Friday, January 21, 2011
Second in line to a family's imaginary throne
By Edward Copeland
Micky Ward has spent his entire life as the youngest member of a large, brash, blended Lowell, Mass., family, hearing tales of how his older half-brother Dickie Eklund became "the pride" of their working class Irish town during his heyday as a prize fighter when he met Sugar Ray Leonard in the ring. Never mind that Dickie lost or that his life since has been a mess of drug addiction and crime, his family still awaits his inevitable boxing comeback despite the fact he's getting older and older and more addled.
Of course, Micky also is aging and has developed into a promising boxer in his own right, though he keeps missing chances at better bouts and possible title shots because he's managed by his mom who still thinks he should wait until after Dickie gets another chance, however unlikely. The true story The Fighter tells marks a real change of pace for director David O. Russell and provides yet another example of a 2010 film with a remarkable ensemble of actors.
Mark Wahlberg stars as Micky and also serves as a producer on The Fighter. (Wahlberg has practically become a producing machine, mainly on HBO where he's one of the producers of Entourage, How to Make It in America, In Treatment and Boardwalk Empire. He has really grown as an actor, beginning by being one of the weaker performers in good films before becoming the best aspects of lesser films until his talents equaled the quality of many of his movies.
In The Fighter, even though he's the lead, either Wahlberg's instincts or that of director Russell realized that Micky Ward lives in a universe populated with so many colorful characters that gives other actors the chance to be showy, he wisely pulls back, letting Micky be the subtle center of the story. It could very well be Russell's influence since this is their third collaboration (with rumors of a fourth to come) after Three Kings and the strange mess called I ♥ Huckabees, where Wahlberg gave the best performance.
When I say the ensemble supporting Wahlberg truly works overtime strutting their stuff, that is not an exaggeration. In fact, in some cases (mainly the smaller roles of Micky's seemingly endless array of trashy half-sisters) the performers go beyond over the top. Then again, the extended family Micky Ward belongs to makes for such a crowded canvas, they probably had to stomp and scream constantly to get anyone's attention. For the larger roles, the well-known actors may face charges of criminal overacting as well, but it's winning two of them a lot of awards, so I'm sure they have no regrets.
Christian Bale may give his best screen performance as Dickie, avoiding the cliches of a drug addict and modulating the different tones and moods of his character's dashed dreams perfectly. To think that Bale has been consistently good since first being noticed as a youngster in Spielberg's Empire of the Sun and that he escaped the usual child actor traps to keep his career going and his skills getting better as well.
Melissa Leo does a turn as the matriarch Alice Ward unlike any I've ever seen this favorite of mine play. At times, with her blonde-shock wig and a cigarette dangling from her mouth, she resembles an even lower-class version of Anjelica Huston's Lilly from The Grifters. Coming so soon after Leo's triumph on the big screen in Frozen River and on the small in Treme, it's great to see this wonderful actress finally getting the praise that's been long overdue.
Amy Adams also gets a part that doesn't resemble anything she's portrayed before. She plays Charlene, the barmaid who becomes Micky's girlfriend and who can give back as good as any of Micky's family tries to give her, thinking she's a bad influence because she backs his decision to try to go with a professional manager who might help Micky find success and money in boxing as opposed to the ever-controlling Mama Alice.
Finally, it's really nice to see Jack McGee get a solid role as George, Micky's father, after his unjustified dismissal from the series Rescue Me that led me to stop watching that show.
I didn't realize until I watched the credits (or I had known and forgotten) that Darren Aronofsky served as an executive producer on The Fighter, so with this and his Black Swan, he was involved with two of 2010's most interesting movies.
As I mentioned earlier, The Fighter is quite a change of pace for director David O. Russell, but then again, each film he makes seems that way. It's hard to pin him down, but he's made a good one here. His direction isn't showy, but it doesn't have to be with this cast of characters.
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Labels: 10s, A. Huston, Amy Adams, Boardwalk Empire, HBO, Melissa Leo, Spielberg, Treme, Wahlberg
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Sunday, May 03, 2009
CSD: Crime Scene Disinfectors
By Jonathan Pacheco
Sunshine Cleaning gets its emotions and characters right, but feels the need to force them into specific situations. It leaves long stretches of story untouched, allowing the characters to be, exist, and reveal, only to intervene at somewhat critical points to steer the story in the direction it planned on going. This results in the audience member yelling at the film, “Get out of the way!”
