (also Noel’s brother), Tip, doesn’t appreciate all too much.

As Tip, Whigham embodies all of the characteristics he’s come to be best known for. Initially, Tip is a kind, small-town bumpkin. He wears his jean jacket tight and his long hair high. But after Paul and Noel start dating, he goes from the envious buddy (envious of how often his friend gets laid), to the protective older brother. This lends itself to several tumultuous scenes, which ultimately helps the movie end how it must end.

The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans (2009)

Justin

Whigham is in two very brief scenes of Werner Herzog’s mad-ass-crazy corrupt cop flick, the first of which steals the entire picture. After slapping Eva Mendes around (off screen), Whigham is bum-rushed by Mendes’ cop boyfriend (played with miraculous mania by Nicolas Cage), who insults Whigham’s heritage. What follows is one of the most hilariously executed “monologues” of contemporary cinema.

Whigham steps away from Cage and very calmly says: “Whoooa, whooa, whoa whoa whoa whoa, Terry. Whoa. Big mistake. Aw yeah. Whoa whoa whoa whoa. Big. Mistake. Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa…whoa. OH YEAH.”

I’m often criticized by my friends for not having an open enough sense of humor in regards to film. I don’t find funny movies funny, I’m often told. This is because most comedies (and virtually all sitcoms) try too hard for the joke, which, to me, detracts from the proposed humor. Whigham isn’t going for the joke here; he’s just a puny, whacked-out thug, talking in grunts. That, my friends, is comedy.

Boardwalk Empire (2010-present)

Sherriff Eli Thompson

Whigham has hit moderate acclaim as Steve Buscemi's ignorant, diminutive brother, Eli, in HBO’s Boardwalk Empire. In season one, after Eli was shot while collecting money, his character took on a new emotional depth, far beyond the wimpy sidekick routine that the material had previously allowed.

But it was in season two that Eli was given his moment to shine. Plotting ruthlessly (and rather uselessly) against his brother, proved to be some of the most exciting moments in the series. What makes this work is that Eli is simply too dumb to know he’s being played. Played by his brother, by the guys looking to push his brother out – everyone.

Whigham is known for playing seemingly aloof characters, which is all well and good, considering how skillfully he plays them. But none are more effective than his Eli. “Ignorance is bliss,” certainly does not ring true here.

The Lincoln Lawyer (2011)

Dwayne “DJ” Corliss

Appearing for a handful of scenes as a jailhouse snitch willing to lie on the stand for a modest payout, Whigham’s DJ is by far the best part of the completely decent Lincoln Lawyer. In fact, watching a relaxed, deadpan Whigman on the stand as he rats out Ryan Phillippe’s character, marks one of the best scenes of Whigman’s career.

“Are you incarcerated at this time?” Josh Lucas’ prosecuting attorney asks DJ. “Um… no, now I’m just in a courtroom.”

Later, when Matthew McConaughey accuses him of being a snitch, Whigham, with his insanely long sideburns and perfectly slicked-back hair, holds up his hands and replies, “People talk to me, I’m a friendly guy.”

DJ’s antics manage to get a few chuckles from the people in the courtroom, and they got even more from the people in the movie theater. I’d like to think his dialogue was improvised (“Uhhh 1989... I was high a lot, I can’t – I can’t recall much.”) but that could just be wishful thinking on my part.

Take Shelter (2011)

Dewart

Whigham isn’t in Jeff Nichols’ terrific thriller that much, but he’s an ever-effective voice of reason in the brief time he is on screen. As Dewart’s best friend, Curtis, slowly begins to lose his sanity, Dewart initially instills a sense of calm admiration, drunkenly complimenting Curtis on how “good” his life is. Later, as Curtis begins to go off the rails at various construction sites the two work on, Dewart urges his friend (with genuinely pitiful concern) to seek help.

But perhaps it’s Dewart’s final scene, in which he publically accosts and physically attacks Curtis, that is his best. In his brief time in the film, Whigham goes from being a comforting presence, to a concerned friend, to a feared enemy.

Take Shelter contains many unsettling moments, mostly in the mind of Curtis’ subconscious. But in the film’s reality, I was never more afraid then during Dewart's attack on his friend. I had no idea what he was going to do next. It’s that kind of suspense that an actor, role permitting, should try to keep the audience locked into.

The Best of the Best

Tigerland (2000)

Private Wilson

From the onset of Joel Schumacher’s incredibly small, but no less brilliant, boot camp film, Pvt. Wilson has it out for Pvt. Roland Bozz (Colin Farrell). Wilson doesn’t like Bozz’s insubordination, his smooth charm, his intimidating intelligence, and so on. So, in his not-so-typical psychopathic repression, Wilson elects to do something about it.

In one scene, Wilson frantically attacks Bozz, then, after getting his ass kicked, calmly demands an apology. He’s the kind of PTSD-ridden soldier who identifies war as a drug. Problem is, he has yet to fight in any war. His war is in his head. We never find out why he is the way he is, but we fear Wilson every single moment he’s onscreen.

Late in the film, Wilson, during a training exercise, attempts to shoot Bozz at point blank range. The gun misfires. Wilson is sent home, everyone else is sent to Tigerland, an incredibly rigorous training facility. I won’t say how or under what circumstances, but know that Wilson does indeed show up again, the result of which is one of the most horrifying encapsulations of internal hell that I’ve ever seen.

Because Tigerland was such a low budget film, and because newcomer Farrell (justly) took most of its hype, I didn’t really take notice of Whigham until a few years ago. When I realized he was Pvt. Wilson, my respect for him as an actor increased tenfold. A great performance by one of the most versatile character actors in the game.

Other Notable Roles

In Wriscutters

Lords of Dogtown (2005)

First Snow (2006)

Wriscutters: A Love Story (2006)

Pride and Glory (2008)

Fast & Furious (2009)

Machete (2010)

The Conspirator (2011)

Previous installments of In Character include:
Viola Davis
Gary Oldman
David Morse
Michael Shannon
Emily Mortimer
John Hawkes
Jeffrey Wright
Elias Koteas
David Strathairn

BAFTA Noms: As Close to Right as We’re Gonna Get

2012-01-17T10:10:00.000-05:00

While this morning’s BAFTA nominations cemented much of what we already know (people love The Artist and Hugo), they paved way for a few surprises as well.

British film Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, a movie with, in my opinion, great acting and not much else, killed it with 11 nominations, while most every major category nominated a curveball to hopefully help Oscar voters realize that The Artist and The Descendants weren’t the only two well-made movies from 2011.

I have a sneaking suspicion that the BAFTA nominations are the best this awards season is going to get. Enjoy them, because come Jan. 24, we’re all going to be disappointed. Again.

BEST FILM

The Artist

The Descendants

Drive

The Help

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Seeing Drive here is epic. But this being a British film awards show, expect Tinker Tailor to take it. Or The Artist, obviously.

BEST DIRECTOR

Tomas Alfredson – Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Michel Hazanavicius – The Artist

Lynne Ramsay – We Need to Talk About Kevin

Nicolas Winding Refn – Drive

Martin Scorsese – Hugo

Alfredson vs. Hazanavicius. A win for Refn would be remarkably validating. But his nomination is his gift.

OUTSTANDING BRITISH FILM

My Week with Marilyn

Senna

Shame

Tinker Tailor Solider Spy

We Need to Talk About Kevin

LOVE seeing Shame here, but Tinker Tailor will win this without breaking a sweat.

LEADING ACTOR

George Clooney – The Descendants

Jean Dujardin – The Artisit

Michael Fassbender – Shame

Gary Oldman - Tinker Tailor Solider Spy

Brad Pitt – Moneyball

For the first and only time this awards season, I get to say that Michael Fassbender actually has a chance at winning something. It’ll go to Oldman, but still.

LEADING ACTRESS

Bérénice Bejo – The Artist

Viola Davis – The Help

Meryl Streep – The Iron Lady

Tilda Swinton – We Need to Talk About Kevin

Michelle Williams – My Week with Marilyn

Finally, someone acknowledges that Bejo’s role in The Artist is a lead one, not supporting. This is wide open, could go to any of them.

SUPPORTING ACTOR

Christopher Plummer – Beginners

Jim Broadbent – The Iron Lady

Jonah Hill – Moneyball

Kenneth Branagh – My Week with Marilyn

Philip Seymour Hoffman – The Ides of March

I will never understand the ecstatic recognition Jonah Hill has received for Moneyball. Good enough, but better than all the snubbed performances? Not a chance. No matter, Plummer’s to lose.

SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Carey Mulligan – Drive

Jessica Chastain – The Help

Judi Dench – My Week with Marilyn

Melissa McCarthy – Bridesmaids

Octavia Spencer – The Help

Because Mulligan is the only worthy Brit here (Dench was great, but underused), she actually has a shot. BAFTAs will probably follow suit and give it to Spencer though.

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

Woody Allen – Midnight in Paris

Michel Hazanavicius – The Artist

John Michael McDonagh – The Guard

Abi Morgan – The Iron Lady

Annie Mumolo, Kristen Wiig – Bridesmaids

A month ago, I would’ve told you that The Artist would win the Best Original Screenplay Oscar, among other things. But I think the tide is shifting toward Woody Allen, for the BAFTA and beyond.

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

George Clooney, Grant Heslov, Beau Willimon – The Ides of March

Bridget O'Connor, Peter Straughan – Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon, Jim Rash – The Descendants

Tate Taylor – The Help

Steven Zaillian, Aaron Sorkin – Moneyball

This will be the only award Alexander Payne’s film wins all night.

OUTSTANDING DEBUT BY A BRITISH WRITER, DIRECTOR OR PRODUCER

Attack the Block

Black Pond

Coriolanus

Submarine

Tyrannosaur

Paddy Considine winning for Tyrannosaur would be a remarkable, albeit slight, recognition of his great (and greatly overlooked) debut film.

FOREIGN FILM

Incendies

Pina

Potiche

A Separation

The Skin I Live In

Even though it has no chance, a win for Incendies would be incredible. A Separation director Asghar Farhadi can start drafting his speech now.

Click here for a full list of the nominees.

Biggest Disappointments of 2011

2012-01-16T15:02:00.003-05:00

I don’t do Worst Of lists. You don’t need me to tell you that Fast Five was garbage (or maybe you do). Or that Bucky Larson was “just as bad” as you thought it’d be.

Instead, I like to offer a few of the year’s biggest disappointments – films that I had high hopes for, but ultimately crashed and burned. 2011 was a great year for cinema, but there were more than enough clunkers (from remarkable directors, no less) to fill an entire post. Here are a few of them, alphabetically.

Another Earth

A unique, inspired concept – that there is not only another planet Earth, but there is also a replica of every living person – started great, but fell dismally flat. Brit Marling (who also co-wrote), and terrific character actor William Mapother gave it their all, but the material crushed their talent. A complete waste of time.

