Director Steve McQueen started out as a photographer. His first two features, "Hunger" and "Shame," showed it. They were frequently wordless affairs, telling their respective stories through mesmerizing visuals.
It's therefore a bit jarring to see how conventional McQueen's third film, "12 Years a Slave," is at times. The movie starts in media res, with our hero near his lowest point. It then cuts to the beginning of the story, showing our hero as a shining, smiling, upstanding citizen, completely unaware that any harm could befall him. Eventually, there's a kindly white man (played by Brad Pitt, recycling his ridiculous Southern accent from "Inglorious Basterds") who's willing to give our hero a helping hand.
I suspect McQueen saw his opportunity for the brass ring--Oscar glory and better opportunities to make films--and took it.
But that reading is too cynical. There's some fine filmmaking here. McQueen isn't afraid to stop the action and give us a lyrical shot of willow trees or the Mississippi River. (Terrence Malick would approve.) He also holds shots to let them sink in. Most notably, he spends several minutes showing our hero standing on his toes with a noose around his neck, struggling desperately to avoid strangulation. (Most Hollywood directors would have cut from that scene in under 30 seconds.) The film's best scene, which eventually leads to our hero whipping another slave, is shot in a single long take. As with recent release "Gravity," the lack of cutting makes the scene almost unbearable, leaving the viewer with a sense that there's no way out.
"12 Years a Slave" also functions as an acting clinic. Chiwetel Ejiofor delivers a fine performance as the hero. Occasionally the material overwhelms him, but there's no shame in that, given the extreme degree of difficulty for the role. Michael Fassbender is tremendous as a loony slave owner; he shows how slavery destroys the dignity of masters as well as slaves. Benedict Cumberbatch, Paul Dano, and Paul Giamatti all do nice work in small roles.
"12 Years a Slave" is a tad too conventional to be great. It's not "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" or "There Will Be Blood." Nonetheless, it's a very good film. We need more of those--particularly depicting the horrors of slavery.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
American Gigolo
In discussing why he took the role of the titular character in "American Gigolo," Richard Gere said, "There's kind of a gay thing that's flirting through it and I didn't know the gay community at all. I wanted to immerse myself in all of that and I literally had two weeks. So I just dove in."
That's one reason (among others) why gays should be offended by this movie. Two weeks is hardly enough time to learn about a culture. It's barely enough time to become a tourist.
And that's what "American Gigolo" feels like: tourism. Writer-director Paul Schrader seems so shocked by things like gay bars, cuckolding, and gigolos that he thinks it's noteworthy to simply point out that they exist. Likewise, Schrader feels the need to make cynical points that should be obvious, like the transactional nature of many relationships, or the hypocrisy of socialites and politicians.
Plenty of good movies have been made with a cynical veneer--you could describe most Coen brothers movies that way--but cynicism doesn't offer much substance. You need style to make up for it. And any pretensions to style that "Gigolo" might have are demolished by its awful storytelling. The film's pacing is so terrible that it almost seems purposeful. We get several minutes of Gere matching his ties with suit jackets, plus several extended scenes of him driving around. Yet when the film finally reaches its denouement, it rushes through. In about seven minutes, the plot is resolved with a series of short scenes distractingly cut up by fades to black.
Earlier this year, Schrader released "The Canyons," a sleazy (excuse me, "erotic") thriller starring Lindsay Lohan. I was disappointed that he had stooped so low; he made the terrific "Affliction" only 14 years ago. But now I see that he was on familiar ground.
That's one reason (among others) why gays should be offended by this movie. Two weeks is hardly enough time to learn about a culture. It's barely enough time to become a tourist.
And that's what "American Gigolo" feels like: tourism. Writer-director Paul Schrader seems so shocked by things like gay bars, cuckolding, and gigolos that he thinks it's noteworthy to simply point out that they exist. Likewise, Schrader feels the need to make cynical points that should be obvious, like the transactional nature of many relationships, or the hypocrisy of socialites and politicians.
