Film School Rejects » Clayton L. White

Transformers

Clayton L. White — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 11:00:29 +0000

Michael Bay has been polluting the cinematic world for well over a decade now. His films have gone from bad (Bad Boys) to worse (The Island), and he’s established himself as a sort of modern day Edward D. Wood Jr., albeit one with far more money in his wallet, and far less passion in his heart. But Bay may have found his niche. His latest, and greatest, hack-attack is Transformers, arguably the longest and most stylish car commercial ever committed to celluloid, based on the (somehow) extremely popular toy line. Transformers is a film for the children of the 1980’s. It’s a veritable love letter to all of those who don’t want to grow up, who want to be Toys ‘R’ Us kids forever, and on that level, the film succeeds. For everyone else, though, the film is a chore.

Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf) is your average teenager. He’s anything but popular, he’s desperately saving up for his first car, and he has a crush on local hottie Mikaela (Megan Fox). His parents (played wonderfully by Kevin Dunn and Julie White) are obviously well to do, but they are trying to teach Sam the value of a dollar. He has to raise $2,000 for a car, and, if he does so, his Dad will match him dollar for dollar. Because he apparently doesn’t have a job, Sam has resorted to selling some of the artifacts left over from his great-great-grandfather’s days as a famous explorer. What Sam doesn’t know however, is that his grandpappy’s spectacles have been etched with the coordinates of the “Allspark,” a giant cube that a bunch of alien robots are desperately trying to find.

Oblivious to the fact that the fate of the world lies in his hands, Sam is finally able to get himself a car: a rusted out canary yellow Z-28. There’s something wrong, though, and Sam’s car starts acting kind of funky. It runs though, and it gets him where he wants to go, notably a lame party near a lake where Sam tries his damnedest to impress Mikaela. Her jock boyfriend gets in the way and Sam retreats. Mikaela, pissed at her boyfriend for being a jerk, hits the road and begins the long walk home. All of a sudden, Sam’s Camaro starts blasting out The Cars’ “Drive” (nice touch), and the young man seizes his chance. He persuades Mikaela to get in the car, and slowly, the mismatched pair begins the long process of falling in love.

Meanwhile, in the Middle East, a US military base is under attack by vehicles gone haywire. A helicopter transforms into a giant robot and lays waste to everything in sight. The few remaining survivors, led by Josh Duhamel and Tyrese Gibson, manage to flee the area, only to find their lives threatened by a massive mechanical scorpion. The Pentagon gets word of this and the Secretary of Defense (Jon Voight, pretty much parodying himself) has resorted to some extreme measures: hiring a bunch of amateur techno-freaks to figure out just what kind of force they’re up against. In the middle of all this deliberation, a boom box on Air Force One turns into an annoying spider-like thing that hacks through the defense network, locating Sam and his antique spectacles.

Then all hell breaks loose.

A rogue police car stalks and attacks Sam in a parking garage. What looks to be the end for Sam turns into a day of discovery when his Camaro transforms into Bumblebee, a gentle but strong robot who communicates through his radio. Bumblebee saves Sam’s life, and then sends out a beacon (kind of like the Bat Signal that Commissioner Gordon uses) to his fellow Autobots (good guys), led by the incredibly boring Peterbilt truck, Optimus Prime. With the Autobots’ help, Sam must retrieve the spectacles and find the Allspark before the Decepticons (bad guys), directed by the evil Megatron (voiced quite unintelligibly by Hugo Weaving), beat them to the punch.

Yeah, there’s quite a bit of plot for a movie based on a bunch of action figures, but it’s all in vain. After an enjoyable first half, the film disintegrates into nothing more than scenes of robots blowing shit up. The special effects are great and all, but there is nothing under the surface, and there sure as hell isn’t more than meets the eye to these robots. Can you really care about a bunch of machines that are practically indistinguishable from each other? Children probably will, and most of them will love this film, but adults will have their fill and start to yawn. The bulk of the cast does nothing to help matters, and most of them are nothing short of horrible.

Megan Fox is your typical window dressing and eye candy; she’s nice on the eyes, but hell on the ears. Duhamel and Gibson are pretty boys that are in good shape, and they’ll most likely please some of the female crowd. Voight is one note, as he has been since the late 1970’s, and John Turturro shows up to prove that he can act badly too. The dialogue, courtesy of writers Alex Kurtzman and Robert Orci, famous for their work with J.J. Abrams (another hack of all trades) is as infantile as you would expect, and Bay’s direction is as flashy (and useless) as usual. But to his credit, this is the right material for him. As much as I could (and should) dog on this film, I’m going to let quite a bit slide, it is about giant alien robots after all. No, Bay still has no sense of pacing or suspense (one would think that Co-Producer Steven Spielberg could have helped out in that department), but he knows exactly how to utilize slow motion, and there was, at least, one time when I muttered to myself, under my breath of course, the word “Sweet.” Heretical, I know, but I couldn’t help it.

When you really get down to it, though, there is one reason, and one reason only, to sit through this film: Shia LaBeouf. The kid is fantastic, and his scenes in the beginning of the film have an almost domestic comedy feel to them that is extremely enjoyable. Remember Richard Dreyfuss in American Graffiti and Jaws and Close Encounters of the Third Kind? That’s LaBouf here. He is the perfect audience surrogate, bringing to mind not only Dreyfuss, but also Jack Lemmon, Tom Hanks, and even Jimmy Stewart. He has a wide-eyed sense of wonder and curiosity that’s perfect for his role, but he’s also quick-witted, charming, intelligent, and natural. Now, I’m certainly not going to complain about the fact that Megan Fox knows exactly the right moments to arch her back and stick out her ass, but girls like her are a dime a dozen in Hollywood. Talent like LaBeouf is extremely rare. If you’re going to see this film, see it for him.

There are other problems: The focus on Chevy emblems is hard to swallow (although a transforming Mountain Dew vending machine is possibly the most clever product placement since Spielberg used Reese’s Pieces in E.T.), and a distasteful image of Megatron, in jet form, cutting a building in half brings back painful memories of 9/11. But most should be forgiven here, I mean, let’s face it; the Transformers toys and cartoons were dumb when I was a kid, you can’t really expect the movie to be much better. This is a movie made for juveniles, by juveniles, nothing more. Try to be aware of that in the back of your mind while keeping your eyes on LaBeouf, and you might have a decent enough time… just don’t try and justify it to yourself.

The Last Wave

Clayton L. White — Thu, 21 Jun 2007 21:41:23 +0000

In the mid 1970’s through the early ’80’s a small group of filmmakers emerged from Down Under to create a sort of Australian New Wave. This group consisted of directors like George Miller (Mad Max)and Gillian Armstrong (My Brilliant Career), and actors such as Judy Davis, Mel Gibson, and Nicole Kidman. All would go on to careers in Hollywood, but it was Peter Weir who paved the way. After stunning audiences with 1975’s Picnic at Hanging Rock, Weir went on to create one of the most unique and consistent pedigrees of any active filmmaker. His films include Gallipoli, Witness, The Mosquito Coast, The Truman Show, and Master and Commander, but it was in his early work that he truly proved his worth. The Last Wave was released in 1977, and it serves as further confirmation not only of Weir’s genius, but of how undervalued and overlooked his work has become.

David Burton (Richard Chamberlain) is a young lawyer in Sydney who specializes in corporate taxation. He is fairly successful, living an upper middle class existence with his wife and two young daughters. Lately he has been having trouble sleeping due to wicked dreams about a man standing outside his window. Late one Sunday afternoon, Burton gets a call asking him to defend a group of Aborigines accused of murdering one of their own. He meets with the defendants, only to find them silent and uncooperative. He is intrigued nonetheless, and he invites one of the Aborigines named Chris (David Gulpilil) over for dinner. Realizing that Chris is the man from his dreams, Burton begins to suspect something supernatural at work. On top of all of this, the city of Sydney is experiencing strange weather patterns with large hail, mud, and black rain falling from the sky at seemingly random times. Both Burton’s dreams and Sydney’s weather intensify as the weeks go on, driving the film to a haunting, apocalyptic conclusion.

As with all of Weir’s films, there is more here than meets the eye. The film works well as a thriller, but it’s the clash between two completely different cultures that makes up the heart of the film. Very few films have accurately portrayed Aboriginal life, Nicolas Roeg’s brilliant Walkabout (also starring Gulpilil) being the exception, but Weir manages to give us some insight into a deeply fascinating world that we can probably never fully understand. The interaction between Chamberlain and Gulpilil adds to this by showing us a determined man who is struggling to get to the bottom of things only to find that some mysteries are better left unsolved.