A Dangerous Method

Like so many movies from 2011, A Dangerous Method featured great performances (or performance, really) that went next to nowhere because of the film’s weak script and flawed execution. Cronenberg – Freud – Jung – Mortensen – Fassbender; should’ve been gold. I expected more, didn’t you?

J. Edgar

After his masterful streak that included Oscar darlings Mystic River, Million Dollar Baby and Letters from Iwo Jima, people have been seriously hating on Clint Eastwood. Sure, Changeling, Gran Torino, Invictus, and Hereafter have their problems, but J. Edgar is the director’s first inarguable disaster since, what, The Rookie? Long, pointless, and ungodly boring, J. Edgar is made all the more heartbreaking by boasting an excellent Leonardo DiCaprio performance. The man was seriously let down.

War Horse

One of the worst films of Steven Spielberg’s career is this horribly didactic drama about a beloved horse’s unrealistic life in wartime. With its jam-it-down-your-throat optimism, lifeless battle sequences, misguided direction and forced acting, War Horse could’ve been a contemporary classic (Spielberg + war = heaven), but instead it’s a by the book, playing-it-safe farce.

We Bought a Zoo

Given the disaster that was Elizabethtown, I can’t say that I was exactly disappointed by Cameron Crowe’s We Bought a Zoo. But because Crowe is responsible for such contemporary greats as Say Anything, Jerry Maguire, Almost Famous and Vanilla Sky, I can’t be faulted for holding out hope. Sadly, We Bought a Zoo’s dismal trailer was evidence of what was to come. Like War Horse, Crowe played it safe and banked that the holidays would help propel his family film to greatness. How wrong could he be?

Albert Nobbs

Crazy, Stupid, Love
The Help
The Iron Lady

My Week with Marilyn

Rampart

et al.

I spent much of the latter part of 2011 dubbing it The Year of the Great Performance in the Mediocre Film (for the record, it was also The Year of the Non Ending, but who wants to read a bunch of spoilers?), and all of the films listed here help ring my notion true. I didn’t care for any of films listed above, but I did, however, care for the performance(s) in them.

Ryan Gosling made Crazy, Stupid, Love somewhat bearable, Woody Harrelson breathed a little life into Rampart, while Glenn Close, Janet McTeer, Michelle Williams, Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer and Meryl Streep will all be nominated for Oscars in films completely unworthy of their performances.

All in all, 2011 was, I believe, the best year for film since 2007, which is saying a lot. But I’m curious: What was your biggest cinematic disappointment from 2011?

Best of 2011

2012-01-15T15:03:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things about being a film critic is drafting my annual Best Of list. I don’t mean posting my Top 10 of the year, but rather, filling out and choosing winners for major categories seen at most awards shows.

Basically, if I was the sole member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, this is what my Oscar ballot would look like, with my winners in bold.

Note: Because Incendies was eligible for Oscar consideration last year, it will not compete in any category here. Likewise The Double Hour. Also, fair warning, if the movie begins with “Sh” and ends with “ame,” then I probably liked it.

BEST PICTURE

Another Happy Day

Drive

Hugo

Shame

The Tree of Life

BEST DIRECTOR

Terrence Malick – The Tree of Life

Steve McQueen – Shame

Lynne Ramsay – We Need to Talk About Kevin

Nicolas Winding Refn – Drive

Martin Scorsese – Hugo

BEST ACTOR

Jean Dujardin – The Artist

Michael Fassbender – Shame

Ryan Gosling – Drive

Peter Mullan – Tyrannosaur

Michael Shannon – Take Shelter

BEST ACTRESS

Ellen Barkin – Another Happy Day

Bérénice Bejo – The Artist

Kirsten Dunst – Melancholia

Rooney Mara – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Tilda Swinton – We Need to Talk About Kevin

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Albert Brooks – Drive

Ben Kingsley – Hugo

Ezra Miller – Another Happy Day

Brad Pitt – The Tree of Life

Christopher Plummer – Beginners

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Jessica Chastain – The Tree of Life

Charlotte Gainsbourg - Melancholia

Liana Liberato – Trust

Carey Mulligan – Shame

Shailene Woodley – The Descendants

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

Woody Allen – Midnight in Paris

Paddy Considine – Tyrannosaur

Sam Levinson – Another Happy Day

Steve McQueen and Abi Morgan – Shame

Lars von Trier – Melancholia

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

Hossein Amini – Drive

John Logan – Hugo

Alexander Payne, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash – The Descendants

Agustín Almodóvar and Pedro Almodóvar – The Skin I Live In

Lynne Ramsay – We Need to Talk About Kevin

BEST DOCUMENTARY

Werner Herzog – Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Werner Herzog – Into the Abyss

Asif Kapadia - Senna

Errol Morris – Tabloid

Richard Press – Bill Cunningham New York

(Note: I was unable to find Steve James’ The Interrupters anywhere)

EDITING

Joe Bini – We Need to Talk About Kevin

José Salcedo – The Skin I Live In

Thelma Schoonmaker – Hugo

Joe Walker – Shame

The no fewer than five editors it took to assemble The Tree of Life

CINEMATOGRAPHY

Newton Thomas Sigel – Drive

Jeff Cronenweth – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Manuel Alberto Claro – Melancholia

Sean Bobbitt – Shame

Emmanuel Lubezki – The Tree of Life

SCORE

Alexandre Desplat – The Tree of Life

Harry Escott – Shame

Alberto Iglesias – The Skin I Live In

Cliff Martinez – Drive

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Top 15 of 2011

2012-01-14T20:11:00.005-05:00

Last year was easily the worst year for cinema in the time I’ve been viewing films critically. My usual practice is to prioritize my favorite 10 films from the year, and then list 10 more alphabetically that are equally worthy of your time. I couldn’t even think of 10 last year, let alone 20.

With all that in mind, 2011 got movies back on track. It was an extremely good year; so good, in fact, that I’m going to list 15 movies in order instead of 10. No more disclaimer: let’s get right to it. (Titles link to my initial reviews, if I did indeed review it.)

15. Trust – dir. by David Schwimmer

Yes, Ross from Friends made a film this year, and a great one at that. Trust chronicles a teenage girl’s first foray into love with a boy she meets online. When young, precocious Annie finally meets up with Charlie, she discovers what we’ve already suspected: that Charlie is a grown man, full of charm, void of shame. What you think happens, happens, sending Annie’s family (including father Clive Owen and mother Catherine Kenner, both as good as they’ve ever been), into a tailspin. Problem is, Annie (played by Liana Liberato, in arguably the year’s most overlooked performance), actually defends “Charlie” for what he’s done. She emits a humility that is utterly heartbreaking.

Trust is a very good, very hard-to-stomach film, rooted appropriately (or devastatingly) in cynicism. Available on DVD and Netflix Instant

14. Cave of Forgotten Dreams – dir. by Werner Herzog

Of all the great documentaries this year (and there were many), none raised my eyebrows quite like Herzog’s slow, transcendental Cave of Forgotten Dreams. The film follows Herzog and his small crew as they unveil the Chauvet Caves in France, which contain the oldest known picture creations by human beings. The film’s content is jaw dropping, and its 3D execution is astonishing. Cave of Forgotten Dreams, like the art the film discovers, deserves to be preserved in a time capsule. Available on DVD and Netflix Instant

13. Take Shelter – dir. By Jeff Nichols

Jeff Nichols’ follow up to his equally haunting Shotgun Stories tells the tale of a simple man, plagued with demonic thoughts. When Curtis (Michael Shannon, who is slowly being robbed of an Oscar nomination) dreams, he dreams of hell. The sky twists and turns in a thunderous rage, birds swoop in to attack, the family dog becomes a predator, and so on. As the film progresses, Curtis’ hallucinations begin to bleed over into his real life, worrying his wife (Jessica Chastain, in one of her many great performances for 2011), and young daughter. Is it real? Is it imagined? I’ll be damned to reveal. Available on DVD Feb. 14, how fitting

12. Last Night – dir. by Massy Tadjedin

In Last Night, not-so-happily married couple, Joanna and Michael (Keira Knightly and Sam Worthington, both remarkable) are split apart for a night, and subsequently tempted by fire. While out of town on business, Michael flirts with his coworker (played perfectly by Eva Mendes), while Joanna wines and dines with a former flame (Tell No One director Guillaume Canet).

Sure, the situation is implausible, but get past that and you have a steadily paced, beautifully acted adult drama about the good, the bad, and the ugly surrounding adultery. It is, in short, the best movie about relationships in turmoil I’ve seen since Closer. Available on DVD and Netflix Instant

11. We Need to Talk About Kevin – dir. by Lynne Ramsay

Not for the faint of heart, We Need to Talk About Kevin, is a unsettling drama about Eva (a career-best Tilda Swinton) attempting to come to terms with a horrific act her horrific teenage son has done. But that’s not even the half of it. Lynne Ramsay and Rory Kinnear’s screenplay (based on Lionel Shriver’s episodic novel) twists in and out-back and forth in time to uniquely reveal how Kevin has been Eva’s personal hell since his birth. The film, which is as high in imagery as Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life (well, almost), is relentless in its display of a family gone awry. As Kevin, Ezra Miller (in a star making role) is as haunting a contemporary movie character as you’re likely to find. Abandon all faith, ye who enter here. Currently in limited release, it may expand once Swinton gets nominated for an Oscar on Jan. 24

10. The Trip – dir. by Michael Winterbottom

The funniest film I’ve seen in years is Michael Winterbottom’s quasi road movie, The Trip, about two blokes (Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon, playing versions of themselves, maybe) who embark on a food tasting tour around rural England. Isolated in the country with endless amounts of good food and expensive booze, Coogan and Brydon spend their holiday one-upping each other with spot-on impersonations, lengthy monologues, arrogance of wine, you name it. The film’s heavily improvised structure (no screenwriter is listed in the credits) is not for everyone. Me? I first saw it in July and haven’t stopped quoting it since. Available on DVD and Netflix Instant

9. Melancholia – dir. by Lars von Trier

Sure, Melancholia is best known as the movie von Trier was promoting at Cannes when he went off on his wildly taken-out-context Nazi spiel, but detractors beware: Melancholia is a beautifully audacious work of art from one of cinema’s most demented masters.

The film is split in two parts: the first chronicles the hilariously flawed wedding reception of manic-depressive Justine (Kristen Dunst, another actress robbed of serious awards consideration) and Michael (Alexander Skarsgård), while the second has four characters debating if Melancholia, a large planet hurling toward Earth, will indeed crash into our divine globe. What happens? Hell if I’ll say. But make no mistake that Melancholia deserves to be ranked among von Trier’s Breaking the Waves, Dancer in the Dark, and Dogville, which is saying a whole hell of a lot. Currently available OnDemand, depending on your location; on DVD March 13

8. The Skin I Live In – dir. by Pedro Almodóvar

In the beginning, tortured Dr. Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas, delivering the best performance of his career) mercifully observes his proudest test subject, Vera, as she lives imprisoned in his grand estate. Vera sleeps, eats, and writes in her giant bedroom as Robert monitors her every move via security cameras. Why is she there? Why is she under lock and key? Why does she not seem to mind? Then, in that perfect Almodóvarian way, the film retraces it steps, going back in time to reveal one of the most twisted love stories in recent film.