Plenty of good movies have been made with a cynical veneer--you could describe most Coen brothers movies that way--but cynicism doesn't offer much substance. You need style to make up for it. And any pretensions to style that "Gigolo" might have are demolished by its awful storytelling. The film's pacing is so terrible that it almost seems purposeful. We get several minutes of Gere matching his ties with suit jackets, plus several extended scenes of him driving around. Yet when the film finally reaches its denouement, it rushes through. In about seven minutes, the plot is resolved with a series of short scenes distractingly cut up by fades to black.
Earlier this year, Schrader released "The Canyons," a sleazy (excuse me, "erotic") thriller starring Lindsay Lohan. I was disappointed that he had stooped so low; he made the terrific "Affliction" only 14 years ago. But now I see that he was on familiar ground.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
The Missing Middle in Movies, or Why Steven Spielberg and George Lucas Deserve to See the Empire Strike Back
In case you missed it, Steven Spielberg and George Lucas threw a hissy fit recently. The subject of their rant? Their struggles to get movies financed. "You're talking about Steven Spielberg and George Lucas can't get their movie into a theatre!" whined Lucas.
You might argue that this isn't such a bad thing; George Lucas has done very little of artistic value in the last thirty years. (Excepting, of course, the great "Howard the Duck.") The real issue, though, is that it simply isn't true. Independent studios would line up to make a movie with Spielberg or Lucas for $5 or $10 million.
But these directors don't want to work at that scale. That's plain enough in the case of Lucas, who long ago lost interest in making movies without explosions. Spielberg, on the other hand, could work on that budget; he's simply gotten spoiled. "Lincoln" was made for $65 million. That's an outrageous figure, when you consider that "Looper," an ambitious sci-fi movie with several major stars, cost $30 million, and "Zero Dark Thirty," which filmed in several different countries, cost $40 million.
But these boys won't work on the cheap, and once you get into the $20 to $30 million range, you have to deal with the major studios. The arthouse studios are happy to release a movie in 300 theaters and get their money back. But the bigger companies are going to want to release a movie in 3,000 theaters. That adds tens of millions of dollars in marketing costs, placing ever-mounting pressure on a movie to be commercially viable. "Iron Man" can work on that scale, but "Lincoln" is a tougher sell.
***
Now, I'm being a little unfair to Spielberg and Lucas. The major studios don't have to release a movie on that many screens. They could have smaller releases, risk less, and recoup modest profits. Trouble is, they're not interested in that sort of small ball. They want hits, eye-popping ones.
This leaves us with a situation in which the middle has fallen out of the movies. Of the 2013 U.S. releases, I count only three that were released on more than 400 and less than 3,000 screens: "Mud," "The Bling Ring," and "Kevin Hart: Let Me Explain." We get the arthouse fare, released on a small number of screens with little fanfare, and the popcorn flicks, released worldwide with the usual bombastic CGI, and nothing in between.
***
If only someone with knowledge of the industry, an interest in quality films, and deep pockets could help fill the gap. Who might we look to for such leadership? Well, how about George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, who are worth about $7 and $3 billion, respectively? (The ironies of a multibillionaire whining that his movie almost ended up on HBO boggle the mind.)
Unfortunately, these two are businessmen first and artists second. One can't imagine them risking bankruptcy to get a film made, as Coppola and Scorcese, their '70s movie brat brethren, have done. Lucas and Spielberg don't have the right to complain about studios focusing on the bottom line, considering how clearly they're focused on their own.
You might argue that this isn't such a bad thing; George Lucas has done very little of artistic value in the last thirty years. (Excepting, of course, the great "Howard the Duck.") The real issue, though, is that it simply isn't true. Independent studios would line up to make a movie with Spielberg or Lucas for $5 or $10 million.
But these directors don't want to work at that scale. That's plain enough in the case of Lucas, who long ago lost interest in making movies without explosions. Spielberg, on the other hand, could work on that budget; he's simply gotten spoiled. "Lincoln" was made for $65 million. That's an outrageous figure, when you consider that "Looper," an ambitious sci-fi movie with several major stars, cost $30 million, and "Zero Dark Thirty," which filmed in several different countries, cost $40 million.