In Picnic at Hanging Rock, Weir and his gifted cinematographer Russel Boyd played tricks with our minds, making us see images in the faces of the rocks and cliffs where four girls mysteriously disappeared. Here, they give us frightening, almost surreal images of water that build enormous tension. A bathtub overflows, forcing water to drip down a staircase, water flows from a car radio, water even rushes down the walls of a house. With all of this craziness going on, Chamberlain gives a surprisingly effective performance since his character is as confused and scared as the audience. The eclectic score by Charles Wain heightens the hypnotic effect with some very strange sounds, most of which come from a didgeridoo.

This is a very odd movie that combines the thriller genre with disaster movie, detective story, horror film, and even adds a hint of a fish-out-of-water-tale. The film can be somewhat confusing at times, not to mention dated, but it stands tall as a completely unique vision of the Apocalypse. It fits well into Weir’s oeuvre, since most of his films have to do with an individual’s conflict with outside cultures and the forces of nature. This is a haunting, almost lyrical film that provides more evidence to support Weir’s talent and singular vision. It is available on a great DVD released by the Criterion Collection (who also put out Hanging Rock), and it is definitely worth a look, maybe even two.

The Twilight Samurai

Clayton L. White — Sat, 12 May 2007 05:13:41 +0000

Wait a second. A samurai movie that focuses on relationships and family? That’s right. Yoji Yamada’s The Twilight Samurai is unlike any samurai film I’ve ever seen, and that’s a good thing. The story is set in mid 1800’s Japan, and the focus is a man named Sebei Iguchi (Hiroyuki Sanada), a former master swordsman who is now scraping to get by. He works as a low level accountant and must support his two young daughters and his senile mother by also working in the fields and making insect cages. His wife has recently died from consumption, and because of the funeral, he is in debt up to his ears. His co-workers invite him out for drinks everyday after work; Sebei humbly refuses because he has to get home to his daughters. His colleagues make fun of him behind his back, calling him Twilight because he rushes home before dark, and they complain about his smell. Sebei doesn’t have time to take a bath, doesn’t have time to care for himself, only his family. He is not a pathetic man, and he is content with his life. When his great uncle scolds him and tells him he needs to find a new wife, Sebei disagrees. He enjoys being able to watch his children grow old, even though he sometimes gets angry that his mother doesn’t recognize him.

One day, Sebei runs into his childhood friend/sweetheart Tomoe. Tomoe is recently divorced from a cruel man that abused her. Sebei and Tomoe spend the evening enjoying each other’s company, and reminiscing about their childhood. When night falls, Sebei accompanies Tomoe back to her brother’s house, only to find that Tomoe’s ex-husband is there, drunk and trying to start a fight. Sebei restrains him, and the drunkard challenges him to a duel. Sebei reluctantly agrees, and the fight is scheduled for the following day. At home, Sebei tries to sharpen up on his old tricks. He’s rusty and he knows it, but he honors his agreement and shows up for the fight. Instead of a sword, Sebei shows up with large stick. He doesn’t want to kill his opponent, only teach him a lesson, and that he does. The word spreads about the fight, and one day Sebei is called upon to assassinate a rogue samurai. He is offered a handsome reward for his service, but Sebei doesn’t want the task. He has too much to lose, and he’s not as quick as used to be. After realizing that he has no choice in the matter, he reluctantly agrees, and the audience is lead into one of the most unique climactic battles I’ve ever seen.

Now if it sounds like I’m giving too much away, I’m not. The plot line is almost inconsequential; this film is about character, not action. Over the course of two hours, director Yamada pulls us in slowly and gives us a character that we completely believe. Sebei is a normal everyman. He is not the typical Kurosawa samurai; he is completely human. He loves his family, and they love him. He pines for Tomoe, even though he believes she is too good to be with a petty samurai like himself. This is a man with real life, everyday problems that happens to be good with a sword. Hiroyuki Sanada is absolutely brilliant in the role of Sebei. American audiences may know Sanada from The Last Samurai, and Danny Boyle’s upcoming Sunshine, but Japanese audiences have had the chance to see this man’s talent for years. This actor has displayed more range in one film than any recent American actor has shown throughout their career. He has the dramatic chops to pull off the humility in Sebei, and he can wield a sword well enough to give us a hint of what this character may have been in the past.

Sanada’s performance is reason enough to recommend this film, but Yamada’s direction is a marvel in and of itself. The dramatic scenes are just as good as anything Yasujiro Ozu (Tokyo Story) ever dealt out, and the action scenes, although there are very few, would make Kurosawa proud. The climax itself is one of the most brilliantly timed action set pieces ever put on film. High praise, you say? You better believe it. Now, I know nothing about Yamada. His biography on the DVD says that he has directed over 80 films, and that by now he is about 76 years old. Evidently, this is the only film of his to get any sort of release in the U.S., and I’m here to tell you, that’s a shame. This is a remarkable film that only a master could make. It has been compared to Unforgiven, and while I can see the comparison, I would venture to say that this film may be better. Eastwood’s Will Munny was a stone cold killer. Sure, he cleaned up for a while, but in the end he came full circle. In this film, Sebei is not a bad man, he is a respectable man, a man of honor – the Jimmy Stewart of samurai, if you will. The last thing he has ever wanted was to take a life, and this is where The Twilight Samurai succeeds. We see ourselves in Sebei, and all we can do is hope that everything turns out alright for him.

Notes on a Scandal

Clayton L. White — Sat, 12 May 2007 04:42:00 +0000

Based on the novel by Zoe Heller, adapted for the screen by Patrick Marber (Closer), and starring Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett, Notes on a Scandal seems to be a typical bigger budget extension of Masterpiece Theater, so you can imagine my surprise after putting the DVD in. This is a film that works in spite of itself, taking all of the characteristics of a typical British melodrama, including Dench, and using them to their fullest effect. Until the overwrought finale, this film is quite riveting, with Dench practically burning up the screen in what is easily the best performance of her career.

Dench plays Barbara, a history teacher who is hard on her students, and even harder on her fellow teachers, that is, of course, until the new art teacher, Sheba Hart (Blanchett), shows up. Sheba is different from the other teachers, more upper class, more attractive, and definitely more naive. She thinks that she can “make a difference” in the lives of her students. Barbara, laughing to herself, tells Sheba that teachers are nothing more than “crowd control,” and they shouldn’t be ignorant enough to think that they can have any effect on the “local pubescent prowls”. Barbara is the typical older teacher with an ax to grind. She’s lonely and sad, her only solace comes from writing in her diary and petting her cat. She eventually forms a friendship with Sheba that quickly turns into a wicked erotic obsession . This fixation grows more complex after Barbara catches Sheba doing the nasty with one of her 15 year old pupils. Filled with jealousy, Babs decides to use her newfound knowledge to her own benefit. As long as they are friends, Barbara won’t tell, but her idea of friendship is a little skewed, to say the least. Barbara preys on the attention that Sheba gives her, and she flies off the handle when Sheba has something else that occupies her time. In the end, Sheba’s temptations and Barbara’s scheming begin to have an effect on everyone around them, leading the film to it’s perfunctory third act.

Besides the ending, the film has a number of other flaws that keep it from approaching greatness. Andrew Simpson, who plays the student that Sheba falls for, tries to be a Don Juan, but ultimately comes off as just flat out annoying. No doubt the kid was overexcited about the chance to slip Blanchett some tongue, but his performance is flat and awkward, and it’s very hard to believe that any intelligent woman would be so smitten with such a little punk. This in itself provides the film with its biggest conundrum. These kinds of events happen too often in real life, and I always wonder what leads these seemingly normal teachers to commit such an act. I think that would make an interesting story, but evidently the makers of this film disagree. We are given no motivation at all for Sheba’s actions. Obviously, any kind of justification would be inexcusable, but this film doesn’t even make an attempt. Sheba whines about her husband (an excellent Bill Nighy), but the film shows us that he’s a perfectly rational man who has nothing but love for his family. Sheba has two children, a teenage daughter and a twelve year old son who has Down syndrome. The daughter seems to live a typical teenage life, talking on the phone, fretting about her boyfriend, nothing out of the norm for a teenager, and her son is a happy, loving child that any parent would be blessed to have. I don’t understand why she feels the need to jeopardize the future of her family, but the film wants us to buy the fact that she feels restricted by the conformities of family life. In real life cases, the perpetrator usually has this kind of asinine excuse, but the film wants us to identify with Sheba. Oh, look at the poor wife and mother, she feels constricted by her family, so she goes and knocks boots with a 15 year old. Sorry, not buying it.

