Friends with Kids

Early in Friends with Kids, we meet a troupe of proud, successful New Yorkers, led by best buds Jason (Adam Scott) and Julie (Jennifer Westfeldt). Accompanying them at dinner one evening are recently pregnant Leslie (Maya Rudolph) and Alex (Chris O’Dowd), and the can’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other Missy (Kristen Wiig) and Ben (Jon Hamm). They talk, bitch, drink, have fun, whatever.

Four years later and Leslie and Alex are only slightly less miserable than Missy and Ben. Miserable with their loud kids, their lousy sex lives, their failing marriages, and so on. After many adult conversations, Jason and Julie, who are both perpetually single, elect to have a child together and subsequently spilt everything 50/50 – cost, responsibilities, etc. And because they are best friends who genuinely have no romantic interest in each other, they feel that they can pull this off.

Pointless to continue divulging plot details, because if you’re already assuming where this movie is going, you’re (mostly) right. Trick is, where other romantic comedies are so dependent on their tested formula as a measure of monetary success, Friends with Kids seems to have no apparent interest in playing by the rules. This opens the film up to a litany of devastating (and devastatingly real) scenes in which we see the collapse of marriage and the regret of childbirth play out brutally before us.

Friends with Kids is being labeled as a comedy (hell, I’ve already used the word once as a means of describing it), and while it has moments of solid humor, it should be noted that this movie has an intensely raw edge to it that most, myself included, will not expect.

Take, for instance, an extended dinner conversation at a house in Vermont, where the gang (along with Jason’s new girlfriend, played by Megan Fox, and Julie’s new boyfriend, played by Edward Burns) is spending their New Year’s. The dinner starts well and fine, but as the conversation slowly narrows in on Jason and Julie’s life philosophies, we are privy to a laborious and painfully real argument of adult angst. That scene represents some of the best individual acting that each person involved has done. (Scott, Hamm, and Wiig, in particular, make the scene a tour de force.)

Friends with Kids was written and directed by Westfeldt, an actress who has made an impression in the indie scene by writing and starring in Kissing Jessica Stein and Ira & Abby (she’s also dating Hamm, incidentally). As Julie, Westfeldt is a revelation. She’s funny, amusing, and heartbreaking at all the right times in all the best ways. As is Scott, an actor I admire greatly (see HBO’s short-lived Tell Me You Love Me for evidence). Westfeldt’s script is also another element that shines here, and, if the film was released later in the year, could be a serious contender for awards consideration. Much like The Descendants, Friends with Kids is written how adults actually talk, which may seem like an odd thing to point out, but is a goddamn rarity among most films made today.

On the flip side, Friends with Kids is Westfeldt’s first-directed feature, and it has the stamp of such. Her editing is too rapid and her lighting is obnoxiously overbearing (never have I seen a New York bar that bathed in light). But these are very minor qualms, because the essence of Friends with Kids is one of unflinching honestly. My showing actually produced a few walkouts – all middle-aged women who had surely come to something they weren’t ready for. I say bring it on. Which is what this film does, and then some. A-

Silent House

Regardless of what you think of the end result, there’s something to be said about a movie (especially one buried in the many clichés of the horror genre) that attempts something different.

In the case of Silent House, the trick is that it is shot in one extended take using a consumer-grade camera. And, again, at 85 minutes long (minus time for opening and closing credits) that is a fine cinematographic accomplish, no matter how poorly you receive the actual film.

Silent House follows Sarah (Elizabeth Olsen) around for roughly an hour and 20 minutes as she initially walks from room to room with her father and uncle in the vast lake house they are remodeling (which has no power, obviously), before ultimately, unsuccessfully trying to exit the house from apparent psychopathic squatters. Thuds are heard from upstairs, flashlights slowly pan one room then another then another, chases are had, escapes are attempted, and so on.

Now, as someone who fancies himself an amateur independent filmmaker, it is impossible for me to watch a movie like Silent House and not be impressed. The same way it is impossible for me to not be completely blown away by Edward Burns’ Newlyweds. The filmmakers are using resources that most anyone has available to them, and they’re using them rather well. Was Silent House shot in one single take? No, it was not. And to be honest, it isn’t that difficult to tell. (Gustavo Hernández’s original The Silent House was shot with the Canon 5D Mark II in one authentic take, which is one of the reasons it is slightly better than the US version.)

One take or not, there’s more to enjoy about Silent House than its technical proficiency. For one, there’s Elizabeth Olsen who, for my money, is equally as good here as she was in Martha Marcy May Marlene. She’s often forced to convey a multitude of emotions without cutting or turning away from the lens. It’s a wholly impressive feat. As is the filmmakers’ extremely limited use of gore, and sound effects and music to evoke forced frights.

In short, I know Silent House has been garnering mediocre-to-bad reviews, and I can understand why. Me? Despite the fact that I accurately guessed the ending roughly 20 minutes in, I remained equally impressed and thrilled throughout. Which is saying something. B+

A Thousand Words

A Thousand Words is exactly as bad as you think it would be. There is no hint of redemption, no laughs to be had – only 91 minutes of sheer misery. (Side note: why do I find it oddly comforting when a movie so perfectly synchronizes with the expectations I set for it?)