But these boys won't work on the cheap, and once you get into the $20 to $30 million range, you have to deal with the major studios. The arthouse studios are happy to release a movie in 300 theaters and get their money back. But the bigger companies are going to want to release a movie in 3,000 theaters. That adds tens of millions of dollars in marketing costs, placing ever-mounting pressure on a movie to be commercially viable. "Iron Man" can work on that scale, but "Lincoln" is a tougher sell.
***
Now, I'm being a little unfair to Spielberg and Lucas. The major studios don't have to release a movie on that many screens. They could have smaller releases, risk less, and recoup modest profits. Trouble is, they're not interested in that sort of small ball. They want hits, eye-popping ones.
This leaves us with a situation in which the middle has fallen out of the movies. Of the 2013 U.S. releases, I count only three that were released on more than 400 and less than 3,000 screens: "Mud," "The Bling Ring," and "Kevin Hart: Let Me Explain." We get the arthouse fare, released on a small number of screens with little fanfare, and the popcorn flicks, released worldwide with the usual bombastic CGI, and nothing in between.
***
If only someone with knowledge of the industry, an interest in quality films, and deep pockets could help fill the gap. Who might we look to for such leadership? Well, how about George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, who are worth about $7 and $3 billion, respectively? (The ironies of a multibillionaire whining that his movie almost ended up on HBO boggle the mind.)
Unfortunately, these two are businessmen first and artists second. One can't imagine them risking bankruptcy to get a film made, as Coppola and Scorcese, their '70s movie brat brethren, have done. Lucas and Spielberg don't have the right to complain about studios focusing on the bottom line, considering how clearly they're focused on their own.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Mud
"People don't change." That's a frequent quote from Matthew Weiner, the creative mastermind behind "Mad Men." It's a sentiment I tend to agree with, but it creates a conundrum for character-based dramas. If people don't change, how do you create meaningful action? Some character studies ignore this issue and pay little attention to plot. That's a fine approach, but some movies aim for more. How to do that without giving the audience a dishonest ending, one that tells us a character will now live happily--or perhaps unhappily--ever after, when he'll probably just revert to his old ways?
I won't spoil the ending, but "Mud" faces this trap and then artfully finds its way out. The protagonist, Ellis, is a 14-year-old who seems to be seeing his illusions about love crashing down around him. His parents are on the brink of divorce and he's fallen for a 16-year-old who gives him just enough attention to break his heart. But he's also helping Mud, a drifter played by Matthew McConaughey, to reunite with his girlfriend, played by Reese Witherspoon.
Another movie would have McConaughey and Witherspoon ride off into the sunset, reaffirming Ellis' faith in the power of love. An extremely downbeat ending was also possible. But "Mud" takes a more honest approach. It shows us that the characters have had significant experiences and learned from them. They may or may not apply those lessons. But that's how life tends to be. It's about experiences, not magical personal growth.
***
"Mud" also offers a good opportunity to reflect on the talents of McConaughey. By now every seemingly every film critic has recounted his comeback tale since he started taking movies seriously again. But McConaughey is a rare breed of actor. He's not just a movie star, someone with a distinct persona who's fun to hang out with for two hours. He's also a talented actor. Will Smith and Tom Cruise have plenty of charisma, but they're basically playing themselves in every movie. McConaughey has a definite brand, but he's also capable of slipping into a role. He's more like Jimmy Stewart, Katherine Hepburn, or Paul Newman. They all had familiar personas, but they were talented enough to carry real films, not just popcorn flicks. McConaughey is now on track to join their ranks as a screen legend.
I won't spoil the ending, but "Mud" faces this trap and then artfully finds its way out. The protagonist, Ellis, is a 14-year-old who seems to be seeing his illusions about love crashing down around him. His parents are on the brink of divorce and he's fallen for a 16-year-old who gives him just enough attention to break his heart. But he's also helping Mud, a drifter played by Matthew McConaughey, to reunite with his girlfriend, played by Reese Witherspoon.
Another movie would have McConaughey and Witherspoon ride off into the sunset, reaffirming Ellis' faith in the power of love. An extremely downbeat ending was also possible. But "Mud" takes a more honest approach. It shows us that the characters have had significant experiences and learned from them. They may or may not apply those lessons. But that's how life tends to be. It's about experiences, not magical personal growth.