Dench’s character isn’t much better. She’s a devious old hag that seems intent on sucking the marrow out of every person she gets to know. She has absolutely no morals whatsoever, and she thrives on that fact. The only time she ever feels bad about anything is when her cat gets sick. When the poor thing finally takes a dirt nap, we actually get to see some real emotion behind Barbara’s rough and tumble facade. The one constant companion in her life has left her alone, like everyone else she’s ever met. Dench does her best to make the audience feel some sympathy for Barbara, even though she’s a seemingly horrible person. She is the main saving grace in the film, keeping us interested just to see what will finally happen to her.

Aside from the shallow character development, we get some painfully obvious symbolism that threatens to betray any bit of seriousness in the film. Barbara’s last name is Covett (get it, covet?), and Sheba is short for Bathsheba (you know, David’s wife?). Heller might have thought this stuff was clever when she was writing the book, but Marber, who is an intelligent writer, should have had enough sense to squash some of it while he was writing the screenplay. There’s also the unfortunate fact that Barbara narrates the film in a voice over that it sometimes funny, but mostly just smarmy and irritating. Marber pays penance and makes up for the shortcomings by providing the film with some very sharp dialogue that the actors chew up and spit out with the required amount of nastiness. I was reminded a lot of Marber’s Closer, another film that had totally irredeemable characters that were saved by witty dialogue.

The dialogue and the acting take this film a long way, but it’s aided immeasurably by the contributions of Richard Eyre’s collaborators. Eyre, (Iris) a former stage director, does little more than place the actors in a room and turn the camera on, but the great cinematographer Chris Menges (The Killing Fields) does his best to make the film look more brutal than the story provides. On top of this, you get one of world’s great musicians, Philip Glass (The Thin Blue Line, The Illusionist), providing the film with a marvelous score that gives the entire thing just enough tragic grandeur to be taken seriously . All the while Dench, who usually phones this stuff in while waiting for payday, has a ball with her role that elevates this film in the same way that Forest Whitaker made The Last King of Scotland watchable. Nighy is exceptionally good as well, giving some real depth to a very underwritten role, and Blanchett, as usual, is quite reliable.

This isn’t a film that will stick in your memory, but at 92 minutes it tends to go by pretty quick. It tells a story that is interesting, relevant, and sometimes even enthralling. The acting borders on perfection, while the technical aspects go way beyond admirable, adding up to a fairly solid film that will keep you entertained at the least. There was definitely potential here to do much more, but the end result is nothing to shake a finger at and it’s most certainly worth the price of a rental.

The Queen

Clayton L. White — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 05:46:03 +0000

The first thing that struck me about Stephen Frears’ The Queen is that the film is an incredibly intimate portrait of two remarkably courageous women. On the one hand, we have Queen Elizabeth II, on the other, Diana, Princess of Wales. These women are important, famous, and powerful individuals, but the film treats them both as human beings as common as you and me. This is not the story of one woman’s stubbornness as a result of centuries of tradition, but instead a battle of wills between two people who had once been related through marriage. The only problem is that one of these women continues the battle, even when the other is being prepared to go to her grave.

By now, of course, you know that the Queen is played by Helen Mirren. There isn’t a whole lot left to be said about this performance except that it is every bit as good as it’s cracked up to be. It is fully deserving of any and all praise that it received, including the slew of awards cast upon it, particularly the Academy Award (even though I still maintain that Penelope Cruz’s work in Volver is equally as good in its own way). Mirren’s career is a legendary one (I first fell in love with her in John Boorman’s Excalibur), spanning television, cinema, and the stage. Even though she has been involved in a few clunkers (Caligula anyone?), she has retained her elegance, wit, and devotion, and this role may be her crowning achievement (no pun intended). She does something that is almost remarkable in its subtlety, way beyond the process of mimicry. We not only view her Queen as a woman of authority and prominence, but we see her as a normal individual, and we sympathize. There’s something oddly compelling about watching the Queen of England driving a Range Rover through a creek, but it’s Mirren that makes it stick in the mind. Right there with her is Michael Sheen as Prime Minister Tony Blair. Sheen (no, he’s not another one of Martin’s kids), has been a prominent figure on the stages of Britain for a long while now, but his film output has been minor and erratic. It’s here that he announces his presence. He is quietly effective in the role, never going over the top or calling attention to himself, but instead taking things below the surface. Sheen builds his performance on nuance instead of theatricality. Mirren may be pressing the accelerator, but it’s Sheen who steers the film all the way home. It is tremendously sad and pathetic that the Academy didn’t pick up on it and nominate Sheen for an award that he fully deserved.

The film opens on May 2, 1997. Blair has just been elected Prime Minister in a landslide victory, striking a major blow in favor of the Labour party, who hadn’t had a Prime Minister in office in 18 years. We see Blair meeting with the Queen to accept his newly elected position. They are both increasingly reticent, each afraid to let their guard down. It is an awkward meeting, filled with regulations and tradition. Flash forward to August 30 of the same year, the night of the car crash that would eventually kill Diana. As we all know, the public response was incredibly overwhelming. The Queen refuses to react publicly. Diana was no longer a member of the Royal family, and hadn’t been for a year. The Queen sees her death as a “private matter,” and she repeatedly uses her grandchildren as an excuse not to get involved. She is concerned for their feelings, and doesn’t see a public statement as a way to ease their pain. What she doesn’t take into consideration is the fact that refusing to comment on the tragedy only makes the pain felt by the public even worse. Blair, who made a statement immediately, isn’t as naive, and he does everything he can to make the Queen see the light. We all know how this plays out, we know the ending. The main concern here, however, is the process of getting there. It’s a long, hard road, but it’s more engrossing and surprising than you might imagine it to be.

Aside from Mirren and Sheen, there are many other notable performances here as well. James Cromwell as Prince Philip and Sylvia Syms as the Queen Mother are especially fine, but there is some nice support from Alex Jennings as Prince Charles, and Helen McCrarie as Blair’s wife Cherie. It may seem as if this film is just a feeding frenzy for the actors, but the direction deserves mention. Frears (Dangerous Liaisons, High Fidelity) may not have much style, but he should be commended for not only the great work he gets from his cast, but for treating such a fragile situation with the utmost respect. He never takes the easy way out by poking fun at the Royal family; instead he treats them as normal people that we easily identify with, even though we may even though we may not always agree with them. Peter Morgan’s screenplay provides the material with a good balance between the sharp dialogue and the more tender moments. His work here is far better than what he choked up for The Last King of Scotland. The cinematography by Alfonso Beato only furthers the normality and subtlety of his colleagues. They aren’t bathed in some sort of angelic light, nor are they drowned in shadow to make them look menacing. It’s a nice contrast to the production design, which makes the entire proceedings seem entirely authentic, not to mention very pleasing to the eye.

After watching the film a few days ago, I found myself almost transfixed by the life of Diana. I was only 14 when she died, and I remember the emotions that were stirred up in the people around me. What was it that made her so special to so many people? While asking others about their thoughts on the subject, a woman told me that the reason was simple: “Every girl wants to be a Princess. Many girls lived their dream through Diana.” I understood what this lady was thinking, Blair did refer to her as “the People’s Princess,” but it’s too easy for me. That can’t be what it was, it’s not that simple. This was a life whose tragic end brought people all across the world to their knees, their eyes filled with tears, and their hearts filled with pain. As of this writing, I am no further in reaching my conclusion, and I doubt that I ever will be, but I like to think that the reason was that Diana was an incredibly powerful woman, strong in her convictions, and determined to live her life the way she saw fit. In that respect, she’s not too different from the Queen, and this film does a good job of showing that.

Little Children

Clayton L. White — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 08:11:05 +0000

Those of you out there, like me, who didn’t get a chance to catch Little Children in a theater, take heed. Here’s your chance to see one of the best films of 2006. Todd Field (In the Bedroom) has returned to the director’s chair after a five year hiatus, and he delivers one of the bravest and most honest films of recent years. He has made a film that seems to go against everything that Hollywood usually offers us. This is a strong film with provocative subject matter, made for mature audiences that want to be challenged.

At the beginning of the film, we meet Sarah Pierce (Kate Winslet), a former English Lit grad who now spends her days reading poetry and spending time with her daughter. At the park, she has a hard time identifying with the other snobby, gossipy mothers who sit on a bench looking like a gaggle of withered geese. One day, Brad Adamson (Patrick Wilson) brings his son to the park, and the geese won’t shut up about it. They call him The Prom King, and they bet Sarah that she can’t get his phone number; Sarah takes the bet, and strikes up a conversation with Brad. They have a pleasant enough talk, and eventually Sarah tells Brad about the bet that she’s trying to win. Brad is intrigued, and the two of them decide to take the bet further, just to freak out the other mothers. At first they share a hug, then they decide on a kiss. After witnessing said kiss, the other women, shocked and appalled, grab their kids and make for the exit, while Sarah and Brad part ways and go on about their daily lives.