As Vera, Elena Anaya delivers a subtle tour de force. Like an immaculate chess player, she’s always thinking three steps ahead. Same goes for Almodóvar’s screenplay, which will fool even the most cautions viewer. I’ve seen nearly every Pedro Almodóvar film, and for my money, none rival The Skin I Live In as his best. Available on DVD March 6

7. The Double Hour – dir. by Giuseppe Capotondi

The Double Hour is 2011’s great enigma. Released in its native Italy in 2009 before hitting the foreign film festival circuit, the film received a barely-there domestic release before fading away into obscurity. This lack of love, more so than any film from last year, is astounding, given that The Double Hour is a perfectly constructed romantic thriller, rivaling any film in the genre I’ve seen in years.

Pointless to describe what the movie is about, as there are far too many twists and turns to logically convey in print, but as I stated in my initial review, The Double Hour is as suspenseful as Hitchcock, as patient as De Palma, as smooth as Nolan, and as narrative-focused as Tarantino. It has (finally) received a DVD release date, for which I am eternally grateful. As will you be. Available on DVD April 3

6. Another Happy Day – dir. by Sam Levinson

Finding virtually no life in theaters, Sam Levinson’s exceptional family drama depicts a weekend in the life of Lynn (Ellen Barkin), a woman trying to keep her head above water as her family attempts to drown her. No, that’s not right. They attempt to rid her of her hands and feet, put duct tape over her mouth, then throw her off a cliff into the ocean, mumbling, “Good luck,” on the way down. They’re that bad.

Despite the fact that Lynn is never at fault, everyone in her family despises her. She’s blamed for all of her family’s many problems, including her failed marriage, her daughter Alice’s suicidal tendencies, her teenage son Elliot’s drug addiction, and so on.

I should stop now, because I could go on ceaselessly about how precise this tumultuous family drama is. It presents its convoluted family structure with no warning or exposition. This is who they are. Lock in a buckle up.

As Elliot, Ezra Miller surpasses the same demonic mania he achieved in We Need to Talk About Kevin, and as Lynn’s Ellen Barkin surpasses not only everything she’s ever done, but anything any female actress did in 2011. She’s just that good. Currently available On Demand; on DVD Jan. 24

5. Hugo – dir. by Martin Scorsese

The only truly mainstream movie on this list belongs to Martin Scorsese’s impossible film. Impossible because it had everything going against it: PG-friendly content by a guy who was made famous directing anything but, often worthless 3D technology, a star you’ve never heard of, a horribly misguided trailer, and so on. But damn if Hugo didn’t make me a believer. Watching the film, and namely Ben Kingsley’s revelatory performance in it (also criminally overlook this awards season), did something that very little films do: it reminded me why I love movies.

The film was met with its share of haters (mostly fellow bloggers), and that’s fair enough. Through Hugo Cabret’s need to solve a self-imposed mystery, he quite literally discovers the birth of film. He reads about (and we see) ancient masterpieces by Georges Méliès, the Lumière brothers, Edwin S. Porter, Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and more. Hugo’s reaction to this iconic work is the exact same reaction I had upon first seeing these films in my film courses in college. They’re so simple and old, yet wildly skilled and new. They, like Scorsese’s film, continue to take my breath away. Currently out of theaters, but will return after it receives its many Oscar nominations

4. The Tree of Life – dir. by Terrence Malick

The Tree of Life is worthy of all the hyperbolic hype that has been bestowed upon it. Simple as that. Malick’s otherworldly, operatic magnum opus conveys the birth of life, as told through the eyes of troubled O’Brien family. Well, kind of. You could summarize the movie a dozen different ways, all of which would be accurate. The film, like all of Malick’s work, is not justified by the written word, but rather by the poetry of lens. And poetry is it ever.

Emmanuel Lubezki’s fluid, game-changing camera work (which should win the next five Oscars for Best Cinematography) captures the essence of what (I believe) Malick was trying to capture, better than any of the auteur’s pervious films. A critical darling met with its fair share of naysayers, The Tree of Life is in no way for everyone. It contains laboriously extended sequences of special effects that draw comparison to Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. In fact, The Tree of Life shares more than its look with Kubrick’s masterpiece, it shares its tone, its thought, its feel. The Tree of Life is a film that is unspeakably alive. Available on DVD

3. Drive – dir. by Nicolas Winding Refn

There’s no denying it: Drive was the coolest, most stylish flick of the year. Everything about it, from its impossibly catchy electronica score, to its colorful look, to its sudden, shocking violence, Drive is a movie in perfect understanding with what it is. Every shot, every acting cue, every cut is done with determined precision. The movie feels immaculately thought out, yet gloriously fresh.

Known as nothing more than Driver (or “the Kid” as Bryan Cranston prefers), Ryan Gosling is a quiet, patient force of nature. Give him a time and place, he’ll give you a five minute window. He doesn’t sit in while you run it down, he doesn’t carry a gun – he drives. And boy does he ever. The opening scene of this film, in which Driver drives two thieves away from pursuing cops not with speed but with perfect command of his vehicle and an encyclopedic knowledge of LA’s streets, is one of the best film openings I’ve ever seen. It perfectly sets the tone for what is to follow. One of the most enjoyably baddass films of this or any year. Available on DVD Jan. 31

2. Incendies – dir. by Denis Villeneuve

Nominated for the Best Foreign Film Oscar last year (how it didn’t win is beyond me) but released in the US this summer, Incendies is an excruciatingly realized, meticulously detailed, and gloriously cynical look into the crushing dynamics of the Marwan family.

The plot is (relatively) simple: after Nawal dies, she leaves two sealed envelopes for her twin children to deliver. One envelope, her will instructs, is for Jeanne to deliver to the twins’ father. Simon is to deliver the other envelope to their brother. Problem is, their father died before they were born, and they never knew they had a brother.

Once Jeanna embarks on her journey, the film seamlessly cuts back to Nawal’s life as a young woman fighting to stay alive in an unnamed (but hinted at) Middle East country. The country, stuck in a feverish religious war soldiered by remorseless men, is the cause of much strife to Nawal. So, basically, the film follows Nawal around as the mystery in the will is born, while also following Jeanne in the same country, attempting to unveil the same mystery. If it sounds complicated, that’s because it is. No matter, under Villeneuve’s steady guidance, Incendies never loses its viewer once. It does, however, manage to shock and transcend the definitions and limitations that plague most movies.

When my good friend returned from Sundance in January of 2011, he sent me a list of films with brief descriptions on why I should see them once released in theaters. Under Incendies, he attempted to explain his reasoning, then gave up, opting for, “I don't want to tell you anything. Just go see it,” instead. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Available on DVD

1. Shame – dir. by Steve McQueen

Steve McQueen’s masterpiece (remember that word), chronicles a week or so in the life of Brandon, a wealthy, troubled sex addict whose every literal action in life is to feed his addition. The money he makes from his fancy job, the glances he gives on the subway, the amount of drinks he orders at a bar; every little thing is done to achieve his next fix. Initially, we’re given no indication that Brandon’s compulsion is of great detriment to his well being. He lives his life as he lives it, quietly and alone, frequently among the presence of strangers to fill his carnal desires. That is until his explosive sister, Sissy, arrives at his New York high rise and demands to stay indefinitely.

Similar to McQueen’s first feature, Hunger, Shame reels you in with its painstakingly specific execution of its flawlessly written material (by McQueen and Abi Morgan). The film, better than any of recent memory, is so certain of its every move and gesture, its every reveal and action, that it feels oddly comforting, even when the film exposes itself to its many unsettling circumstances.

For example: there is sequence late in the film that crosscuts the events of one night in shuffled order. The sequence puts Brandon in several places of dread and horror, internally or otherwise. It is, in effect, his binge. Propelled by Joe Walker’s faultless editing, Henry Escott’s haunting score, and Michael Fassbender’s this-is-the-shit-they-should-teach-in-acting-school performance, the segment ends with the scene the film has become most famous for (which also, incidentally, singlehandedly earns the film its NC-17 rating). In short, it is the most flawlessly executed consecutive 10 minutes of film I have seen in many years.

As Brandon, Michael Fassbender is a revelation to the profession. Rarely is pain and anguish conveyed as candidly as it is here. Likewise Carey Mulligan, who as Sissy surpasses the peaks she has already set for herself as an actress.

“Masterpiece,” is a term I use very rarely when discussing films. A movie may be masterful, and it may contain perfect elements, but seldom does an entire film deserve such specific recognition. True, in the past I’ve had a tendency to dish out the word undeservingly, but the last masterpiece I saw was Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood, and Shame is the best film I’ve seen since. Films like Shame are the exact reason why I love movies. It spends 101 minutes justifying a passion I’ve lived with for 26 years. Masterpiece, as it were, seems too modest a word. Available only in theaters approved to show NC-17 films, which, sadly, is not many.

Another Happy Day

2012-01-12T17:24:00.001-05:00

This happens every year. You’ve seen all there is to see, you’re ready to finalize your top 10, and then you discover that hidden gem. It was Blue Valentine last year, Hunger the year before, and now, seemingly out of nowhere, we’re presented with Another Happy Day, a miraculous, devastatingly precise achievement from first time director Sam Levinson.

This is a film that is so real, so unbiased in its candor, that it is at times extremely difficult to watch. There is no violence, no extreme drug use, and no sex whatsoever. Sticks and stones may break the characters’ bones, but words can certainly kill them.

Another Happy Day revolves around a family coming together to celebrate a wedding. Come together they do, celebrate they do not. The family depicted in Levinson’s drama mock, ridicule, fight, degrade; not for a laugh, not at the expense of someone else. They do it because they do it. This is simply who they are.

Don’t worry if the modern family structure loses you, as it is executed far better on screen than in print. Lynn (Ellen Barkin) is the mother of Dylan, the man to be wed. But as was contingent in her divorce of her first husband, Paul (Thomas Hayden Church), Lynn raised their daughter, Alice (Kate Bosworth) while Paul and his new wife, Patty (Demi Moore) raised Dylan. Once Lynn got remarried to Lee (Jeffrey DeMunn), they had two children, Ben and Elliot (Ezra Miller).

