By now, the man-child is an extremely familiar cinematic trope. You know the drill: sweet but immature guy has to learn to grow up, usually for the sake of a woman who's much more attractive than him. Typically the man-child is a fundamentally good person. He may be lazy or afraid to take responsibility, but we don't usually see the dark side of adolescence in these cuddly heroes.
Actually, that's not quite right. We have seen the downside of immaturity from a comedic perspective: witness the antics of Danny McBride or Will Ferrell. But these comic actors tend to focus on the boorishness of the adolescent male.
Todd Solondz's "Dark Horse," in contrast, looks at the characteristics of the man-child that aren't so box office friendly: blame shifting, jealousy, and self-absorbed negativity.
Abe fits the usual man-child profile: in his 30s, lives with his parents. Unsurprisingly, he needs to mature to win over a woman far too good for him. But where Solondz goes from there is not so typical. Abe ruminates over his fear of dying alone, a failure. His insecurities lead him to lash out at his put-upon father and accomplished brother. He collects toys, a fact which Solondz uses to spin a metaphor much more powerful than that of Judd Apatow's 40-year-old virgin who won't take his toys out of the box. (Abe also drives a Hummer, which Solondz cleverly uses to point out that these monstrosities are basically giant toys.)
Without giving anything away, I can safely say the film goes to unexpected places. Much of the movie takes place in Abe's head, as he converses with other characters fantastically in the style of a Woody Allen film. And the film's ending would surely not please Apatow, who once said he loved Allen's movies but wished he would lighten up.
Solondz gets great work from his cast. Jordan Gelber has rightfully gotten credit for his work as Abe, but Selma Blair is just as good, joining the long line of beautifully sad Solondz heroines. Christopher Walken gets a rare serious role as Abe's father, and ably exploits it: he conveys more with a blank look than he does in most films where he's bursting with batshit energy. Mia Farrow is also excellent as the hopelessly doting mother.
Recently Solondz's work has seemed a bit tired. His previous film, "Life During Wartime," was a sequel to his masterpiece "Happiness" that functioned more as a weak echo. Hopefully, Solondz has reinvigorated himself by examining a new stock character of Hollywood.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
The Cabin in the Woods
Note: This review contains a spoiler for the film. However, the spoiler has been fairly widely discussed by now, and is referenced in ads for the DVD and on the DVD menu. The film also contains another twist which will not be revealed.
"The Cabin in the Woods" is very reminiscent of "Shaun of the Dead" and "Hot Fuzz." It's a send-up of a genre that also functions as an example of the genre. In this case, the film pokes fun at dumb horror movies while also functioning as its own dumb horror movie.
Early previews of the film made it seem like a very generic scary movie. Five college students stay in the woods for a weekend, zombies appear, and nasty things happen.
As it turns out, though, their fate is being manipulated from a control room. A team of engineers is working to ensure that these students die.
Writers Joss Whedon and Drew Pearson use this set-up to aptly parody the usual horror movie tropes, showing how gullible and dumb most of the victims are as well as how rote the scares tend to be. But when they reveal the reason the young co-eds are being led to the slaughter, the film turns into its own ridiculous scare machine.
Whedon and Pearson are very clever. And clearly, they've got a deep affection for scary movies, which is why they turn their film into one while displaying their awareness of how tacky they can be. If you're a horror fanboy, this movie is right up your alley.
But movies should try to resonate with everyone, not just a subset of people who are in on the joke. When I think about the most effective horror films I've seen--movies like "Psycho," "Rosemary's Baby," and "Jaws"--they tend to play on deep-seated fears that almost everyone can relate to: subjects like mental illness, miscarriage, or even something as simple as what's lurking in the water. So many horror movies are predicated on pretty young things dumbly prancing to their doom. The viewer can't take them seriously because she doesn't relate to them. (Nor would she relate to "The Cabin in the Woods," once the twist is revealed.)
(On a more technical level, I think horror movies are much better off relying on suspense. When they start throwing out dumb scares early on, you're reminded that you're watching a movie and lose your suspense of disbelief.)
After seeing "The Cabin in the Woods," I have to wonder what the future holds for horror. The audience appears to know all the tricks of the genre, and the directors appear to know that they know those tricks. Filmmakers would be much better served by ditching the ghouls and focusing on things we fear in real life.
"The Cabin in the Woods" is very reminiscent of "Shaun of the Dead" and "Hot Fuzz." It's a send-up of a genre that also functions as an example of the genre. In this case, the film pokes fun at dumb horror movies while also functioning as its own dumb horror movie.
