Monday, March 28, 2011
Mildred Pierce Parts One and Two
BLOGGER'S NOTE: This recap contains spoilers, so if you haven't seen Parts One and Two yet, move along.
By Edward Copeland
Todd Haynes' miniseries adaptation of Mildred Pierce doesn't play the way you usually think of miniseries of old with two hour long or more parts airing over several nights on the same week. Haynes' miniseries plays more like a limited series, with five episodes, each about an hour long or 10 or 20 minutes over and playing on consecutive Sundays. It premiered tonight with both Parts One and Two. Both will be recapped in a single post after Part Two has aired.
We meet Mildred Pierce (Kate Winslet) as she's busily making pies and finishing up a cake as well in her Glendale, Calif., kitchen in 1931. Her cheating husband Bert (Brian F. O'Byrne) was forced out of the home-building company that he started and still bears his name by his partner and presumed best friend Wally
Bergan (James LeGros) and then Bert lost what money he had left in the crash of '29 and has been unemployed ever since, thanks to the Great Depression. Mildred has been helping make ends meet taking orders selling pies and cakes she makes to neighborhood wives. As she slaves in the kitchen, Bert busies himself in the yard, trimming trees and mowing grass. He finally finishes and comes in for some lemonade saying he's done all that he can for the day and thought he go out for awhile. Mildred knows exactly what this means and it sets her off. One of Haynes' best touches in this scene is the way he explains the backstory about Pierce Homes. Much as Hitchcock did in explaining what caused James Stewart's broken leg in Rear Window through a series of photos and clippings on
the wall, Haynes pans across photos and blueprints on the well, avoiding the detailed exposition James M. Cain had to supply in the Mildred Pierce novel. Making the scene even more effective, Haynes chooses to do this with a heightening of Carter Burwell's score so the viewer doesn't see and can barely see the fight between Bert and Mildred as it escalates. Before we get to that point, she asks if he'll be home for dinner and Bert says yes at first, but then qualifies it by saying that if he's not home by 6, don't wait for him. This pushes Mildred to the point where she's ready to have it out. She has been turning a blind eye to Bert's affair with Mrs. Biederhof for a long but tonight, she wants a definite answer. If he's going to be there for certain, she'll spend the cake money on lamb chops, but if he's going to still be off with Maggie Biederhof, she'll get something the girls will like better. It leads to a fight that's been a long time coming and Bert packs his suitcase and drives away. Soon after Bert's departure, Mildred's neighbor and closest friend Lucy Kessler (Melissa Leo) drops by as Mildred busies herself washing dishes. "He took the car," Mildred mutters, much to Lucy's confusion. She asks what Mildred means and she tells her that Bert has left. "He walked on you?" Lucy queries with surprise, though
Mildred admits she gave him a little help. "For that floppy-haired little frump?" Lucy says indignantly, referring to Maggie Biederhof. Mildred says she can have him if she can do things the way he wants. "I've got my own ways and I can't just change them for someone else," Mildred declares. That simple line of dialogue could be a key to the entire story of Mildred Pierce. By the end of this episode, not to mention the series as a whole, we will see that Mildred can change, though it's not necessarily for someone else. The ability, inability or unwillingness of the characters in Mildred Pierce to adapt really drives this tale. "Well, you've joined the biggest army on earth," Lucy tells her. "You're the great American institution that never gets mentioned on Fourth of July — a grass widow with two small children to support. The dirty bastard." Mildred actually defends Bert, saying that he's alright. "He's alright, but he's still a dirty bastard," Lucy responds. "They're all dirty bastards." It's interesting that for an author known for his tough crime novels as James M. Cain was that he produced a book such as Mildred Pierce, because if it had been written by a woman, some reactionaries would accuse the author of being anti-men since there really isn't a positive portrayal of one in the entire story. Of course, all the characters are flawed and the biggest bastard of them all will turn out to be a young woman. To have written this in 1941 makes it even more remarkable, not that Mildred can be viewed as an early feminist heroine either.After hearing another arrival, Lucy excuses herself after leaving Mildred some chicken she'd prepared but that she feared would spoil because her husband Ike, a truck driver, got a sudden call for a job down to Long Beach and she was going to go with her. Mrs. Gessler exits as 11-year-old Veda (the phenomenal Morgan
Turner) returns from her piano lesson. Despite how tight things have been, Mildred always has found a way to keep paying for piano lessons for Veda. Mildred asks her daughter how the lesson was and she gives some vague answer and complains that the teacher will give her palsy before taking a seat at the kitchen table. Mildred asks about her sister's whereabouts and Veda says she's playing outside. Mildred retrieves a cupcake, telling her daughter that she had leftover batter from the cake. Veda inspects the cake on the table and asks, "Who, pray tell, is Bob?" Her mom gives Bob's full name and Veda recognizes it as the paperboy. Mildred frets that he might not get the cake if she can't figure out a way to get it over there. Veda inquires about the car's whereabouts and Mildred tells her father took it. Veda suddenly remembers she still has time to catch a show on the radio and rushes
out of the kitchen. Mildred hears Ray's voice and tells her it's time to come inside. The 6-year-old girl (Quinn McColgan) comes bounding in singing "Swanee" before sitting down to her cupcake. As much of an air of sophistication as Veda tries to put on, Ray is just your basic cute-as-a-button kid that you'd find in any time period. Veda returns from the bedrooms and asks her mother why her father's clothes are missing. Mildred didn't really want to get into it, but she tries to tell her daughters as calmly as she can that Bert has left and that he probably won't be be back. He didn't want to leave when they were home because he didn't want to get them upset. Ray seems visibly upset by the news that her father is gone, but it doesn't seem to affect Veda much who just tells her mother, "I just wondered why his clothes were gone." Mildred assures the girls that everything will be OK and Ray climbs into her mother's lap. Mildred motions for Veda, and she comes and hugs her mother as well. "What would I do without my girls?" Mildred smiles as Ray says her trademark phrase, "Cut the mush." The always class-conscious Veda renders her judgment, telling her mother that if her father has left for Mrs. Biederhof that the woman is "distinctly middle-class."Mildred visits an employment agency run by a Mrs. Turner (a really good performance by Brenda Wehle) who practically laughs Mildred out of her office because all she's put on her card is receptionist, when she has no experience for such a job. She points to the filing cabinet behind her filled with cards bearing names of qualified applicants for all sorts of jobs, some with doctorates. Mrs. Turner apologizes, but there's nothing out
there of that sort for someone like Mildred. It get Mildred down a bit and it doesn't help when she stops to get groceries but has to put hot dogs back when she realizes she doesn't have enough cash to afford them. When she gets back home, she's surprised to find Bert's parents getting ready to take Veda and Ray away for the weekend. Mildred asks if Bert put them up to them, but they deny it, though their grandmother does make a subtle jab about the kids being "all alone." Mildred tells them she just went shopping for groceries. Veda comes out and reassures her mother that she made certain that Ray packed all the things she needed. Mildred tells her girls to behave for their grandparents and they drive away. Not too long after that there's a knock on the door, and to her surprise it's Bert's former partner, the man who stole Pierce Homes from him, Wally Bergan. He needs to ask Bert about a title. After trying to avoid the truth for a few moments of Wally's questions about where to find Bert, she invites him in and tells him that they have split. Wally expresses shock and admits that he always found Mildred attractive. She tells him he hid it pretty well, but he says it's because he's "conscientious." When Wally learns that the kids are gone for the weekend, he asks Mildred what's she's doing the next night and, to her surprise, she accepts the date.