Anyway, in the film, Eddie Murphy plays Jack McCall, a hotshit book agent (there are book agents?) who puts his annoyingly aggressive silver tongue to work by buying the publishing rights to a spiritual guru’s first self-help book.

After the deal is done, a medium-sized tree magically sprouts in McCall’s backyard and within minutes, McCall quickly discovers that for every word he speaks, a leaf falls from the tree. He then very quickly calculates that there are exactly 1,000 leaves left, before very quickly deducing that when the last leaf falls, he will die.

So there’s your gimmick: the loudmouth pusher is forced to live without speaking. Every single person reading this review has enjoyed at least one gimmick film in their life, so fair enough. I don’t have a problem with the gimmick; I take issue with inconsistencies within said gimmick.

To explain. Shortly after realizing the one-leaf-falling-per-word bit, McCall tests the limits of the tree by mouthing words silently and using popular hand jesters to see if that will result in loss of leaves. Lip-synching: leaves drop, the middle finger: two leaves down. So now that we’ve established  that the effect of verbal communication, mouthing words and hand gestures is a loss of leaves, McCall goes out and mouths words and makes limitless hand gestures, which obviously result in the loss of zero leaves.

Furthermore, the movie contains a reoccurring shtick of whatever happens to the tree, happens to McCall. When the gardener waters the tree, McCall sweats his ass off at a lunch meeting. When the tree is sprayed with chemicals, McCall acts drunk and stoned. But later, when the tree is watered again, no sweating whatsoever.

Does it make sense? Not in the slightest. Is it consistent? Of course not. Why? Because this is a goddamn Eddie Murphy movie, where all sense of logic must be suspended in order to make it out alive.

And I don’t mean suspending logic to accept the gimmick. When I see Liar Liar, I accept the fact that Jim Carrey will not be able to physical lie for an entire day. Can that realistically happen? No. The same way Mark Ruffalo and Elijah Wood cannot erase whole memories from people’s minds. Suspending disbelief and embracing the fantasy that a fictional movie is trying to place in the “real” world is not at all difficult. But that gimmick has to stay consistent in order for the film to even remotely work.

Yes, I’m looking too much into A Thousand Words. And yes, every single word I write in this review is roughly a second of my life that I won’t get back, but it needs to be made clear exactly why these movies suck as bad as they do.

Interestingly enough, I’ve just touched on one of those reasons. There are many more to tackle here, but expanding further would be ungodly futile. F 

15 Great Movies Under 85 Minutes

Although I find myself typically in defense of the long film, there’s something to be said for a great film that takes up very little of your time. The following movies only have two things in common: they’re remarkable, and they all clock in under an hour and 25 minutes (with one minor cheat).

With this list, I’m trying to prove that the length of a film really doesn’t matter. However much time a movie occupies is not what makes it great, it’s how long it manages to stay with you after the fact that is evidence of its brilliance.

City Lights (1931) – 87 minutes

Dir. by Charlie Chaplin

The first and only cheat on this list is Charlie Chaplin’s 87-minute masterpiece, which, for my money, remains the best film Chaplin ever made.

My introduction to silent cinema was mostly from the vision of foreigners. Battleship Potemkim, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Un Chien Andalou, and so on. To be honest, I waited a very long time to even venture into the world of Charlie Chaplin, in fear that the limitless praise would ultimately dull the experience. I was wrong.  City Lights is a film so in tune with itself, that it’s impossible to deny its lasting power. The final scene of this film is as moving as anything I’ve ever witnessed in cinema. City Lights single handedly justifies Chaplin's praise.

Other worthy, short Chaplin films:

The Circus – 70 mins.

Modern Times – 87 mins.

Rope (1948) – 80 minutes

Dir. By Alfred Hitchcock

In the very first scene of Rope, two yuppie assholes murder a fellow classmate, throw him in a box in the living room, and spend the next 75 minutes trying to persuade whoever else is around (including a very inquisitive Jimmy Stewart) that everything’s on the level.

Rope is mostly known for its use of extended takes. The film is comprised of just 10 cuts (a few of which are very tricky to spot), which, when you consider the filming equipment available in 1948, is quite an achievement. Rope isn’t nearly as good as many of Hitch’s other films, but its sense of claustrophobia is only propelled by its breezy running time.

Other worthy, short Hitchcock films:

The Lady Vanishes – 96 mins.

Blood of the Beasts (1949) – 20 minutes

Dir. By George Franju

The first time I watched Blood of the Beasts represents some of the most horrifying 20 consecutive minutes of my life. The film is a short documentary about a day in the life of three different Parisian slaughterhouses. And believe you me, Franju pulls no punches – he shows you everything you don’t want to see, and then some. I should mention that Blood of the Beasts is one of my Top 10 films of all time, because of, in part, what it accomplishes in such a brief amount of time. Watch it, but be prepared. Thank God it’s not in color. (Note: Blood of the Beasts can be found as a special feature on the Criterion Collection disc of Franju’s Eyes Without a Face.)

