Monday, September 23, 2013
More than any of us can bear
BLOGGER'S NOTE: This review originally ran on this blog on Aug. 9, 2006. I'm re-posting it for The Oliver Stone Blogathon occurring through Oct. 6 at Seetimaar — Diary of a Movie Lover
By Edward Copeland
I finally caught up with Oliver Stone's World Trade Center and, as indicated by many reviews, it certainly qualifies as the least Oliver Stone-like film Stone has made (though Oliver can't resist tossing in a couple of ghostly images of Jesus in a light but hey, at least it wasn't a mystical Indian). World Trade Center does end up being Stone's best work in quite some time.
Like most Stone movies, it contains fat that could be lost easily and in the battle of 9/11 movies, I still prefer United 93, even though Stone's film contains good performances. Cage gives his best straight performance in ages. Yes, I loved him in Adaptation, but I can't remember the last time he played a dramatic role in a movie that wasn't a time-waster.
He's also ably supported by Michael Pena as the fellow Port Authority officer trapped with him beneath the rubble, and Maria Bello as Cage's wife and Maggie Gyllenhaal as Pena's wife, awaiting word on their husbands' fates. If I prefer United 93 to World Trade Center, it's for one main reason: the emotional wounds of 9/11 remain so fresh, that it seems almost unnecessary to tell personal, albeit true, stories to wring emotion from a viewer. The relative anonymity of the passengers depicted in United 93 touched me more deeply than the fleshed-out stories in World Trade Center did, especially when they tack on a lapsed paramedic (Frank Whaley) and a former Marine (Michael Shannon) who abandons his office job, throws on his old uniform and marches into Ground Zero to help.
World Trade Center depicts well the confusion and communications breakdowns on 9/11, where the first responders themselves don't realize that a second plane has hit the second tower until well after they've arrived on the scene of the first tower.
As you expect from a Stone production, his production team delivers top-notch technical aspects. While World Trade Center as a film comes off as Stone's finest in ages, it's difficult to compete with the real images we saw that day. Paul Greengrass found a way to accomplish that in United 93. While Stone's film offers good performances, somehow the personal touch ends up being less emotionally satisfying.
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Labels: 00s, M. Gyllenhaal, Maria Bello, Michael Shannon, Nicolas Cage, Oliver Stone
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Thursday, August 19, 2010
We believe in Happy Endings
By Ivan G. Shreve, Jr.
In 1998, after reading many positive reviews of writer-director Don Roos’ The Opposite of Sex, I purchased a VHS copy of the movie on a whim and shoved it into the player for a look-see. Though I think it was slightly overrated by quite a few critics (my main peeve of the film is that the ending doesn’t completely jibe with what took place before it) it was both a worthwhile buy and an entertaining watch; a jet black comedy starring Christina Ricci as a young nymphet who wreaks havoc for her half-brother (Martin Donovan) and his acquaintances in a small, conservative Indiana town.
Roos got his big break as a television scribe for many prime time dramatic series including Hart to Hart, Paper Dolls, The Colbys and Nightingales — and this background is evident in Sex, with Ricci’a character behaving in the manner of a teenage Alexis Colby (the role played on Dynasty by Joan Collins). He has a definite feel for strong female characters, as witnessed by his contributions to films such as Love Field (1992), Single White Female (1992), Boys on the Side (1995) and Diabolique (1996). Happily, the tradition of meaty, well-written parts for actresses continues in a smart, witty film I thought even better than Sex (if you’ll pardon the pun): 2005’s Happy Endings.
Happy Endings — a euphemism for any sexual release that occurs during a massage — tells three stories that in the tradition of multiple narratives interweave with one another throughout the film. The first tale belongs to Mamie (Lisa Kudrow), an abortion clinic counselor dating a Latino masseuse (Bobby Cannavale) who finds that a secret she’s kept under lock and key (she was supposed to abort the pregnancy that resulted from she and her stepbrother Charley’s [Steve Coogan] foray into losing their virginity, but gave the child up for adoption instead) is about to be exposed by an aspiring documentary filmmaker named Nicky (Jesse Bradford). Nicky knows the identity of Mamie’s son and offers to make available this information under the proviso that she agree to be the subject of a documentary he wants to make and submit to the American Film Institute for a student grant. Mamie and her boyfriend, Javier, have an alternate plan — they will win Nicky’s confidence by distracting him with another subject for his film…namely Javier himself.