The idea of the plot intrigues — two sisters, Rose and Norah (Amy Adams and Emily Blunt), decide to go into the crime scene cleanup business — but the way it reached that scenario felt contrived. First, the idea is “casually” tossed out by Rose’s married lover, Mac (Steve Zahn), a cop who claims Rose could make good money off a racket like that. When her son’s principal recommends that she put the boy on medication, Rose neglects caution and pulls him out of the school that minute, insisting he only receive the best education that money can buy. She needs more cash for a school like that. Luckily, Mac’s got an idea: what about that crime scene cleanup racket he casually mentioned before?
Once Sunshine Cleaning gets past this blunt hump, it cruises along nicely as the characters have time to breath, even allowing important plot developments to feel as if they happen on their own. While cleaning a particularly nasty scene at a trailer home, Norah discovers a fanny pack with the deceased’s ID and pictures of her daughter. Norah feels that it might be their duty to inform the daughter of her mother’s passing, but Rose disagrees, prompting Norah to simply do it on her own. The film doesn’t take the easy way out in the relationship between Norah and Lynn, the daughter in the pictures (Mary Lynn Rajskub), who doesn’t know Norah’s true intentions. The story takes some turns, complete with not-so-subtle hints at a lesbian attraction from Lynn which is interestingly neither accepted nor rejected by Norah. Typically in films like this, you get the “Whoa, hey, I think you got the wrong impression” moment, but Sunshine Cleaning intriguingly allows us to instead try to guess Norah’s thoughts. Is she open to this kind of attraction? Is she not rejecting it to keep the relationship alive? I don’t know, and the film doesn’t spell it out for me either. I like that.
The same goes for Rose’s relationship with Winston (Clifton Collins Jr.), the helpful, perceptive one-armed owner of the cleaning supply store. The film nurtures an attraction, especially on Winston’s part, allowing it to grow, rarely forcing circumstances to meet at certain end. Eventually the attraction reaches a level where it’s obvious to everyone that there’s something more to these two, but the film doesn’t draw any conclusions for its audience. Refreshingly, no blatant declarations are made as you are allowed to decide for yourself what happens next. To make things even better, the chemistry between Winston and Rose feels genuine. I looked forward to scenes between the two characters (and actors) because of the pleasing nature of their attraction.
It’s hard to say more about Amy Adams. The material in Sunshine Cleaning isn’t particularly challenging for her, but the character of Rose did have a few small twists that gave Adams a little bit more to do. She’s played many innocents throughout her career, from Junebug to Doubt to Enchanted to even, in a way, Charlie Wilson’s War. Rose is still a sweet character with good intentions, but she lacks the same innocence as the past roles. She sleeps with Mac behind his wife’s back, and while the main point of the affair is that Rose hopes that Mac will one day leave his spouse for her, I also see it for one of the obvious reasons: Rose likes sleeping with Mac. It’s not an overt trait, but Rose is more sexual than most characters that Amy Adams has played before (with the possible exception of her role in Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, which I’ve yet to see). Mix that in with the classic Amy Adams charm, and you have an ever-so-slightly different animal in Sunshine Cleaning.
Alan Arkin brings an amusing, if somewhat forgettable, touch to the film as the father of Rose and Norah. Most of his interaction is with Rose’s son, as he ropes him into several of his endless hair-brained business schemes, always looking to make a quick buck. In this light he reflects his character in Little Miss Sunshine, as does the general feel of Sunshine Cleaning (not surprising, as the two films share the same producers). However, it’s hard to find much purpose in his character other than a pleasant, occasional diversion from the main action.
I initially had no interest in seeing Sunshine Cleaning until I watched the trailer. The concept sounded like a great one until the trailer featured moments when the characters forced too much meaning on events. “We come into people’s lives when they have experienced something profound and...we help.” That’s when I got a vibe about the film, worrying me that it would try too hard to have an impact. The actual film is not nearly as sappy or ham-fisted as the trailer, and even takes a few daring steps in certain stories and endings, but it still contains that bit of forced meaning and sentimentality that hinders it from being anything more than just “a nice film.”