When Lynn, Ben, and Elliot arrive at Lynn’s parents home (played by Ellen Burstyn and George Kennedy – yeah, Cool Hand Luke George Kennedy), chaos ensues instantly. Within seconds, it is made clear that Lynn, above all, is to blame for all of the family’s problems. It’s her fault that Paul beat her in front of their kids, forcing her to leave him. It’s her fault that she and Patty detest one another. It’s her fault that her oldest daughter, Alice cuts herself and refuses to speak to her father. It’s her fault that her son, Elliot, is a drug abusing, backtalk smacking, manic depressive who steals, beats, and lies to get whatever he wants whenever he wants it.

The litany of blame Lynn receives comes from all angles. Her sisters, brothers-in-law, parents, kids, friends, whoever. The funny (or interesting, or sad, or pathetic) thing about this dynamic is that Lynn, we soon realize, is the only sane person in her entire family. She never pokes or pries, she never mocks or makes fun, she’s a middle-aged woman trying to grasp why her family despises her. Of all the things Lynn is blamed for in the film, she is not responsible for any of them. This is a battered woman who has done nothing but try to do good and instill peace. And this is precisely why Ellen Barkin’s performance deserves as much unhinged, unadulterated praise as is possible.

George Clooney’s character in The Descendants tells his cousin at one point that he’s, “just trying to keep [his] head above water.” Fella, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

To say Lynn is the best performance of Barkin’s career is faint praise. To say, other than Michael Fassbender in Shame, that it is the best performance I saw in 2011, issues some level of justice, but not nearly enough. As Lynn, Barkin made me laugh, she made me cry; she moved me, she bruised me. But, as is usually the case, she had a little help.

Start with Levinson’s brutally honest script, segments of which felt as if they were extracted directly from my life, which isn’t to say my family is remotely as crazy as the one Levinson depicts, but there is a frank sense of humanity in his words that most anyone can relate to.

As the quiet, implosive Alice, Kate Bosworth demonstrates emotional intensity that I didn’t know she was capable of. Same goes for Demi Moore, who takes a prissy desperate housewife roll and turns it into something astonishing. Thomas Haden Church has been good, but never this good. Just watch as Paul admits in front of most of the family that he did indeed abuse Lynn. The family’s reaction will break your heart.

I’ve heard criticism that Ezra Miller is making a career playing the same character. That his Elliot is a lot like his quiet, confused Robert from Afterschool, or his tormented, psychotic Kevin from We Need to Talk About Kevin. I couldn’t disagree more. The similarity of the characters is caused by one thing: the directors of these films aren’t afraid to show how teenagers really act. Or, perhaps more accurately, how teenagers can act. Teenagers are often plagued with heavy, depressing thoughts, and they are capable of committing horrific acts for reasons they don’t understand. Miller is a master at exposing this. The kid is 18 and has already accomplished more than some actors three times his age.

I’m honestly not able to comment on other aspects of the film. Its score, cinematography, editing – everything is simple and direct, no gimmicks, no tricks. Fact is, I was too taken by the content and the actors to pay attention to anything else. Another Happy Day is something of a miracle, hidden in limited release hell, but waiting patiently for you OnDemand. I cannot speak highly enough of this film. It demands to be seen. A

We Need to Talk About Kevin

2012-01-11T13:36:00.003-05:00

We Need to Talk About Kevin opens with an image unlike any I’ve seen. The camera, initially raised to a bird’s eye view, slowly descends toward a red, clumpy sea. Look closer and the clumps of waves are not motions of the ocean, but people. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of people, swimming on top, through, and underneath each other. Look closer and the red sea isn’t blood, as one might expect (too bright, too red, too thin), but rather… what?

The closer the camera gets, the more confounded the viewer becomes. In short, I wasn't sure what I was looking at, or why, but I couldn't take my eyes off it. Which is a perfect way to describe the whole of Lynn Ramsay’s chilling, remarkable new film.

From the moment of his birth, Kevin has been a nightmare. He cries ceaselessly, his horrendous moans gurgled with tears and snot. Doctors say he is perfectly healthy, so, essentially, he’s crying for no apparent reason. Once he gets of age to know better, Kevin decides to always do the worst. He screams, he acts out, he punches, destroys, refuses to be potty trained – the acts of defiance are endless.

And that’s pretty much how it is for Eva (Tilda Swinton), Kevin’s mother, who, after Kevin’s birth, is anything from the once-carefree city girl she used to be. Eva and her kind, aimless husband, Franklin (John C. Reilly) used to live that life. That New York City loft life. Creating, dining, drinking, loving. The life of dreams. When Eva got pregnant, Franklin, despite Eva’s staunch opposition, suggested they move to the suburbs. They moved, Kevin was born, and the rest is hell.

We Need to Talk About Kevin, as you may suspect, isn’t a fluffy teenage angst picture. The kind where the arguments are forced and the resolution is happy-go-lucky. Every little thing is not gonna be all right. When you sit down for this film, you buckle into an intense, gut-wrenching, borderline agonizing experience. Gold for me, and hopefully for you too. Here’s why.

Say what you will about the film’s content, but We Need to Talk About Kevin is technically flawless. Its disjointed narrative scope, chiefly, lends itself seamlessly to the overall power of the film. The non-linear narrative has been all the rage since Tarantino resurrected Vincent Vega from the dead. It’s a tool I love and admire greatly. But it is also one that is horribly overused. In feeble hands, a jumpy narrative structure crumbles a film, but in editor Joe Bini (who cuts most of Werner Herzog’s films) and Ramsay’s hands, We Need to Talk About Kevin is a film propelled by its style. When we first meet Kevin, he’s played as a teenager by Ezra Miller, but we see the character at many different times in his life, and never in order. It’s a tactic that requires concentration, but it’s also one that, in this case, helps reveal the characters better than if the film was told in order.

In our jumping around, we sense very early that Kevin (as a grown teen) has done something horrible. Eva visits him regularly in prison; little is said, but volumes are spoken. I have no interest in revealing what Kevin has done, but believe me, the crimes he has committed are equally as horrifying as how Miller plays the role.

Two years ago, I stumbled across a film called Afterschool via OnDemand. I sat, watched, and by the time the credits rolled, I was unable to speak. The film was, and remains, the single best movie I’ve ever seen about teenaged angst. I gave at an A+, which can be credited to many things, namely the film’s star, Ezra Miller.

I’ve seen Miller once since then (in City Island, where he was given nothing to do), but 2011 was really his year. As Kevin, Miller is as stoically haunting as any teen character you’re likely to find on film. He’s alone, misguided, intelligent to the point of intimidation, and probably a bit psychotic. His Kevin is as chilling a portrayal of a teenager since, well, Miller’s role in Afterschool. (For the record, Miller had another brilliant performance last year, in Another Happy Day, which will be reviewed here shortly.) The kid is going places.

I’ve loved most every Tilda Swinton performance I’ve seen. Highlights include I Am Love, Julia, The War Zone, The Deep End, Michael Clayton, and so on. She’s got that perfect… thing. That Tilda Swinton thing. That regret and anguish. That torment and anger. Her role as Eva is her finest accomplishment to date. Period. An Oscar, which she certainly will not receive, would be too little praise.

Aside from its incredible performances, including Reilly and the other child actors who portray Kevin, We Need to Talk About Kevin boosts an eerily moving score (by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood), steely camera work, and an overall faultless mise-en-scène.

The only feature I’ve seen by Lynne Ramsay was her nearly-as-disturbing Morvern Callar, about a young woman who, after finding her boyfriend dead on his apartment floor from suicide, elects to do nothing about it. Images from that film have stayed imprinted in my mind since I saw it 10 years ago. I’m sure We Need to Talk About Kevin will do the same. A

Keeping Up with the Guilds

2012-01-09T17:39:00.000-05:00

As an Oscar handicapper, the only awards I concern myself with prior to the big show are the various guild accolades. The old maxim is that whatever wins the guild will win the Oscar. That rang true for a number of years, and although the tide has shifted a little as of late, the guilds always manage to elect an Oscar front-runner.

A brief run down of how the guilds work: only members of a specific guild get to vote for the winners, meaning actors award actors, directors award directors, and so on. Because the Oscars are wide open (everyone votes in every category), the guilds aren’t perfect at predicting the winners, but they’re damn close.

To be honest, I’m not at all impressed with the guild nominations this year, just like I assume I won’t be impressed with the Oscar nominations come Jan. 24. Regardless, here are the nominations for the major guild awards, and the date of their respective ceremonies.

Producers Guild Awards

Winners will be announced Jan. 21

The Artist

Bridesmaids

The Descendants

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

The Help

Hugo

The Ides of March

Midnight in Paris

Moneyball

War Horse

Directors Guild Awards

Winners will be announced Jan. 28

Woody Allen – Midnight in Paris

David Fincher – The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Michel Hazanavicius – The Artist

Alexander Payne – The Descendants

Martin Scorsese – Hugo

Screen Actors Guild

Winners will be announced Jan. 29

BEST ACTOR

Demián Bichir – A Better Life

George Clooney – The Descendants

Leonardo DiCaprio – J. Edgar

Jean Dujardin – The Artist

Brad Pitt – Moneyball

BEST ACTRESS

Glenn Close – Albert Nobbs

Viola Davis – The Help

Meryl Streep – The Iron Lady

Tilda Swinton – We Need To Talk About Kevin

Michelle Williams – My Week with Marilyn

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Kenneth Branagh – My Week with Marilyn

Armie Hammer – J. Edgar

Jonah Hill – Moneyball

Nick Nolte – Warrior

Christopher Plummer – Beginners

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Bérénice Bejo – The Artist

Jessica Chastain – The Help

Melissa McCarthy – Bridesmaids

Janet McTeer- Albert Nobbs

Octavia Spencer – The Help

BEST CAST

The Artist

Bridesmaids

The Descendants

The Help

Midnight in Paris

Writer’s Guild Awards

Winners will be announced Feb. 21

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

McCarthy

50/50 – Will Reiser
Bridesmaids – Annie Mumolo & Kristen Wiig
Midnight in Paris – Woody Allen
Win Win – Tom McCarthy
Young Adult – Diablo Cody

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

Payne

The Descendants – Alexander Payne and Nat Faxon & Jim Rash
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – Steven Zaillian
The Help – Tate Taylor
Hugo – John Logan
Moneyball – Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin

The Devil Inside vs. The Last Exorcism

2012-01-08T18:48:00.004-05:00

The meshing of the exorcism film with the found footage flick is a collaboration of genres that could work as well as any other, I suppose. Funny then that I haven’t seen one that I’ve remotely enjoyed, until this weekend, that is.

In The Devil Inside, Isabella, the subject of a would-be documentary, travels to Rome to see her mother for the first time in 20 years. Her mother, you see, has been kept in an insane asylum since murdering three people decades ago while they conducted an exorcism on her. But instead of letting that be the basis of the movie, the film goes on countless deviations and opens limitless subplots that add nothing and go virtually nowhere.

