"Gran Torino" is an R-rated after-school special. It's much more interested in teaching its characters lessons than in storytelling.
Clint Eastwood stars as Walt Kowalski, but he's really more of a caricature than a character here. In case you ever forget that Kowalski is old as dirt, Eastwood grimaces, groans and delivers lines about how Young People Today Have No Respect in about three-quarters of the scenes.
Kowalski is a lonely widower living in suburban Michigan. His life takes a turn when he befriends the family next door to him. This friendship is unlikely, to say the least, because the family is of the Hmong ethnicity, while Kowalski is racist enough to fit in at a Klan meeting.
He seems to have a particular contempt for Asians, perhaps because of his service in the Korean War. Even when visiting his neighbors' house, he tosses around the word "gook" as often as Tony Montana drops F-bombs. It seems improbable that Kowalski could overcome his racism to see that his neighbors are better people than his own children. It's downright absurd that the family would put up with his open ignorance and contempt ("I thought Asian girls were supposed to be smart").
Kowalski forms a particularly close bond with Thao, a teenage boy. Thao's father has died and he clearly needs guidance. He looks to Kowalski to provide it, even though the old man accuses him of being a "pussy" enough times in one monologue to set some sort of Hollywood record.
Thao and his family are harassed by a gang, which leads to a confrontation between Kowalski and the young punks. The ending is telegraphed from a mile away.
Not surprisingly, a movie this preachy features some ham-handed dialogue, particularly between Kowalski and a priest ("I've been thinking about our conversation about life and death"). Eastwood directs, and as usual, he is competent. He deserves credit for making the gang scenes passable, considering he's working with actors sixty years his junior.
In a recent interview, Eastwood was asked who he makes movies for now. He pointed to himself. That sums up "Gran Torino" pretty well. It's an opportunity for Eastwood to berate young whippersnappers, show he's racially enlightened and play a martyr.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Virgin Suicides
In "The Godfather" Part 3, Sofia Coppola proved she could act about as well as a professional wrestler.
But in "The Virgin Suicides," Coppola proves she can direct the hell out of a movie.
Based on a novel by Jeffrey Eugenides, the story is economical. In 1970's suburban Michigan, the five teenage Lisbon sisters live under the aegis of their strict Catholic parents. When rules are relaxed and the girls are allowed to bring boys over, their behavior takes a predictable turn. A stern crackdown ensues, which leads to the tragic events heavily implied in the title.
A plot summary can't really do this film justice, though, because it leaves out the eerie atmosphere which pervades "The Virgin Suicides." There are two major reasons for this disturbing mood. First, we barely get to know all but one of the Lisbon sisters; they remain mysterious pretty things throughout the film. Secondly, we are warned at the outset and throughout the film of the tragedy to come.
Coppola helps build this atmosphere not with fancy tricks, but with an understated direction. She uses straightforward camera angles and provides only brief glimpses of the misdeeds, large and small, committed by the sisters.
As for the music, Coppola has always shown she has good taste, but she hasn't always known the right time to use it. (Putting the Strokes on your soundtrack is rarely a wrong move, but it certainly is in a film about Marie Antoinette.) Here she eschews quality--save for a nice recurring score by the French duo Air--in favor of songs which encapsulate adolescence in the 1970's.
The faults of "The Virgin Suicides" lie mostly in the plot. We are told that everything changes when the girls are allowed to invite boys over, but they attend a public coed school. Haven't they already been exposed to plenty of testosterone? More puzzling is that the film continually insists that the events of its climax are a mystery, impossible to explain, even though the reasons are all laid out for us.
In fact, this explanation may be the film's greatest strength. "The Virgin Suicides" is a first-rate portrait of adolescence: the ignorance and immaturity of the boys, the sexual allure of the girls, and the persecution complex of both genders which can sometimes lead to unspeakable acts.
But in "The Virgin Suicides," Coppola proves she can direct the hell out of a movie.