Early previews of the film made it seem like a very generic scary movie. Five college students stay in the woods for a weekend, zombies appear, and nasty things happen.
As it turns out, though, their fate is being manipulated from a control room. A team of engineers is working to ensure that these students die.
Writers Joss Whedon and Drew Pearson use this set-up to aptly parody the usual horror movie tropes, showing how gullible and dumb most of the victims are as well as how rote the scares tend to be. But when they reveal the reason the young co-eds are being led to the slaughter, the film turns into its own ridiculous scare machine.
Whedon and Pearson are very clever. And clearly, they've got a deep affection for scary movies, which is why they turn their film into one while displaying their awareness of how tacky they can be. If you're a horror fanboy, this movie is right up your alley.
But movies should try to resonate with everyone, not just a subset of people who are in on the joke. When I think about the most effective horror films I've seen--movies like "Psycho," "Rosemary's Baby," and "Jaws"--they tend to play on deep-seated fears that almost everyone can relate to: subjects like mental illness, miscarriage, or even something as simple as what's lurking in the water. So many horror movies are predicated on pretty young things dumbly prancing to their doom. The viewer can't take them seriously because she doesn't relate to them. (Nor would she relate to "The Cabin in the Woods," once the twist is revealed.)
(On a more technical level, I think horror movies are much better off relying on suspense. When they start throwing out dumb scares early on, you're reminded that you're watching a movie and lose your suspense of disbelief.)
After seeing "The Cabin in the Woods," I have to wonder what the future holds for horror. The audience appears to know all the tricks of the genre, and the directors appear to know that they know those tricks. Filmmakers would be much better served by ditching the ghouls and focusing on things we fear in real life.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Take This Waltz
Early in "Take This Waltz," the main character is chatting with the man with whom she is considering having an affair. She says that when she's sad, she can usually figure out why. But "sometimes, when I'm walking down the street, and a shaft of sunlight falls in a certain way on the pavement, I just want to cry."
Hold up. Morrissey called and he wants his lyrics back. What a suffocating line.
But wait a tick--there's something interesting going on here. Our heroine is saying that sometimes she's sad for no reason. And her paramour responds that maybe she just hasn't found the reason yet.
That intriguing question is what "Take This Waltz" explores. And it provides a very thoughtful answer. Unfortunately, as the above line indicates, sometimes it struggles with the delivery.
The aforementioned heroine meets her possible beau briefly on a trip to Nova Scotia. Coincidentally, they sit next to each other on their plane ride back to Toronto. Coincidentally, they happen to live on the same street. Coincidentally, the three main characters all have lots of free time: the charming stranger pulls a rickshaw (which apparently earns him enough to rent a townhouse), while the wife has a very vaguely defined job in travel writing and the husband is writing a cookbook.
If you want the quirky ideosyncracies and contrivances that can plague indie films, look no further. The wife has airport staff push her around in a wheelchair because she's afraid of missing her connecting flights--as if waiting on someone to help you would make that less likely. (Also, symbolism: she doesn't like MISSED CONNECTIONS.) Her husband's cookbook contains only recipes for chicken. (More symbolism: HE'S BORING.)
While I can't overlook these missteps, I can forgive them because I admire the movie's larger purpose. Ultimately, it doesn't really matter what happens in this film: whether the wife cheats, whether she leaves her husband, whether she's forgiven. The story is just a vehicle for examining how we deal with sadness. Is it a matter of changing our surroundings? Or is there just no cure at all?
Hold up. Morrissey called and he wants his lyrics back. What a suffocating line.
But wait a tick--there's something interesting going on here. Our heroine is saying that sometimes she's sad for no reason. And her paramour responds that maybe she just hasn't found the reason yet.
That intriguing question is what "Take This Waltz" explores. And it provides a very thoughtful answer. Unfortunately, as the above line indicates, sometimes it struggles with the delivery.
The aforementioned heroine meets her possible beau briefly on a trip to Nova Scotia. Coincidentally, they sit next to each other on their plane ride back to Toronto. Coincidentally, they happen to live on the same street. Coincidentally, the three main characters all have lots of free time: the charming stranger pulls a rickshaw (which apparently earns him enough to rent a townhouse), while the wife has a very vaguely defined job in travel writing and the husband is writing a cookbook.