"Wally Bergan!" Lucy exclaims with surprise when Mildred tells her of his sudden interest in her and their impending date. Lucy apologizes for forgetting to tell her of that aspect of being a grass widow — men suddenly assume the newly single women are red hot mommas with corresponding loose morals. She warns Mildred not to let him take her out to dinner because then he'll get a drink and figure he's earned it when something happens. Mildred assures Lucy that nothing will happen, though Lucy is skeptical and suggests a better idea is for her to fix him something there and ply him with the still illegal-in-1931 liquor, which Lucy gladly provides, a sideline of her husband's work as a truck driver, producing gin, scotch and wine. That way, Lucy tells her, you don't owe him anything and if something happens, "That's just Mother Nature and you know she's no bum...Within a month, he'll be taking you shopping for a divorce." Mildred still isn't certain that this should be a road that she should be traveling on and asks Lucy if she really wants to be a kept woman. "Yes," Lucy replies. We've seen signs so far, but we will really see as the story develops that Mildred Pierce isn't that type of person who gets kept — she does the keeping.
The weather helps Mildred with her plan to change Wally's date intentions by bringing on a driving rainstorm which helps her convince him to stay in and let her fix something instead of going out in this inclement weather, though for a few moments Wally seems pretty determined that he has to be the one buying her dinner before he caves. Not only does Mildred's great cooking soothe the savage beast, he welcomes the taste of her liquor, saying it's been ages since he's had real gin like that because all the speakeasies offer weaker stuff. With dinner complete, Mildred gathers the dishes to head
to the kitchen and then to change into something more comfortable. Wally mentions how he might want to pull on those apron strings. "You do and I might make you put it on and do the dishes," Mildred jokingly scolds Wally. She's not laughing when she's in the privacy of her bedroom and in a state of undress with just a slip showing and she spies Wally watching through a crack in the door. He apologizes, but says he meant it about those apron strings before coming all the way in. Mildred tries to find a modicum of modest by keeping her back to him, but Wally grabs her, fondling her and
kissing her neck before Mildred turns around and falls to the bed. Afterward, Mildred fixes herself up at her dressing mirror while Wally smokes in bed, an ashtray resting on his sizable pot belly. She asks what he's thinking about he actually says Bert, which sets Mildred off. "That's rich." Bert tries to make the case that he feels slightly guilty for doing this to his friend, but Mildred gets angry, reminding him that he forced his friend out of the company he started and she's never fond of a doublecross. After lambasting Wally for a few minutes, she apologizes, telling Wally that she hasn't been having the best of times lately, but Bert says he understands and imagines that would be true. The next morning, as she's hauling trash to the curb, she runs into Lucy who asks how things went. "I'm on the town," Mildred tells her. Lucy asks how that feels. "Fast."
Mildred hits the streets, determined to find a job for herself since the employment agency was of no use. In a nicely assembled montage, Mildred walks in to high end store after high end store only to be greeted with a series of heads shaking no. After she's been walking for a long time, dressed in the best outfit she owns, her feet really begin to hurt. She leans down to loosen one of her shoes and you can see that the wear-and-tear has taken its toll and her heel has started to bleed
through her hose. She then happens to notice a man placing a notice for a job opening in The Tea Room on the eighth floor of the department store he walks back into. Mildred goes in and takes the elevator straight to eight where she sees what the Tea Room is and what working there would mean. Waitresses in uniform gingerly walk through the narrow aisles between tables carrying teacups and other items. She must have been staring for some time because the man at the restaurant's entry asks her if she's there for the job and Mildred quickly answers no and beats a hasty exit from the place. The following morning, Ray and Veda have returned from their grandparents and Mildred tries to hurry them up so they won't be late for school. Veda offers her mother a rare moment of encouragement, telling her that things can only get better and almost immediately the phone rings and it's Mrs. Turner from the employment agency. Mildred tells her she'll be here as soon as she can. Mrs.
Turner tells her the job is for domestic work, which she doesn't usually handle, but she happened to be in Beverly where she met a Mrs. Forrester who's about to marry a Hollywood director and plans to remake his mansion. She remembered Mildred touting her household skills and decided to call her. Mildred thanks her for thinking of her and tells her she recently had a chance for a similar job as a waitress, but Turner interrupts her. "And you turned it down?" Mildred explains that she just couldn't bear facing her girls, having their daughters know their mom wore a uniform and depended on tips. "You'd rather they starve?" "That will never happen, but I will go to the interview as a courtesy to you," Mildred tells her. Mrs. Turner asks what difference it could possibly make for her, but she should know one thing. She has nice work with this agency, but if it were gone and Mrs. Turner had to choose between pride or her belly, her belly would win every time. Mildred is curious though as to why Mrs. Turner thought of her. "You want to know the truth? You've got a nice head on your shoulders and good figure, but you've let half your life slip by with nothing to show for it except for sleeping and cooking." Mrs. Turner closes by teling Mildred she just isn't of any use.The bus ride to the mansion for the interview with the wealthy bride-to-be is a long way and Winslet perfectly conveys all the thoughts Mildred must be contemplating before she even gets to the meeting. When she finally arrives and rings the doorbell, an African-American servant answers and asks if she's help. When Mildred
answers in the affirmative, he tells her that she must enter through the back door and closes the front. Not a good start for someone as obsessed with appearances as Mildred, but she goes to the back door anyway where the same man greets her and shows her to an area where he says that Mrs. Forrester will meet her momentarily. Mildred takes a seat and waits until Mrs. Forrester (Hope Davis) sweeps into the room and Mildred stands and gives her the paper from the employment agency. Mrs. Forrester informs Mildred that it is customary for the servant not to sit until the mistress of the house has invited her to do so,
so Mildred stands again, though Mrs. Forrester assures her it's OK since she is new and she may sit since they have a lot to discuss. "This is fine," Mildred says, continuing to stay upright. "I've invited you to sit," Mrs. Forrester repeates forcefully and then Mildred takes her seat again. She tells Mildred that she will be moving in when she marries the director who owns this mansion, but she plans to restore this "mausoleum" and it will require lot of efficient help. She tells Mildred that there are servants' quarters out back and she would be welcome to live there with her daughters. She also mentions that she has two sons of her own from her previous marriage, but of course the children wouldn't be allowed to fraternize. As Mrs. Forrester drones on, Haynes has slowly moved the camera to a profile shot of Winslet and just the slight tilting of her head and the far-away, echoing tone Davis' voice shows that Mildred has drifted somewhere else. She stands up and tells Mrs. Forrester that this job isn't for her. Mrs. Forrester is taken aback, "Mildred, the mistress of the house terminates the interview." "It's Mrs. Pierce and I'm terminating the interview." She tells her that the servant will show her the way out but Mildred informs her she'll find her own way and makes a point of exiting out the front door.