***
"Mud" also offers a good opportunity to reflect on the talents of McConaughey. By now every seemingly every film critic has recounted his comeback tale since he started taking movies seriously again. But McConaughey is a rare breed of actor. He's not just a movie star, someone with a distinct persona who's fun to hang out with for two hours. He's also a talented actor. Will Smith and Tom Cruise have plenty of charisma, but they're basically playing themselves in every movie. McConaughey has a definite brand, but he's also capable of slipping into a role. He's more like Jimmy Stewart, Katherine Hepburn, or Paul Newman. They all had familiar personas, but they were talented enough to carry real films, not just popcorn flicks. McConaughey is now on track to join their ranks as a screen legend.
This is 40
It's hard to overestimate the influence of Judd Apatow on mainstream American comedy. Of course, he's known for creating the "man-child with heart" persona in his directorial efforts, "The 40-year-old Virgin" and "Knocked Up." But he's also produced breakout films for Will Ferrell, Seth Rogen, Jason Siegel, James Franco, and Kristen Wiig. Throw in his work on television on "Freaks and Geeks" and "Girls," and there's almost certainly no one who currently has a bigger influence on American comedy, on screens both big and small.
All of which has made him just a little too powerful. There's no one to tell him "no" at this point. That can be a good thing: he's free to make movies about the concerns of contemporary adults, which Hollywood has all but forgotten. But there's also no one to reign him in, to save him from his worst impulses. The result is that his good ideas get half-buried in indulgences.
Last time out, he gave us "Funny People," a good story about the emotional neediness of comedians that somehow got hijacked by an awful love-triangle plot. That storyline was so bad that it seemed suspiciously like an excuse to cast his wife and kids, bolstering his family's income while allowing him to hang out with them on set.
This time around, he's returned to the Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann couple from "Knocked Up." This allows him to not only cast his family again, but also get some sequel money. (Somewhat hilariously, the end credits tell us that the movie was "written and directed" by Apatow and also is "based on characters created by" Apatow. I would hope this was the case if he wrote the damn thing, but I assume it was contractually necessary to get those extra royalty checks for writing a sequel. Fittingly, IMDB tells us the film was "written by Judd Apatow and Judd Apatow.")
But that's not the real problem here. Apatow wants to tell a story about the struggles of marriage, and he's got the right angle: he's not afraid to show how ugly being a spouse and a parent can get. But he has no real story. That would be fine if he could keep the running time fleet, but the man who normalized the two-hour comedy seems incapable of going under that mark now. The result is a bunch of flailing subplots that mostly go nowhere. The biggest of those, Rudd's money troubles, seems awfully tone-deaf: the man owns a record label, has a huge house, takes his wife on a lovely vacation, throws a lavish party, and gives his dad obscene amounts of money. But there are others: Mann looks for a thief at the store she owns, the couple spar with a rude child and parent, Rudd tries to eat fewer cupcakes. Apatow tries to tie it all together with a huge final set piece, but he's like a juggler who's taken on too many bowling balls.
Also, it's time to say it: Apatow has contracted a very serious case of Cameron Crowe Disease, the rare but serious condition whereby a director loves everything on his iPod so much that he has to share as many of his songs as possible with the world. Crowe at least throws some variety into his movies, but Apatow seems to have an endless supply of bittersweet acoustic songs to tug at your heartstrings. (If you don't like Graham Parker, tough--Apatow will ram him down your throat in this film.). He also throws in songs by Alice in Chains, Stone Temple Pilots, and Sublime, just in case you haven't owned a radio in 20 years.
I feel a little guilty rambling on about the shortcomings of "This is 40." Apatow has some good insights here: how men find fun in aggression, how one person tends to fight more to improve a relationship, how festering problems for a couple can be buried and then explode. But there's a lot you have to wade through to get there. My wife was asleep by the time the big climactic scene rolled around, and I can't say I blame her.