Another worthy, short George Franju film:

Eyes Without a Face – 88 mins.

Night and Fog (1955) – 32 minutes

Dir. by Alain Resnais

And to think, I saw Blood of the Beasts and Night and Fog on the same damn day, one right after the other. This documentary makes juxtaposition an artform, cutting back and forth between beautiful, lush fields of green grass and blue skies, with horrific black and white still photos of the Holocaust. The gorgeous land, we learn, is the current site of where the brutality of the Holocaust occurred.

Night and Fog is essential viewing for… everyone, really. Prepare to have the wind knocked out of you.

Other worthy, short Resnais films:

Hiroshima Mon Amour – 90 mins.

Last Year at Marienbad – 95 mins.

The Killing (1956) – 85 minutes

Dir. by Stanley Kubrick

It’s odd to think that, given the epic scope of 2001, Barry Lyndon, The Shining, Eyes Wide Shut and more, Stanley Kubrick actually used to make features with short running times. But did he ever.

The Killing uses a non-linear narrative (extremely rare for 1956) to tell the story of a horse track heist gone awry. The fast and furious pacing helps detract from the pointless spell-it-all-out narration (which was added in post production without Kubrick’s permission). At any rate, The Killing is a great, early gateway into the mind of a master.

Other worthy, short Kubrick films:

Killer’s Kiss – 67 minutes

Paths of Glory – 88 minutes

Pickpocket (1959) – 75 minutes

Dir. by Robert Bresson

Ah, what isn’t there to love about Pickpocket? Michel is a young, pathetic man who nabs people’s wallets in crowded areas to make ends meet. The kicker is, Bresson gives his subject a heart, which ultimately forces us to empathize with Michel in ways we didn’t expect. As a character study, Pickpocket is flawless, with immaculately-staged pickpocket scenes to boot. Fast, smooth, and uniquely entertaining.

Another worthy, short Bresson film:

Au Hasard Balthazar – 95 mins.

Vivre Sa Vie (1962) – 83 minutes

Dir. by Jean-Luc Godard

My favorite Godard film is his episodic telling of a bored young woman who takes work as a prostitute to help gain money for her acting career. The film (brilliantly staged in 12 distinct segments), contains everything a great Godard film should: long takes, beautiful photography, natural acting, appropriately jumpy editing, and a resolution that confirms the fact that the material could be presented through no other eyes than Godard’s.

Other worthy, short Godard films:

Breathless – 87 mins.

A Woman is a Woman – 85 mins.

Persona (1966) – 85 minutes

Dir. by Ingmar Bergman

Christ, where to even begin here. Ingmar Bergman is my favorite filmmaker and Persona is my favorite Bergman film. It’s a lucid, fever dream of a masterpiece that contains only two primary characters, one of which utters not more than five words throughout the entire film. Persona conveys that nonsensical… thing that only Bergman could pull off. It doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense (which isn’t exactly true, maybe), but everything about it is done which such precision, that you can’t help but acknowledged that you’re in the midst of a genius at the top of his game. There is nothing, nothing, I do not love about this film.

Other worthy, short Bergman films:

Winter Light – 81 mins.

The Virgin Spring – 89 mins.

Titicut Follies (1967) – 84 minutes

Dir. by Frederick Wiseman

The world of Frederick Wiseman is one of honestly via blood, sweat and tears. For Titicut Follies, Wiseman was given unprecedented access to the Bridgewater State Hospital for the criminally insane in Massachusetts, the result of which is as horrifying as anything you’ve seen from inside the walls of an American institution.

The film is filled with such horrific acts of brutality (always inflicted by the guards on the prisoners) that it is baffling to think Wiseman was actually allowed to film there. One sequence in particular has haunted me since the day I first saw the film. A naked man (who clearly suffers from mental retardation) is slapped and punched as he's marched to a room where he is shaven (without the use of water or cream) and then pushed back to his cell. Throughout this ordeal, a guard keeps taunting the prisoner with threats of what will happen if the inmate does not tidy up his cell. And then we see it: as the prisoner is thrown back in his cell, we notice the room is completely empty. No possessions to clutter the floor, no bed, no sheets – nothing. Just four concrete walls and a helpless naked man. What the fuck is there to tidy up?

Other worthy, short Wiseman films:

High School – 75 mins.

Boxing Gym – 91 mins.

Woyzeck (1979) – 82 minutes

Dir. by Werner Herzog

Although not very well known, Woyzeck remains my favorite film from the demented genius that is Werner Herzog. Having just wrapped filming his Nosferatu, Herzog used the same cast and crew to make this simple film about a tormented soldier, who, after being pushed too far by virtually everyone that comes into contact with him, commits a horrendous act of violence.

Herzog is a master of capturing absurd extremists (including himself) in various situations, and Woyzeck, which stars a never-better Klaus Kinski, is chief among the director’s best character studies. A warped yet oddly touching masterpiece.

Other worthy, short Herzog films:

Little Dieter Needs to Fly – 80 mins.

Lessons of Darkness – 50 mins.

La Soufrière – 30 mins.