Based on a novel by Jeffrey Eugenides, the story is economical. In 1970's suburban Michigan, the five teenage Lisbon sisters live under the aegis of their strict Catholic parents. When rules are relaxed and the girls are allowed to bring boys over, their behavior takes a predictable turn. A stern crackdown ensues, which leads to the tragic events heavily implied in the title.
A plot summary can't really do this film justice, though, because it leaves out the eerie atmosphere which pervades "The Virgin Suicides." There are two major reasons for this disturbing mood. First, we barely get to know all but one of the Lisbon sisters; they remain mysterious pretty things throughout the film. Secondly, we are warned at the outset and throughout the film of the tragedy to come.
Coppola helps build this atmosphere not with fancy tricks, but with an understated direction. She uses straightforward camera angles and provides only brief glimpses of the misdeeds, large and small, committed by the sisters.
As for the music, Coppola has always shown she has good taste, but she hasn't always known the right time to use it. (Putting the Strokes on your soundtrack is rarely a wrong move, but it certainly is in a film about Marie Antoinette.) Here she eschews quality--save for a nice recurring score by the French duo Air--in favor of songs which encapsulate adolescence in the 1970's.
The faults of "The Virgin Suicides" lie mostly in the plot. We are told that everything changes when the girls are allowed to invite boys over, but they attend a public coed school. Haven't they already been exposed to plenty of testosterone? More puzzling is that the film continually insists that the events of its climax are a mystery, impossible to explain, even though the reasons are all laid out for us.
In fact, this explanation may be the film's greatest strength. "The Virgin Suicides" is a first-rate portrait of adolescence: the ignorance and immaturity of the boys, the sexual allure of the girls, and the persecution complex of both genders which can sometimes lead to unspeakable acts.
Friday, June 12, 2009
The Good Girl
"The Good Girl" does not have a very promising premise. It's an indie movie--cue the spare acoustic guitars--starring Jennifer Aniston. Aniston is a bored suburban retail worker who has an affair with a younger man. Looks like we're going to get a rote version of "American Beauty" crossed with "Madame Bovary."
But "The Good Girl" has some tricks up its sleeve. By its conclusion, it seems more like a cross between a milder version of a Coen brothers movie and a milder version of "Revolutionary Road." Like the former, its seemingly plain characters are actually capable of some dastardly acts. Like the latter, it tests the limits of its protagonist's willingness to escape suburban malaise.
To be clear, "The Good Girl" is not as ambitious or jarring as the above references; these characters are never quite at each other's throats. The filmmaking signals this throughout. Like its score, the camera reflects the film's modest aims, sitting back to encompass the relevant characters and letting them tell the story.
But "The Good Girl" is never boring either. The film is briskly paced, picking up momentum as it runs along. Director Miguel Arteta manages to surprise us frequently by momentarily withholding information in a scene. The screenplay by Mike White offers some light comic touches to keep things moving.
The acting is serviceable, if not spectacular. Aniston gives us a passable Texas accent and manages to do what is needed. (Luckily, the plot is interesting enough that she doesn't have to carry it.) John C. Reilly is her dopey husband. He's frequently cast in roles like this because he looks the part, and he's more than up to the task. Jake Gyllenhaal, Aniston's lover, already had plenty of experience playing a brooding young man from "Donnie Darko."
"The Good Girl" will not change your life. But there are much worse ways to spend 90 minutes.
But "The Good Girl" has some tricks up its sleeve. By its conclusion, it seems more like a cross between a milder version of a Coen brothers movie and a milder version of "Revolutionary Road." Like the former, its seemingly plain characters are actually capable of some dastardly acts. Like the latter, it tests the limits of its protagonist's willingness to escape suburban malaise.
To be clear, "The Good Girl" is not as ambitious or jarring as the above references; these characters are never quite at each other's throats. The filmmaking signals this throughout. Like its score, the camera reflects the film's modest aims, sitting back to encompass the relevant characters and letting them tell the story.
But "The Good Girl" is never boring either. The film is briskly paced, picking up momentum as it runs along. Director Miguel Arteta manages to surprise us frequently by momentarily withholding information in a scene. The screenplay by Mike White offers some light comic touches to keep things moving.