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Monday, January 05, 2009
Unholy Suspicions
By Josh R
The 18th century poet and essayist Samuel Johnson declared that “He is no wise man who will quit a certainty for an uncertainty.” There would seem to be little room for questioning the soundness of that logic — that is, until one considers just what a dangerous thing absolute certainty can be. In a world where most people will never allow themselves to question that which they believe to be true (a condition hardly limited to religious fundamentalists), the very lack of uncertainty can become an impediment to progress and understanding. With all due respect to Mr. Johnson, he is no wise man who will quit uncertainty for rigid inflexibility on all matters he is certain of.
Now that we’ve taken Mr. Johnson to task, it may be time to cut him some slack — after all, he didn’t have to swallow the rationalizations of the Bush administration (even at this late date, Fearless Leader still believes with all his heart and soul that takin’ out Saddam was best for America — and, to be fair, the hundreds of American kids who got shot down or blown up in Iraq might just as easily have died in domestic hunting accidents.) Modern political blunders aside, Johnson might also have amended or qualified his panegyric to the state of unblinking certitude had he lived long enough to cross paths with Sister Aloysius, the central character of John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt and the sort of ironclad dogmatist no 18th century philosopher ever stood a hope in hell of matching swords with.
The imperious headmistress of a Bronx parochial school in the mid-1960s, Sister Aloysius is guided in equal measures by an unshakable faith, unswerving adherence to tradition and an unwavering certainty in her own convictions. Ambiguity has no place in her universe, just as there is no likelihood of her budging one fraction of an inch on any firmly held position — and as played by Meryl Streep, it would seem that she is about as open to persuasion as a rhinoceros in full-on charge mode. Come hell or high water, she will trample everything in her path, only later looking back to survey the damage. You can only proceed with such lack of caution — to say nothing of lack of guilt — when you know that you’re right.
Adapted from his Pulitzer Prize-winning play of the same name, writer-director Shanley has opened up what essentially existed on the stage as an insular chamber piece to a broader consideration of the national mood at a specific moment in America’s turbulent socio-political history. In the wake of the Kennedy assassination and on the brink of Vietnam, postwar confidence had been eroded to the point that nearly every established truth seemed up for grabs; then, as in now, it was often hard to tell the good guys from the bad guys. Viewed from a certain perspective, Doubt has no heroes or villains to speak of — or, to be accurate, either of the two main characters could exist as both, or as neither. At surface value, the adversarial relationship between Sister Aloysius and Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman), the young parish priest whose progressive attitudes diverge sharply from Aloysius’ traditionalist views on faith and education, represents generational conflict. On the other, it is also a de facto battle between good and evil, righteousness and hypocrisy, truth and folly — as to which person best represents which values, the playwright isn’t about to say.
The guessing game begins with a suspicion — or rather, an uneasy feeling that paves the way for suspicion, and with minimal provocation develops into an accusation. Sister Aloysius’ gut tells her that the popular and charismatic Father Flynn — who relates to the students in a much more informal and personal way than she deems necessary — may be guilty of improper conduct with one or more of the boys in his charge. Without specifying the exact nature of her fears, she instructs her subordinates to be on the lookout for suspicious behavior. When the naïve and impressionable Sister James (Amy Adams) reports an incident of somewhat questionable behavior — perhaps innocent, perhaps not — involving the priest and the school’s only African-American pupil, the grim reaction of Sister Aloysius confirms that she is set on a course from which she will not falter. From this point on, she will broach no contradiction of what she believes to be the truth, and elicit a confession of guilt regardless of what, or who, must be sacrificed in the process.