At home, Brad is miserable. He genuinely loves his son, but his wife Kathy (Jennifer Connelly), a documentary filmmaker, is cold and distant. She’s too consumed by her work to notice Brad and his sexual longings. It’s obvious that she wears the pants in the family, and she rags on Brad all the time about studying for the bar exam (he’s failed twice already). Brad heads to the library every night to study, but somehow he always ends up sitting on a bench, fixated by the local skateboarders. The kiss between he and Sarah lingers in his mind. Sarah’s home life is much the same, her one high point is her weekly fitness walk. She’s been thinking of that kiss as well, and when she catches her husband jerking off to a porno site, it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. She orders a swimsuit, fixes herself up a little, and decides to start taking her daughter to the city pool, where Brad and his son frequently visit. Brad and Sarah soon start a friendship that quickly results in a daily adulterous affair.

As if all this weren’t enough to get things going, a convicted pedophile named Ronald McGorvey (Jackie Earle Haley) has just moved into the neighborhood to live with his mother (Phyllis Somerville). This, of course, shakes up the town’s inhabitants, especially an ex-cop named Larry (Noah Emmerich) who becomes obsessed with keeping an eye on McGorvey. Larry spends his time distributing fliers across town and spray painting the word EVIL on McGorvey’s sidewalk. He even tries to enlist the help of Brad, who plays in a football night league with Larry. There’s much more to Larry than what there appears to be. He has a shady past, and his new obsession has driven a wedge between he and his wife. It doesn’t take too long for her to leave him, but Larry doesn’t seem to mind. He has more important things to occupy his time.

This film follows multiple storylines, giving each and every character their moments of poignancy and devastation. These aren’t just one dimensional sketches, these are immensely detailed versions of people that you and I could very easily know. From the creepy child molester to the All American High School jock who now has no motivation in life to even attempt to study for a career as a lawyer, Field treats each and every character as equals. The screenplay, co-written by Field and Tom Perotta (from his novel), is attuned to even the smallest of details. The voice over narration by Will Lyman (from PBS’ Frontline) is invaluable to the film’s success. In a dry but sharply ironic tone, Lyman varies from pointing out the obvious, to letting us know the innermost thoughts of the characters, a highly effective tool that only the rarest of filmmakers could pull off without seeming pretentious.

Adding to all of this is a seemingly perfect ensemble cast. All of the actors are working at full potential, none more so than Winslet. This is an actress who has been putting out solid work for a decade now, and her turn here rivals the best of her career. It’s a brave, risky performance that should be remembered for years to come. Wilson excels in what may be the film’s toughest role. His character leads a very comfortable life, yet we are asked to sympathize with him when he threatens to toss it all aside for the love of a woman he’s just met. Wilson has had a tendency to be ingratiating in the past (Phantom of the Opera), and there aren’t too many heterosexual men who would be disappointed in sharing a bed with Jennifer Connelly, but Wilson sells it. With roles in Hard Candy and now this, Wilson may be poised to become a very important actor, showing a maturity and growth that is quite rare today. Among the entire cast, though, it’s Haley and Emmerich who cut the deepest. Emmerich, a notable character actor, brings a lot of heart and nuance to a difficult role that could easily be flattened in the hands of a lesser actor. Haley, a former child star, was nominated for his role here, and it’s easy to see why. The scenes between him and his mother are equal parts awkward, disturbing, and even touching, resulting in some of the most dynamic interaction between two actors that I’ve seen in years. Haley may have once been a totally inconsequential actor, but here he is given a dark, complex role that even more accomplished actors wouldn’t go near. He is convincing, frightening, and flat out great.

I feel that I must say how important this type of film is to actresses. Too often in American cinema, good roles for women are nonexistent. This is a film that gives us females that are intelligent, strong, and not just there to please the men in their lives. Connelly, whose role was probably a bit one note on page, uses her small amount of screen time effectively. She portrays a good mother that is smart, sexy, and determined. Phyllis Somerville is incredibly haunting as Ronald’s mother. She is a devoted parent, possibly the best parent of the bunch, who loves her child no matter how sick he may be, and no matter how much others may hate him. These female roles are uncommonly strong for Hollywood, and it’s great to see a domestic film that actually cares about the plight of it’s women characters.

This film has another distinct trait missing from many modern films, and that is the feeling of a sure hand behind the wheel. We aren’t simply watching the film for the good performances; we are witnessing a great director coming into his own. Field has been absent for a few years, but he’s back, and he’s proven that In the Bedroom was no fluke. This guy is able to work inside the studio system without ever conforming to it’s low level standards. He maintains his own unique vision that, while a bit bleak, is utterly compelling to watch. He has estblished himself as one of the most interesting American filmmakers working today. He slips up a little, and the film has a few flaws holding it back. The third act tends to get a tad predictable, and I can’t quite figure out why someone would cast Connelly, one of the world’s great talents, without letting her burn up the screen like usual, but Field has a firm grip on all of the threads. He ties them all together at the end to give us a finale that may not redeem the characters, but it at least shows us that they are trying to change for the better. This is an important, multi-dimensional piece of work that deserves to find an audience on DVD. Here’s hoping that it does.

Smokin’ Aces

Clayton L. White — Wed, 18 Apr 2007 07:28:58 +0000

Back in 2002, a man by the name of Joe Carnahan hit the movie scene with a film called Narc. The film was a typical routine cop thriller, but it was done well. It was stylish, well acted, and fairly intelligent. Most importantly, it made Joe Carnahan a name to remember. This was a director with promise, a filmmaker on the rise. After the success of that film, Carnahan signed on to direct Mission Impossible III, but after months of preproduction Carnahan left the project due to “creative differences” (that’s Hollywood slang for getting canned). Now, to some filmmakers that could be a huge roadblock, but Carnahan was smart enough to know that he had to act quick in order to save his career. The result, sadly, is Smokin’ Aces.

This is the story of a magician/illusionist/showman by the name of Buddy “Aces” Israel, played by Jeremy Piven. In the opening scene of the film we find out that a mob boss is asking for the head of Israel, or rather his heart. As a result of this, just about everyone in 48 states who owns a gun, chainsaw, or blowtorch is headed to Nevada to take their shot at Buddy, who is holed up in a hotel suite with mounds of cocaine and an assortment of hookers. You got the two FBI agents (Ryan Reynolds and Ray Liotta), a bailbondsman and an ex-vice cop (Ben Affleck and Peter Berg), and, of course, you get the token hitwomen (Alicia Keys and Tajari P. Henson) who allude to being lesbians, but who really aren’t, I guess. I don’t really know. What I do know is that Carnahan basically takes every idea that’s in his head and mashes it together into one big mess of a film. Now, this would be fine if it were played that way, but instead Carnahan takes his work too seriously. He spends nearly an hour of the film with the set up, piling one convoluted plot point on top of another, and then when he finally gets to the climactic blood bath, he asks the audience to share in some sort of lame attempt at carthasis. Of course this doesn’t work because he doesn’t even attempt to flesh out the characters any further than what is included in the opening scenes. We don’t get to know these characters, and we certainly don’t feel for them when things start to hit the fan, and the end result is sloppy storytelling that is very poorly executed. While watching the film i got this overwhelming feeling of embarrassment. I felt ashamed for watching this piece of crap, and I felt even worse for the actors involved, but then I pinched myself and was reminded of the fact that they all get paid much more than they should, when in reality we should be getting paid for sifting our way through this heap of trash.

As much as I hated this film, and I do mean hated, there are a few good things worth mentioning. Ryan Reynolds is actually quite surprising and i would like to see him stretch his wings and stop making low base comedies and horror remakes. Jason Batemen from Arrested Development appears in only two scenes, but he is easily the highlight of here, and probably the sole reason I didn’t give the film an F. Last but certainly not least is the score by Clint Mansell (Requiem for a Dream), who is able to produce something quite effective, if you can notice it among all the gunfire and the over-expository dialogue. These things aside, the film is much better at confirming beliefs that I already had; Andy Garcia and Ray Liotta both have a tendency to sell themselves short, neither Alicia Keys nor Common should quit their day jobs, and Jeremy Piven better hope that HBO keeps asking for more seasons of Entourage, because if these are the kind of film roles he’s being offered his career will disappear faster than that ace of spades he keeps twirling around in this movie.