Another Woman (1988) – 81 minutes

Dir. by Woody Allen

Often considered to be Allen’s Wild Strawberries, Another Woman concerns itself with Marion (Gena Rowlands), a cold, bitter novelist who combats her writer’s block by eavesdropping on patients who visit the therapist that lives next door to Marion. But it’s more than that. It’s about Marion’s life – her fleeting tenderness, her constant pain, her lack of any real feeling, and so on. The result is the finest work Woody Allen has ever put on screen. It’s swift, brutal and inexplicably moving.

Other worthy, short Woody Allen movies:

Broadway Danny Rose – 84 mins.

The Purple Rose of Cairo – 84 mins.

Following (1997) – 69 minutes

Dir. by Christopher Nolan

Following is about a bored guy who follows strangers around for the hell of it, before he accidentally gets sucked into a criminal underworld for tailing the wrong guy.

It’s a great, gimmicky film from one of contemporary cinema’s most revolutionary thinkers. The movie, shot in gritty black and white, feels appropriately raw, but is no less ingenious with its tricks. A great start to what has become one of the most innovation careers in the film medium.

Elephant (2003) – 81 minutes

Dir. by Gus Van Sant

There’s a reason Gus Van Sant’s Columbine-esque film won the Cannes Palme d’Or: it presents one of America’s darkest, most notorious days with an originality that can sparsely be matched.

The film is a handful of extremely long takes in which we follow various high schoolers around as they go through the motions of a seemingly ordinary day of school. It isn’t until the final 20 minutes that we realize what Van Sant has been doing: he’s spent an hour gently introducing us to a few people who are about to have their lives forever altered (or ended).

Elephant’s style is definitely not for everyone, but the power of its denouement makes it unquestionably harrowing. That is, if you can stomach it.

Another worthy, short Van Sant film:

Paranoid Park – 85 mins.

Before Sunset (2004) – 80 minutes

Dir. by Richard Linklater

As Ethan Hawke's Jesse says in the movie, no story is ever really over, a notion Before Sunset perfectly encapsulates. By catching up with would-be lovers Jesse and Celine nearly a decade after we last left them, we get to witness (in real time), what age has done for their maturity and sensibilities. Their life philosophies may have altered slightly, but goddamn if their love has only gotten stronger. A wholly essential film with as perfect a resolution as you’re likely to find.

Another worthy, short Linklater film:

Tape – 88 mins.

The Girlfriend Experience (2009) – 77 minutes

Dir. by Steven Soderbergh

I suppose I understand why The Girlfriend Experience was never given the full appreciation it deserved. It was filmed on a micro-budget, stars a porn star, is executed in a non-linear fashion, and was barely given any distribution push. No matter, The Girlfriend Experience represents everything I love about Steven Soderbergh. It’s a sharp story with crisp cinematography, a catchy original score, shifty editing and natural acting from people you weren't aware had it in them. In short, The Girlfriend Experience captures the essence of the indie side to Soderbergh. Whether he’s given $10 million or $100,000, there’s simply nothing the man can't do.

Other worthy, short Soderbergh films:

The Limey – 89 mins.

There are many other great films under 85 minutes that I did not list here. What are some of your favorites?

In Character: Kevin Pollak

Kevin Pollak’s got that perfect character actor thing. Or, more accurately, things. He’s around (with nearly 100 film and television roles to his credit), he’s noticeable (with that short stature, goofy smile and distinctive voice), and he’s multi talented, seamlessly swapping from heavy comedy to serious drama with each passing role. Easily one of the best character actors currently in the game.

Five Essential Roles

A Few Good Men (1992)

Lt. Sam Weinberg

Playing a character whose sole duty is to have “no responsibilities whatsoever,” Pollak gives his Sam Weinberg an expected heart in the brief time he has on screen.

Acting as third counsel to Tom Cruise’s cocky Lt. Kaffee and Demi Moore’s stern Lt. Galloway, Weinberg does what most research lawyers do in a high profile case: sit quietly on his side of the courtroom and do whatever lead counsel says. But there are two scenes in particular in Aaron Sorkin’s brilliant script that gives Weinberg a chance to shine. One comes in the form of an unexpected outburst in which Weinberg confides in Kaffee and Galloway just how much he loathes their clients.  The second, much more heartfelt moment is when he tells a belligerent Kaffee how truly fine a lawyer he considers Kaffee to be. Funny, tender at appropriately lacerating. A remarkable performance.

The Usual Suspects (1995)

Todd Hockney

Todd Hockney, without a doubt, the one guy who didn't give a fuck about anybody. Pollak has two distinct personas as an actor: the straight-laced dramatist, and the off-the-wall humorist. Hockney is a reserved member of the latter group, for which I am forever grateful.

Everything that comes out of this guy’s mouth is fucking gold. “I can put you in Queens on the night of the highjacking,” a cop insinuates. “Really,” Hockney muses, “I live in Queens. Whatta got a team of monkeys workin’ around the clock on this one?” Or even the way he tells his cohorts that he’s “hot and fuckin’ bored,” while waiting for Mr. Kobayashi. He nails every line he’s given.