Back on a bus after that incident, Mildred stops at a diner to get a bite to eat when a fight breaks out between two waitresses because one catches the other stealing other waitress's tips. Because of the commotion the Greek owner (Mark Margolis) of the diner comes out and fires them both for turning his restaurant into a boxing ring. All the waitresses end up in the kitchen arguing, feeling it's unfair to fire the one who caught the thief since she didn't do anything wrong. The diners are getting restless with no one serving. Mildred quietly finishes her lunch and pays and meekly makes her
way to the kitchen. After some yelling from the waitress canned for reporting the thief about Mildred better not be her replacement, another waitress (Mare Winningham) asks Mildred if she's looking for a job. She tells them it looks as if they needed help. Abandoning her bias toward uniform work, Mildred decides to lower her standards. A job is a job. That waitress gives her the rundown on pay and hours and sets her up with a uniform. Mildred learns her name is Ida and Ida sort of floats behind her as Mildred tries to pick up the trade, making plenty of mistakes of course, such as saying chicken without gravy when you have to tell the cook "hold the gravy" and remembering to always take something back when you bring something out. It's a rough day. At the end of the shift, Ida tells her that she's not certain she's cut out for this work and neither is Mr. Chris (the owner), but Archie (the cook), so they are going to give her a try. Mildred doesn't say much. "What's the matter? Don't you want the job?" Ida asks. "Yes. I'm just tired." "I can imagine the way you trot."Mildred gets home to find Veda and Ray on the stoop and asks Lucy to come in. She asks if she can borrow $3. Lucy says more if she needs it. Mildred whispers that she got a job as a waitress at a hash house. Lucy says she always wondered when she was looking for jobs as a salesperson why she didn't try that sooner. In
these times, Lucy tells her, no one can buy anything, but they still have to eat. Mildred suddenly feels sick and runs to the bathroom to vomit. Lucy helps her. Mildred just isn't sure she can do that and deal with those awful people. One guy pinched her on the butt. She makes Lucy swear not to tell anyone because she can't let Veda know what she's doing. "Veda has some funny ideas, if you ask me," Lucy says. "She has something in her that I thought I had and now I find I don't," Mildred tells Lucy. "Pride or nobility or whatever it is." Lucy tells Mildred she has to take this job and besides, no one has those old ideas about uniforms anymore. Mildred still frets about what Veda would think. Lucy tells her she's right about Veda's attitude. "Veda wouldn't do it herself, but she'll let you do it for her." Lucy helps get Mildred up. Mildred says she doesn't just want her to have bread. "For both my girls, I want them to have all the cake in the world." As Lucy helps hold Mildred up as she walks down the hall, Carter Burwell's score takes an ominous turn as the camera does a 180 and we see a stark outline of Veda's head through the frame of the windowscreen.
As we meet up with Mildred Pierce again in Part Two, the opening seems similar to the way we were introduced to her in Part One, only we're in the bedroom instead of her kitchen and instead of filling her pie tins with usual ingredients, she's spreading rocks around in them and practicing carrying them at once without dropping them so she'll perform better at her new job as a waitress at Cristofor's Cafe in Hollywood. She has to practice in the privacy of her bedroom out of fear that her daughters, especially 11-year-old Veda, will learn she's lowered herself by taking a job that requires the wearing of a uniform and earning the bulk of her wages off tips. Mildred doesn't get to practice long when she hears a commotion in the living room. Bert has
paid a surprise visit and both girls are hanging all over him. The daughters compete for their father's attention, since he's no longer a resident of the house. Little Ray shows off the crown she won after winning the Queen of May pageant. "I think it looks perfectly ridiculous to me," Veda declares. Ray says that's because she thinks only she can be queen, which Veda denies and tells her father is an absolute lie. Out of nowhere, Veda asks her father if he is thirsty and then turns to her mother and suggests that she should open the scotch. The glare Mildred gives Veda could burn a hole through her. Bert, surprised that they'd have any scotch, says he could go for some. Mildred goes to her bedroom and removes the scotch from her closet and starts preparing it as Veda slinks in behind her. Mildred asks Veda what right she had to go through her closet. Veda sluffs off the privacy question, saying she didn't realize they had secrets, but Mildred said she could tell she knew what she was doing was wrong by the cheeky look on her face. "Very well mother. It shall be as you say," Veda responds. "And stop that silly way of talking," her mother adds. Veda suggests that a certain stinginess has descended on the household since Bert's departure. "One might think peasants have taken over the house." Mildred asks Veda if she even know what a peasant is. "A very ill-bred person." Mildred gives Veda the cart of scotch to carry out and while she does that she lifts the car keys from Bert's coat pocket. After some drinking and playtime, Mildred decides for the girls to go to bed. As Bert is leaving, Mildred asks him if he got what he needed from his desk. He says yes, but he can't find his car keys. Mildred admits it's because she took them and he's not getting them back. "I'm working and I need it. If you think you think I'm gonna pound around on my feet and ride buses and lose all that time and be a sap while you lay up with another woman enjoying the high life..." Bert doesn't really object, he's just surprised she's working. Mildred asks if he wants her to drive him back. He agrees. "To Maggie Biederhof's?" "I'd prefer not to say where I'm staying," Bert replies, "but if you want to drop me at Maggie's, that'll be fine."
Mildred's finding her groove at the diner, but she's starting to notice the customers complaining about the qualities of the pies and Ida bringing up the issue with Mr. Chris. As they are finishing work for the day, Mildred asks Ida how much Chris pays for the pies, but she's not positive. Mildred tells Ida about her piemaking and that she could bring in samples. Ida realizes she's serious. Mildred asks her if she'd like a ride home. "You've got a car?" "It runs," Mildred replies. Ida tells her that she should bring in three: an apple, a pumpkin and something else, but no cherry or strawberry because they fall apart too easily. She'll make certain they get served and bring it up with Mr. Chris. Mildred won't have to do a thing. "Ida, you're a real pal," Mildred tells her. The next day, Mr. Chris happily laughs as he sees how well Mildred's pies go over. After work, Mildred, Ida and two of the other waitresses go out for drinks to celebrate. Mildred worries that since Mr. Chris has hired her for 35 pies a week, she may have to hire help. "At 35 cents a pie, you can almost afford it," Ida tells her as Mildred thanks Ida again and the woman clasp glasses. Setting up her operation at home, Mildred hires a woman named Letty (Marin Ireland), who also doubles as baby sitter when Mildred can't be there.
That turns into a shock when Mildred returns from shopping and calls for Letty, but she doesn't answer. She makes a call with the news that another restaurant pie contract has come her way when Letty appears — wearing her uniform from the diner. Mildred quickly gets off the phone. "I told her you wouldn't like it," Letty says," but she hollered and carried on until I put it on." Mildred asks who she's referring to — as if she didn't already know the answer — "Miss Veda, ma'am." "Miss Veda?" "That's what she says I should call her," Letty tells Mildred. Mildred goes on the warpath. In another room, cute and innocent little Ray is playing shoot-'em-up, saying she's the public enemy, while Veda sit calmly on the couch. Mildred says that once again she was
snooping in her closet since those uniforms were on a top shelf underneath sheets. Veda claims she was merely looking for a handkerchief and she "resents the accusation." Mildred then demands to know how the uniform ended up on Letty. Veda says she assumed she bought them for her to wear when she took them to the pool because who else could they possibly be for? She removes Ray from the room and gives her a bath. Later that evening, she confronts Veda again about the uniform. An exasperated Veda says they've already gone over it and she's going to bed. Mildred grabs her and accuses Veda of knowing it was Mildred's uniform when she made Letty put it on and admits to working at the diner in Hollywood. Veda immediately starts mocking her mom for being a waitress. Mildred says she doesn't know how she found out about it. "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I'm dumb?" Veda asks and Mildred gives the brat a long overdue slap that knocks the glass of milk out of her hand. "You may not realize it young lady, but everything you have costs money. From the maid you ordered to the traipsing with you to the pool to the food and the clothing and everything else and I don't see anyone else doing anything about it," Mildred tells Veda, not that the spoiled brat gives a shit. "Weren't the pies bad enough? Did you have to go and degrade us by being a waitress?" Veda screams, prompting Mildred to take her over her knees and give her a well-deserved spanking. Then Mildred, feeling guilty and wanting to win Veda back, concocts a spur-of-the-moment lie and tells Veda that the only reason she took the job was to learn the restaurant business because she plans to open a place of her own, a fine restaurant they can be proud of. Some people do well from restaurants, she tells Veda. Veda apologizes and salivates at the notion of getting rich from one. Mildred tells Veda never to forget that Mildred had been wrong and Veda had been right all along. "Never let go of that." It's as if Mildred has become Victor Frankenstein and Veda is the monster he created, except in the case of Frankenstein's monster, you have sympathy for the monster. You won't for Veda.