If you want the quirky ideosyncracies and contrivances that can plague indie films, look no further. The wife has airport staff push her around in a wheelchair because she's afraid of missing her connecting flights--as if waiting on someone to help you would make that less likely. (Also, symbolism: she doesn't like MISSED CONNECTIONS.) Her husband's cookbook contains only recipes for chicken. (More symbolism: HE'S BORING.)
While I can't overlook these missteps, I can forgive them because I admire the movie's larger purpose. Ultimately, it doesn't really matter what happens in this film: whether the wife cheats, whether she leaves her husband, whether she's forgiven. The story is just a vehicle for examining how we deal with sadness. Is it a matter of changing our surroundings? Or is there just no cure at all?
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Lincoln
One of the turning points in "Lincoln" comes in a speech by Thaddeus Stevens on the floor of the House of Representatives. Stevens is asked if he believes in equality for blacks in all things, or merely under the law. He wants to insist that all races are equal. But most Americans don't believe that, and would oppose the abolition of slavery if it meant blacks would be treated as truly equal to whites. So he restrains himself. He says he believes merely in equality under the law. It may not be what he wants to say, but it advances the cause of abolition.
Director Steven Spielberg also faces a test in "Lincoln." He loves uplift and spectacle, and he's a master at delivering them. This is all well and good for, say, an Indiana Jones flick. But for "Lincoln," a historical drama which aspires to seriousness, it's the path to cliche and banality. "Amistad," his dull paean to the quest for freedom, is a perfect example of the possible pitfalls.
Thankfully, Spielberg is largely able to keep his showmanship in check here. Focusing on the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment, "Lincoln" gives us the political meat-and-potatoes: the backroom deals, legal vagaries, and compromises in which Lincoln had to engage for the sake of the bill. The film also dabbles in the mental instability of the Lincoln family through Lincoln's son's insistence on joining the army. Spielberg realizes that it's not the why of the Thirteenth Amendment that matters--we all know that. It's the how that is his value-added.
Of course, Spielberg can't always help himself from indulging in a little flag-waving nonsense. The opening scene, in which Lincoln is bathed in an angelic glow as Union troops recite the Gettysburg address to him, is sheer ridiculousness. There are some painfully cloying lines, as when the Speaker of the House declares "This is history" before casting his vote. Finally, the ending of the movie lapses into generic biopic territory: we see the settlement at Appomattox and Lincoln on his deathbed. It's a reenactment of history rather than an investigation, one any high schooler could give us.
Janusz Kaminski, the cinematographer on "Lincoln," said that because Abe was such an iconic figure, he had to be shot carefully: "You can't really show the man taking a dump, you know?" This is exactly the wrong attitude to take towards a historical figure. Lincoln shat, and it stank, just like it did for everybody else. Part of the man's greatness was that he would admit this himself. "Lincoln" mostly gets that key point right.
Director Steven Spielberg also faces a test in "Lincoln." He loves uplift and spectacle, and he's a master at delivering them. This is all well and good for, say, an Indiana Jones flick. But for "Lincoln," a historical drama which aspires to seriousness, it's the path to cliche and banality. "Amistad," his dull paean to the quest for freedom, is a perfect example of the possible pitfalls.
Thankfully, Spielberg is largely able to keep his showmanship in check here. Focusing on the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment, "Lincoln" gives us the political meat-and-potatoes: the backroom deals, legal vagaries, and compromises in which Lincoln had to engage for the sake of the bill. The film also dabbles in the mental instability of the Lincoln family through Lincoln's son's insistence on joining the army. Spielberg realizes that it's not the why of the Thirteenth Amendment that matters--we all know that. It's the how that is his value-added.
Of course, Spielberg can't always help himself from indulging in a little flag-waving nonsense. The opening scene, in which Lincoln is bathed in an angelic glow as Union troops recite the Gettysburg address to him, is sheer ridiculousness. There are some painfully cloying lines, as when the Speaker of the House declares "This is history" before casting his vote. Finally, the ending of the movie lapses into generic biopic territory: we see the settlement at Appomattox and Lincoln on his deathbed. It's a reenactment of history rather than an investigation, one any high schooler could give us.
Janusz Kaminski, the cinematographer on "Lincoln," said that because Abe was such an iconic figure, he had to be shot carefully: "You can't really show the man taking a dump, you know?" This is exactly the wrong attitude to take towards a historical figure. Lincoln shat, and it stank, just like it did for everybody else. Part of the man's greatness was that he would admit this himself. "Lincoln" mostly gets that key point right.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Alien
Note: This review basically spoils the film.
I confess I only recently saw "Alien" for the first time. This is because I am a complete wimp when it comes to horror movies.