Hockney is very close to being my favorite Pollak performance. I love everything about it.

Casino (1995)

Phillip Green

Call me crazy, but my favorite performance in Martin Scorsese’s Casino (aside from James Woods’s string of never-ending fuckups that is Lester Diamond) is Pollak’s Phillip Green. Green is the only real innocent character in the entire film. He’s middle aged, Jewish, with an honest face and virtually no sense of what is happening behind the scenes of the casino he’s apparently in charge of. He’s the ultimate lackey.

Really, who doesn’t love Pollak’s reaction to Robert De Niro flipping out that his muffin has fewer blueberries than Pollak’s? Priceless.

The Whole Nine Yards (2000)

Janni Gogolak

Back to the out and out comedy, Janni Gogolak was, for me, arguably the most significant performance of Pollak’s career. Up until this film, I had no idea the guy could do this level of comedy, with voices and flawless impersonations to boot.

Mind you, The Whole Nine Yards is nothing more than an admitted silly slapstick comedy, but Pollak has a complete blast with it. Janni is a character so off the rails (with this actions, his voice, his way of thinking), that we cannot help but laugh. He reminds me of Benicio Del Toro’s performance in The Usual Suspects, oddly enough. We can’t understand a goddamn thing he says, but we can't stop laughing as a result.

Red State (2011)

Brooks

I never got around to writing a full review of Kevin Smith’s Red State, but I was adamant on Twitter and in my Halloween Movie Marathon write-up about how impressed I was with a film I virtually expected nothing from.

Many things contributed to this, but seeing Pollak pop up (if ever so briefly) as a Special Agent with the ATF, immediately gave me hope. When I saw him in the film, my first thought was that, because he’s in it, maybe Red State wasn’t going to be that bad. Granted, Pollak is… taken out of the equation about as quickly as he’s brought in, but if an actor has the ability to change your perception of a film instantaneously, then that’s saying something.

Best of the Best

Deterrence (2000)

President Walter Emerson

It’s a real shame that Kevin Pollak’s best performance is tucked away in a film that was never given the proper push it deserved. No matter, in Rod Lurie’s political thriller, Pollak plays a fictional leader of the free world who assumed office only because he was Vice President when the President died. Now it’s campaign time, and Emerson and a few members of his staff are forced to sit out a wicked snowstorm in a Colorado diner.

Shortly after he arrives at the diner, which is occupied by two employees and a handful of townies, news breaks that the (fictional) leader of Iraq has invaded Kuwait. If the Iraqi leader does not retreat from Kuwait, Emerson explains via a live television broadcast from the diner, Emerson will order a nuclear bomb to be dropped on Baghdad.

Deterrence, as a film, definitely has its flaws. But what it does contain is a flawless lead performance from Pollak. By all accounts, Emerson acts very hastily in his threat to drop the nuke. Why? We never really know, which helps add layers and hidden dimensions to the character. The screenplay is to thank for this, but Pollak is responsible for pulling it off. It’s odd, having rewatched Deterrence recently, I’m not entirely sure that I like President Emerson (other than his nuclear threat, he presents himself as an ordinary, likeable guy). So while I may not agree with Emerson’s politics, you can bet your ass I respect the hell out of the guy playing him.

Other Notable Roles

Willow (1988)

Grumpy Old Men (1993)

Wayne’s World 2 (1993)

That Thing You Do! (1996)

Buffalo ’66 (1998)

She’s All That (1999)

The Aristocrats (2005)

Hostage (2005)

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

Detachment

“Detachment” is be the best, most accurate movie title I’ve seen in quite some time, because that is precisely what Tony Kaye’s new narrative feature is – detached.

It’s disconnected, from its audience, from its actors, from itself; it’s aloof, seemingly without purpose and/or without the care of purpose. It is a discombobulated mess with clunky direction, a weak script, flawless cinematography and dynamic acting.

In the film, Adrien Brody plays a New York City substitute teacher who is prone to taking extended jobs, just enough time to reform a troubled class and split before he gets attached to the school or his students.  He comes in, makes a difference, then gets out before he actually starts to give a damn.

We’ve seen this movie hundreds of times, the radical-teacher-making-a-difference-in-the-ghetto-school movie. The students learn respect, the teachers learn humility, and all’s well that ends well. But because this formula is getting as old as cops vs. robbers, filmmakers are forced to put a fresh spin on it in order to make their films unique. In Kaye’s vision, that spin manifests itself with sexually explicit dialogue, documentary-esque interviews, equal use of black & white and color, and, most importantly, an unwavering bleakness.

It should work, because no one knows bleak better than Tony Kaye, the man responsible for the marvelous American History X, and the flawless abortion documentary Lake of Fire. But Detachment, as it were, forces the shittiness of its characters’ lives down our throats to the point that we’d rather stop breathing than keep watching.  This isn’t to say the movie is too graphic to handle (quite the contrary, in fact), it’s just too much for the sake of being too much.