Soon after Isabella meets two priests who conduct illegal exorcisms without the church’s permission, we follow them as they perform an exorcism on a girl, and then we never see that girl again. We listen to Isabella threaten the cameraman by exposing his lies, then they’re never brought up. One of the priests has a dark, mysterious past that is hinted at, but never discussed. Isabella’s failed pregnancy is mentioned exhaustively, but never used as a plot point.

Basically, The Devil Inside spends much of its 87 minutes opening doors it has no intention of closing. Its attempts to frighten only manage to puzzle. It is a laughably failed horror film that achieves nothing the genre has to offer. And it’s also a whopping success, so, good job America.

I had heard good things about The Last Exorcism when it was released last year. I remembered being surprised by its two Independent Spirit Awards nominations, and wondering if this PG-13 rated flick was worth the hype. Then I forgot all about it.

Late last evening, after finding it on Netflix, I started it as a flimsy means to make up for the time I wasted on The Devil Inside. And I’m damn glad I did.

In The Last Exorcism, two documentary filmmakers follow an evangelical minister as he attempts to perform what he declares his final exorcism. The catch is, Reverend Cotton Marcus is a complete fraud. He doesn’t believe in demons, he doesn’t believe in exorcisms, and since his son was born, he’s started to question his faith in God. And this is how The Last Exorcism hooks you instantly: it manages to put a fresh spin on a wasted idea.

Cross cutting Reverend Marcus performing an exorcism with clips of how he plans to stage that exorcism, is ingenious. He is, in effect, a magician revealing his tricks. He knows that exorcisms are complete nonsense. So what happens when the faker comes head to head with someone who isn’t faking? I’m not going to reveal much, but trust when I say that poor Nell Sweetzer’s frequent bouts of sleepwalking are far more complicated than that.

The Last Exorcism is the exact opposite of The Devil Inside. It’s effective on every level: its humor (yeah, the movie is genuinely hilarious when it wants to be), its terror, and its ability to successfully tackle real life problems (incest is discussed, torture is hinted at, etc.). Let me sum it up this way: I do not get scared in movies easily, in fact, it is very difficult for a film to even remotely frighten me. And to say that I was freaked the hell out during The Last Exorcism is to exercise a great deal of modesty.

One of the reasons found footage films often fail is because they have no idea how to end their story. Something lunges at the camera and it cuts to black. That’s not an ending, that’s a shameless ploy for a sequel. The Devil Inside cements this notion, The Last Exorcism throws it on its head. One film is an aimless, unresolved mess that thinks special effects equate to fright, while the other is perfectly able to standalone as a superb piece of modern horror filmmaking. No tricks needed: its story is scary enough. The Devil Inside: D; The Last Exorcism: B+.

Albert Nobbs

2012-01-06T17:57:00.001-05:00

In Albert Nobbs, Glenn Close plays a woman, who dresses like a man, who saves every penny she earns in hopes of opening a cigar shop with a woman 40 years her junior. Delusions of grandeur, perhaps, but the basis for a compelling film, nonetheless. But while this labor of love is well intentioned, its delivery is dull, mechanic, and, at times, completely phoned in.

Albert Nobbs works as the head butler for a fancy Irish hotel, circa the 19^th century. She tends to the snobby guests without a hint of indignation. When her co-workers bitch and moan about the guests in private, Albert carries about her business dutifully, silently tidying up whatever needs tidying. At night, she stores her wages in the floorboards of her room. She sleeps, wakes up, dresses into a man, and start the process all over.

Soon enough (or rather, not soon enough), Albert is introduced to two people who throw a mix into her routine life. Hubert, a local painter, is the first to discover Albert's secret (mostly because she too conceals her real sexuality), while Helen, a young maid at the hotel, proves to be the awe of Albert’s world.

Now, forgive my repetitiveness, but like so many other films from 2011, Albert Nobbs is a film suited with strong material and even stronger performances, but its execution is flawed beyond belief.

As directed by Rodrigo García (who made the very haunting, very miraculous Nine Lives), Albert Nobbs is, by and large, a total bore. My plot description is more accurate then you may hope, as nothing really happens in the movie. There’s cleaning, there’s hiding, there’s whispering and yelling. Minor subplots are introduced then abandoned, interesting characters are ignored, and so on. In Albert Nobbs, we have yet another less than stellar film backboned with remarkable performances.

Albert Nobbs has been a passion project of Glenn Close’s since she’s been acting in movies. She first played the role on stage in 1982 and has been fighting to get it on screen ever since. To help, she even co-wrote the film’s screenplay, which unfortunately doesn't add much to the overall film. But as Albert, Close is perfect. She embodies a lost, haunted woman with sorrowful passion. Likewise Janet McTeer, who plays Hebert as a steadfast brute, far beyond any suffering she may have endured in the past.

Both deliver some of the best performances of their careers, and they certainly deserve the Oscar nominations that will soon be coming their way. Mia Wasikowska also deserves special mention – as Helen, she proves yet again that she is one of the best young actors out there.

Even though the film picks up in its final act, delivering a pleasing finale that I wasn’t expecting, the movie as a whole isn’t nearly worthy of the performances in it. C-

Rampart

2012-01-05T17:19:00.001-05:00

The trailer for Rampart promises that, “Woody Harrelson is the most corrupt cop you’ve ever seen on screen.” Obviously the marketers who drafted the preview missed Harvey Keitel in Bad Lieutenant (or Nicholas Cage in Bad Lieutenant), Orson Welles in Touch of Evil, Matt Damon in The Departed, Gary Oldman in The Professional, Denzel Washington in Training Day, to name a few. Point is: if you’re going to assert such a bold statement, you’d better have the material to back it up.

As a character study, Rampart is a moderate success. Everything that veteran LAPD officer “Date Rape” Dave Brown does is done with a lust that is rather appealing. The way he preys on women in bars, criminals in the street, and fellow cops who refuse to finish their food, is executed by Woody Harrelson with psychotic glee. Basically, a character like Officer Dave Brown should be able to carry a movie, only one not as lacking and misguided as this.

Void of plot the way most character studies are, Rampart follows Office Brown (oh hell, let’s just call him Date Rape) around as he tries to duck corruption scandals against him, dodge new humiliations within his own department, and keep his needlessly complex family afloat. He drinks, he smokes, he screws, he hits, and he does it all quite well.

Here’s my main problem: Rampart is far too complicated for its own good. Its story problems are so pointless and dense, that I may have trouble articulating them clearly in print.

Take Date Rape’s family situation. He has two children, a boy from a woman (Cynthia Nixon) and a girl from the first woman’s sister (Anne Heche). So not only did he knock up two sisters, he makes them live together in the same house, while he crashes in the guesthouse out back. Every night during dinner while the others eat (Date Rape doesn’t eat, for reasons not explained) he openly asks which sister wants to sleep with him that night. If they reject him, he chases tail at the local bar. It’s like Big Love mixed with Modern Family sprinkled with The Shield. I wouldn’t take issue with this family dynamic, expect for the fact that it does nothing whatsoever to motivate the plot or the characters. It is, in a word, pointless.

As is Date Rape’s feelings on food (he doesn’t eat, and he demands with threats of violence that the people around him finish their food), and the story behind how his nickname was bestowed on him (he may have killed a rapist many years ago, or he may not have…), and the many people trying to nab his badge for all the bad shit he’s done.

Rampart is directed by Oren Moverman, who made The Messenger, a very good, very poignant film that contained one of Harrelson’s best performances. Moverman and Harrelson work well together, the actor’s depiction of Date Rape makes that clear. It’s an intense, fiery performance that would garner more awards attention if it weren’t lost in such an aimless film. (A film, I must add, that, like so many of its 2011 counterparts, decided not to have an ending). Harrelson gets an A, the movie as a whole: C-.

Carnage

2012-01-05T15:17:00.000-05:00

In Roman Polanski’s Carnage, two unhappily married couples meet to discuss a recent scuffle that their sons were in, a minor altercation that left one child with broken teeth and another with shattered pride. Soon enough, their conversation deviates from the problem at hand, opening itself up to a litany of insults regarding class, stature, appearance, you name it.

The film, which should be titled something along the lines of A Short Film About Bitching, is just that: 79 minutes of incessant bitching and moaning. The characters in the film whine about themselves, one another, their children, whatever. And here is where Polanski and co-screenwriter Yasmina Reza (adapting her own play) achieve minor greatness: they drafted a film about and featuring annoying characters, but the movie itself manages to be anything but.

Don’t get me wrong, even though it’s short, the argument(s) that Penelope (Jodie Foster) and Michael Longstreet (John C. Reilly) have with Nancy (Kate Winslet) and Alan Cowan (Christoph Waltz), do not stay fully enthralling throughout. But as an exercise in fluid, evolving screenwriting, it’s impossible to not call Carnage a success.

It’s Nancy and Alan’s son, Zachary, that hauled off and hit Penelope and Michael’s son, Ethan, in the face with a stick. At first, it’s refreshing to watch the two couples wallow in pretense. Nancy and Alan are hopelessly apologetic for their son’s behavior (but not really), while Penelope and Michael continually remind them that it’s all okay (which it isn’t). When the shifts come, they occur subtly and with zero overplaying.

Carnage takes place in New York but was shot in Paris for a reported $25 million, the majority of which I assume was used to fulfill the stars’ salary demands. There’s not much more to the movie than a solid script and steady acting (although Alexandre Desplat’s music helps move things along), it carries itself well, right up until its final scene.

While I’ve already dubbed 2011 The Year of the Great Performance in the Mediocre Film, feel free to also classify it as The Year of the Non Ending. Martha Marcy May Marlene, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Rampart, Carnage (and many more), are all good movies that have no clue how to resolve their story. The validation of these films’ denouements are obviously up for debate, but the final scene of Carnage is so lazy, it had me wondering if the experience was even worth it. B-

War Horse

2012-01-04T15:31:00.001-05:00

Steven Spielberg’s War Horse is the most uselessly unrealistic, hopelessly optimistic, didactically throat-jamming war film that I’ve seen in years, if not ever. The result is two and half plus hours of overblown sentiment, leading violins, sorrowful acting and a hell of a lot of horse training. Enjoyable for some, I’m sure, but cinematic kryptonite for me.

After a tediously long opening segment of a boy observing a horse grow up (and really nothing more), farm boy Albert is tasked by his drunken father to teach the horse how to plow. So, basically, the only remotely interesting thing that happens in the first 50 minutes of the film is a horse plowing a field, which is about as dull as it sounds.

Once World War I takes hold, the horse is sold to a horse-loving British Capitan. A few scenes later, the horse becomes the property of a young, horse-loving German solider. A few scenes later, the horse becomes the property of a young, horse-loving French girl, then a horse-loving German solider, then a horse-living British solider, and on and on.