The good news about "Alien" was that it wasn't very scary. The bad news about "Alien" was that it wasn't very scary.
First off, credit where it's due: director Ridley Scott does a nice job of setting the mood. At the movie's outset, the camera slowly pans through our heroes' ship, the Nostromo, while they sleep. We also get plenty of shots of the Nostromo drifting along, emphasizing the cold silence of space. This is a film that shows uncommon patience.
But patience only works if there's a payoff, and that's rather lacking here. Much to my surprise, for a movie that features a killing machine with razor sharp teeth and a terrifyingly huge head, most of the scares in the film are more gross-out shots than actual shocks. Some of the blame probably goes to the clearly limited effects budget for the film. But that's no excuse: as the "Paranormal Activity" films have shown, you can get plenty of scares just by playing on the audience's imagination.
Plot-wise, the movie lost me when it was revealed that Ash, the officer who orders that the alien be brought back to Earth regardless of the loss of the crew's lives, is actually an android created by the company that employs the heroes. The reveal happens after we see him sweating a white goo. The crew are able to take him apart, but before he shuts off he tells them that they "have [his] sympathies."
Where to start? If the company wants to bring back an alien and can create an android that does everything a human can, why not just send four or five of those out into space? Why would they build a robot that sweats white goo? Seems like a major design flaw. And since when do machines have "sympathies"?
Admittedly, part of the problem with "Alien" is context. The tricks of horror movies have become so familiar in the past thirty years that this one's seem tame. In addition, the film's most famous scene--in which the alien bursts out of John Hurt's stomach--was parodied so effectively in "Spaceballs" that it's lost most of its power. Finally, the fact that Sigourney Weaver starred in three sequels to this film makes her final scene with the alien (which she partly does in her undies, for a little gratuitous T&A) pretty anticlimactic.
But a great movie should hold up regardless of when you see it. "Jaws," "Rosemary's Baby," "The Shining"; all still have the power to shock more than three decades later. "Alien" is just disgusting.
I confess I only recently saw "Alien" for the first time. This is because I am a complete wimp when it comes to horror movies.
The good news about "Alien" was that it wasn't very scary. The bad news about "Alien" was that it wasn't very scary.
First off, credit where it's due: director Ridley Scott does a nice job of setting the mood. At the movie's outset, the camera slowly pans through our heroes' ship, the Nostromo, while they sleep. We also get plenty of shots of the Nostromo drifting along, emphasizing the cold silence of space. This is a film that shows uncommon patience.
But patience only works if there's a payoff, and that's rather lacking here. Much to my surprise, for a movie that features a killing machine with razor sharp teeth and a terrifyingly huge head, most of the scares in the film are more gross-out shots than actual shocks. Some of the blame probably goes to the clearly limited effects budget for the film. But that's no excuse: as the "Paranormal Activity" films have shown, you can get plenty of scares just by playing on the audience's imagination.
Plot-wise, the movie lost me when it was revealed that Ash, the officer who orders that the alien be brought back to Earth regardless of the loss of the crew's lives, is actually an android created by the company that employs the heroes. The reveal happens after we see him sweating a white goo. The crew are able to take him apart, but before he shuts off he tells them that they "have [his] sympathies."
Where to start? If the company wants to bring back an alien and can create an android that does everything a human can, why not just send four or five of those out into space? Why would they build a robot that sweats white goo? Seems like a major design flaw. And since when do machines have "sympathies"?
Admittedly, part of the problem with "Alien" is context. The tricks of horror movies have become so familiar in the past thirty years that this one's seem tame. In addition, the film's most famous scene--in which the alien bursts out of John Hurt's stomach--was parodied so effectively in "Spaceballs" that it's lost most of its power. Finally, the fact that Sigourney Weaver starred in three sequels to this film makes her final scene with the alien (which she partly does in her undies, for a little gratuitous T&A) pretty anticlimactic.
But a great movie should hold up regardless of when you see it. "Jaws," "Rosemary's Baby," "The Shining"; all still have the power to shock more than three decades later. "Alien" is just disgusting.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Lance Armstrong's Temptation
"Live each day as if it were your last." This is dumb advice. It is highly likely that today will not be your last day. If you were to follow this mindset every day, you'd soon be left penniless and destitute. But however misguided this philosophy may be, it's a little easier to understand when you've had a close brush with death.