The acting is serviceable, if not spectacular. Aniston gives us a passable Texas accent and manages to do what is needed. (Luckily, the plot is interesting enough that she doesn't have to carry it.) John C. Reilly is her dopey husband. He's frequently cast in roles like this because he looks the part, and he's more than up to the task. Jake Gyllenhaal, Aniston's lover, already had plenty of experience playing a brooding young man from "Donnie Darko."
"The Good Girl" will not change your life. But there are much worse ways to spend 90 minutes.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
The Silence of the Lambs
"The Silence of the Lambs" is regarded by many as one of the greatest thrillers ever made. I fully agree--if we're talking about Michael Crichton thrillers.
Unfortunately, "Silence" can't hold a candle to the truly great, as opposed to merely entertaining, thrillers.
Why not? First off, the ridiculous premise. Jodie Foster is Clarice, an FBI agent-in-training who is called on to interview Hannibal Lecter, one of the most dangerous serial killers on the planet. Lecter is believed to have information on Buffalo Bill, a serial killer who is still on the loose. Why is Clarice chosen for this job, despite her total lack of experience? Because Jodie Foster is an extremely attractive woman. In fact, throughout the film we are reminded that Jodie Foster is a woman, that Jodie Foster is hot and that men will behave irrationally in the presence of hot, hot women like Jodie Foster.
If you can get past this silliness, you may enjoy the movie. But you'll also have to deal with ridiculous plot twists. Such as: when Hannibal uses the word "yourself," Clarice realizes that this is unusual and must be a clue. (Apparently she is a master linguist in addition to being an ace amateur detective.) This tips Clarice off that Hannibal has a unit at the "Your Self Storage Facility," where she finds...a severed head. Which is gross. But not particularly frightening.
In fact, many of the "scary" moments in "Silence" are really just gross-out moments, not much different than what you would see these days on your average CSI episode. And that's part of the problem: when you rely on shock value, your movie becomes dated very quickly.
A good thriller works by making us afraid of what will happen next. "Silence" only achieves this at the very end, and even then, it can't resist another silly moment as the killer is gunned down.
It's a shame "Silence" couldn't be a better film. It squanders a couple of artful twists, along with a very good performance by Anthony Hopkins. But most of this movie leaves one too incredulous to be scared.
Unfortunately, "Silence" can't hold a candle to the truly great, as opposed to merely entertaining, thrillers.
Why not? First off, the ridiculous premise. Jodie Foster is Clarice, an FBI agent-in-training who is called on to interview Hannibal Lecter, one of the most dangerous serial killers on the planet. Lecter is believed to have information on Buffalo Bill, a serial killer who is still on the loose. Why is Clarice chosen for this job, despite her total lack of experience? Because Jodie Foster is an extremely attractive woman. In fact, throughout the film we are reminded that Jodie Foster is a woman, that Jodie Foster is hot and that men will behave irrationally in the presence of hot, hot women like Jodie Foster.
If you can get past this silliness, you may enjoy the movie. But you'll also have to deal with ridiculous plot twists. Such as: when Hannibal uses the word "yourself," Clarice realizes that this is unusual and must be a clue. (Apparently she is a master linguist in addition to being an ace amateur detective.) This tips Clarice off that Hannibal has a unit at the "Your Self Storage Facility," where she finds...a severed head. Which is gross. But not particularly frightening.
In fact, many of the "scary" moments in "Silence" are really just gross-out moments, not much different than what you would see these days on your average CSI episode. And that's part of the problem: when you rely on shock value, your movie becomes dated very quickly.
A good thriller works by making us afraid of what will happen next. "Silence" only achieves this at the very end, and even then, it can't resist another silly moment as the killer is gunned down.
It's a shame "Silence" couldn't be a better film. It squanders a couple of artful twists, along with a very good performance by Anthony Hopkins. But most of this movie leaves one too incredulous to be scared.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Sophie's Choice
"Sophie's Choice" wants desperately to be a Great Hollywood Epic. Instead, it has to settle for merely being worthwhile.