For example, midway through the film, Brody’s character has invited a teenage prostitute (she can’t be older than 14) to live with him. And although he has no interest in her sexually, the first night she stays over, he gets down on his knees, spreads her legs open, looks up her skirt and calmly asks if she’s, “been raped recently.” She coolly replies no, and then they finish their conversation.

And that’s how most of the scenes in Detachment play out: awkwardly written exchanges sandwiched between it’s-raw-so-it-must-be-real scene development. This, mind you, is not the fault of any of the actors involved. Including Brody, Christina Hendricks, Lucy Lui, Blythe Danner, James Caan, Marcia Gay Harden, William Peterson and more, all contribute fine performances. It’s a shame a cast like this wasn’t given better material to work with.

These kinds of films are too prevalent to stand out on their own, so I give Kaye credit for trying something new. But of recent memory, I can recall only one film in which the execution of a teacher overcoming the odds was inventive, yet wildly riveting. That would be Laurent Cantet’s The Class from 2008. You’re far better off hunting that down than Kaye’s misfire. D

Project X

How deep and profound a critical analysis am I expected to dive into for a movie like Project X? Seriously, the film is a low-grade, found footage flick about three high school losers who set out to throw an epic house party (and do), as a means of claiming a shred of popularity.

There are enough booze, boobs, and barbiturates to fill three seasons of a MTV reality show, let alone this 88-minute romp. The marketing materials have likened Project X to Superbad meets The Hangover. I don’t necessarily think that’s fair. Project X, far more than those other films, is completely aware of how fucking absurd it is. Which, dare I say, adds to its ingenuity.

Is the film ridiculous? Of course. Is it completely illogical? No doubt. But, at times, it’s also fun as hell. Worthy of an $11 admission price? God no. Something to watch while pregamming with your friends before you hit the town? Why not.

It’s Thomas’s birthday, but it’s also his parents’ anniversary, which is why Thomas’s best friend, a beyond annoying little pissant named Costa, plans to throw Thomas a party while his parents are away.

They invite everyone they bump into at school, Costa sends e-mail and text blasts, puts commercials on radio stations, you name it. Needless to say, the party takes off in a major way. Fifty people turns into 200 turns into 1,000. DJs are spinning in two separate rooms, girls swim naked, ecstasy is devoured by the handful, liquor is gulped by the gallon, a small dog is shotgunned a few pulls of weed – you get it.

And this is how things more or less go for the film’s center 50 minutes. Some of it is funny, most of it is too much. When the party hits its peak, the cops finally decide to show up, only to leave after Costa owns them with some legal mumbo-jumbo. The next time the cops arrive, they are in SWAT gear and a deranged drug dealer is decorating the neighborhood with a flamethrower.

So, yes, Project X is complete bullshit, void of any stretch of realism (which, I suppose, is the exact opposite of the ungodly useless found footage narrative device). In reality, the cops would’ve busted the party up by 10 p.m., long before the news helicopters and the floating dog and the testicle-punching midget and the sunken Benz ever showed up or occurred.

Idiocracy defines Project X. But it’s also what the film embraces. Do with that information what you will, but if you liked the trailer, then you’ll dig the movie. Me? I really enjoyed the soundtrack, so that counts for something, right? D+

Wanderlust

In order for you to even moderately enjoy Wanderlust, you have to possess two things: a fondness for David Wain’s films and the ability to get comedic enjoyment out of Paul Rudd playing Paul Rudd.

My possession of these two attributes is often outweighed by a sense of overindulgence and annoyance, but if you can sit back and enjoy, then Wanderlust should make for an amusing 98 minutes.

In the film, married New Yorkers, George and Linda (Paul Rudd and Jennifer Aniston) flee the city after a string of failures to live with George’s brother, Rick (Ken Marino) in Atlanta. But because Rick is such a perverse, two-timing asshole, the love birds decide to shack up at Elysium, a nearby commune that they recently discovered. The practices at Elysium are simple: everyone shares everything (lovers included), no meat is consumed, marijuana and other psychotropic substances are ingested regularly; basically, no bad vibes, no bad karma, it’s all about love.

Watching George and Linda get acclimated to Elysium’s customs proves to be rather amusing. And the commune’s troupe of characters produces nothing short of comedic bliss. The wildly underrated Justin Theroux hams it up as Elysium’s “leader,” Seth, while Malin Akerman, Lauren Ambrose, Alan Alda, Joe Lo Truglio, and more, all help move the story along. And then the inevitable happens: Wain, never a filmmaker to trust his instructs, feels the need to introduce a useless plot halfway through the film (about how rich moguls want to purchase the land Elysium rests on to build a casino), and from here on out, the jokes become as stale as the story.

Look, Wain’s previous films (including Wet Hot American Summer, The Ten, and Role Models) all have their moments, but they never know when enough is enough. They always start with fresh originality, then slowly ruin themselves with formula. He has a few very funny core people that are always involved in his projects (Marino, Michael Ian Black and Michael Showalter, to name a few), but I wish they relied more on the jokes to pass the time.

And as for Rudd, well, that’s a battle I’ve been in the minority on for quite some time. Rudd, much like Woody Allen, only knows how to play one character. Sometimes it works, most of the time it just gets old quickly.  I often find myself tuning him out without even realizing it. It’s a shame that so many (American) comedy actors think they have to play the same character over and over for the audience to respond positively.