Story No. 2 involves stepbrother Charley, who, since his assignation with Mamie has come out of the closet and enjoys a long-standing relationship with Gil (David Sutcliffe) and friendship with Gil’s best high school chum Ruth (Laura Dern) and her lover, Diane (Sarah Clarke). Ruth and Diane have a young son named Max — and at the time they were trying to conceive, they asked Gil to…well, donate to the cause…but ultimately went to a sperm bank for the father. Charley’s not so certain this is the case, however — and is obsessed with the speculation that Max just may be Gil’s son.
The third tale involves a triangle between Otis (Jason Ritter), a sexually confused youngster who works in Charley’s restaurant and moonlights in a band, a female hustler named Jude (Maggie Gyllenhaal) and Otis’ father Frank (Tom Arnold). Otis has talked Jude into replacing the singer in the band (who’s doing a stint in rehab) after hearing her give out at a karaoke night and she makes herself at home at Casa del Otis — first by helping the young man lose his virginity (in a parallel of the Mamie-Charley tryst) and then moving into the pool house at father Frank’s estate. She pretends to be Otis’ girlfriend (even though Otis is gay) in order to square things between Otis and his father…but with the passage of time, she finds herself falling for the older man and, as the saying goes, the wacky complications ensue.
Although Roos’ original idea for Endings was to tell three stories about three sisters, the unchanging constant in the film’s equation was actress Kudrow, whom Roos had worked with previously in Sex (she gets most of that film’s best lines and pretty much walks off with the movie tucked under the arm). Anyone who’s only familiar with her flaky turn as Friends’ Phoebe will be genuinely surprised by her first-rate emoting as Mamie in Endings — she breathes life into a character who wins the sympathy of the audience despite her unpleasant qualities. (An onscreen title card explains Mamie’s cruelty by saying: “Don’t worry if you don’t like her — her ex-husband was a gambler, so maybe that accounts for a lot.” By the end of the film, however, if Mamie’s situation doesn’t cause you wipe away a tear then you are clearly a robot, my friend.) Mamie is an archetypal Roos creation; in fact, nearly all of the characters in his movies are unattractive people — not in a hunchbacked, dueling-scar-on-the-cheek sense but people who perform acts of ugliness despite being fundamentally decent (if incredibly flawed) human beings. And yet, after experiencing two hours of nasty goings-on with the individuals involved, the film lives up to its title and allows its protagonists the assurance that everything comes out in the wash.
In Sex, Roos used Ricci’s character as the on-screen narrator, a technique he abandons here in favor of those onscreen title cards which in many ways function as an additional participant in the film’s narrative (Roos, in an interview, compares it to Puck from A Midsummer Night's Dream). While a few critics thought this a bit self-indulgent, I found myself in favor of it — particularly because the titles provide information to which the audience is not privy and it eliminates unnecessary and awkward dialogue exchanges. A good example occurs toward the end of the film, when Mamie and Charley have arranged a meeting with their son (Eric Jungmann). The card explains that although they didn’t get an invite to his wedding, they did get to see their grandchildren via e-mailed photos…which eventually come to a stop. Tom, the title card explains, married a woman who’s “much like the rest of us…nothing but opinions.”
The ensemble cast in Endings performs at the peak of their powers, particularly Kudrow and Coogan, who manage to instill likability into characters whose actions result in a great many hurt feelings and broken relationships. My best friend from high school are still engaged in spirited debate about Gyllenhaal — she doesn’t care for Mags (though she admits she may have not seen much of her work, save for Secretary and The Dark Knight) but I’m one of her biggest fans; her character of Jude probably behaves the worst of the lot (which may be why Roos allows her to disappear at the end save for a fantasy musical number) and yet is still undeniably appealing…though again, that may be my admittedly biased admiration for Gyllenhaal’s work. (Gwyneth Paltrow, who starred in Roos’ 2000 film Bounce, had originally been slated to play the part of Jude.) For me, the biggest surprise in the film is the finely subtle accomplishment of comic actor Tom Arnold — who’s normally the cinematic equivalent of nails-on-a-blackboard, but he really shines here. (If I have any nitpicks with the ensemble it's that Laura Dern’s part is woefully underwritten, a crime for such an amazingly gifted actress.)