The recent allegations against Lance Armstrong are damning. The U.S. Anti-Doping Agency's findings--which Armstrong has not contested--depict Armstrong as one of the most blatant cheaters in sports history. Plenty of athletes have used steroids, but who else has made using them a requirement for membership on his team? His gall is simply amazing.
But then, his background is pretty amazing too. At the age of just 25, Armstrong was diagnosed with stage three testicular cancer. The cancer spread to his abdomen, his lungs, his brain.
Of course he recovered, and in just 18 months, he was back on the Tour de France. But it's easy to imagine how a scare like that would get you thinking about the meaninglessness of your life. At the time, Armstrong wouldn't even have merited a footnote in history. If he was lucky, he might get a three-minute segment on the evening news: a pretty good cyclist beats cancer and rides again. A nice story and nothing more. But if he won the Tour, he would make his mark. And not only would he be known as a great athlete; he could use his success to promote his new cancer foundation. His name would live on.
None of this absolves Armstrong from blame. The man is a cheat and a liar. There are plenty of ways to support cancer research without servicing his ego by promoting Livestrong.
But Lance Armstrong is a cautionary tale in the dangers of refusing to accept one's mortality.
The recent allegations against Lance Armstrong are damning. The U.S. Anti-Doping Agency's findings--which Armstrong has not contested--depict Armstrong as one of the most blatant cheaters in sports history. Plenty of athletes have used steroids, but who else has made using them a requirement for membership on his team? His gall is simply amazing.
But then, his background is pretty amazing too. At the age of just 25, Armstrong was diagnosed with stage three testicular cancer. The cancer spread to his abdomen, his lungs, his brain.
Of course he recovered, and in just 18 months, he was back on the Tour de France. But it's easy to imagine how a scare like that would get you thinking about the meaninglessness of your life. At the time, Armstrong wouldn't even have merited a footnote in history. If he was lucky, he might get a three-minute segment on the evening news: a pretty good cyclist beats cancer and rides again. A nice story and nothing more. But if he won the Tour, he would make his mark. And not only would he be known as a great athlete; he could use his success to promote his new cancer foundation. His name would live on.
None of this absolves Armstrong from blame. The man is a cheat and a liar. There are plenty of ways to support cancer research without servicing his ego by promoting Livestrong.
But Lance Armstrong is a cautionary tale in the dangers of refusing to accept one's mortality.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Bernie
An ongoing conundrum: when a good movie is based on a true story, who deserves the credit? The real-life individuals responsible for the events depicted? Or the filmmakers? Is it the tale, or the telling?
In the case of "Bernie," the answer has to be a bit of both. Bernie Tiede is the rare individual interesting enough to hang a movie on, an incredibly generous man who committed one heinous act. Danny Buck, the shameless, condescending prosecutor in Bernie's case, is an excellent antagonist. (His real last name is Davidson, but he goes by Buck. The showy moniker is almost too perfect.)
Still, much credit goes to those who brought the story to life. Jack Black shows excellent restraint as Bernie, showing off just enough of his talents for histrionics and singing without going over-the-top. Matthew McConaughey has a lot of fun uglying himself up to play Buck. Director Richard Linklater deserves high marks for including numerous interviews with people from the real-life Texas town where the movie is set. The commentary gives the movie a down-home feel that prevents it from becoming another rote indie.
To the average viewer this may all be a futile accounting exercise. Art can't be quantified; you can't assign statistics to determine who did what in a movie. I confess that I can't give a reason why it should matter to you. But I can say that no matter who gets the credit for it, you'll be charmed and entertained by "Bernie."
In the case of "Bernie," the answer has to be a bit of both. Bernie Tiede is the rare individual interesting enough to hang a movie on, an incredibly generous man who committed one heinous act. Danny Buck, the shameless, condescending prosecutor in Bernie's case, is an excellent antagonist. (His real last name is Davidson, but he goes by Buck. The showy moniker is almost too perfect.)
Still, much credit goes to those who brought the story to life. Jack Black shows excellent restraint as Bernie, showing off just enough of his talents for histrionics and singing without going over-the-top. Matthew McConaughey has a lot of fun uglying himself up to play Buck. Director Richard Linklater deserves high marks for including numerous interviews with people from the real-life Texas town where the movie is set. The commentary gives the movie a down-home feel that prevents it from becoming another rote indie.
To the average viewer this may all be a futile accounting exercise. Art can't be quantified; you can't assign statistics to determine who did what in a movie. I confess that I can't give a reason why it should matter to you. But I can say that no matter who gets the credit for it, you'll be charmed and entertained by "Bernie."
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