Oh well, like I said, if you dig Wain and Rudd, Wanderlust is going to work for you. If you’re like me, you’ll just be wishing it was over long before it is. C-

My Favorite Scene: Se7en

David Fincher’s flawless crime masterpiece, Se7en, is filled with many a thrilling sequence. The revelatory chase through the crummy apartment complex, the cross-cutting police interrogation of the sleazy porn dungeon owner and its remarkably disturbed client, the discovery of what hundreds of air fresheners are concealing, the “WHAT WAS IN THE BOX WHAT WAS IN THE BOOOX?!”, the reveal of John Doe and his bloodied fingers, and on and on.

But, for me, the film produces no better, more effective thrill than when Detectives David Mills (Brad Pitt) and William Somerset (Morgan Freeman) discover the clue hidden behind Doe’s GREED killing.

“Clue” may not be accurate. More like tease, or ultimate fuck with. A brilliant, Hey, I’m smarter than you, catch me if you can.

To backtrack. After Somerset convinces Mills and their superior that they have a nutjob killing people according to the seven deadly sins, Mills hesitantly embraces Somerset’s intellect by inviting him to help solve the case. Several thoroughly detailed, and wholly essential sequences take place (because really, there’s nothing shown in Se7en that isn’t necessary for something later in the film), before Somerset and Mills realize that something is off about the GREED murder, in which a crooked lawyer was stabbed to death in his fancy office.

The detectives eventually show the lawyer’s grieving wife photos from the crime scene (in which the gory details of her husband’s newly deceased body are amusingly covered in Post-It notes), and she soon spots an abstract painting on the wall hanging upside down. Mills and Somerset go to the lawyer’s office and take the painting off the wall. Nothing. They set it on the ground and examine the back of the artwork. Nothing. Somerset removes the brown paper from the back of the painting. Nothing. “There, must, be, something,”  Somerset quietly mummers. Mills makes jokes of frustration, angered by the killer’s obvious enjoyment. Somerset jumps on the table below where the painting hung, he gets out a pocket-sized fingerprint kit, and then it all clicks.

We brilliantly, historically, exceptionally jump cut from Freeman’s inquisitive face to the same wall in extreme close-up, brightened by neon blue lights. A lab tech blows white powder away with a can of air. “Oh…man,” the tech says.

We cut to Pitt and Freeman, who are staring at the wall from a few feet away. Pitt turns away, framing the shot in a Persona-esque two-shot. And then we’re privy to the very best line deliveries of both Pitt and Freeman’s careers.

“Honestly,” Pitt whispers, “Have you ever seen anything like this?” The camera pulls focus to Freeman, and after the briefest of moments, Freeman offers a stunning, “No.”

Pitt looks back at the wall, and all is revealed – HELP ME has been crudely written with fingerprints (which aren’t even the lawyer’s, but I’m getting ahead of myself.)

I was 12 the first time I saw Se7en, and up until this point in the film, I was convinced that I was watching a glorified episode of Law and Order. But when this scene occurred (which, if I haven’t made myself clear, is arguably the smartest sequence I’ve ever seen in a police procedural film), I knew I was in for something different; something that had no interest in cutting corners or making things easy for its audience.

I love Brad Pitt and I love Morgan Freeman, but their respective performances in Se7en have yet to be met by anything else they’ve done. This scene, I feel, is reason enough for that argument. 

Other installments of My Favorite Scene include:

Brokeback Mountain

Babel

Traffic

Crash

GoodFellas

Sleepers

Leaving Las Vegas

Platoon

Philadelphia

He Got Game

Fargo

In Character Special Edition: Erland Josephson

This past Sunday, minutes before the Oscar telecast was set to begin, news broke that Erland Josephson, a Swedish actor of incomparable skill, had passed away from Parkinson’s at the age of 88.

When I heard the news, I was utterly devastated. For fans of Ingmar Bergman (a group I most certainly belong to), Josephson’s work as one of Bergman’s troupe of actors was necessary to the success of every Bergman film he was in. And while I may find myself more enticed by Gunnar Björnstrand’s intensity and Max von Sydow’s innocence, there really was no other actor quite like Josephson.

So, for this very special edition of In Character, I’m going to change the format up a bit. Instead of examining Josephson’s entire body of work, I’m highlighting his best roles in Bergman films only. Josephson did incredible work outside of Bergman’s imagination, but it is here that I wish to stay.

Five Essential Roles

Hour of the Wolf (1968)

Baron von Merkens

Josephson made a career out of playing subtle creeps – quiet, stoic men who carry a single facial expression of inviting warmth and ultimate dread.

One of his earliest, and creepiest characters that fit this bill was Baron von Merkens, who, as the rich owner of an island, was privy to many exciting things, including hosting intimate dinners with neighbors, initiating psychosexual fantasies and (possibly) partaking in a little playful murder.

Not too many actors can scare the ever-living shit out of you by simply smiling amicably in a dark corner. But as soon as you see the Baron, you know to be afraid. Very very afraid.