Superficially, the film does feature the hallmarks of an Oscar-winning classic. It's an actor-driven drama featuring a love triangle with two principals who harbor Dark Secrets. Even better, one of those characters is a Holocaust survivor.
But only one of the film's assets can fairly be described as timeless: Meryl Streep's Oscar-winning performance as a Polish immigrant who has only recently survived Auschwitz. Streep has to carry this film and she absolutely nails it. The acrobatics required for her emotionally ravaged character would be difficult enough to negotiate without her also affecting a Polish accent. Her phrasing and mannerisms as a non-native English speaker are impeccable.
Streep's performance alone makes the film worth seeing. She is assisted by Kevin Kline, who turns in a strong effort as her unstable lover. Alan Paluka's austere directing also pays dividends at times, as when the camera lingers over the suffering masses of Auschwitz. The other point to recommend the film is its plot, which features enough twists to keep us interested most of the way.
But these strengths are undermined throughout "Sophie's Choice." Chief among the film's weaknesses is the performance of Peter MacNicol as a young writer who befriends the two lovers. With his overly earnest acting, MacNicol seems like he's wandered in from the set of a bad '80s B-movie. He threatens to derail every scene in which he is a focal point; the film works best when he is merely an observer of Streep and Kline.
Another major issue is the score, which is a total clunker. From the opening strains of strings in the first scene--more awkward than stirring--we know we will have to suffer through some maudlin music at moments which should be genuinely moving.
Pakula's patient approach also outlasts that of the audience at times. He seems determined to draw every last scene out, and throws in a brief romantic dalliance involving MacNicol which is utterly pointless.
The plot also has a couple of leaps that strain credulity. They are symptomatic of the film as a whole: when "Sophie's Choice" should be soaring, we are reminded that it's only a movie.
Superficially, the film does feature the hallmarks of an Oscar-winning classic. It's an actor-driven drama featuring a love triangle with two principals who harbor Dark Secrets. Even better, one of those characters is a Holocaust survivor.
But only one of the film's assets can fairly be described as timeless: Meryl Streep's Oscar-winning performance as a Polish immigrant who has only recently survived Auschwitz. Streep has to carry this film and she absolutely nails it. The acrobatics required for her emotionally ravaged character would be difficult enough to negotiate without her also affecting a Polish accent. Her phrasing and mannerisms as a non-native English speaker are impeccable.
Streep's performance alone makes the film worth seeing. She is assisted by Kevin Kline, who turns in a strong effort as her unstable lover. Alan Paluka's austere directing also pays dividends at times, as when the camera lingers over the suffering masses of Auschwitz. The other point to recommend the film is its plot, which features enough twists to keep us interested most of the way.
But these strengths are undermined throughout "Sophie's Choice." Chief among the film's weaknesses is the performance of Peter MacNicol as a young writer who befriends the two lovers. With his overly earnest acting, MacNicol seems like he's wandered in from the set of a bad '80s B-movie. He threatens to derail every scene in which he is a focal point; the film works best when he is merely an observer of Streep and Kline.
Another major issue is the score, which is a total clunker. From the opening strains of strings in the first scene--more awkward than stirring--we know we will have to suffer through some maudlin music at moments which should be genuinely moving.
Pakula's patient approach also outlasts that of the audience at times. He seems determined to draw every last scene out, and throws in a brief romantic dalliance involving MacNicol which is utterly pointless.
The plot also has a couple of leaps that strain credulity. They are symptomatic of the film as a whole: when "Sophie's Choice" should be soaring, we are reminded that it's only a movie.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Adventureland
"Adventureland" is a coming-of-age dramedy about a recent college graduate. No one will applaud it for originality. But neither will they accuse it of insincerity.
At a time when it seems like 40 percent of Hollywood releases are blood and or boob vehicles for adolescent men, it's nice to see a film explore the male perspective in a more intelligent vein.