Since the release of Happy Endings, Roos has written and directed Love and Other Impossible Pursuits (2009), a comedy-drama that re-teams him with Kudrow and also includes Natalie Portman and Lauren Ambrose in the cast. (Roos and Kudrow also collaborated on the online sitcom Web Therapy.) With the batting average that he’s maintained with Sex and Endings, I’m anticipating enjoying the film should it come my way in the near future.
Ivan G. Shreve, Jr. blogs at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear, and the fact that he’s just now gotten around to seeing Happy Endings five years after its release is a testament to his obsession with the movies, television and radio of the past.
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Labels: 00s, Cannavale, Gwyneth Paltrow, L. Dern, M. Gyllenhaal, Natalie Portman, Shakespeare, Television
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Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Taken for granted for far too long
By Edward Copeland
How many years, decades has it been now that moviegoers have just accepted Jeff Bridges as a constant good? He's never been what you'd really label a movie star. His work always has been that of the yeoman character actor.
Link these: Duane of The Last Picture Show and Nick Kegan of Winter Kills; Starman and Tucker; four Jacks: Baker in The Fabulous Baker Boys, Lucas in The Fisher King, Kelson in American Heart and President Evans in The Contender; Ted Cole in The Door in the Floor, the Dude in The Big Lebowski , even Wild Bill.
Now add to this menagerie Bad Blake in Crazy Heart. What connects all these disparate parts and many others is the actor lurking beneath their varied skins and costumes. The spotlight seems to suddenly have turned its often short attention span on Jeff Bridges and it's about damn time.
From the moment Bridges appears on screen in Crazy Heart, he is Bad Blake. Seemingly every cell, every hair follicle and every way his 57-year-old body moves, whether to hold a guitar, swill a drink or have a smoke, there is little Jeff Bridges in evidence in the movie, there's just Bad Blake. It's a good thing too because Bad Blake is the movie. He's in virtually every scene and even though some aspects Crazy Heart seem very familiar, Bridges works such wonders with it, that you don't mind much.
Blake once ruled as a country music superstar, but now he's reduced to playing bowling alleys and drinking too much, living off advances, sometimes with as little as $10 in his pocket when he rolls into his latest town. Still, his gravelly exterior has charm to spare, for the crowds or the occasional lady who longs to share his bed for a night. Yes, his career may have hit the skids, but a loyal fan base persists, making a reporter in Santa Fe (Maggie Gyllenhaal) want to interview the man about the difference between his style and what she deems the "artificial country" that dominates radio today. Soon, a real romance develops between the two.
One of the primary beneficiaries of today's country music is Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell), a former protege of Blake's who still feels tremendous loyalty toward his mentor and tries to use his stardom to reignite his mentor's career however he can.
Writer-director Scott Cooper adapted the novel by Thomas Cobb and he certainly brings an authentic feel to the settings and the character (helped in no small part by the original music by T. Bone Burnett and his collaborators), despite moments that steer uncomfortably close to being a country-music version of The Wrestler.
Still, Bridges' powerhouse turn more than compensates for any weaknesses that the film itself has and it's worth seeing just to spend some time with Bad Blake.
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Labels: 00s, Jeff Bridges, M. Gyllenhaal
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Monday, October 12, 2009
On the road to nowhere
By Edward Copeland
When a film is structured as a road trip, basically a series of vignettes, you're going to run into trouble when the characters your main protagonists meet along the way are infinitely more interesting than the film's stars are. Each time you run into a new set of potentially fascinating people, Away We Go jerks the characters away and sticks you back into the company of the two bores you began the journey with and from whom you were seeking respite.