All of which has made him just a little too powerful. There's no one to tell him "no" at this point. That can be a good thing: he's free to make movies about the concerns of contemporary adults, which Hollywood has all but forgotten. But there's also no one to reign him in, to save him from his worst impulses. The result is that his good ideas get half-buried in indulgences.
Last time out, he gave us "Funny People," a good story about the emotional neediness of comedians that somehow got hijacked by an awful love-triangle plot. That storyline was so bad that it seemed suspiciously like an excuse to cast his wife and kids, bolstering his family's income while allowing him to hang out with them on set.
This time around, he's returned to the Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann couple from "Knocked Up." This allows him to not only cast his family again, but also get some sequel money. (Somewhat hilariously, the end credits tell us that the movie was "written and directed" by Apatow and also is "based on characters created by" Apatow. I would hope this was the case if he wrote the damn thing, but I assume it was contractually necessary to get those extra royalty checks for writing a sequel. Fittingly, IMDB tells us the film was "written by Judd Apatow and Judd Apatow.")
But that's not the real problem here. Apatow wants to tell a story about the struggles of marriage, and he's got the right angle: he's not afraid to show how ugly being a spouse and a parent can get. But he has no real story. That would be fine if he could keep the running time fleet, but the man who normalized the two-hour comedy seems incapable of going under that mark now. The result is a bunch of flailing subplots that mostly go nowhere. The biggest of those, Rudd's money troubles, seems awfully tone-deaf: the man owns a record label, has a huge house, takes his wife on a lovely vacation, throws a lavish party, and gives his dad obscene amounts of money. But there are others: Mann looks for a thief at the store she owns, the couple spar with a rude child and parent, Rudd tries to eat fewer cupcakes. Apatow tries to tie it all together with a huge final set piece, but he's like a juggler who's taken on too many bowling balls.
Also, it's time to say it: Apatow has contracted a very serious case of Cameron Crowe Disease, the rare but serious condition whereby a director loves everything on his iPod so much that he has to share as many of his songs as possible with the world. Crowe at least throws some variety into his movies, but Apatow seems to have an endless supply of bittersweet acoustic songs to tug at your heartstrings. (If you don't like Graham Parker, tough--Apatow will ram him down your throat in this film.). He also throws in songs by Alice in Chains, Stone Temple Pilots, and Sublime, just in case you haven't owned a radio in 20 years.
I feel a little guilty rambling on about the shortcomings of "This is 40." Apatow has some good insights here: how men find fun in aggression, how one person tends to fight more to improve a relationship, how festering problems for a couple can be buried and then explode. But there's a lot you have to wade through to get there. My wife was asleep by the time the big climactic scene rolled around, and I can't say I blame her.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
To the Wonder
At this point, a Terrence Malick film that wasn't about God would be like a Woody Allen film that wasn't about neurotics. Still, what's striking about Malick's latest, "To the Wonder," is that its spiritual elements fall flat. The most compelling part of the film is what it has to say about relationships.
Now, I'm pulling punches a little here: in a Malick film, everything ties back into the spiritual elements. But his depiction of how a relationship falls apart--here, one between Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylenko--is quite well-observed. He shows how close depression can be to love, how someone is often withholding a part of himself in a relationship, how women struggle to tame men's aggression and wandering eye. And of course, because this is Malick, it's conveyed beautifully with images and music more than words.
In contrast, the more explicitly religious material feels recycled. Kurylenko has a lot of voice-overs which could have easily been said by Jessica Chastain in "The Tree of Life": God is all around us and so on. Javier Bardem turns up as a priest who's lost touch with his faith. He doesn't come to any real conclusions, beyond a resolution to carry on. It's the same old stuff for Malick: the conflict between our love for God and our love for ourselves.
What I'm describing--a broken relationship, a doubting priest--sounds more like the stuff of a Bergman film, the material of many great dramas. But Malick seems uninterested in doing anything besides reaffirming his faith. He's said about all he can on the matter: When you depict the creation of the universe, as he did in "Tree of Life," where can you go from there? My fear is that Malick will have to choose if he wants to continue making interesting art or staying true to his God. There can be little doubt where his priorities lie.