With the restaurant idea now firmly established in her head, Mildred starts keeping a notebook of ideas both at her diner and elsewhere. After another roll in the hay with Wally, she asks if he'd help her come up with some estimated costs for opening a restaurant that she wants to present to this one regular customer at the diner. Wally asks her to slow down and start over from the beginning and she tells him her idea is to open a chicken restaurant. People would either get chicken and waffles or maybe chicken and vegetables with carryout pies still on the side, eliminating a la carte pricing and need for menus. Wally says he might be able to do it by giving her the model home. It could be used for a restaurant, give the receivers a loss they need for their 1931 taxes and give Mildred a title that would open a line of credit. Then Wally remembers the hitch — Bert was one of the original incorporators of the property and she's married to him. It won't work unless she and Bert get divorced. When Mildred talks to Bert, he thinks it sounds like a bunch of hooey or possibly collusion. Bert says he would give her and the kids the house and then calms down when he decides there's no way Mildred would have an affair with Wally so he agrees to divorce her so she can get the place for the restaurant. Mildred cries and gives Bert a big hug as he leaves.
Mildred packs the girls' luggage to take to school with them as they are spending the weekend with their grandparents again and they are picking them up immediately after school. Mildred makes a quick stop to see how the restaurant is coming and to show off the new range to Wally before heading to the diner for her last
day of work. Her first customer is a charming man (Guy Pearce) who asks why anyone looks at a breakfast menu since they know what they are going to get. Mildred suggests to check the prices. "That's it," he replies. He orders and tells her if she steps on it, he might have enough time to go to Santa Barbara for a swim. "I wish I could go to Santa Barbara for a swim," Mildred says. The man suggests she should. The new waitress has a loud and costly accident. Back in the kitchen, Mildred suggests that the new girl's problem may be Mildred — that she makes her nervous — and wonders if Mr. Chris would mind if she slipped out early. Ida says he always likes to save a buck and tells her to go on, she'll cover for her. Ida also promises to come out to her new place as soon as she can. Mildred returns to her handsome customer and surprises him because he asks why she is smiling. Mildred tells him she thought she would be original for a change but first she has to go to Glendale to drop off her car and get a few things before she can join him on his jaunt to Santa Barbara. He shows up later at Mildred's house in Glendale in a nice convertible. He notes again that she's smiling. "I can't quite believe I'm doing this," Mildred laughs. He asks since her name is Mrs. Pierce if she's any relation to Pierce Homes. "Bravo," she commends him on his guesswork and tells him she was once married to him. He
says some of the worst homes ever built. All the roofs leaked. "Not like the treasuries leaked," Mildred says. He finally introduces himself as Monty Beragon. They arrive at the beachhouse and Mildred hurriedy changes to her bathing suit and heads to the ocean where Monty chases her. Later, the return for some steamy lovemaking. Afterwards, they cook steaks over a fire and Mildred tries to learn more about Monty, but he's either hesitant to talk about his life or bored with it, mentioning his connection to independent fruit growers and how the monthly checks have grown smaller since the big names such as Sunkist arrived on the scene. Basically, he admits. he does nothing. "You mean you just loaf?" Mildred asks. She questins if that makes him content and he just returns to have his way with her again. The next night when he drives her back to Glendale, she makes him stop by the restaurant so she can turn on the sign for him. He asks when the opening will be and she tells him two weeks from Thursday, 6 p.m.
A neighbor comes running across the yard as soon as Mildred returns asking where she has been — they've been trying to reach her since last night. Ray got the flu. and since she wasn't home, they had to take her to the hospital. Mildred makes tracks for the hospital and hooks up with Bert while little Ray lies in bed with a bandage over her lip. This portion of the story to me one of the most fascinating in the different ways it is
treated here, was treated in Michael Curtiz's 1945 version and in the original James M. Cain novel. We'll get the Curtiz version out of the way first, because it's the loopiest. In it, Kay (remember Ray had a different name) had pneumonia instead and because Mildred wasn't home, they took her over to Mrs. Biederhof's where a doctor and a nurse set things up. It also very unsubtly foreshadowed what was to come by having the little girl hacking for a few scenes prior much like Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge so that you'd know, "Ding dong! Consumption's on its way!" Why all these 1930s doctors were recommending these seriously ill children be treated at home before taking them to the hospital and the grandparents and father all were clueless about what to do because the birth mother wasn't home is beyond me. So in 1945, Kay dies at Mrs. Biederhof's. In the miniseries and the novel, the possible diagnosis is grippe, but the blister on her lip and her fever makes the doctor (Peter McRobbie in the miniseries) and though they are having the blister tested, he fears that results
won't be back in time so he recommends, even though it will be more costly, a blood transfusion and we see a tattooed man giving blood to Ray. Apparently the doctor's strategy worked, even though they all beat up on Mildred as if only her home had the magic. She sends everyone home and stays. Then she sees nurses and doctors rushing in again. Ray's fever is suddenly rising again as is her pulse. Poor little Ray dies at the hospital with Mildred holding her hand. Now, the fascinating part of the Cain version is that the extra cost for the blood transfusion goes literally to professional donors, such as the tattooed man, who waits in the novel until he has his money before he lets them take his blood. Surely, there has to be some suspicion of getting blood from that source. Also, when they falsely tell them that Ray is out of the woods, everyone goes home, including Mildred, and it's not until she returns the next morning that Ray has a relapse.As for the miniseries, after seeing her daughter die, Mildred calls Mrs. Biederhof looking for Bert and leaves a message about Ray. She then goes home, wakes Veda up and crawls in bed next to her and cries.
Tweet
Labels: Books, Curtiz, Fiction, HBO, Hitchcock, J. Stewart, Melissa Leo, Nicole Kidman, Pearce, TV Recap, Winslet
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Happiness is never distributed equally
By Edward Copeland
When a new Mike Leigh film opens, it's wrong to say you "watch" it. "Eavesdrop" seems to be a more appropriate verb, especially in the case of Another Year.
With Another Year, Leigh isn't telling a story as much as letting you observe a handful of characters. They aren't particularly fascinating characters, at least in usual movie terms, but seem defiantly ordinary. However, Leigh's fictional characters and the talented performers who inhabit them never fail to capture your attention and hold onto it.
Tom and Gerri (Jim Broadbent, Ruth Sheen), a longtime, happily married couple, serve as the center of the small universe around which Another Year revolves. Tom works as a engineering geologist, Gerri as a counselor and they have a 30-year-old son, Joe (Oliver Maltman).
Even though the film will keep its focus on Tom and Gerri and those who orbit their galaxy, they aren't even the first two characters we see on screen. Instead, Leigh opens as one of Gerri's colleagues Tanya (Michele Austin) counsels a woman, Janet (Imelda Staunton, in a great two-scene cameo) about her insomnia and dissatisfaction with life in general. When Tanya asks Janet to rate how happy she is on a scale of 1 to 10, Janet answers, "One."