While Shanley has widened his scope to encompass a broader range of themes, Doubt still functions primarily as an actors’ showcase. Long before casting for the film was announced, it was a given that Meryl Streep would be playing the role of Aloysius; I said as much to my theater companion after the curtain had gone down at Manhattan Theater Club, where Doubt began before moving on to an extended engagement on Broadway. Unless she’s dancing across rooftops lip-synching ABBA standards, Streep may be incapable of giving a bad performance; she certainly creates a forceful impression as the implacable Aloysius, and brings the requisite dramatic fire to scenes that couldn’t work in the absence of theatricality. It must be said, however, that she lacks some of the shading and nuance that Cherry Jones, the role’s originator, brought to the part. This Aloysius verges on the monochromatic, with motives that are much more transparent and easier to place — consequently, there’s a bit of an imbalance at work in the Flynn-Aloysius conflict, which in this context can’t avoid feeling a bit one-sided. Jones tempered her austerity with some welcome flashes of humor and spirit — it makes sense, from a dramatic standpoint, for Aloysius to be tightly wound and joyless, but it doesn’t leave as much room for ambiguity, something Doubt requires by its very definition in order to be compelling. This Aloysius seems to be willing to believe the worst about the priest — who becomes a much more sympathetic character than he perhaps ought to be in Philip Seymour Hoffman’s interpretation — because she just flat-out doesn’t like him; that’s what guides her impulses, and makes it difficult for the audience to trust the validity of her positions. Streep is still something to see, though. Even if, to a certain extent, she misses the boat in terms of what the film is actually about, it is nonetheless a smoothly executed, and eminently entertaining performance.
Better still is Hoffman, who is in every way superior to Brian F. O’Byrne, the Irish-born actor who played the role on Broadway and couldn’t avoid seeming stiff and oratorical while wrestling with a thick Bronx accent that unleashed itself upon Shanley’s dialogue like a team of attack dogs. If Hoffman makes the character a bit more likable than perhaps he should be — again, it’s easy to know which side to pick in this interpretation — it is a beautifully calibrated, deeply felt performance which makes it very clear why people would be naturally drawn to Father Flynn, and allow him a bit more latitude than is his honest due. Less successful is the very pale, frail-looking Amy Adams, who is all tremulous delicacy as the put-upon Sister James. While it is true that the character becomes something of a pawn in the Aloysius-Flynn power struggle, James needs to come across as something more than a deer caught in the headlights. We never really believe that she has it in her to summon the spirit to stand up to Aloysius; for the most part, she looks as she ought to be shivering on street corners with her big saucer eyes selling matches. Standing up to Aloysius — and Meryl Streep, for that matter — is not a problem for Viola Davis, who brings a vivid combination of toughness and emotionalism to the small but pivotal role of the student’s mother.
Perhaps the most marked difference between the stage and film versions of Doubt — and again, part of this can be attributed to Streep’s more dour take on the central role — is that some of the energy and suspense (even, I daresay, the fun) of the original incarnation seems to have been lost in translation. The tone is much darker here than it seemed in the previous context — not in the least because the story takes place under a perpetually gray, drizzling Bronx sky with stern-faced stone angels looking ominously on. Within the confines of a single, contained space — in which the focus seemed limited to the battle-of-the-wills between two shrewd, engaged combatants — there was a crackling energy that the film version doesn’t even really begin to replicate. The impact is further diluted by an opening-up that draws the focus away from the central conflict. Shanley has, perhaps unwisely, added an autobiographical character (introduced to us as the film’s beginning, before any of the other characters have appeared) who was not featured in the play — the story is based on events that actually occurred within the playwright’s childhood, although he’s never said whether or not the real Father Flynn was, in fact, guilty of the crimes with which he was charged. As a director, Shanley doesn’t really have much of a sense of visual style — it’s possible that a more seasoned helmer might have found ways to bring a more varied look to the proceedings, thus avoiding a sense of lugubriousness. That said, the writer’s impulse to protect his vision, without the interference of another party who might try to make Doubt into something a bit more audience-friendly, is understandable. Ultimately, this Doubt is true to its origins, and delivers when it adheres closely to the original script. It is a worthy and interesting cinematic adaptation, even if not quite as successful as it might have been.
But of that I can’t be certain.
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Labels: 00s, Amy Adams, P.S. Hoffman, Streep, Theater, Viola Davis
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Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Snow White and the Boro of Manhattan
By Edward Copeland
Full of charm with froth to spare, Enchanted doesn't cast an unbreakable spell on a moviegoer, but it does provide more than enough entertainment to pass the time.