Now, I'm pulling punches a little here: in a Malick film, everything ties back into the spiritual elements. But his depiction of how a relationship falls apart--here, one between Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylenko--is quite well-observed. He shows how close depression can be to love, how someone is often withholding a part of himself in a relationship, how women struggle to tame men's aggression and wandering eye. And of course, because this is Malick, it's conveyed beautifully with images and music more than words.
In contrast, the more explicitly religious material feels recycled. Kurylenko has a lot of voice-overs which could have easily been said by Jessica Chastain in "The Tree of Life": God is all around us and so on. Javier Bardem turns up as a priest who's lost touch with his faith. He doesn't come to any real conclusions, beyond a resolution to carry on. It's the same old stuff for Malick: the conflict between our love for God and our love for ourselves.
What I'm describing--a broken relationship, a doubting priest--sounds more like the stuff of a Bergman film, the material of many great dramas. But Malick seems uninterested in doing anything besides reaffirming his faith. He's said about all he can on the matter: When you depict the creation of the universe, as he did in "Tree of Life," where can you go from there? My fear is that Malick will have to choose if he wants to continue making interesting art or staying true to his God. There can be little doubt where his priorities lie.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Argo
"Argo" tells us that it is "based on a true story." The key word there is "based." That leeway gives the movie enough rope to hang itself.
The film tells the tale of a CIA operation to extract six diplomats hiding in Tehran during the Iranian hostage crisis. The CIA--with a lot of help from Canada that isn't acknowledged much in the film--flew out the diplomats under the cover that they were filmmakers doing a location shoot.
An obvious question emerges: Who would believe that a Canadian film crew wanted to shoot a movie in Tehran in the midst of an international crisis? I suspect the answer is that the Iranians simply weren't paying attention. The diplomats were picked up, went to the airport, made it through security, and left, with no issues.
But "Argo" makes it seem as though the Iranians are hot on the heels of the diplomats, which renders the whole thing ridiculous. The film uses some stupefying leaps of logic to manufacture pulse-pounding drama in the airport. (I won't spoil it, but I will say that I don't think a CIA operative would defy an order from the President.)
The film also invents a scene in which the diplomats are invited on a tour through a market for location scouting. We're told that they're calling the CIA's bluff. But if they really wanted to do that, they would have simply detained the diplomats, interrogated them, and uncovered the ridiculous ruse.
There are other problems. The first half of the film has some jarring shifts in tone, jumping between the very different spectacles of Hollywood and Tehran protests. It also tacks on a disposable subplot involving the son of a CIA agent. The first 20 minutes of the film are terrific, but they hit a note that "Zero Dark Thirty" sustains for over two hours. The rest of "Argo" is well-made, but about as fanciful as "The Artist."
The film tells the tale of a CIA operation to extract six diplomats hiding in Tehran during the Iranian hostage crisis. The CIA--with a lot of help from Canada that isn't acknowledged much in the film--flew out the diplomats under the cover that they were filmmakers doing a location shoot.
An obvious question emerges: Who would believe that a Canadian film crew wanted to shoot a movie in Tehran in the midst of an international crisis? I suspect the answer is that the Iranians simply weren't paying attention. The diplomats were picked up, went to the airport, made it through security, and left, with no issues.
But "Argo" makes it seem as though the Iranians are hot on the heels of the diplomats, which renders the whole thing ridiculous. The film uses some stupefying leaps of logic to manufacture pulse-pounding drama in the airport. (I won't spoil it, but I will say that I don't think a CIA operative would defy an order from the President.)
The film also invents a scene in which the diplomats are invited on a tour through a market for location scouting. We're told that they're calling the CIA's bluff. But if they really wanted to do that, they would have simply detained the diplomats, interrogated them, and uncovered the ridiculous ruse.
There are other problems. The first half of the film has some jarring shifts in tone, jumping between the very different spectacles of Hollywood and Tehran protests. It also tacks on a disposable subplot involving the son of a CIA agent. The first 20 minutes of the film are terrific, but they hit a note that "Zero Dark Thirty" sustains for over two hours. The rest of "Argo" is well-made, but about as fanciful as "The Artist."
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