After Staunton's character vanishes after her two early scenes, some viewers may wonder what the point of her scenes were, but she's there to set up Another Year's theme: Happiness, or the lack thereof, specifically in the form of Gerri's friend and co-worker Mary (the marvelous Lesley Manville).
Mary could be a tragic figure, except unfortunately there are too many Marys in the world (and even worse, not enough Toms and Gerris, though even they have their limits). Mary is single, easing past middle-age and a functional alcoholic — and she clings to Tom and Gerri as if they were a life preserver which, in a way, they are.
It's easy to see why Mary relishes the time she spends at her friends' home — the warmth it emits practically emanates from the screen and wraps itself around the viewer as well. Mary dreams of a life that includes a mate, but her fantasies exceed her dreams. She puts off the advances of another damaged friend of Tom and Gerri's, Ken (Peter Wight), and somehow has imagined herself as a possible mate for Joe.
One of the film's best scenes comes when Joe brings home his hyperactively buoyant new girlfriend Katie (Karina Fernandez) and Mary drops by (unexpectedly, as she usually does) and Leigh builds tension around the simple serving of a cake. Leigh films it in a series of slow closeups of all the actors in the room, escalating the strain that lies beneath the surface.
For a plotless film such as Another Year, the success or failure of the enterprise largely falls upon the strength of the casting and Leigh doesn't have a weak link in his ensemble.
Manville is a wonder, milking the humor and pathos out of Mary, hitting just the right note at the right time. She can make you feel for Mary one moment and make you want to slap her silly the next.
The always dependable Broadbent gives the best performance he's given in ages as Tom and Sheen proves just as good as the level-headed Gerri and as a pair, Sheen and Broadbent make a believable couple.
In addition to all the other performers named above, fine work also comes from David Bradley as Tom's older brother, facing life as a widower, and Martin Savage as Tom's troubled nephew Karl.
Leigh has the audacity to tell the truth that not everyone's life turns out well and that some marriages do miraculously go on blissfully for decades and to mix them in the same movie.
While I was writing this review, wanting to doublecheck one character's name and the performer who played her right, I was surprised by the negative reviews of Another Year that I found that found it "smug," full of caricatures (one admitted "hating" all the characters) and even criticized the acting — and some of these critics were ones who fell all over the torture called Blue Valentine or the disaster Nicole Kidman inflicted upon Rabbit Hole. I guess a movie marriage must be in a state of disrepair or there's something wrong with the film.
You would think as damaged as the character of Mary (or Ken or Ronnie for that matter) are would satisfy their need for suffering. Who knew Leigh was being courageous by acknowledging that not everyone in the world finds a mate, even for a bad relationship? That people like Mary do become dependent on friends like Tom and Gerri because it's as close to intimacy as they get and it can get on those friends' nerves. It's sad, but it's true.
I've usually found Leigh's films to be hit or miss, but always with solid performances. In Another Year, everything comes together and he produces one of his best efforts, striking every chord perfectly. Most films work best when they don't have any extraneous scenes, but Another Year works so well by taking the opposite approach. Many parts don't seem pertinent as you watch them, but Leigh's thinking several moves ahead of you and eventually you realize why that sequence, like all the others, were absolutely essential.
Tweet
Labels: 10s, Broadbent, Mike Leigh, Nicole Kidman
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Not so good grief
By Edward Copeland
No two people grieve exactly the same way. No book contains rules for proper mourning. When someone loses a spouse, a sibling or, most tragically, a child, outsiders can't judge if their behavior is normal or appropriate. That's not the case with movies on the subject such as Rabbit Hole or performers in them like Nicole Kidman. They're fair game, especially when everything about them rings false compared to countless cinematic examples that depicted grief well.
David Lindsay-Abaire adapted Rabbit Hole from his own Pulitzer Prize-winning play, which I have neither read nor seen but which won one of my favorite actresses, Cynthia Nixon, a Tony Award. Our faithful Broadway correspondent Josh R selected Nixon as one of his 10 best experiences in the 2006 New York theater season. Josh wrote:
As a mother grieving over the loss of a child, the luminous Ms. Nixon brought emotional credibility to a play that might otherwise have gotten bogged down in maudlin, movie-of-the-week style dramaturgy...the actress delivered an eloquent, astutely measured account of the manner in which emotional forbearance serves as a buffer against the unbearable sense of bewilderment that comes in trying to make sense of tragedy. Rather than resorting to histrionics, Nixon registered all the pain of her character’s acknowledgement of her suffering with delicate, nuanced strokes — in a performance that was all the more powerful for what remained unsaid.
Seeing how great Nixon can be in so many different roles, I almost can visualize her performance based on Josh's prose. Needless to say, the character of Becca which won Nixon her Tony probably bore little resemblance to the Becca that Nicole Kidman brings to the screen. Kidman's Becca comes off as an uptight control freak with a superiority complex who treats almost everyone who crosses her path cruelly and as if they are imposing on her time — and none of it has to do with sadness over the death of her son. She makes Mary Tyler Moore's character in Ordinary People look warm, open-hearted and loving by comparison.
Every choice Kidman makes as Becca turns out to be wrongheaded and misguided. You never get a sense that this is a woman devastated by the loss of her young son in an accident. She plays Becca more as if the death and its repercussions were more of an inconvenience for her and she treats everyone else in similar fashion with one exception. She starts stalking and then befriends Jason (Miles Teller), the teen who drove the car that struck and killed her son. At times, the scenes between Becca and Jason made me feel as if I were watching Birth 2. Her encounters with Jason are the only moments when she displays anything resembling humanity.
As a result, where a viewer should feel sympathy for Becca, instead you just want someone to slap her. Kidman doesn't play her as someone scarred by a tragedy, she plays Becca as someone you would walk across the street to avoid because she's such a stuck-up jerk. I went back and looked at some of the reviews of the original play in 2006 and nearly all the theater critics had high praise for its entire cast (which also included John Slattery and Tyne Daly) and the production itself, though The New York Times' Ben Brantley admitted that the play itself, "As beautifully observed as Rabbit Hole is, it never rises to the shock of greatness." The reviews also noted the tears the production evoked. In the film version with Kidman, let's just say there's not a wet eye in the house.
As I said, I've neither seen nor read Lindsay-Abaire's play but I have to believe that he changed it a lot for the screenplay because there are too many scenes in the movie that I can't imagine how they would have been depicted in a stage production. There's also the fact that the play had five characters where the movie adds significant new roles played by Sandra Oh, Giancarlo Esposito and Jon Tenney.
The remainder of the film's cast can be great in other works. Dianne Wiest as Becca's mom and Tammy Blanchard as her sister come off best, but Aaron Eckhart feels nearly as false as Kidman does. Some of the blame may rest on the shoulders of director John Cameron Mitchell, who keeps everything and everyone at an icy, removed distance and may have instructed his cast to follow his lead, yet Wiest, Blanchard and Oh find ways to breathe life into their characters, so I don't think that's the case.
Eckhart's role as Howie, Becca's deeply wounded husband, may be hampered since most of his scenes pair him with Kidman's ice queen. He does better when separated from her as in some scenes opposite Oh, but when he has to respond to Kidman's offputting performance, he seems flustered. It's particularly embarrassing when the teen driver Jason comes over to give Becca a comic (which gives the play and the film its title, though without any sort of deeper explanation) and he blows up at him being there and I was again reminded of Birth where Danny Huston goes after the boy. I suppose I should be grateful for small favors — at least it's Eckhart here and not Danny Huston.