To be quite honest, I don’t believe that Carnahan is a bad director. Even though some of his set pieces play like something Michael Mann could have churned out before puberty, Carnahan has a good eye. He can get good performances from the right actors, but he falls back on stunt casting too often and his work suffers because of it. Yes, it’s fine to cast a musician in a film, as long as they can act. In a way, Carnahan reminds me of M. Night Shyamalan. They are both talented crafstmen who would probably exceed at directing someone else’s script, because when they do it themselves, they fail miserably. I’m sure the words sound alright in their own heads, it’s just a shame that they feel the need to share it with us. It’s like the old saying goes, the pen is unfortunately mightier than the sword.

While the end credits were rolling and before I thanked God that the torture was over, I thought of the great Robert Altman who, sadly, passed away a few months ago. Any time Altman was asked about his influences, he would say that he couldn’t recall the names of the filmmakers who inspired him, because their films were so bad that he made sure to do the exact opposite. Smokin’ Aces is that kind of film, and in a few years, if he keeps it up, no one is going to remember Carnahan’s name. I have the distinct feeling that maybe that won’t be such a bad thing. Alas, Carnahan perseveres and is looking toward the future, because a few weeks ago I read that Carnahan’s next project was a remake of Otto Preminger’s 1965 film, Bunny Lake is Missing. There was a big to do made about it, because Reese Witherspoon, who had signed on to star in the film, had suddenly left the project. What do you think? Creative differences maybe, or do you think she just finally got around to seeing Smokin’ Aces? I don’t know about you, but I’m going with the latter.

The Last King of Scotland

Clayton L. White — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 17:21:32 +0000

This last year has been really great for Forest Whitaker. His performance in The Shield is one of the greatest in television history, and the same could apply to film for his Oscar winning portrayal of General Idi Amin Dada in The Last King of Scotland. The only problem is that the film isn’t worthy of his performance. The film is sometimes heavy handed, while other times it avoids its subject too much. Whitaker, however, is funny, charming, paradoxical, and ultimately terrifying, making this very flawed film a must see experience.

In 1970, a young Scottish doctor named Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy) comes to Uganda to make a difference while having a little adventure. He is extremely naive and politically unaware. When a military coup places Idi Amin in power, Garrigan is caught up in the excitement, but he doesn’t realize the implications. After one of Amin’s rallies, Garrigan is traveling back to his position at a remote clinic when he comes across a bit of a traffic jam. A bull lies in the road, it’s legs broken, while Amin stands outside his car, screaming that his hand is broken. Garrigan is ordered to tend to Amin. As he does this, the bull is noticeably in pain. Unable to focus on fixing Amin’s hand, Garrigan grabs a nearby pistol and puts the bull out of it’s misery. Amin is taken aback at the young man’s nerve, and starts to question him. After finding out Garrigan is Scottish (Amin is obsessed with Scotland), he invites Garrigan to be his personal physician. Garrigan eventually accepts the position and the luxuries that it offers. After living the high life for a while, a turn of events causes Garrigan to realize that he’s in over his head, with no possible way out.

All of this is interesting enough, but former documentary filmmaker Kevin MacDonald (Touching the Void) isn’t able to hang on to what he’s got. His direction is haphazard at best, trying too hard to be stylish, and not providing us with enough of an accurate view of Amin the individual. Garrigan is actually the main character, which is fine, but he is so unlikeable, so unsympathetic that it’s hard to care about his plight. He comes to Uganda to “make a difference,” but he’s shallow enough to believe that caring for Amin eventually helps the entire nation. He makes some very stupid choices that catch up to him in die fashion. I kept waiting for him to wake up and get a grip, but he doesn’t until it’s nearly too late, and by then the audience has lost most of it’s interest. All the while, Amin is painted as a caricature, never really showing us the full extent of the man’s charm that wooed so many, nor do we ever see the furthest reaches of his power. This is a man who would eventually kill at least 300,000 people, and we never really see why. I admire the fact that the story aims for a smaller piece of the pie, but it tries to have it both ways. It tries to be personal while being epic, and in the end it fails on both ends.

The film does have its good sides. Whitaker, as always, burns up the screen. For the last twenty five years, Whitaker has been churning out great performance after great performance, and he has finally gotten his due with this role, and it’s about damn time. McAvoy, however, comes as the biggest surprise. You may know him as Mr. Tumnus in The Chronicles of Narnia, but I have a feeling you’ll be remembering him for much more than that in the near future. He is in nearly every scene of the film, and he easily holds his own against Whitaker. He takes an unlikable character, and makes it memorable by investing his soul into the role. It is this performance that was overlooked by the Academy, and it’s a shame. McAvoy does everything he can to make you buy into the film, make you want to like it, but in the end he can’t change the script that he’s been given, or the director that has been chosen. Gillian Anderson (Scully from The X-Files) does some good supporting work in a very small role, and cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle (28 Days Later, Dogville) makes great use of the African countryside. He excels in giving us the feeling that we are back in this time period, going through these events with Garrigan. He knows what to do with the camera, even when MacDonald might not have a clue.

This is not a bad film. This is a decent film that could have been good. When you have a performer like Whitaker who has been given the role of a lifetime with Idi Amin, you need to cut him loose. He should be free to tear at the screen as much as possible, but in this story he’s pushed into the background. The scenes he shares with McAvoy are dynamite, but the turns in the plot, whether factual or not, are predictable and tiresome. I’m going to recommend the film solely because of it’s acting. I think there are scenes here that should be seen by every aspiring actor, but aspiring directors or screenwriters should definitely look elsewhere. The Last King of Scotland is available on DVD on April 17, 2007.

Grindhouse

Clayton L. White — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 05:57:38 +0000

You’ve seen the trailers, you’ve heard the hype, you know you want to see it. Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino have arrived with their double feature homage to the trash filled exploitation films of the ’70’s. My advice to you is to give in. Don’t try to avoid it, don’t stay away. Pay your eleven bucks, sit back, and enjoy. This is one of the liveliest films I’ve seen in a while, and I recommend it highly.

I’ve been hard on these two guys in the past. I think Rodriguez is a clumsy, juvenile director who really doesn’t grasp the basics of filmmaking. His stuff is a mess, it always has been, and it probably always will be. Tarantino has the more obvious talent of the two. He is films are always entertaining, but they’re nowhere near as great as many like to think. He relies too much on his knowledge of other films, and he doesn’t even make an attempt to be original. For all my complaints of these two individuals, I can honestly say that I will be keeping shut for a while. Right now, my foot is planted firmly in my mouth, and I couldn’t be happier. Grindhouse brings out the best in both of these directors, and it’s a marvel to behold.

First up is Rodriguez’s Planet Terror, a typical run of the mill zombie plot that gives Rodriguez all the excuses he needs to have one dimensional characters, cheesy dialogue, and fast paced action. Not only do we get puss filled zombies, we get a scantily clad Rose McGowan as Cherry Darling, a stripper who aspires for a better life. She loses her leg at the hands (or mouths) of the zombies, and with the help of her mysterious ex-flame Wray (Freddy Rodriguez), he eventually straps a machine gun onto her stump and tears ass through zombieville. On top of all this we get Josh Brolin chewing on thermometers as Dr. Block, and Marley Shelton as his needle wielding wife. Throw in a dash of Bruce Willis as a military big cheese, Michael Biehn as the local sheriff, and the obligatory cameo from Tom Savini, and you have an epitome of a zombie film. Rodriguez borrows from John Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13, as well as every movie ever made by George Romero (Dawn of the Dead), and comes up with his best career best work.

Even though Rodriguez has improved in many ways, his film still suffers a bit. It runs about ten minutes too long, and it has the normal self serving cameo from Tarantino that throws the entire thing off. I know these guys are having a fun time, but ease up already. The scratches and damage to the print help to enhance the experience of those grindhouse pictures of yore, while the “missing reel” sequence is timed brilliantly. On the downside, Rodriguez may worship at the feet of Romero, but he’s nowhere near as sophisticated. Romero may have made fairly cheap horror films, but he always had a purpose. His films were comments on our society, and they were used to expose deeper truths about ourselves. Let us not forget that Romero was the first director to give a heroic role in a horror film to an African-American. Rodriguez can imitate the feeling and the production values, but he can’t reproduce Romero’s talent, and that is his ultimate downfall. With Romero we go deeper, with Rodriguez it’s all surface. No matter. A pole dancing McGowan and a ninja badass Freddy Rodriguez take the film higher than it deserves.