Written and directed by Greg Mottola, "Adventureland" stars Jesse Eisenberg as James, a socially awkward pseudo-intellectual. He plans to take the requisite trip to Europe before beginning graduate school. But when his parents' finances take a hit, his plans get downgraded to working at a theme park in Pittsburgh in the summer of 1987.
Here he meets a motley band of amusingly written stereotypes, including the crazy park manager, the hot girl and the brooding depressive. But his most important new acquaintance is Em (Kristen Stewart). As soon as Em and James meet, we know their fate. But Mottola creates enough reasonable obstacles in their courtship that the plot doesn't feel labored.
The chief barrier is Em's affair with the park's maintenance guy, Mike Connell (Ryan Reynolds). Inside the park Connell gives off an impenetrable aura of coolness. Outside, he takes women to his mother's basement to cheat on his wife.
Em's attraction to Connell is a symptom of her low self-esteem, which is explained by her dysfunctional family situation. Her mother has died of cancer and her father has remarried a wicked stepmother. James' own parents are similarly unsupportive and irresponsible: his father hides a bottle of liquor in the car, which James uses with unfortunate consequences.
These characters amount to yet another lampooning of the Baby Boomers for irresponsibility. There's some truth and some unfairness in the accusation, but at least it's used here to help explain the protagonists' background and motivations.
Mottola's previous work was as director of "Superbad," but he has replaced most of that film's crude humor here with quality filmmaking. He strikes just the right balance between comedy and drama, and moves the film along at a varied pace. Some scenes fly by, while other plotlines are drawn out. This pacing matches the speed of life; time can seem to drag on forever, and then suddenly events happen in a flurry.
Mottola also aptly evokes the '80s with a soundtrack featuring the Replacements and the Cure. The cinematography always feels appropriate for the scene, varying from close-ups to hand held shots.
"Adventureland" is hardly perfect. The final quarter of the movie veers a bit wildly, as Mottola seeks to bring James down before his inevitable redemption. But with well-made, charming films as rare these days as slasher flicks are common, we should celebrate "Adventureland" in spite of its flaws.
At a time when it seems like 40 percent of Hollywood releases are blood and or boob vehicles for adolescent men, it's nice to see a film explore the male perspective in a more intelligent vein.
Written and directed by Greg Mottola, "Adventureland" stars Jesse Eisenberg as James, a socially awkward pseudo-intellectual. He plans to take the requisite trip to Europe before beginning graduate school. But when his parents' finances take a hit, his plans get downgraded to working at a theme park in Pittsburgh in the summer of 1987.
Here he meets a motley band of amusingly written stereotypes, including the crazy park manager, the hot girl and the brooding depressive. But his most important new acquaintance is Em (Kristen Stewart). As soon as Em and James meet, we know their fate. But Mottola creates enough reasonable obstacles in their courtship that the plot doesn't feel labored.
The chief barrier is Em's affair with the park's maintenance guy, Mike Connell (Ryan Reynolds). Inside the park Connell gives off an impenetrable aura of coolness. Outside, he takes women to his mother's basement to cheat on his wife.
Em's attraction to Connell is a symptom of her low self-esteem, which is explained by her dysfunctional family situation. Her mother has died of cancer and her father has remarried a wicked stepmother. James' own parents are similarly unsupportive and irresponsible: his father hides a bottle of liquor in the car, which James uses with unfortunate consequences.
These characters amount to yet another lampooning of the Baby Boomers for irresponsibility. There's some truth and some unfairness in the accusation, but at least it's used here to help explain the protagonists' background and motivations.
Mottola's previous work was as director of "Superbad," but he has replaced most of that film's crude humor here with quality filmmaking. He strikes just the right balance between comedy and drama, and moves the film along at a varied pace. Some scenes fly by, while other plotlines are drawn out. This pacing matches the speed of life; time can seem to drag on forever, and then suddenly events happen in a flurry.
Mottola also aptly evokes the '80s with a soundtrack featuring the Replacements and the Cure. The cinematography always feels appropriate for the scene, varying from close-ups to hand held shots.