Mitchell seems an unusual choice to direct the film, following his helming the adaptation of his fun, one-of-a-kind stage musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch and his attempt at making a mainstream porn film, Shortbus. Visually, he doesn't add much to Rabbit Hole and I'm not sure if he should be blamed for giving his cast bad direction or none at all.
As I wrote yesterday, when I reviewed another overrated film, Blue Valentine, one of the biggest headscratchers of this year's Oscar nominations is that the actors branch wasted two of its best actress slots on Michelle Williams and Kidman when there were so many worthier candidates out there. I truly have to believe members just filled in names based on what they heard or read and didn't watch Blue Valentine or Rabbit Hole.
As for Rabbit Hole in general, it's truly a shame because the list of great films about grieving stretches from the beginning of the medium to now. In 2009, you had a beautiful example with Colin Firth in A Single Man. Last year, I celebrated the 20th anniversary of another great example, Men Don't Leave. If you look specifically for a good example of a film about a couple affected by the loss of a child, take another look at 1988's The Accidental Tourist.
I could keep going on with examples of films that tackle the subject of grief better than Rabbit Hole does, but instead I'm just gonna mourn the talent wasted on this film and the time I lost watching it.
Tweet
Labels: 10s, Awards, Colin Firth, Cynthia Nixon, John Slattery, Michelle Williams, Nicole Kidman, Oscars, Theater, Wiest
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tic yak d'oh!
By Edward Copeland
I dread reviewing movies like Blue Valentine because I already anticipate the responses to my pan of this critical darling. Some will call me a contrarian (which I'm not — if I liked it, I'd admit it), others will misread my words, thinking I'm saying those who like it are dumb or have had the wool pulled over their eyes. Many of these comments will come from other critics who will forget the most important truism of criticism: all opinions are subjective. However, what makes me not look forward to typing my thoughts on Blue Valentine the most is that, it's not even the type of film you can have fun getting revenge on for wasting your time. Recalling it for a review just means reliving the experience and it was painful enough the first time.
Now that I've decided to leap in anyway and dredge up my memories of Blue Valentine, I'm filled with sadness. It's not because that's what much of director Derek Cianfrance's film aims to elicit from the viewer as it charts the rise and fall of the relationship between Dean and Cindy (Ryan Gosling, Michelle Williams) (not necessarily in that order). No, it's because I know that Gosling and Williams have talent and it's being abused here.
It seems even more tragic in the case of Williams (though I guess her undeserved Oscar nomination will help take the sting out), who seems to be drawn to roles in bad indie films such as this one. Is this masochism on her part? Not only does Blue Valentine provide her with a poorly written character that, though quite different from Wendy from Wendy and Lucy, seems to force her to play the same notes she hit in that similarly overpraised indie. In fact, early in Blue Valentine, when Cindy starts making photocopies of the family's missing dog, I actually started experiencing flashbacks to Wendy and Lucy as if I suffered from a form of post-traumatic stress disorder. Two wildly hyped and unjustifiably acclaimed films striking me simultaneously. Almost more than I could bear.
What made me feel worse for Williams sort of goes with the old line about actresses saying they'd only do nudity if it were integral to the story. Much was made ahead of Blue Valentine's release about how they barely avoided an NC-17 because of the sex scenes between Williams and Gosling. Now, in no respect could you call me a prude nor do I mind seeing Williams in the altogether, but for all the hype, the vigorous humping the actors simulate ranks among some of the dullest movie sex scenes I've seen. As with most of Blue Valentine, it's porking without a point.
Since the movie jumps around to various points in the couple's relationship, it's not as if the sex really reflects the relationship's state at that time: It's neither lustful nor romantic, obligatory nor forcible. Most importantly, nothing seems intimate about it. It's not often that I refer you to a comment in another review, but since it's by my faithful contributor Josh R, I will. Go read his comment on the difference between how Gus Van Sant depicts gay sex in Milk versus how Ang Lee does in Brokeback Mountain (which had a very good performance by Williams) on my review of Milk and he explains exactly how I feel about the sex in Blue Valentine comes off.
Williams deserves so much better. Just see what great work she turned in for her small role in Scorsese's Shutter Island and it shines a big bright light on what little she's given to work with in this film. In Blue Valentine, as in Wendy and Lucy, it seems as if she's intent on creating the cinematic equivalent of slashing her wrists in attention-grabbing but ultimately harmless suicidal gestures. If she continues on this path, I fully expect to see her in a role carrying The Bell Jar or starring in a remake of The Hours.
Which brings me to Gosling, whose problem in Blue Valentine, other than the same bad script by director Cianfrance, Cami Delavigne and Joey Curtis, is one of his own making. Gosling has shown before that he can deliver very good performances as he did in Half Nelson . Unfortunately, he's also displayed a tendency to substitute actorly tics, quirks and gimmicks as a substitute for actually creating three-dimensional characters. For example, see Lars and the Real Girl.
He strongly displays the Lars scenario here. OH BOY, does he do it here — tenfold. He makes Dean such a collection of artificial traits that I doubt blood flows in his veins since he's obviously been built from a kit and doesn't resemble a human being. The blowup doll in Lars and the Real Girl was more lifelike than Dean. No wonder Dean and Cindy's marriage falls apart so quickly. I don't know how Cindy lasted one night with this manufactured oddball, let alone a few years. Gosling goes so eccentrically over the top that he makes Brando's work in Island of Dr. Moreau seem subtle.
So with Blue Valentine we have another example of a 2010 film where its cast (and Gosling and Williams are essentially the only characters who matter except for John Doman in the small role of Cindy's father that just made me wish I were watching The Wire) draws more attention to a film that would otherwise fade into deserved oblivion. Except in the case of something such as The Kids Are All Right, that film's entire ensemble turns in such excellent performances that they help compensate for its hackneyed, predictable screenplay. There's no such luck for Blue Valentine which strands Williams at sea while Gosling rollicks in some twisted land of awful, mechanical Method Acting.
Williams should be grateful that enough Academy members apparently dislike Julianne Moore, fell for the category fraud of Hailee Steinfeld being supporting in True Grit and didn't see or remember Tilda Swinton in I Am Love to allow Williams to get a best actress nomination. Then again, they also nominated Nicole Kidman's icy work in Rabbit Hole, which I'll review later in the week, so maybe they were just filling in names and didn't actually see Blue Valentine or Rabbit Hole. (We do know at least the costume designers branch saw I Am Love.)
Plenty of great films have depicted decaying relationships and marriages, but Blue Valentine doesn't come close to joining that list. Some critics even had the gall to compare this film to the work of John Cassavetes. Blue Valentine doesn't even rise to the level of John Hughes and if you are a close reader of my reviews, you know what an insult that is.
Tweet
Labels: 10s, Brando, Cassavetes, Gosling, John Hughes, Julianne Moore, Michelle Williams, Nicole Kidman, Oscars, Scorsese, The Wire, Tilda Swinton, Van Sant
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Saturday, September 04, 2010
From the Vault: To Die For
During the long, arduous O.J. Simpson saga, broadcaster Bob Costas made one of the most salient points of all. Costas said we've reached a point where being famous has become a virtue in and of itself and people no longer achieve celebrity for actual notable accomplishments.
This desire for celebrity drives Suzanne Stone, a would-be TV journalist played by Nicole Kidman in Gus Van Sant's solid satire To Die For.
The movie, based on Joyce Maynard's novel and featuring a brilliantly biting script by Buck Henry, turns out to be everything Natural Born Killers should have been and wasn't.