John Krasinksi and Maya Rudolph star as Burt and Verona, a couple expecting their first child in Sam Mendes' film of Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida's screenplay. The pair are uncertain where and how to make a life. Burt would like to wed, but Verona sees no need and two take off across North America seeing friends, acquaintances and relatives to get ideas of what to do and what not to do in their future. While Krasinksi and Rudolph each have their moments, especially Krasinski, the stars are overshadowed by the characters they meet on their journey,
First, there is an all-to-brief but fun appearance by Jeff Daniels and Catherine O'Hara as Burt's parents. They are followed by hysterical turns by Allison Janney and Jim Gaffigan as a long married couple and later by Maggie Gyllenhaal and Josh Hamilton as a New Agey pair who believe they have all the answers and finally set Burt off.
The problem with Away We Go, as with most films of this sort of episodic nature, is that the structure comes prebuilt with its own inevitable series of ups and downs and some parts work better than others and the whole suffers as a result.
This is doubly the case here since we never get a good hook on who Burt and Verona are and why we should care enough to follow these two around to begin with. Away We Go isn't a bad film, it's just one that was flawed from its conception and the movie that ended up being born as a result just doesn't work.
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Labels: 00s, Jeff Daniels, M. Gyllenhaal
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Monday, January 29, 2007
A whole new genre
By Edward Copeland
It seems to me, and perhaps you could call them Kaufmanesque films though Charlie Kaufman certainly didn't create the genre, that you could label an entire section of video stores (while they still exist) as Better Ideas Than Movies. Stranger Than Fiction belongs in that section beside films such as Being John Malkovich and The Truman Show.
I liked Stranger Than Fiction quite a bit, helped in no small part by its solid ensemble of performers. Will Ferrell delivers his best-ever screen work as IRS auditor Harold Crick, a man who starts hearing a voice that seems to be narrating his life and realizes that he's both human and a character in the novel of reclusive writer Kay Eiffel (Emma Thompson).
The biggest downside: All her main characters die in the end, meaning Harold's days could well be as numbered as the pages on Eiffel's manuscript (God love her, she still uses a typewriter). When Harold's therapist can't convince him that he's just schizophrenic, she recommends that he seek out a prominent literature professor (Dustin Hoffman) who comes to believe that Harold isn't imagining things, especially when he identifies the voice as belonging to Eiffel, one of his favorite writers.
The premise certainly is an intriguing one, but like many films of this type, it's difficult to construct a conclusion to equal the original contrivance. It raises interesting questions and while billed as a comedy, it plays more bittersweet than boisterous, but the cast more than makes up for it.
Thompson really excels as the nervous, chain-smoking novelist torn between what's best for her book and what's best for another human being and Hoffman is fine as man whose life is literature. Maggie Gyllenhaal gives another standout turn as a woman who begins as someone Harold is auditing before becoming his unlikely girlfriend. She could have been justly nominated in both lead and supporting Oscar categories this year and the Academy should be ashamed for giving her neither.
Though his part is small, I must mention the presence of Tony Hale if only to lament the much-missed Arrested Development.
Director Marc Forster moves the film along well and certainly is building an eclectic body of work. To think the same director helmed Monster's Ball, Finding Neverland and Stranger Than Fiction is somewhat astounding.
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It seems to me, and perhaps you could call them Kaufmanesque films though Charlie Kaufman certainly didn't create the genre, that you could label an entire section of video stores (while they still exist) as Better Ideas Than Movies. Stranger Than Fiction belongs in that section beside films such as Being John Malkovich and The Truman Show.
I liked Stranger Than Fiction quite a bit, helped in no small part by its solid ensemble of performers. Will Ferrell delivers his best-ever screen work as IRS auditor Harold Crick, a man who starts hearing a voice that seems to be narrating his life and realizes that he's both human and a character in the novel of reclusive writer Kay Eiffel (Emma Thompson).