Once you come to terms with the fact that a.) the horse in War Horse is nothing more than a gimmick to examine and understand every side of WWI in under 90 minutes, and b.) the horse will always, without fail, wind up in the hands of an unwavering horse admirer, then you may be able to enjoy yourself. Hell, after a while, I accepted the film for what it was and settled in for the lackluster ride. The kind of war film where the battles are bloodless and the soldiers void of profanity.

I was accepting up to a point. Until a scene of such laughable symbolism and baffling inaccuracies that I had simply had enough.

Semi late in the film, the titular horse is tangled in barbed wire in the middle of a dormant battlefield. On opposite ends of the field rest British and German forces in muddy trenches. Once the horse is spotted, a young British solider wielding a white flag walks out to set the horse free. Soon after, a young German solider wielding a white flag walks out to help the horse as well.

Now, seriously, come on. I understand the hyperbolic sentiment. Opposing forces unite! We are all capable of humanity! But please, give me a fucking break. From a guy who has created such lasting, realistic images of war on film, this scene is a complete set back. It’s forced, absurd, and so rooted in metaphorical nonsense that it is pathetic. Call me heartless, call me a cynic; the fact remains that this scene, like much of War Horse, is evidence of a director who is more concerned with pleasing the masses than making honest work.

When the lights for War Horse came up, I noticed that a couple well over the age of 70 were audibly crying. Point being, there’s serious money to be made in overblown sentiment. On Christmas (the day this film was released) most people don’t want to be reminded of the horrors of war. They want a well-intentioned, big-hearted story of hope to help pass the time. That, to me, is dangerous, because if film isn’t used as a medium to, among other things, shake things up and cause a little controversy, then what the hell is it? D

Movies with Corrin

2012-01-02T19:07:00.002-05:00

When I was 17 years old, one of my closest friends died due to injuries he sustained in a car accident. On Christmas evening 2002, he was the passenger in a car that hit a patch of ice before crashing into a telephone pole. After lying in a coma for several days, he died a few hours into the year 2003. His name was Corrin Travis, he was 16 years old.

The news of Corrin’s accident and resulting death were sudden, shocking, and brutal. It’s something that I’ve never, in the literal sense, fully “gotten over,” but rather, come to accept. And rather than harp on the pain of his passing, I’d like to take this time, the day after the ninth anniversary of his death, to celebrate a small part of his life.

Corrin and I had a lot of things in common. We liked to make other people laugh, we enjoyed privately discussing the aesthetics of women, we played soccer, we boxed in basements, we listened to Eminem – but the most significant trait we shared, it may not surprise, was our love of film.

We talked endlessly about movies – what we’d seen, what we’d hope to see, what we liked, what we hated. We talked about going to film school, writing, directing – going for it.

Because my parents started me in school late, I’ve always been older than my friends. I was the first to get a job, first to get my license, and most notably, the first to get a car. Soon after I bought my car, Corrin and I started a tradition of going to the movies every Tuesday after school. It started as a coincidence, a kind of, Oh look, this is the third Tuesday in a row we’ve gone to the movies, and it quickly resulted in a die hard tradition. This went on for months, and we loved every minute of it.

Now, the movies Corrin and I saw on those Tuesdays were, by and large, utter crap. We’re talking Ecks vs. Sever, Knockaround Guys, The Four Feathers – garbage. And although we spent the majority of our post-movie discussions bitching and moaning about how bad the movies were, I realize now that the movies we saw weren’t nearly as important as the fact that we saw them.

I cherished those Tuesdays. I looked forward to them every week. When we deviated from the tradition, it was for good reason, like going on Friday instead of Tuesday, which was the case on December 20, 2002. Hours after being released from school for winter break, Corrin, myself, and my friend Miguel, saw Martin Scorsese’s Gangs of New York. After, we went to IHOP (I grew up in a small, rural area, for a bunch of teenagers at 11 p.m. on a Friday, IHOP was often as good as it got) and talked about Scorsese’s filmography, DiCaprio’s bad acting, the trailer for Tarantino’s new kung-fu flick, and so on. It was the last movie we ever saw together, but that’s not really what I want to talk about.

It’s funny, because in hindsight, the steps of the grieving process are freakishly accurate. After Corrin’s death, my denial of my feelings manifested itself in frequent bouts of silence, my anger was evident in the fights I got into, I bargained my pain for the love of a woman, only to be crushed later, I sank in and out of mild depression for months, and, finally, accepted what had happened.

These steps aren’t necessarily set in stone as the popular acronym DABDA suggests; sometimes one can be depressed, then angry, then in denial, and so on. And, if you’re lucky, a hint of acceptance can shine through, even before you’re really ready for it.

In January of 2003, I saw a film called Antwone Fisher that quite literally change my outlook on life. The film tells the true story of an orphaned kid from Cleveland who after suffering years of emotional, physical and sexual abuse by his foster family, joins the Navy as a means of escape. While in the Navy, Antwone’s unresolved demons from his childhood manifest themselves with recurring episodes of sudden anger and violence. He’s forced to see a psychiatrist who, slowly but surely, helps him accept what he’s been through.

Now, I wasn’t abused as a child, so the similarities I find in my story and Antwone Fisher’s may seem opaque at best. But for some reason, while sitting in that movie theater, a connection was made. When Antwone (Derek Luke) screams at his doctor (played by Denzel Washington, who also directed the film) in front of a few other patients, it was as if I was screaming for help. When Antwone confronts his foster mother, it was as if I was confronting my troubles. And when he reconnects with his family, thereby accepting his pain, it was as if my pain was accepted, if not for a passing moment.

Although these connections weren’t fully realized immediately, the first time I saw Antwone Fisher remains the most memorable, significant movie-watching experience I’ve ever had. When I discuss the film with friends, they’re often shocked by my immense praise. After calling the film one of the top five movies of the 2000s, people were confounded, and for good reason. From an outsider’s perspective, there isn’t anything particularly fascinating about the picture. A subplot involving Washington and his wife is useless, and the film suffers from some technical glitches that a first time director may not anticipate, but that doesn’t matter to me. Until right now, when people asked why I like Antwone Fisher so much, I usually just shrug it off, and mumble something to the effect of, I like it because I like it.

I like it because it reminds me of my friend. It reminds me of youth, and of loss. It helps me acknowledge the fact that, no matter how bad I have it, someone has it worse. As was, and I'm sure still is, the case for Corrin’s mother, Lynne, who remains a dear friend of mine, and who this post is dedicated to. What she was suffering through in January of 2003 is incomparable to how I felt. Antwone Fisher put that in perspective for me.

Weeks after I first saw the film, I got to meet the real Antwone Fisher at a book signing in Cleveland. It was a historic moment in my life, one that I will never forget. But the most significant part of the event wasn’t meeting a man, or shaking his hand, or thanking him for telling his story. It was during the drive home that I was struck with something rather profound. I realized that none of this would have happened – loving the film so much, driving to Cleveland, meeting the real man – had Corrin still been alive. But he was gone, so here I was. And, for the briefest of moments, the pain left me, and I was able to accept what had happened.

I had a lot more struggling to go through, but right then in the car, I realized it was okay to believe that everything was going to be all right.

Corrin, circa 2002

In Character: Viola Davis

2011-12-30T16:14:00.004-05:00

Viola Davis, the one scene wonder. She gets in, leaves her indelible mark, and gets out. And that’s pretty much the way it has been for Davis throughout her film career, she pops up for a scene or two, then leaves just as quickly as she arrived. The thing is, once she shows up, regardless of how long she’s around, she is impossible to forget. With such precious seconds of screentime, Viola Davis captivates in each and every one of them. And really, what more can you ask from a character actor?

Five Essential Roles

Law and Order: Criminal Intent - Badge (2002)

Sergeant Terry Randolph

Viola Davis is known for playing quiet, commanding characters, always looking to instill what’s right. Sgt. Terry Randolph is no such character. In her brief, one episode arc on Criminal Intent, Davis played an ex cop who kills people for money. And not just petty drug dealers and low level criminals, Randolph offs entire families just so she can put her adolescent kids through private school.

Two scenes in particular stand out from the episode: one allows Davis to unleash an educated monologue that rips the detective hunting her to shreds. She’s confident yet calm, and one hundred percent correct. The other scene is the moment Davis realizes she’s caught and lunges into a pathetic ploy for understanding. You haven’t witnessed desperation until you’ve observed a pleading Viola Davis.

Far From Heaven (2002)

Sybil

As Sybil, the head maid of the Whitaker household, Davis isn’t given much to do in Far From Heaven, but when she’s onscreen, she’s effective as all hell.

In one subtly intense moment, Sybil informs Cathy Whitaker (Julianne Moore) that the daughter of the black man Cathy has not-so secretly fallen for, has been brutally victimize. Without thinking, Cathy heads for the door. As she’s about to leave, Sybil asks her if she thinks Cathy is making the right decision. Sybil isn’t that direct (most black women weren’t in the ‘50s), but she gets her point across. The look on Davis’ face as Moore leaves the home is a perfect mixture of respect and foolishness; the rare voice of truth in the film.

World Trade Center (2006)

Mother in Hospital

As I’ve mentioned before in this column, the best part about Oliver Stone’s World Trade Center is the supporting performances. None better than Viola Davis, who in one minute and 50 seconds, achieves an emotional peak unmet by any of the film’s other characters.

While Maria Bello paces anxiously in a hospital waiting room, she begins talking with a woman whose son was an elevator operator in the south tower. As their conversation develops, the anonymous woman admits that the last conversation she had with her son was a spiteful one, yelling at him for being late to dinner. And then, in a way only Viola Davis seems to know how, she slowly begins to crumble and break down, as if withering away in the middle of the hospital. She knows she’s never going to see her son again, but she’s there anyway. It’s as authentic a moment as anything you’re likely to find in a film based on 9/11. Utterly devastating.

Doubt (2008)

Mrs. Miller

John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt isn’t a very good movie, but the four core performances all justify their respective Oscar nominations. Meryl Streep, Amy Adams and Philip Seymour Hoffman dominate the majority of the screentime, but again, it’s Viola Davis who steals the show.

In her single scene, Davis portrays the mother of a boy who may have been sexually abused. She’s at first confused, then scared, then angry. She’s not angry at the suspected pedophilic priest, mind you, but rather at the nun relaying the information. She begs and pleads that Sister Aloysius keep her mouth shut about the alleged abuse. If word spreads, the boy may not only fail to graduate, but he may be in physical danger at the hands of his biological father.

So what we have is the mother of a victimized son, begging for silence. She blames her son, she blames the nun, she blames herself, she blames her husband; she blames everyone except who is to blame. It’s a phenomenal emotional arc, achieved in just over seven minutes. Where was her Oscar?