To Die For begins with one of the best title sequences in recent memory (created by Pablo Ferro and aided by Danny Elfman's kinetic score) that instantly tells the audience all it needs to know before the film dives into its subject matter. The novel was loosely based on Pamela Smart, the New Hampshire high school teacher who was convicted of seducing a teen in order to get him to murder her husband.
In To Die For, Suzanne is naive and ambitious, happily in love with her husband Larry Maretto (Matt Dillon). Suzanne bullies her way with charm into a weathercasting job at a local cable station. Eager to compile an impressive video resume, Suzanne starts a documentary on local teens, a project that brings her into contact with a trio of ne'er-do-wells: Lydia, an insecure 15-year-old (Alison Folland) and her classmates, troublemaking Russell (Casey Affleck) and dim bulb Jimmy (Joaquin Phoenix).
As Suzanne begins to feel that Larry impedes her electronic dreams (he wants a family), she coerces the already lovestruck Jimmy into her bed and her sinister plot to off Larry. With the points-of-view darting from person to person, Van Sant moves the action along briskly, resulting in a headlong rush through today's tabloid media, making its points without giving the audience a concussion (as in Natural Born Killers).
The actors form a terrific ensemble: newcomer Folland, bringing life to the typical role of the awkward teen; Illeana Douglas as Larry's suspicious, ice-skating sister; and Dillon as the dull but decent Larry. Phoenix also is fine, though he pushes his characters low IQ a bit too hard at times. Kidman, like Suzanne wants to be, provides the sun all the other characters revolve around. For those who dismissed her as merely superstar Tom Cruise's wife, be prepared for a shock: her performance as Suzanne Stone can't be ignored.
In perhaps the most illustrative example of Kidman's work here, and of the movie itself, watch the sequence where Suzanne receives the news of her husband's murder and welcomes the reporters to her front lawn. Aside from the fact that it's a swift, funny, well-acted film, To Die For reassures the audience that, even though the subject matter can hardly be called new, a good movie can still be made about it. This movie proves that talent can get you anywhere, even at the same time it shows that lack of it might not hurt you either.
Tweet
Labels: 90s, Buck Henry, C. Affleck, Nicole Kidman, Van Sant
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
From the Vault: Nicole Kidman
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED OCT. 1, 1995
After seeing To Die For, it's nearly impossible to imagine anyone other than Nicole Kidman playing Suzanne Stone, the ambitious would-be television star/killer. However, that's almost what happened since director Gus Van Sant had originally cast another actress to play Suzanne. Thankfully, that casting fell through and Kidman was a contender once again.
Kidman doesn't just play Suzanne, she inhabits her in such a way that people skeptical of the actress's abilities should kneel before her talent. The opportunity presented by To Die For wasn't won easily. There were fears that Kidman wasn't a funny enough actress or couldn't lose her Australian accent for the completely American creation.
"I called (Van Sant) and we spoke about an hour about it, and I said, 'Please, just give me this chance. I won't let you down.'"
The director did, and Kidman landed the main role in screenwriter Buck Henry's satiric adaptation of the Joyce Maynard novel of the same name.
"I think sometimes you read a script and you just go, 'Wow! I would so much love to play this role.' The way that Hollywood works a lot of the time is that whoever is the highest earning actress at the time gets the role. That can be very frustrating because you may have an idea on how to do it. To have the opportunity to do a Buck Henry script is one of those great opportunities because he's a brilliant satirist and a great writer. Almost every line in To Die For has his genius behind it and they're so Buck."
In order to become Suzanne, Kidman did insist that her husband (for those who've been living in a cave for the past five years, his name is Tom Cruise) stay away from the To Die For set.
"It's a distraction for the other actors and when you're creating a particular character if you have that person who knows you so well there and watching, it can make you self-conscious. The role meant so much to me that it was one of those things where I said, 'No, I can't have you there,' and it wasn't like he was going, 'No, I have to be there.'"
Marriage to a movie superstar has also introduced Kidman to world of tabloid media that To Die For skewers. She finds a marked difference between the way she, Cruise and her family are treated in London than in the United States.
"When we're in London, we tend to be followed more. When we're in America, we tend to be left alone. It's sad when there is so much attention on so many silly things when there are crises all over the world, from Bosnia to whatever ... and they're putting Hugh Grant on the cover of the paper. To me, that is ridiculous and stupid and that's what it's like in London."
While Suzanne Stone is an ambitious woman who will stop at nothing, including having her husband killed, to realize her dreams of television success, Kidman doesn't see a parallel in what is required to make it in the film industry.
"I don't think you have to be like (Suzanne to make it in Hollywood), and I think that is something that television now is making a different moral code, for particularly a younger generation of people. I think so much of having a career and being an actor is maintaining your integrity, maintaining your relationship with your emotions and your experiences so you have the capability to put them on screen and have access to them. It doesn't become about blind ambition trying to achieve something."
Television is not only the main focus of the movie but provided Kidman with much of the research she needed to find Suzanne's character.
"I went to television. I basically spent three days in bed. I checked into a hotel and watched television all the time. It was amazing because it becomes so hypnotic and the effect of just flicking channels — you can watch talk shows forever, 24 hours a day."
Though Kidman admits to having had a "naughty" streak when she was a teenager, she's never sunk as low or gone as far as her character does.
"To play Suzanne was one of those things where you just get to go completely wild and crazy, but you ... can't make it into a caricature. You have to find the reality and the emotional reality that it is grounded in, otherwise it becomes ridiculous and it loses the disturbing quality. I had to find playing her, the things that I liked about her, so that it wasn't me sort of winking at the audience going, 'Isn't she awful? ... '"
Tweet
Labels: Buck Henry, Cruise, Interview, Nicole Kidman, Van Sant
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Monday, May 10, 2010
La ballo vuoto o Nein! Nein!
By Edward Copeland
Sometimes the announcement of film projects seem so obviously a bad idea (at least to me) that I can't understand why everyone doesn't see it, particularly the people putting up the money. Be it those who thought a modern remake (or any remake) of The Manchurian Candidate made sense or that casting Tom Hanks as Sherman McCoy in a screen version of The Bonfire of the Vanities was a good idea (before that was followed by bad idea after bad idea like an elaborate attempt by Brian De Palma to break the world record for domino toppling).
So, when a resurgence in film adaptations of musicals led to the announcement that the next Broadway tuner to hit the big screen would be Nine, I greeted the news with a big, "Why?" I've never seen Nine staged, but I know the score and, for the unfamiliar, what it is is a musicalized version of Fellini's masterpiece 8½. Maury Yeston's score is hardly memorable and as much as I love Fellini's film, if they remastered prints and did a large scale re-release of the original film, would great numbers go? Of course, I'm not in the business of reviewing films as financial decisions (even though I was right and they made a bad one), but now that I've seen it, I can review it as a film and can say that it fails as a movie as well.
Daniel Day-Lewis stars as Guido, the director with artistic block and the actor seems to sleepwalk through the entire film as if he's wondering how in the hell he got into this mess. Day-Lewis tends to enjoy disappearing into a role, but Guido is so translucent to begin with that there's no body to inhabit and certainly no scenery to chew. His chance to sing a couple of lackluster songs doesn't offer much in the way of something new either as he basically talk-sings through those, presumably to keep that Italian accent going. I'd much rather have been watching a Gangs of New York musical. Hell, as much as I despised it, a crooning Daniel Plainview in There Will Be Blood the Musical would have offered more entertainment. Just imagine the Act II showstopper "I Drink Your Milkshake!"