The biggest downside: All her main characters die in the end, meaning Harold's days could well be as numbered as the pages on Eiffel's manuscript (God love her, she still uses a typewriter). When Harold's therapist can't convince him that he's just schizophrenic, she recommends that he seek out a prominent literature professor (Dustin Hoffman) who comes to believe that Harold isn't imagining things, especially when he identifies the voice as belonging to Eiffel, one of his favorite writers.
The premise certainly is an intriguing one, but like many films of this type, it's difficult to construct a conclusion to equal the original contrivance. It raises interesting questions and while billed as a comedy, it plays more bittersweet than boisterous, but the cast more than makes up for it.
Thompson really excels as the nervous, chain-smoking novelist torn between what's best for her book and what's best for another human being and Hoffman is fine as man whose life is literature. Maggie Gyllenhaal gives another standout turn as a woman who begins as someone Harold is auditing before becoming his unlikely girlfriend. She could have been justly nominated in both lead and supporting Oscar categories this year and the Academy should be ashamed for giving her neither.
Though his part is small, I must mention the presence of Tony Hale if only to lament the much-missed Arrested Development.
Director Marc Forster moves the film along well and certainly is building an eclectic body of work. To think the same director helmed Monster's Ball, Finding Neverland and Stranger Than Fiction is somewhat astounding.
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Labels: 00s, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson, M. Gyllenhaal, Malkovich
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Friday, January 26, 2007
The name missing from Oscar's list
By Edward Copeland
There is a moment in sherrybaby where Maggie Gyllenhaal gives one of the purest expressions of the damaged child still dwelling within the adult. Sherry (Gyllenhaal), newly paroled from prison, is seeing her father for the first time since her release in a crowded family gathering and she begins joyously jumping up and down on a sofa, showing her joy as she tries to get her dad's attention. As with most things in Sherry's life, the happiness is short-lived, but Gyllenhaal's performance is far from it — this may well be her best work yet.
I have to give kudos to the HFPA for including her in their Golden Globe nominations this year. I only wish the Academy had had the foresight to follow their lead, because she definitely deserved the spot.
Written and directed by Laurie Collyer, sherrybaby would play like any number of indie films you've seen before about recovering addicts and moms trying to re-establish connection to their children if it weren't for Gyllenhaal, who makes the entire enterprise seem fresh. She's funny and sad, yet she doesn't leap through hoops to make the audience love her.
You have to wonder whether or not her daughter should stay in the care of her brother and his wife, given Sherry's erratic nature, but at the same time, you recognize that they are treating her a bit shabbily as well.
The supporting cast does well, but this is Gyllenhaal's movie from beginning to end and unlike other 2006 films with great performances that still made you wonder whether watching the film was worth your time, Gyllenhaal's work here more than makes you grateful you spent the time with Sherry.
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There is a moment in sherrybaby where Maggie Gyllenhaal gives one of the purest expressions of the damaged child still dwelling within the adult. Sherry (Gyllenhaal), newly paroled from prison, is seeing her father for the first time since her release in a crowded family gathering and she begins joyously jumping up and down on a sofa, showing her joy as she tries to get her dad's attention. As with most things in Sherry's life, the happiness is short-lived, but Gyllenhaal's performance is far from it — this may well be her best work yet.
I have to give kudos to the HFPA for including her in their Golden Globe nominations this year. I only wish the Academy had had the foresight to follow their lead, because she definitely deserved the spot.
Written and directed by Laurie Collyer, sherrybaby would play like any number of indie films you've seen before about recovering addicts and moms trying to re-establish connection to their children if it weren't for Gyllenhaal, who makes the entire enterprise seem fresh. She's funny and sad, yet she doesn't leap through hoops to make the audience love her.
You have to wonder whether or not her daughter should stay in the care of her brother and his wife, given Sherry's erratic nature, but at the same time, you recognize that they are treating her a bit shabbily as well.
The supporting cast does well, but this is Gyllenhaal's movie from beginning to end and unlike other 2006 films with great performances that still made you wonder whether watching the film was worth your time, Gyllenhaal's work here more than makes you grateful you spent the time with Sherry.
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Labels: 00s, M. Gyllenhaal
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