The Passion of Anna (1969)

Elis Vergerus

Again playing the creepy, educated friend to Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann’s characters, Elis Vergerus is one cold, odd ball. Already a successful architect when we met him, Elis fancies himself an amateur photographer, taking pictures of very specific, very random acts of everyday life, like people eating or committing acts of violence.

He’s the type of man who has no hesitation in staring a person down beyond comfort, or who is completely unfazed (if not oddly overjoyed) that his wife cheated on him for roughly a year. Yet another morose, wildly engaging character from a man who often appeared to be doing a lot less than he actually was.

Scenes from a Marriage (1973)

Johan

There’s no point in mincing words here: Josephson’s role as Johan, one half of the marriage chronicled in Bergman’s epic masterpiece, is by far the best character the actor ever played.

Johan is a despicable man who holds little repute for his life partner, Marianne (Liv Ullman). He lies, cheats, fights, you name it. A fiercely proud intellectual who has no real idea how arrogant he is (or, possibly, exactly how arrogant he is). But that’s just one side to this deeply complicated man, and because Bergman spends nearly five hours fleshing Johan and Marianne out (five essential hours, mind you), we get to know Johan as well as we know any Bergman character.

I can’t dare continue to go into the trials and tribulations that are presented in the six scenes of this marriage. But know that the film is as honest a depiction of marital life as I’ve ever seen. It’s the (often) good, the (endless) bad, and the (heartbreaking) ugly. It’s the role of a lifetime, and Josephson nails it.

Face to Face (1976)

Dr. Tomas Jacobi

As the kind, loyal doctor who befriends Liv Ullmann’s renowned psychiatrist, Dr. Jenny Isaksson, Josephson does a good job at keeping Face to Face grounded, even when it goes off the rails. Oh hell, who am I kidding: Face to Face is a batshit ass crazy movie with a madass crazy lead character –  a woman who’s as completely fucked up as her very disturbed patients. And while Jacobi uses empathy to keep Jenny from going over the edge, she still manages to do just that a few times over.

To be clear: Face to Face is primarily Ullmann’s show (all due respect to Faye Dunaway’s Oscar-winning Network performance, but to even put her and Ullmann in the same category is a grand miscarriage of awards justice), but Josephson, as always, manages to leave his indelible stamp.

Fanny and Alexander (1982)

Isak Jacobi

Oh how I love Isak Jacobi, the moral center of Bergman’s operatic masterpiece, Fanny and Alexander. Josephson, as mentioned, was known for playing cold, domineering men with little regard to the people in his life, which makes his Isak such a welcome revelation.

As Isak, the nothing-but-kind Jewish art dealer who is a great friend to the expansive Ekdahl family, Josephson is affable, persistent and wholly essential. Without him, Fanny and Alexander would be void of its best, most magical scene, which involves Josephson kneeling in front of a large trunk, screaming at the ceiling, inexplicably making the impossible happen.

Fanny and Alexander is a remarkable film, full of more brilliantly grandiose sequences than any five films combined. And everytime I watch it, I find myself more drawn to Isak’s sympathetic sentiment than ever before. It’s no coincidence that once the film shifts primarily to the Jacobi residence, we’re witness to the film’s most magical moments. With Josephson at the helm, you see, there’s very little that can’t happen.

Best of the Best

Saraband (2003)

Johan

I avoided Saraband the same way I avoid reading the final chapter of a flawless book. Not only was it Bergman’s final film, but it was the last “well known” film of his (i.e., post-Smiles of a Summer Night) that I had left to see. I avoided it to the point that I had virtually no idea what was it about. A few months ago, I finally relented and, much to my surprise, came to find out that Saraband was a sequel to Scenes from a Marriage. It did not come as a surprise, however, that not only was the film remarkable, but that its two leads hadn’t lost an ounce of their edge.

Thirty years after we last left them, Johan and Marianne have been long divorced, leading very separate lives with very separate life philosophies. Marianne has grown into a kind, nostalgic woman, while Johan has evolved into a bitter, remorseless man who is loathed by his grown son, Henrik. And while the reemergence of Marianne into Johan’s life doesn’t hinder the tumultuous relationship Johan has with Henrik, it doesn’t help Johan become any more likable, either.

When I first drafted this edition of In Character, I instinctively placed Scenes from a Marriage in this slot. But then I sat and reflected. I remembered Josephson’s pained, weathered face in Saraband. The grumpy old man who sees no point in carrying on, but does so anyway with pointless bile. I remembered the scene in which Johan, after receiving a shocking bit of tragic news, furiously strips down naked in front of Marianne, only to climb into bed with her, resting gently into a fetal position, silently begging to be consoled. It’s as moving an image as anything found in Josephson’s impeccable career; one hell of a swan song from one of cinema’s finest actors.

Other Notable Roles (Bergman or otherwise)

In The Magician

The Magician (1958)

Cries and Whispers (1972)

Beyond Good and Evil (1977)

Autumn Sonata (1978)

Nostalghia (1983)

The Sacrifice (1986)

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (1988)

Faithless (2000)

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