Amy Adams' deceptively simple performance as Giselle, a would-be princess from a 2D fairy tale dimension who finds herself sent to New York by an evil queen (Susan Sarandon) determined to hang on to her throne and prevent Adams' marriage to her stepson (James Marsden), the heir to the cartoon kingdom.
By their very nature, fairy tales are a bit retro, but that aspect of the film is nearly as retro as the portrait of New York it paints. It's as if it's set in the '70s or '80s instead of now, where everyone is cynical, all parts are filthy and no one helps anyone out. It's especially odd to see a grimy Times Square in a Disney film that barely shows the Disneyfication that has happened to the fabled area.
While it's true that New Yorkers probably wouldn't bat an eye at a clueless young lady in a huge flowing gown traipsing through Times Square, that's still the part that kept me at a distance.
Robert, the lawyer who reluctantly helps Giselle (Patrick Dempsey), is painted as insanely pragmatic and cynical, yet he doesn't seem to be bothered when he sees packs of rats, pigeons and cockroaches helping to clean his apartment. (I did wish that Danielle Ferland's Little Red Riding Hood in Sondheim's Into the Woods would show up at some point to ask quizically, "You talk to birds?")
There is a brief mention of problems associated with Giselle having no evidence of existence (birth certificate, Social Security number, etc.), but his transformation is even less convincing than Giselle's and would be the film's least acceptable character switch if it weren't for the late-inning change in Robert's girlfriend (Idina Menzel).
Despite these reservations, Enchanted entertains despite itself thanks largely to most of the performances. Adams is pitch perfect and makes her subtle change entirely plausible without losing her character's essential essence.
Marsden also has fun as the 2D prince and it's probably the most fun Sarandon has had on screen in ages. There also is solid support from Timothy Spall as the prince's helper who is secretly in cahoots with the queen.
Overall, Enchanted was enjoyable fluff despite its anachronistic mocking of the best city in the world. Of course, I'm partial to New York, even though I'm cynical enough to accept that happily-ever-afters are rare, even there.
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Full of charm with froth to spare, Enchanted doesn't cast an unbreakable spell on a moviegoer, but it does provide more than enough entertainment to pass the time.
Amy Adams' deceptively simple performance as Giselle, a would-be princess from a 2D fairy tale dimension who finds herself sent to New York by an evil queen (Susan Sarandon) determined to hang on to her throne and prevent Adams' marriage to her stepson (James Marsden), the heir to the cartoon kingdom.
By their very nature, fairy tales are a bit retro, but that aspect of the film is nearly as retro as the portrait of New York it paints. It's as if it's set in the '70s or '80s instead of now, where everyone is cynical, all parts are filthy and no one helps anyone out. It's especially odd to see a grimy Times Square in a Disney film that barely shows the Disneyfication that has happened to the fabled area.
While it's true that New Yorkers probably wouldn't bat an eye at a clueless young lady in a huge flowing gown traipsing through Times Square, that's still the part that kept me at a distance.
Robert, the lawyer who reluctantly helps Giselle (Patrick Dempsey), is painted as insanely pragmatic and cynical, yet he doesn't seem to be bothered when he sees packs of rats, pigeons and cockroaches helping to clean his apartment. (I did wish that Danielle Ferland's Little Red Riding Hood in Sondheim's Into the Woods would show up at some point to ask quizically, "You talk to birds?")
There is a brief mention of problems associated with Giselle having no evidence of existence (birth certificate, Social Security number, etc.), but his transformation is even less convincing than Giselle's and would be the film's least acceptable character switch if it weren't for the late-inning change in Robert's girlfriend (Idina Menzel).
Despite these reservations, Enchanted entertains despite itself thanks largely to most of the performances. Adams is pitch perfect and makes her subtle change entirely plausible without losing her character's essential essence.
Marsden also has fun as the 2D prince and it's probably the most fun Sarandon has had on screen in ages. There also is solid support from Timothy Spall as the prince's helper who is secretly in cahoots with the queen.
Overall, Enchanted was enjoyable fluff despite its anachronistic mocking of the best city in the world. Of course, I'm partial to New York, even though I'm cynical enough to accept that happily-ever-afters are rare, even there.