The Help (2011)

Aibileen Clark

I’ve been a rather outspoken critic of The Help since its release. In fact, just recently I called it the most overrated film of 2011. But while the film is directed as nothing more than a glorified Hallmark movie, I’ve given just credit to some of the performances from the get-go, namely Jessica Chastain and Viola Davis. Without those two performances, the film would’ve been a total wash.

I honestly enjoy that way Davis plays Aibileen. She’s stern with strong morals; a woman beyond her time, finally ready to speak out. Again, while this character could’ve benefited much better from a more fleshed out script, I think you can expect Davis’ name to be called come Oscar night. Credit owed where credit is due.

The Best of the Best

Antwone Fisher (2002)

Eva May

I’ve talked a lot about how Davis has made a career out of achieving greatness in just one scene, a notion that is epitomized in her performance as the mother of the titular character in Denzel Washington’s Antwone Fisher.

Antwone Fisher, for reasons I will explain fully a couple of days from now, is a truly great film. It’s a film about the hardships of remembering, and the catharsis of forgiving. It’s also, more or less, about a search, and how what you’re looking for is usually great, until you actually find it.

So when Antwone Fisher (played flawlessly by Derek Luke) finally meets his birth mother, Eva May, he’s given a reaction that is heartbreakingly unexpected. When he introduces himself to Eva, she takes off down a hallway, running into the living room. Running, as she's her entire life.

What follows is a perfectly timed, immaculately articulated, and faultlessly played scene between Luke and Davis. Luke goes into a brief, inspired monologue about how proud he is of the man he’s become, and how she deserves none of the credit. Davis, very wisely, says nothing. Her words are exchanged in her shifting shoulders, her grimaced face, and her slow, harden tears.

In his director’s commentary for the film, Washington says that they filmed that scene in just one day. Davis stayed in character the whole time, and when the scene was done, she went to her trailer, changed, then left the set without telling anyone. That’s interesting. I’d be curious to know more. But, for now, I’m fine with letting Davis’ face do the talking.

Other Notable Roles

In Solaris

Traffic (2000)

Solaris (2002)

Syriana (2005)

Disturbia (2007)

State of Play (2009)

United States of Tara (2010)

Eat Pray Love (2010)

Trust (2011)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2011)

Previous installments of In Character include:
Gary Oldman
David Morse
Michael Shannon
Emily Mortimer
John Hawkes
Jeffrey Wright
Elias Koteas
David Strathairn

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

2011-12-29T10:36:00.001-05:00

Tinker Tailor Solider Spy begins with a moderately thrilling covert spy mission gone awry, the details of which are left hazy and unexplained, which is a fairly accurate way to describe the film in general. Purposefully paced and laboriously detailed, Tinker Tailor is a film that doesn’t concern itself with the often-useless art of explanation; its heart is in the captivation. Blink here or lose attention there, and you’re likely to be gone.

Usually, this is precisely my kind of film, one that tells its story with zero exposition, a curvy narrative and is backed by stellar performances. Tinker Tailor, however, never managed to grab me the way most moody thrillers do. I kept hoping it would be more like Syriana, not a somewhat more accomplished Good Sheppard.

Best to start with the film’s plot, which was by far its most lacking aspect.

After Agent Prideaux (Mark Strong) is killed in the aforementioned mission, the leader of the super-secret spy organization he worked for, who is known only as Control (John Hurt) is forced out, along with his right hand man, George Smiley (Gary Oldman). After Control passes away, Smiley is recruited by a British official to find a mole within his old organization. If it seems like I’m skimming on details, well, it isn’t from lack of trying. The truth is, I didn’t really have a clue what was happening during extended sequences in the film. The British official that hires Smiley – no idea who he was… an aide for the Prime Minister, maybe. The good looking guy who shows up with details on who the mole is – no idea how he knows what he knows.

All of this, mind you, is done on purpose. Director Tomas Alfredson (who directed the similarly paced Let the Right One In) is interested in throwing you directly into this back-alley world, causing you to play catch-up. Problem is, when there’s this much catching up to do, one can lose interest rather quickly.

I’m being a little too harsh. While Tinker Tailor has its plot faults, damn near everything else about it is executed seamlessly. The film’s moody, grey look suits the material exceptionally well, while the assembled cast is a who’s-who of talented British characters actors including Strong, Hurt, Toby Jones, Ciarán Hinds, Colin Firth, Simon McBurney, Tom Hardy, Benedict Cumberbatch, and the man himself, Gary Oldman.

I am a huge admirer of Gary Oldman’s, and it is great to see him headline a film at this stage of his career, but I must admit – with subtle heartbreak – that the film simply doesn’t live up to the standards Oldman has set for himself. Don’t get me wrong, Oldman is perfect as Smiley, but the material gives him nothing to do. In short, I now see why Oldman is being left off of award’s shortlists. (Point in fact, I'm not entirely sure I would add George Smiley to Oldman's most essential roles.)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a film that would benefit greatly from multiple viewings, I just simply don’t have the need to. Dark, subtle and moody are typically my game, but now that I’ve let the film digest for a few days, no lasting impressions remain. B-

The Artist

2011-12-28T11:33:00.003-05:00

You know what it takes to make a silent black and white film, shot in standard aspect ratio, set in the 1920s, starring no one you’ve ever heard of? Balls the size of Gibraltar, and an immense amount of talent. The former I can only assume French director Michel Hazanavicius has, the latter, however, is obvious, given what is conveyed in his somewhat miraculous The Artist.

In 1927, George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is the hottest movie star in Hollywood. Everything he does – his acting, his dancing, his B-movie swashbuckling – is gold. The man simply cannot miss. And on top of it all, he seems genuinely nice and appropriately proud of what he does; none of the arrogant, megalomania movie star nonsense that so littered the time period (and, still does, to a degree).

After the premiere of his most recent film, he quite literally bumps into Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) an unassuming nobody who is suddenly thrust into the limelight after her chance encounter with George. Two years later, both people have lived a reversal of fortune. Refusing to jump on the talkie bandwagon, George casts himself into angst-ridden retirement, while Peppy becomes the hottest young actress in town. The two maintain a touch-and-go friendship while George crumbles and Peppy soars.

Now, the most prominent aspect of The Artist is obviously the simplicity in which its story is told. I don’t know the exact number of years, but The Artist is easily the most acclaimed silent film that’s been released in decades. It’s a feat that deserves specific recognition, considering that, in today’s world of mindlessly successful action blockbusters, silent films have more going against them any other genre.

To make a silent film work, a few things are needed that may not seem as fundamental in a talking picture. Music is one, production design is another, not to mention a captivating story, dynamic actors and a fresh take on an ancient method. The Artist has all of them, from Ludovic Bource’s insanely catchy rat-a-tat-tat score, to Guillaume Schiffman’s gorgeously fluid camera, to Laurence Bennett’s plush feel; everything excels where it needs to excel, which brings me to the film’s two anchors.

I’ve never seen, nor heard of, French actor Jean Dujardin and Argentinian actress Bérénice Bejo, and I'm honestly thankful that I was unfamiliar with them. In George’s case specifically, we benefit greatly from not knowing what the real man sounds like. The fact that he is convinced wholeheartedly that America has virtually no interest in hearing his voice is utterly heartbreaking, a quality Dujardin conveys with electric energy. George is a demanding role, both physically and emotionally, and I do not care to find a single fault in Dujardin’s performance. In short, he deserves every bit of praise that’s currently being floated his way.

Likewise, and perhaps more so, Bérénice Bejo, who plays Peppy with a refreshing, unapologetic kindness that is stunningly whimsical. Bejo, who is married to Hazanavicius in real life, has eyes that speak more words than most actors can say in five movies. She is, in a word, flawless.

Now, all praise aside, it must be said that I do not consider The Artist a perfect film. It is accomplished, there’s no arguing that, but it has its faults. The primary one is its pacing and runtime. According to IMDb, the film is 100 minutes long, which is interesting, because it felt much longer than that. I can’t say that there were scenes that were expendable, but after an hour and a half, I found myself ready to move on. This isn’t because I’m not a fan of silent films, in fact, I’m a great admirer of them, I simply felt the story could’ve been played out a little faster.

Don’t let these minor burdens detract you from the fact that The Artist will surely be among the most nominated films for this year’s Oscars. In fact, months ago, I predicted it would win Picture, Director, and Actor (might as well throw Supporting Actress in the mix as well). Bold predications, but ones I currently stand by.

One final thing: about 20 minutes into the film, I correctly predicting its ending. Usually, I find this to be a fault of the movie, but when an ending is this satisfactory, how can one complain? B+

A Dangerous Method

2011-12-27T10:56:00.002-05:00

Creating a movie based on the tumultuous relationship between the two most famous shrinks of all time, starring two of the best contemporary actors around, helmed by a director of great, unique vision should’ve been gold. Sadly, David Cronenberg’s A Dangerous Method is leftover coal from a bully's stocking. It’s a series of barely linked, misguided scenes that run on about as long as the first sentence of this review.

I know where things go wrong in the film, but I’d be very interested to know if this final result is the product Cronenberg was looking for, as it is his weakest film since, hell… M. Butterfly? A shame, given the talent that was available to him.

A Dangerous Method tells the story of how Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender), pioneered a psychological practice initially implemented by his mentor, Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen). Jung thought it a noble idea to sit a patient down, and let him or her simply talk. Hopefully, Freud envisioned, their talking would be a sort of catharsis, which was a success, given that that is the basic principle of psychoanalysis as it is today.

But the film is also about Jung’s affair with his once horribly disturbed, Russian-Jew patient, Sabina (Keira Knightley), and how he helped cure her, in part, by living out sexual fantasies she had of her father.

But the film is also about Freud and Jung’s initial father/son kinship, and how it grew into a spiteful mess. But the film is also about Jung’s bland relationship with his tired wife, Emma. Oh, and Vincent Cassel shows up for a handful of scenes as a sex-crazed psychologist (I think), who helps convince Jung that it’s okay to bone one of his patients.

So, basically, A Dangerous Method is about a lot of things, yet it executes none of them well. Equal time is given to each subplot, when the film would be far better off just sticking with the most riveting segments (those involving Jung and Sabina, and Jung and Freud). Had Cronenberg and Oscar-winning screenwriter Christopher Hampton slimmed their scale, we could be dealing with a far better film.

Fassbender, Mortensen, and Knightley are all great, no question, but they’re given next to nothing to work with. Endless amounts of intangible dialogue that result to a horribly anticlimactic third act. Even the few love scenes between Fassbender and Knightley are unerotic and stiff, and not in a good way.

After taking five years off following his great Eastern Promises and his masterful A History of Violence, I had high hopes for Cronenberg’s new venture. Maybe his next flick, Cosmospolis, starring Robert Pattinson, will be a return to form. Or, given the star, maybe not. C-

We Bought a Zoo

2011-12-25T13:41:00.002-05:00

Cameron Crowe’s We Bought a Zoo is by far the most egregious waste of time you can spend this holiday season, in a movie theater, that is. It’s overly long, incredibly boring, laughably acted, and just all around inexpertly staged. It’s didactic to the point of nausea; possibly suitable for grandma, but useless to most anyone who gets a basic enjoyment out of movies.