"Adventureland" is hardly perfect. The final quarter of the movie veers a bit wildly, as Mottola seeks to bring James down before his inevitable redemption. But with well-made, charming films as rare these days as slasher flicks are common, we should celebrate "Adventureland" in spite of its flaws.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Step Brothers
"Step Brothers" is the latest film written by Will Ferrell and Adam McKay and directed by McKay. Their first two projects, "Anchorman" and "Talladega Nights," may have been the funniest films of the decade.
"Step Brothers" is not.
Ferrell and McKay have taken their usual manchild formula and replaced all of the witty, madcap humor with profane and unfunny jokes. "Anchorman" gave us Ferrell playing the "jazz flute" atop the tables of a restaurant. "Talladega Nights" gave us Ferrell driving a stock car with a Cougar painted on the hood next to one word: "Me."
"Step Brothers" gives us Ferrell putting his testicles on a drum kit.
That drum kit belongs to John C. Reilly, who, like Ferrell, is a 40-year-old who still lives with his single parent. When Reilly's father marries Ferrell's mother, they have to learn to live under one roof.
The setup is fine, if a little sparse. But where Ferrell and McKay once made fun of the ignorance and self-importance of the American male, they now simply drop F bombs and references to putting various things up various people's anuses.
Part of the problem is that the supporting characters have almost no humor potential at all. "Anchorman" featured Rob Cordry, Steve Carrell and Paul Rudd as Ferrell's hilarious sidekicks. "Talladega Nights" gave us a ridiculous villain played by Sacha Baron-Cohen. But "Step Brothers" just offers a shrill father, a coddling mother and Ferrell's painfully unfunny biological brother.
"Step Brothers" does have its moments. When Ferrell and Reilly put together a ridiculous tape for their start-up venture, "Prestige Worldwide," they become indignant when their father won't invest in a scheme with no ostensible purpose. The film's conclusion is also suitably silly.
But most of "Step Brothers" falls flat. Perhaps Ferrell and McKay rely a great deal on improvisation over multiple takes; that would certainly explain the hit and miss nature of this material. Between this film and the unspeakable "Semi-Pro," Ferrell is on now on a serious losing streak. We can only hope he still has some genuinely funny manchild antics left in his bag of tricks.
"Step Brothers" is not.
Ferrell and McKay have taken their usual manchild formula and replaced all of the witty, madcap humor with profane and unfunny jokes. "Anchorman" gave us Ferrell playing the "jazz flute" atop the tables of a restaurant. "Talladega Nights" gave us Ferrell driving a stock car with a Cougar painted on the hood next to one word: "Me."
"Step Brothers" gives us Ferrell putting his testicles on a drum kit.
That drum kit belongs to John C. Reilly, who, like Ferrell, is a 40-year-old who still lives with his single parent. When Reilly's father marries Ferrell's mother, they have to learn to live under one roof.
The setup is fine, if a little sparse. But where Ferrell and McKay once made fun of the ignorance and self-importance of the American male, they now simply drop F bombs and references to putting various things up various people's anuses.
Part of the problem is that the supporting characters have almost no humor potential at all. "Anchorman" featured Rob Cordry, Steve Carrell and Paul Rudd as Ferrell's hilarious sidekicks. "Talladega Nights" gave us a ridiculous villain played by Sacha Baron-Cohen. But "Step Brothers" just offers a shrill father, a coddling mother and Ferrell's painfully unfunny biological brother.
"Step Brothers" does have its moments. When Ferrell and Reilly put together a ridiculous tape for their start-up venture, "Prestige Worldwide," they become indignant when their father won't invest in a scheme with no ostensible purpose. The film's conclusion is also suitably silly.
But most of "Step Brothers" falls flat. Perhaps Ferrell and McKay rely a great deal on improvisation over multiple takes; that would certainly explain the hit and miss nature of this material. Between this film and the unspeakable "Semi-Pro," Ferrell is on now on a serious losing streak. We can only hope he still has some genuinely funny manchild antics left in his bag of tricks.
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