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Labels: 00s, Amy Adams, Disney, Sondheim, Susan Sarandon
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Friday, December 21, 2007
A spoonful of sugar helps the history go down
By Edward Copeland
When I revisited Smiles of a Summer Night recently, I was reminded of the line by Desiree's mother that says to beware of good deeds, because they come with a high cost and leave a nasty smell. The phrase seems even more apt when considering the true story of Charlie Wilson's War, Mike Nichols' best feature film in decades. It manages to present history as entertainment and succeeds glowingly on both counts.
Tom Hanks stars as the former Texas representative and once again Hanks gives a performance much better than either of the two for which he won Oscars.
Charlie Wilson was a true product of the 1980s, a hard-drinking, hard-partying member of Congress with a penchant for the ladies, a staff full of big-haired beauties and a slim legislative track record. As he tells one character, he's fortunate enough to represent the one congressional district in the United States that doesn't want anything, so he's free to vote yes a lot and collect a lot of IOUs from other House members.
During a weekend of debauchery in Las Vegas, a 60 Minutes report on the struggles of Afghans in their fight against Soviet invaders catches Wilson's eye. As a member of an important subcommittee, Wilson, almost on a whim, doubles the amount of U.S. dollars being spent on covert activities in Afghanistan.
Wilson's action attracts the attention of a wealthy Houston socialite Joanna Herring (Julia Roberts), who is as right-wing and Republican as Wilson is not but has made the Afghan situation a cause aimed at winning the Cold War. She encourages Wilson to add a trip to Pakistan on to a planned junket to the Mideast so he can meet with Pakistani President Zia (Om Puri), the man who hanged the late Benazir Bhutto's father in a previous takeover in Pakistan.
After an awkward meeting with Zia and his advisers, who were under the false impression that Wilson was an official U.S. envoy, Zia asks Wilson to pay a visit to one of the Afghan refugee camps that have sprouted in his country. The visit is a true eye-opener for Wilson when he sees the plight of the Afghan refugees and meets with the CIA official in charge of the region, who makes it clear that his job is not to draw attention to any U.S. activities or risk making the Cold War into a hot one.
Angered by the station chief's attitude, Wilson flies back to D.C. on a mission, telling his faithful aide (Amy Adams) to get the deputy director of the CIA or higher in his office that morning. The man who arrives instead is a lower-level CIA agent named Gust Avrakotos (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a blustery man with a history of making enemies within the agency.
It seems like a cliche to say that Hoffman gives a great performance since he does it so often, but Gust is another one and he and Hanks bring out the best in one another.
Despite Wilson's anger over not getting the CIA official he wants, he soon learns that he did get the right man and the two set out to increase the budget for covert ops in Afghanistan to help the mujahedeen. Their travels include making unlikely allies in their mission out of Israel and Muslim nations such as Saudi Arabia and Pakistan. Further complicating religious matters, is the boisterous Christian sermonizing of Joanna.
As Gust warns Wilson when trying to downplay Joanna's religiosity, sooner or later, God will end up on both sides of the fight. Roberts' accent as Joanna is a little iffy, but her role is so small that it hardly matters.
The screenplay by Aaron Sorkin is sharp, smooth and never strays from its efficiently told story. Sorkin, whose dialogue grew so generic and predictable on The West Wing, seems to have rediscovered his voice and the ability to distinguish characters from one another.
Nichols, who has concentrated of late on directing on Broadway and in two great play adaptations for HBO (Angels in America and Wit), still has some great moves in his arsenal of tricks.
In addition to keeping the pace perfect, he also has some particularly nice shots, including a stunning pullback view of the refugee camp that's reminiscent of the scene of wounded Confederate troops in Gone With the Wind.
Of course, most people know that the rout of the Soviets that led to the disintegration of the U.S.S.R. had unintended consequences for the U.S., but Nichols and Sorkin still manage to land this denouement like a suckerpunch at the end. As Wilson notes when his pleas to help Afghanistan after the Soviets leave fall on deaf ears, the U.S. always seems to go in places with the highest ideals, but then leaves before the job is finished.
Charlie Wilson's War doesn't make that mistake. It teaches while making you laugh consistently and heartily, then sends you out of the theater to reflect on what was yet to come.
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Labels: 00s, Amy Adams, Hanks, Julia Roberts, Nichols, P.S. Hoffman, Sorkin
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