The film tells the (kind of) true story of Benjamin Mee (Matt Damon) who after losing his wife to cancer, quits his job (look, a Jerry Maguire moment!), and moves his playful young daughter and rebellious teenage son away from their quaint little town to a farmhouse far out in the country. When Benjamin purchases his new home, you see, he inherits a medium-sized zoo, its animals, its few employees, and so on.

Benjamin thinks the idea of buying a zoo sounds like a fresh start, so he spends his life savings getting the zoo ready for its seasonal grand opening. This includes countless, endless, laborious, painstakingly long scenes of Benjamin and Co. getting into Capra-esque hiccups, such as letting hundreds of snakes out of their box, talking a lion (or was it a tiger?... hell if I care to remember) off of a rock, arguing with teenage angst, dodging flirts from the head zoo worker, and, worst among them, trying to get the zoo approved and licensed by a cartoon caricature of a “villain” (played with shameful indifference by John Michael Higgins, an often humorous character actor).

Look, the holidays are all about coming together and, if not only for a moment, forgetting the baggage and past regrets and simply enjoying time with your family. I get that. And, as mentioned, if you’re looking for a cinematic outing that the whole family can partake in, then I’m sure We Bought a Zoo will do just fine. But seriously, what the hell kind of recommendation is that? If I were a major film critic, my quote for submission to be tagged on this film’s movie poster may be something like: “The Least Offensive Film of the Holiday Season!”

In short, We Bought a Zoo’s heart is in the right place, but so was the heart of Crowe’s last film, the equally disastrous Elizabethtown.

I saw We Bought a Zoo when it screened for one night, the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The sold out theater was packed with families eager to enjoy a film together; basically, the film’s target audience. So when the scene in which Damon engages in an extended argument with his onscreen son occured, it doesn’t speak very favorably of the film to note that the majority of those in attendance were laughing audibly. What was happening on screen was not meant to be funny, but god was it ever. D

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

2011-12-21T17:10:00.001-05:00

Expectations are deadly, and hype is killer. You can try to tone it down and forget what you know, but no matter your level of denial, if you’ve seen the Swedish version of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, you’re bound to compare it to David Fincher’s new undertaking.

Many didn’t see the Noomi Rapace-starring original but many have read Stieg Larsson’s impossibly popular novel on which it is based. Me? I saw the original film last year, then read the book. Then I saw the other two films and left their respective novels unread. So basically, my knowledge of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is a scattered mindfuck that I can’t exactly articulate into coherent sentences. Lucky for me (and for you) Fincher’s new flick lays it all out in a way that is sleek, daring and ungodly refreshing.

Necessary plot explanation: the film tells the story of shamed journalist Mikael Blomkvist, who after being convicted for libeling a crooked businessman, is hired by the head of the incredibly wealthy Vanger family to find out who killed a young Vanger girl 40 years ago. During this, the film cross-cuts Blomkvist’s story with Lisbeth Salander’s, a goth punk badass hacker with a photographic memory and zero tolerance for bullshit. Soon enough, through a set of unusual circumstances, Blomkvist and Salander are working together on the Vanger case, and we’re off and running.

The plot, while easy enough to crudely summarize in a paragraph, is maddeningly intricate. There are dozens of Vanger family members to keep track of, and limitless names to recall, not too mention the Blomkvist/Salander storylines to pull apart. So instead of picking and prodding, let’s get to the good stuff, shall we?

David Fincher, once again, has pulled off a bit of a miracle. He’s made the serial killer film interesting again (twice), made computer coding and depositions enthralling, and now he takes a beloved piece of modern literature and puts his own unique stamp of brilliance on it. The result is a film that is perfectly in tune in look, feel, sound, design; you name it. Much like his seamless Social Network (aka, the movie that should’ve won him a Best Director Oscar), The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is appropriately dark yet undeniably alive.

You can credit much of this to Daniel Craig, who, as Blomkvist, is as good as he’s ever been – like James Bond, minus the attitude, and real. But honestly, Larsson’s material is for (and propelled by) Lisbeth, and goddamn if Rooney Mara doesn’t deliver. What Mara does here is, in a word, revelatory. Aside from her three brief, vivid scenes in The Social Network, Mara’s filmography has been limited to girl-next-door sidekicks, which she should now feel free to give a middle finger to, as her career is about to drastically change.

Last year, I boldly said that Noomi Rapace’s portrayal of Lisbeth Salander was the best female acting performance of the year. (To be fair, Rapace was afforded to flesh Lisbeth out over three films, but looking only at the first film, I stand by my statement.) Needless to say, I didn’t think Mara could pull it off. And, in a way, she doesn’t. Mara isn’t impersonating Rapace’s performance, she’s putting her own spin on it. There are a lot of similarities between the two but, like the movies themselves, there are radical differences that make them stand apart.

One in particular that I found most welcoming in Fincher’s version was the subtle, gentle kinship that forms between Craig’s Blomkvist and Mara’s Salander. This would fail miserably if the actors’ chemistry wasn’t as flawless as it is, so to say their work together merely succeeds is one of the grandest understatements in movies released this year.

If you’re completely new to The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (and oh how lucky you are), then know that this is a rough film based on rough material. The film's tagline, “The Feel Bad Movie of Christmas,” is accurate. We’re dealing with some seedy, deranged people who live disturbed lives. Many may not like the film’s ending (I’m not sure how I feel about it either), but if Fincher gets what he wants and is able to create two sequels, then we’re looking at one hell of an intensely sinister franchise, anchored by a ferocious leading lady, who may, by the end of this, prove to be as good as they get. A-

Young Adult

2011-12-20T15:03:00.003-05:00

This year may as well be dubbed the year of great female performances in otherwise mediocre films. Viola Davis (and Jessica Chastain) in The Help, Michelle Williams in My Week with Marilyn, Shailene Woodley in The Descendants, Angelica Huston in 50/50 and, if early reviews are any indication, Meryl Streep in The Iron Lady and Glenn Close in Albert Nobbs.

Okay, to be fair, a good number of these films surpass mediocrity, but the point I’m trying to make is that all of these performances far exceed the movies they are in. And that’s a pretty accurate way to describe Charlize Theron’s flawless work in Jason Reitman’s good film, Young Adult.

Mavis Gary is a complete and utter bitch, a label that is self-described and shared by others all the same. She’s crude, manipulative, beyond selfish, and only interested in getting whatever she wants whenever she wants it, which, for the film’s purposes, is her high school flame, Buddy.

When Mavis, who makes a living as a successful ghost writer for a popular young adult book series, finds out that Buddy is a recent father, she leaves Minneapolis for a self-imposed reunion in the small Minnesota town where she grew up. Once in town, she stops at nothing to win Buddy’s heart back; lying, drinking, wheeling and dealing her way though sneakily vicious encounter after sneakily vicious encounter.

Mavis, you see, is completely delusional. There were a few times during the film when I seriously questioned her sanity. She’s obviously psychologically unwell, but her honest delusions of grandeur come off, at times, as wildly schizophrenic. This isn’t a fault of the film, mind you, simply because there is a heavy-hitting ass kicker at the helm.

As Mavis, Charlize Theron delivers her best performance since Monster, which is to say, the second best performance she’s ever done. Mavis is a character that is so far beyond the point of redemption, that it makes it impossible to not appreciate Theron’s work a great deal. It’s a huge risk – taking on a character that no one is expected to like, but Theron nails it with bewildered gusto. There are many scenes I could discuss in praise of the performance, but one that must be mentioned is Mavis’ inevitable public flip out. We’ve seen this scene a hundred times, but the way Theron plays it is honestly unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Anything less than an Oscar nomination would be insulting.

Young Adult, it must be said, is the best thing Diablo Cody has ever written. Although she (undeservedly, in my opinion) won an Oscar for her Juno screenplay, her witty banter has never suited her characters better than it does in Young Adult. The dialogue she provides Theron, as well as Patton Oswalt (as Mavis' unlikely friend), and Patrick Wilson (as the innocent Buddy), works perfectly.

Now, while Theron’s performance should be more than enough to get you in the theater, it is far more accomplished than the film itself. Jason Reitman knows how to make good movies; he’s done it twice, with Thank You For Smoking and Juno, and achieved greatness once, with Up in the Air.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with Young Adult, but it is a film that relies solely on its lead performance to hold your interest. I saw the movie two days ago and cannot think to comment on its score, cinematography, production design, etc. It’s a good film, but no match for its leading lady’s wit. B

Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol

2011-12-18T18:27:00.002-05:00

In my Tower Heist review last month, I bitched and moaned at great lengths about the current state of film criticism. I griped (via inspiration from Owen Gleiberman’s essay) that action films are mostly being judged on the It is what it is model. This way of thinking is, to me, incredibly dangerous. No need to go over why (again), but while watching the latest installment of Mission: Impossible, it was precisely that way of thinking that allowed me to defend the movie in my head.

Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (the forth in the series) isn’t a game-changer, but then again, it isn’t really trying to be. Its plot is uselessly complicated yet laughably clichéd (there are evil Russians, nukes, and… well, need I say more?), its acting is mostly phoned in and its action is long, loud and frequently exciting. In short, it’s exactly what you’d expect from a Mission: Impossible film.

Now, how is this different from Tower Heist, or, say any of the Transformers films? Why can’t I simply take them for what they are and enjoy them? Because Tower Heist and the Transformers movies are crap. Plain and simple. They’re dumb, obnoxious and more or less incomprehensible. They lack exactly what Mission: Impossible has a great deal of: fun.

There’s something undeniably fun about watching a past-his-prime Tom Cruise scale down and up and around the tallest building in the world, or Jeremy Renner flexing his shit in designer suits, looking all badass and ready to hop-to. It’s amusing to see a chase scene (because every M: I film must have a chase scene) flipped on its head by adding a very thick cloud of sand. Basically, Mission: Impossible is straightforward fun. Sure, the IMAX experience probably helped fuel my joy, but massive screen or not, I had a good time with it.

Now, don’t take my praise as exaggerated – the movie has many many problems. I stopped paying attention to its mindless expository dialogue about halfway through, and hoped the film could entertain me enough with its stunts to make for a useful experience (it did). Tom Cruise is past the point of “so bad he’s good,” because the dude is just plain bad, and the final fight scene is a never-ending bore that’ll have you looking at your watch.

To summize: if you want to spend your $10+ on a perfectly decent action film (or, if you want to take a break from the heavy-handed Oscar bait), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol is perfectly suited for you. Your money and time are well spent, and you can get on with the rest of your day and never have to think of it again; because afterall, it is what it is. B-