Next up we get to the real goods, Tarantino’s Death Proof. This is where you really get your money’s worth. Rodriguez’s film was enjoyable, and a good time killer, but Tarantino’s is a masterpiece. I would venture to say that this is the best film he’s made so far, and it’s one you’ll never forget. Tarantino loosely borrows his structure from Hitchcock’s Psycho by introducing us to a group of characters that we slowly get to know and care for before he lays them to waste and introduces to a completely new group. It’s a tactic that works extremely well for him. The first group is four girls who are simply driving around Austin, Texas. They stop at a bar and continue to drink until closing time. While there they meet a man named Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell), who has promised to give the local hippie (McGowan again, this time in a blond wig) a ride home. Stuntman Mike is exactly what you would think, a stuntman with a big scar who drives a 1971 Chevy Nova. The car is “100% Death Proof” according to Mike, and before long we see what he means. After laying waste to McGowan, Mike tracks down the four girls and continues to wreck havoc. This is an amazingly violent sequence that Tarantino shows us from four different angles. It reminded a little of something out of a Peckinpah movie, and it was just as good. After recovering from the crash, Mike sets his sights on a fresh group of girls who are working on a local movie set. Rosario Dawson is a bit annoying, as usual, as the make-up artist, while Tracie Thoms (Rent) excels as Kim. Watch out for Zoe Bell, though, she’s a hellcat. Bell is a stuntwoman from New Zealand who doubled for Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, but she asserts herself extremely well as an actress. Sure, it helps that she’s playing a stuntwoman named Zoe from New Zealand, but she’s charming, witty, spunky, and extremely natural. She has an infectious personality that grabs you instantly. Mike begins chasing these women, but never expects that they might fight back. What results from this is one of the greatest car chases I’ve ever seen. Perfectly choreographed, and extremely real. This is all heightened by the fact that you know, without a doubt, that Bell is really hanging onto the hood of a moving car.

Tarantino’s film is not perfect. Cameos from Tarantino and Eli Roth really try the patience, but they only last for a short while, and Tarantino the filmmaker never lets them get in the way of his story. Tarantino follows Rodriguez’s suit by serving as his own cinematographer, and he does a good job, but I was pining for the style that the great Robert Richardson brought to Kill Bill. The fact that Tarantino insisted on shooting on film, while Rodriguez kept his digital, does help matters. We get another missing reel in Death Proof, as well as the damaged print, but Tarantino gets this stuff out of the way quickly, choosing to focus more on creating his own entity. In the past he has let his homages/rip-offs run rampant, but I felt that he pulled in the reigns here, and really let his own imagination cut loose. Sure, it’s a typical B-grade story, but it’s executed so precisely that you won’t mind. Many have compalined that this segment is too slow, I disagree. It takes it’s time, and build steadily to impact. The car is a bit like a film crash itself. We are laughing, having a good time, when out of nowhere we get a violent assault to the senses. I loved every minute of it.

As if these films weren’t enough, we get four fake trailers to keep us in the spirit of things. Rodriguez’s Machete starts the film, and it perfectly sets the tone. After Planet Terror, we get the other three. Rob Zombie’s Werewolf Women of the S.S is a mildly amusing excursion that gets a big boost from a certain A-list actore. Edgar Wright (Shaun if the Dead) has the best of the bunch with Don’t, a hilarious two minutes of brilliance that I could watch over and over. The last, and certainly the least, is Hostel director Eli Roth’s Thanksgiving. It starts out funny, but then crosses the line, emerging as a horrible exercise in bad taste. Grindhouse is further proof that Roth is just as bad in front of the camera as he is behind it. He’s sick, he’s degrading, and he’s talentless, but he can’t ruin the good vibes that everyone else gives off in this film.

The acting is adequate frome everyone involved. McGowan is not a great actress, but she wasn’t hired to be, and she does what she has too. Marley Shelton and Josh Brolin are perfect in Planet Terror, while Freddy Rodriguez does a good job of acting like he’s a terrible actor. It’s a good role for him, and I’m glad to see that he has a career outside television. Death Proof is filled with great performances. From Bell to Sydney Tamiia Poitier, from Vanessa Ferlito to Mary Elizabeth Winstead, all the girls are note perfect, but it’s Russell who comes out the big winner. After establishing himself in John Carpenter’s own grindhouse flicks, such as Escape from New York, Russell has been impressive in all of his roles, even though most of them were below him. With Tarantino’s script, however, Russell cuts loose and gives us what may be Tarantino’s best creation. A character who is charming, frightening, and ultimately pathetic. This is a performance for the books, and Russell knows it. Snake Plissken who? I know it won’t happen, but I love for the Academy to take notice of Russell here, he is that good.

One good film and one great one for the price of one. No matter what, you can’t beat it. It’s not often that I admit my own faults, and I don’t regret the things I’ve said about Rodriguez and Tarantino in the past, but next time I think of dismissing these two, I will certainly hesitate. This is a phenomenal experience. It’s not art, that’s for sure, but who cares, it’s a hell of a good time.

Volver

Clayton L. White — Sun, 01 Apr 2007 11:00:05 +0000

For the last twenty five years, Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodovar has been one of the most talked about directors in the world. His career started around 1980, and he gained international success with 1988’s Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. It’s been over the last ten years, however, that his talent has been in full bloom. His 1997 film Live Flesh kicked off a string of masterpieces that include All About My Mother, Talk to Her, Bad Education, and now Volver. With each new film, Almodovar confirms the fact that he is one of the world’s all time great filmmakers.

Volver tells the story of a woman named Raimunda, played by Penelope Cruz. After a tragic incident involving her husband, Raimunda takes on the task of running a local restaurant to support her and her teenage daughter. She doesn’t buy the restaurant, nor is she legally employed there, she simply takes it over while the owner/seller is away. She enlists the help of her daughter and some of her friends from the neighborhood to feed a film crew that is shooting in the area. While the restaurant is becoming a success, her hairdresser sister Sole (Lola Duenos) is seeing ghostly visions of their dead mother, played brilliantly by Carmen Maura. On top of all this, Almodovar throws in murder, incest, rape, and just about everything else you could imagine.

Almodovar, like Douglas Sirk and Rainer Werner Fassbinder before him, is a frim believer in the art of melodrama. Every turn of events in an Almodovar film is played to an almost outrageous degree, but by doing so, he forces us to face some of the ugliest things imaginable. His brilliance is in the fact that he never exploits his characters, or their situations. He has a deep, almost profound admiration for all his creations that shine through to the audience.

Almodovar’s work usually tends to focus mainly on women. He loves women, he admires there courage, and respects their determination. He uses film as a medium to celebrate every aspect of the female form, from their bodies to their personalities. Instead of a cheap, fantastical, Hollywood view of women, like what Cameron Crowe gives us, Almodovar gives us real women that we immediately recognize. They could be our mothers, our sisters, our wives or daughters, or if you are female, then they could easily reflect yourself. With the exception of Fassbinder, Almodovar is possibly the only male director in all of cinema who understands women, and his films are built around that notion.

As in all of his films, the technical aspects of Volver are perfect. The cinematography by Jose Luis Alcaine paints the screen in almost every color imaginable, but puts an emphasis on the use of red. Almodovar’s script is about as flawless as a script can be, and his direction follows suit. The performances are great all the way across the board, especially by Maura, but when you come down to it, this is Penelope Cruz’s show. She earned an Academy Award nomination for this role, and she is simply amazing here. Cruz has gotten a bad rap here in America, but in her native tongue she has always excelled, especially with Almodovar in All About My Mother, but she goes deeper here, and as a result she comes up with Almodovar’s greatest creation. Raimunda is funny, intelligent, sweet and lovable, but she is also strong willed and determined. This character will stick with you, and Cruz’s performance is one for the books. A flat out remarkable piece of acting.

As usual with Almodovar, there is so much on display that a simple review could never do the film justice. Like David Lynch, Almodovar is one of the few filmmakers who deserves the term “artist.” We don’t watch his films, we experience them. If you’ve never seen an Almodovar film before, this is a perfect start. If you are familiar with his work, then this is another masterpiece to add to the list. If it wasn’t for Children of Men, this film would have easily been the best movie of 2006, that means that there is no excuse for you to miss it. This is a great film that will haunt you for a long time. Volver means “To Return,” and here’s hoping that Almodovar returns with another masterpiece soon. The DVD is available on April 3. Grab it.

Children of Men

Clayton L. White — Tue, 27 Mar 2007 12:00:45 +0000

There are filmmakers that will be remembered forever. Bergman, Hitchcock, Welles, Scorsese, Fassbinder, Kurosawa, Altman, the list goes on. Now you can add Alfonso Cuaron to the list. His new film Children of Men, is a masterpiece, hands down. It was easily the best film of 2006, it is the best film of the decade, and it will stand as one of the greatest motion picture experiences ever made. After seeing it in a theater, I was stunned. There hasn’t been a film released in my lifetime that had affected as much. I was afraid that my praise came too soon, I was excited, I was happy to finally see a modern movie that was truly great. I knew I had to wait until the DVD came out to properly judge the film. I received the DVD yesterday, and I am happy to see that my first instinct was right.