Coming from The Weinstein Company, most of Harvey's usual girls are there (apparently Gwyneth Paltrow was unavailable) and the cast boasts more acting Oscar winners than a 1970s disaster movie. Shit, excuse me a second. Sorry, had to stop and clean the vomit off my keyboard when I once again realized those award winners include Marion Cotillard. One of the few non-Academy Award winners or nominees in the cast is Fergie and she sure does look different than she did when she was married to Prince Andrew. Oh, I'm sorry. Different Fergie. Not really sure who she is, but actually she does do one of the best numbers performing "Be Italian," made famous on stage by the late Anita Morris (I remember that from a Tony broadcast).
As I guessed when I saw Penélope Cruz in Pedro Almodóvar's Broken Embraces, she got the Oscar nomination for the wrong movie when she received it for Nine. Cruz does what she can in Nine, but characterization is not a strong suit for any of the film's characters.
When Nine premiered on Broadway, it inexplicably won Tonys for best musical and best score, defeating Dreamgirls, which turned out to be a mixed bag as a movie but at least made sense to be turned into a movie. (Though the show was a flop, Maury Yeston's dull score for Nine defeated Stephen Sondheim's brilliant score for Merrily We Roll Along as well.) The Tony love at the time could mostly be attributed to the involvement of Tommy Tune, whom was worshipped by the Tonys in that era winning in multiple categories, year after year.
Making a musical out of Fellini's 8½ just seemed an odd idea to begin with. R.E.M.'s video for "Everybody Hurts" and its sequence paying homage to the film probably comes closer to the mark than the entire film of Nine does.
Now, I don't want to merely bash Maury Yeston, because years later he won another Tony for score for another best musical, Titanic, which had no connection to James Cameron's behemoth but came out the same year and was much better than the movie with the same name, and had a score infinitely better and more memorable than Nine.
Rob Marshall, who successfully directed the screen adaptation of Chicago, helmed the film Nine and honestly, I have no idea what his strategy for the film was. Some numbers seem to spring as fantasies out of conversations Guido has with the many women in his life while others seem to appear on a theater stage (or is that a movie set? Hard to tell). The dialogue scenes hardly improve the situation. You can't decide which you dread more: Characters breaking out into boring song or into boring conversation.
Though the film had its problems, his nonmusical direction of Memoirs of a Geisha showed much more promise for him as a film director. However, next up for him is yet another Pirates of the Caribbean sequel which one can only hope they subtitle We Really Are Devoid of New Ideas. It's a shame, because had many great choreography credits on Broadway and a co-directing credit with Sam Mendes on the marvelous revival of Cabaret that starred the late Natasha Richardson. Mendes seems to have made the switch in mediums much easier than Marshall.
With the exception of some clearly defined roles (Sophia Loren is the dead mother; Cotillard is the wife; Fergie is the prostitute Guido knew as a child) many of the women sort of exist in a blur without clear delineation. Judi Dench obviously is his agent and I guess Nicole Kidman is his frequent movie star, but I'm still working on Cruz and Kate Hudson, though Cruz obviously is at least a mistress.
The screenplay is credited to Michael Tolkin, author of both the novel and screenplay for The Player, and Anthony Minghella who, despite the fact he died in March 2008, must still be under contract to Harvey Weinstein, even in the afterlife. (IMDb still lists two films in development for him. Take a rest Anthony, you're dead.) In the movie, Guido hasn't written a word for the film he's supposed to start filming and Nine itself is similarly plotless. It's telling that at the Tonys the year Nine premiered on Broadway the book category is one category it did lose to Dreamgirls.
The best I can find myself saying about Nine is that the technical credits are fine from Dion Beebe's cinematography and Colleen Atwood's costumes to John Myhre's production design, but in the end it's just putting lovely wrapping paper on an empty box.
Tweet
Labels: 00s, Almodóvar, Awards, Cameron, Cotillard, Day-Lewis, De Palma, Dench, Fellini, Gwyneth Paltrow, H. Weinstein, Hanks, Musicals, Nicole Kidman, Oscars, Penélope Cruz, Remakes, Sondheim, Theater
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Thursday, March 27, 2008
No cure for Cholera
By Edward Copeland
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez is one of the best books I've ever read. It also had an unusual quality (at least for me) in that as I read it, I could visualize making a film out of it. Usually, my reading seldom conjures images of possible movie versions. The only other example I can think of is A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole, and there I didn't imagine how to make a movie of it but thought that I was the only person in the world suitably for playing Ignatius J. Reilly. Needless to say, when I heard a movie was being made of Marquez's masterpiece, I had great trepidation and the lukewarm reviews the Mike Newell's film discouraged me from seeing it in the theater, choosing to wait for the DVD.
The way Newell opens the film almost matches what I visualized in the movie in my mind, with one big exception: Part of the joy of the book is its mixture of romantic longing and dark comedy and in the opening and throughout the entire film, Newell botches the laughs. When he goes for them, the jokes land with a thud.
He has a bit more success with the other elements, but overall the entire film seems tone deaf. Of course, the whole effort could have been worse.
I remember when the news of a film adaptation was first floated with the ugly rumor that they were going to cast Jude Law and Nicole Kidman. Thankfully, they went with Javier Bardem as the lead (my own choice) and an actress I wasn't familiar with (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) as the object of his romantic obsession.
The film also pulls off the difficult trick of aging actors without making the makeup look silly. They also did a great job casting the young version of Bardem's character with Unax Ugalde, who bears a startling resemblance to Bardem.
Most of the other performances are good as well, particularly Hector Elizondo as Bardem's uncle and the great Fernanda Montenegro in the first film I've seen her in since Central Station.
If I could have made the film though, one other thing I would have done was actually film it in Spanish, to get another sense of its language since I read the book in its English translation. Nice try overall, but read the book.
Tweet
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez is one of the best books I've ever read. It also had an unusual quality (at least for me) in that as I read it, I could visualize making a film out of it. Usually, my reading seldom conjures images of possible movie versions. The only other example I can think of is A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole, and there I didn't imagine how to make a movie of it but thought that I was the only person in the world suitably for playing Ignatius J. Reilly. Needless to say, when I heard a movie was being made of Marquez's masterpiece, I had great trepidation and the lukewarm reviews the Mike Newell's film discouraged me from seeing it in the theater, choosing to wait for the DVD.
The way Newell opens the film almost matches what I visualized in the movie in my mind, with one big exception: Part of the joy of the book is its mixture of romantic longing and dark comedy and in the opening and throughout the entire film, Newell botches the laughs. When he goes for them, the jokes land with a thud.
He has a bit more success with the other elements, but overall the entire film seems tone deaf. Of course, the whole effort could have been worse.
I remember when the news of a film adaptation was first floated with the ugly rumor that they were going to cast Jude Law and Nicole Kidman. Thankfully, they went with Javier Bardem as the lead (my own choice) and an actress I wasn't familiar with (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) as the object of his romantic obsession.
The film also pulls off the difficult trick of aging actors without making the makeup look silly. They also did a great job casting the young version of Bardem's character with Unax Ugalde, who bears a startling resemblance to Bardem.
Most of the other performances are good as well, particularly Hector Elizondo as Bardem's uncle and the great Fernanda Montenegro in the first film I've seen her in since Central Station.
If I could have made the film though, one other thing I would have done was actually film it in Spanish, to get another sense of its language since I read the book in its English translation. Nice try overall, but read the book.
Tweet
Labels: 00s, Bardem, Books, Fiction, Nicole Kidman
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