There is so much that can be said about this film. The socio-political undertones are so deep that I wouldn’t even be able to crack the surface in this review, so I won’t. Out of respect for those who haven’t seen it, I don’t want to reveal too much, the less known about this film, the better. The story is fairly simple; London, 2027, women are infertile and the world has essentially gone to hell. An apathetic drunkard named Theo Faron (Clive Owen) works a dead end job at the Ministry of Energy, one day he is kidnapped by a terrorist group known as the Fishes. They are lead by Theo’s ex-wife Julian, played by Julianne Moore, and they want Theo to acquire travel permits to smuggle a refugee woman named Kee across the border. Theo reluctantly goes along with this only to find later that Kee is pregnant, which forces him to be a hero and risk his life for what is basically the worlds only hope. And that’s all I’m going to say about the story. I will not ruin this movie for anyone. All you need to know is that the acting, from Owen, to Michael Caine as an aging hippie, to the great Danny Huston as Theo’s cousin, is flawless straight down the line. These actors are all at the top of their game.

Adding to this is Cuaron’s fantastic direction. He has been putting out solid work for a decade now, especially with Y tu mama tambien, and Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban, but here he hits his zenith. Together with the great cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (The New World), Cuaron gives us very long handheld takes that put us directly into the war zone. The camera work is simply astonishing, and it rivals any I’ve ever seen. Cuaron also has an uncanny sense of pacing. He knows how to build suspense the exact point where we are on the edge of our seats, then he throws a bit of humor to knock us off balance, only to bring us back with more horrifying images. The direction in this film is breathtaking, flawless, and beautiful, and it can easily stand alongside the best of Hitchcock’s work. Sure, it’s high praise, but the film warrants it. There is one scene in particular that takes place in a moving car that literally sent shivers down my spine. It last for about five minutes, all one take, all one camera, and very frightening. This scene itself is enough to recommend the movie, and I can’t say enough about it, except that it may be the single most effective scene of any movie in the last thirty years.

Pay attention to the details in the film. Cuaron gives us exposition in the background. Every newspaper, photograph, television set, and bit of graffiti is important. Basically, Cuaron uses every bit of the frame to tell his story. In fields we see burning horses. In a house we see cats with their kittens. In a brilliant sequence inside the Battersea Power Station, we see Michelangelo’s David missing a lower leg, Picasso’s Guernica hangs on the wall of the dining room, and a giant inflatable pig hangs outside to reflect the cover of Pink Floyd’s Animals. The production design and art direction in this film is simply amazing.

The DVD comes out March 27, and it has some really great bonus features. Sadly, Cuaron is not a fan of commentaries, no matter, it’s better to leave us with a little mystery. Rent it, buy it, get a hold of it somehow. Every couple of decades a movie like this comes along, and when it does you do not want to miss it. After all the crap that Hollywood seems determined to shove into our faces, here is a film that reminds us why films are made. The film is rated R for strong violence, language, brief drug use, and brief nudity, but I would recommend it to anyone mature enough to get what’s going on. I feel that I haven’t done this film justice in this review, but a film this great speaks for itself. I have one last piece of praise before I end this review; Children of Men is the only film that I have ever seen that has left me completely content. Each time I have watched it, I have felt that I will never need to watch another film again. The film has been labeled as a sci-fi thriller, or a futuristic action movie. Labels are insignificant here, this film is cinematic art of the highest order.

TMNT

Clayton L. White — Sat, 24 Mar 2007 20:14:54 +0000

I’ll admit it: when I was six years old, my world revolved around the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Think about it – four overgrown turtles that are raised by a life-size rat that teaches them the way of the ninja…the possibilities are endless. I ate it up. The toys, clothes, movies, whatever – I had them all. As I have gotten older, I’ve revisited the movies and Saturday morning cartoon, and I’ve realized that this thing that I loved so much was so completely, and utterly stupid. Along comes TMNT to rub salt in the wounds.

This movie is ridiculously stupid. From the laughably bad voice work, to the overdone action sequences, to the horrible CGI work, I don’t recommend this film to anyone. Sure, kids will want to see it, and many people my age will probably want to revisit their childhoods, but ultimately everyone will be disappointed. You know the characters, so there is no need for me to go into that. As far as the story goes, I really can’t say; I was lost within the first 30 seconds. Basically four giant turtles tear ass through New York City for about an hour and a half. Nothing significant happens; people get beat up, monsters get locked up, whatever. The film is redundant, lifeless, and pathetic. If I had to say something good about it, I would say that it does go by quickly, and there are enough action scenes to keep you and your children entertained throughout, but you won’t remember any of it when you get home.

TMNT is further proof that Hollywood is convinced that America’s children are idiots. Coming only a few months after an intelligent family film like Bridge to Terabithia, this movie banishes all hope that Hollywood may be trying to rise out of the gutter. Please don’t fuel their fire. Don’t spend the money on trash like this. Stay at home and rent E.T. or something. We don’t need to give those pricks in the studios any more of a reason to put out crap like this.

I, Confess

Clayton L. White — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 04:16:23 +0000

With I, Confess, Alfred Hitchcock set out to make one film that would reflect all of his feelings about his Catholic upbringing. The film is based on a 1902 play by Paul Anthelme, and you can tell. The story was probably outdated when Hitchcock made it in 1953, and time has only added to this fact. The film itself, however, is essential for die hard Hitchcock fans, and for fans of great acting.

The great Montgomery Clift plays Father Michael Logan, a young priest at a rectory in Quebec. In a bravura opening sequence, a man by the name of Otto Keller bursts into the church late at night and asks Fr. Logan to hear his confession. Keller tells Logan that he has just killed a man by the name of Villette. Logan is shocked but cannot say anything because he was told this in confessional, and breaking that privacy would violate his beliefs, and the beliefs of the church. The inspector on the case, played by Karl Malden, finds two little girls who saw a priest leaving Villette around the time of the murder. After questioning all the priests in town, the inspector focuses his attention on Fr. Logan. Logan has his own secrets involving an old girlfriend named Ruth (Anne Baxter), and maybe some involving Villette himself.

The main problem with the film is that there isn’t much momentum. Logan cannot defend himself at all, and simply takes everything that the law throws at him. As an audience member, you just want to yell at Clift throughout the entire film. In all honesty, I’m not Catholic, so I can’t accurately speak of the true sanctity of confession, but the thought of being on trial for someone else would certainly get me to speak up. Second of all, the idea of a priest on trial for murder may have been a bit incendiary in 1902 or even 1953, but now there are priests and ministers in the news for some crime nearly every week. The third problem I had with the film was the overt symbolism. While it was interesting at first, it started to wear off. There is one shot where a statue of Christ carrying the cross is in the foreground of the frame, while Clift is in the background walking down the sidewalk. Of course this represents the gigantic burden that Fr. Logan has to bear, and the character is the most blatant Christ-like figure in all of Hitchcock’s work. As I said, this was interesting in the beginning, but it got a bit much.

There were many good points to the film as well. Clift’s performance is phenomenal. Every film that I see this guy in convinces me even more that he is one of the all time greats. He isn’t given much to say, so his performance is completely restrained, but like his performance in A Place in the Sun, Clift lets us see the inner workings of his character. It’s one of the most subtle performances in all of Hitchcock’s work, but it is extremely effective. In later years Hitchcock would remark how difficult it was to work with actors like Clift and Jimmy Stewart. They were too methodical for him. He liked to be in complete control of his productions, and wouldn’t bother much with the inner turmoil of his characters. The supporting performances are all very good, especially by Malden and Baxter. The film was shot on location in Quebec, and with the exception of Vertigo, this may be Hitch’s best location work. Cinematographer Robert Burks uses black and white to it’s fullest, most haunting effect. It reminded a lot of Ingmar Bergman’s later work. It’s absolutely gorgeous to look at.

Even though the film has been largely forgotten in America, the French Cahiers du Cinema crowd, made up of great filmmakers like Francois Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, and Eric Rohmer, consider it among Hitchcock’s best work. I found the film to be fairly engrossing, while the technical aspects of the film are fairly flawless. I would certainly recommend it to curious viewers, and to anyone interested in further exploring Hitchcock’s films. I would recommend it most to fans of great screen acting. Clift was one of the originators of the Method style of acting, and each performance of his is the very definition of what great acting should be.

The DVD from Warner Bros. is very good. The sound is adequate and the image is superb. It contains a few features that are worth your time ifyou like the film. This is not one of Hitchcock’s best moments, but it is one of Clift’s. It isn’t a great movie, but a lesser Hitchcock film is still better than most movies you’ll ever see.

The Man Who Knew Too Much

Clayton L. White — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 00:46:48 +0000

Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much is the only film of his that he remade. The original was released in 1934 to great success, and so was the 1956 version. Some critics still prefer the original, but personally, anytime Hitch and Jimmy Stewart teamed up they churned out a classic. This was their third collaboration, following Rope in 1948 and Rear Windowin 1954. In my opinion, Jimmy Stewart is the greatest actor of all time. His work in the ’50’s alone, from Anthony Mann’s Winchester ‘73 in 1950to Otto Preminger’s Anatomy of a Murder in 1959, is the most consistent of any American actor. Stewart was always concerned about being pegged as the nice everyman. He did everything he could to keep from being typecast, and it’s not until very recently that audiences have really begun to discover how much talent was inside this man, and his work with Hitchcock was probably his best. That being said, this film is not as good as it could have been, but it’s still worth watching.

The film opens up with the McKenna family traveling to Morocco. Stewart plays Dr. Ben McKenna, while Doris Day plays his wife, Jo. They are accompanied by their somewhat annoying son, Hank. On the bus to Morocco, the McKenna’s meet a man by the name of Louis Bernard. Bernard is a very mysterious man who asks a lot of questions. Stewart doesn’t seem to mind, but Day is very concerned. The next day in a market place, a man with a knife in his back stumbles up to Stewart, and tells him that a statesmen will be killed in London. After being questioned by the police, the McKenna’s find that their son has been kidnapped in order to keep the secret about the assassination quiet. That’s really all you need to go on. I wouldn’t dare give away the twists in the plot, but they are riveting.

I was on the edge of my seat throughout the film, but I was disappointed as well. First of all, Doris Day is good in her role, especially when Stewart drugs her to tell her the news about their son, but she seems like someone Hitchcock settled for, she’s a little too plain for one of his famous blondes. Stewart is very good, but he isn’t given enough to work with, and he’s kept in the background during the assassination sequence at Albert Hall. The film also has way too many endings. The Albert Hall sequence is brilliant in it’s staging, but it felt as if the film should have ended there. The film is pretty famous for Day’s singing of “Que Sera, Sera,” and while she has a great voice, I found the use of her singing it in the climax to be somewhat corny.

Even though it seems as if I’m ragging on the movie, I did enjoy it while it was playing. There are many sequences that are essential Hitchcock, the Albert Hall sequence, and the confrontation at the Taxidermy Shop were my favorite, but the film doesn’t have the power to stick with you. It’s extremely entertaining, but it’s not as deep as some of his other films. I do recommend it, but don’t go in expecting Vertigo or Rear Window.

Like all of Universal’s Hitchcock films, The Man Who Knew Too Much is available on a couple DVD’s. They are all pretty much the same, they have the same bonus features, and the color and sound are not that different. Pick it up, check it out, enjoy it, just don’t expect a masterpiece.

Marnie

Clayton L. White — Sun, 18 Mar 2007 06:04:25 +0000

Over the next week or so, I’m going to be immersing myself in some of Alfred Hitchcock’s lesser known classics. I will review them as I go along, for a bit of a retrospective on a master filmmaker’s most underrated work. I decided to start with Marnie.

In 1964, Alfred Hitchcock was at the height of his popularity with the American public. His two previous films, Psycho and The Birds, were massive hits. His television show Alfred Hitchcock Presents only added to his success. All of this changed when Marnie was released. By all counts, the film was considered a failure. Seen today, the movie is a forgotten masterpiece. With the exception of Vertigo, which was also a failure when it came out, Marnie is Hitchcock’s deepest, most mysterious film.

Audiences have always responded well to Hitchcock when he is out to thrill us, North by Northwest, or when he’s out to scare us, Psycho, but it always takes them a while to respond to the times when he really makes us think. Marnie is the thinking man’s Hitchcock film. It has so many underlying themes and obsessions that multiple viewings are essential. In Marnie, Hitchcock doesn’t want scare us, he wants to us to be deeply disturbed.

Marnie Edgar, played by Tippi Hedren, is one of the greatest female characters in all of American cinema. She is beautiful, intelligent, and witty. She’s also a compulsive kleptomaniac (she steals from her employers), and a pathological liar. She is deathly afraid of the color red, and she can’t stand to be touched by men. She only cares about two things, her horse Forio, and her mother’s affection. She is a deeply troubled woman with a very dark past, and her future isn’t looking too bright either.

From the very beginning we get a sense of who Marnie is, we see her walking with her latest score in a yellow purse. She heads to the hotel to wash out the black dye in her hair, and then she heads to Baltimore to see her mother. Her mother babysits a little girl from the neighborhood. Marnie is jealous of the way her mother dotes on the child. You can cut the tension with a knife. Marnie’s mother warns her: “Men and a good name don’t go together.” Pay attention, these are the first pieces of the puzzle. After leaving her mother some money and a fur scarf, Marnie heads to Philadelphia to find a new victim. She gets a job working for Mark Rutland (Sean Connery), a charming aristocrat who immediately takes an interest in Marnie. After catching her in the act of stealing, Rutland decides he’s going to “help” Marnie with her problems. Then it gets interesting. He forces Marnie to marry him, and if she doesn’t play the happy bride, then she goes to jail. On their honeymoon cruise, Marnie curls up in fright when he tries to touch her. He realizes how troubled and frightened she is, and he is gentle towards her, at least for a while. After a few days, Rutland forces himself on Marnie, essentially raping her. The rape is the turning point in the film, and the following scenes become increasingly darker and more twisted.

This is Hitchcock at his most perverse. As deeply disturbed as Marnie may be, Rutland is worse. Besides the rape, the man has an almost fetishistic obsession with Marnie. Why is he so concerned with helping her? Can’t he just turn her into the police? Is he turned on by making her feel helpless and weak? The questions go on and on. In fact, it wasn’t until the rape scene, that I realized that Marnie was probably a virgin. She can’t stand a man’s touch. Hitchcock was aware that the restrictions of content in film was beginning to fade in the 1960’s, and he really cuts loose here. There are scenes in this film that will stay with you forever. True to form, Hitchcock gives us some very suspenseful set pieces, especially when Marnie breaks into the Rutland safe and the chase on horseback near the end of the film, but for the most part Marnie is about the characters, and the actors are more than adequate.

Hedren and Connery were dogged for their performances in 1964. The character of Marnie was originally intended to be Grace Kelly’s comeback role, but when she declined, Hitchcock gave it to Hedren. You have to remember, this was only her second role, after The Birds. Honestly, I never thought she was that good in her first film, but here, only a year later, she is phenomenal. The role is so complex, I think it would be hard for any actress, and Hedren deserves the credit that has eluded her for so many years. We all know Connery isn’t going to be believable as a rich guy from Philadelphia, but he’s so charming in the role that you just accept it and go on. The film is a little longer than it needs to be, but the shattering climax makes it worthwhile. This is a film, like Vertigo again, that was completely ahead of it’s time. It has aged very well, and it deserves to be treasured.

Marnie is available on a couple different DVD’s, the Hitchcock Signature Collection, and the Hitchcock Masterpiece Collection. Both DVD’s are essentially the same, Universal knows they can milk Hitchcock for all he’s worth, but the Masterpiece Collection is available in a box set that has 15 of Hitch’s best films. I highly recommend it. The image and sound are adequate, and the features are entertaining.

A bit of a sidenote for those who are interested: Marniewas more famous for it’s drama behind the scenes. Hedren has claimed in recent years that Hitchcock had become obsessed with her. He eventually made some sort of comment to her, that really upset her. The rumor is that she replied by making fun of Hitchcock’s weight. As a result of this, Hitchcock kept her locked into a lengthy contract, but never used her again. When other filmmaker’s asked if he would lend her out for other films, he refused. Hedren says that this is why she never got more interesting roles throughout her career. I have no idea if any of this is true. Hedren stands by her comments, and so does her daughter, Melanie Griffith. Like I said, I have never read that this has been confirmed by anyone else, but I will say this, I believe he was obsessed with her, and it is evident in every frame of Marnie. Nonetheless, Hitchcock stands as the world’s greatest director, and whether he ruined her career or not, Hedren should be extremely proud of her work here. I’m sure Grace Kelly had more important matters to attend to, she was the Princess of Monaco, but she missed out on the role of a lifetime.

Film School Rejects » Clayton L. White

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