With the long-delayed DVD release of Branagh’s 1996 film of HAMLET and the premiere of AS YOU LIKE IT on HBO upon us, I decided to take a look back at the Shakespearean films of today’s Laurence Olivier. Following each of his five Shakespeare films in order brought forth some interesting connections; the star-studded casting (that had a wide variety of end results), the extended takes and the desire to make Shakespeare accessible to anyone and everyone.
Branagh first exploded onto the cinematic scene with 1989’s HENRY V. He had the largest of shoes to fill: the only other film version of HENRY V was the directorial debut of none other than Laurence Olivier in 1944. Yet this film is a tour de force, a tremendous accomplishment for the young Branagh and company, many of which will be seen in his following films. He mixes the beauty of the language with the violence and grittiness reminiscent of other historical epics of the time. Most impressive is the astounding Battle of Agincourt and the scenes that immediately follow, proving to all Shakespeare haters how exciting he can really be. The sequence of collecting the dead, one long tracking shot set to Patrick Doyle’s glorious music, is jaw-dropping spine-tingling brilliance. With HENRY V, Branagh made his biggest breakthrough, paying tribute to those who came before him while reigniting Shakespeare on film for a whole new generation.
He followed his triumphant debut with MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING in 1993, the first notable screen adaptation of one of Shakespeare’s most popular comedies. This film is easily his most enjoyable; light, breezy and featuring stunning photography depicting the Italian countryside. However, the first of Branagh’s brushes with odd stunt-casting sticks out like a sore thumb: Keanu Reeves is typically terrible as the villainous Don John. Branagh filled this film with a few other unlikely faces, including Denzel Washington and Michael Keaton, but Reeves’s flat characterization and apparent lack of interest stop the film dead whenever he appears. The rest of the cast fares well, with Emma Thompson giving one of her greatest performances. Her chemistry with Branagh is undeniable and their comedic skills have never been sharper.
Branagh’s most ambitious project was clearly 1996’s HAMLET, the first (and only) unedited adaptation of the play. Clocking in at four hours and two minutes, the film is certainly epic, yet every minute is well spent. Never has Branagh’s desire to make Shakespeare more accessible been more apparent; the film is filled with sudden flashes of violence and sex, breaking the silence of the film at a moment’s notice. As the titular character, Branagh plays him to the hilt; no longer is Hamlet quiet and brooding, but loud, angry and inches away from a breakdown. At times he teeters dangerously toward overacting, and his screaming monologues may turn off some, he remains effective in the role. He surrounds himself with the finest actors around; Derek Jacobi, Julie Christie and Kate Winslet all give stunning performances, giving solid reason why the play should go unedited. Again, there are the curious cameos, Jack Lemmon and Robin Williams are the most out of place, and if you blink in the wrong spot you’ll miss Judi Dench, but the likes of Billy Crystal and Charlton Heston are surprisingly effective. The film has an epic scope not seen since. Viewing the mirrored halls of Elsinore or the snow-covered hills of Denmark are reason alone to see this stunning film.
From 2000, LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST is nothing more than a pleasant misfire. Taking one of Shakespeare’s lesser known plays, Branagh tries to mold it into a musical comedy, inserting classic songs from the 30s and 40s, performed with varying levels of success by the cast. Again Branagh misfires when it comes to stunt casting: the presence of Alicia Silverstone is off-putting and, while certainly beautiful enough for her character, she doesn’t quite seem to understand what she’s saying. The film would be ably forgettable if it were not for Natasha McElhone, whose unusual beauty and intelligence make her a dynamically strong love interest for Branagh, who is a few years too old to be best buds with the likes of Matthew Lillard.
Finally, Branagh returned to the world of Shakespeare this year with AS YOU LIKE IT, a pleasant but rather by-the-numbers adaptation. Transposing the setting to imperial Japan, the look of the film is gorgeous (from the thick forest of Arden to the delicate, intricate kimonos worn by the cast), but offers little in terms of plot. For the first time, Branagh is nowhere to be seen, but the cast performs the material well. Alfred Molina is the stand out as Touchstone, reveling in his role of the fool. Romola Garai and Bryce Dallas Howard are both radiant and likable as Celia and Rosalind, with Garai in particular shining during the film’s lighter moments. Only Kevin Kline seems out of place, curiously enough. Though the nature of Jacques would seem to call for it, Kline seems uninterested and offers nothing new. While it does not reach the heights of his first three adaptations, AS YOU LIKE IT still proves that Branagh is the master when it comes to Shakespeare.
HENRY V: ****
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING: ***1/2
HAMLET: ****
LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST: **
AS YOU LIKE IT: ***
Friday, August 24, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Superbad
SUPERBAD hits you like a blast from the past. Not just in a nostalgic sense (for those of us no longer in high school) but for anyone who lived through the seventies. The creators of KNOCKED UP may have just given up the ultimate horny teen comedy, one that will assuredly bewilder and offend straight-minded types and have people under 30 rolling in the aisles everywhere. It’s a bawdy romp that holds nothing back, hitting you with underage drinking from all sides (those misfits!), endless illustrations a certain bodily organ, and reckless behavior from all involved. It is a perfect picture of irresponsibility, and it couldn’t be funnier.
Best friends Evan and Seth (likely named for the film’s writers, Evan Goldberg and co-star Seth Rogen) have only a few weeks left before high school graduation, and therefore are running out of time to snatch a summer girlfriend and have a special, alcohol-influenced late night encounter. Their opportunity arises when they are invited to a typical high school party (you know, just a few people, it’ll be fun…) and their geeky third wheel Fogel scores a fake I.D. with the already-renowned moniker “McLovin”. Charged with supplying the booze for the party, the rest of the film follows their misadventures in their quest to buy and deliver the alcohol. This includes storming a party with a sexual predator, several brawls and a few meetings with a pair of bored, yearning-for-the-past policemen, played with comic gusto by Bill Hader and Rogen.
Jonah Hill and Michael Cera play the sex-starved teenagers, both in a role that seems tailor made for them. Hill is a loud, volatile character, unafraid to ridicule his shape for the sake of comedy. Cera, as on TV’s “Arrested Development”, is the instantly likable dork; the kind you can’t help but root for. These are kids who liken their sexual life to Orson Welles’s film career; they’re not your typical teenage misfits. In his film debut, Christopher Mintz-Plasse (as Fogel/McLovin) leaves viewers in an uproar from the first moment he arrives. From his sweaty panic attacks to his painfully awkward attempts at anything “hip”, he remains the epitome of the nerd.
Though the film is set in the present, its style clearly reaches back to the best and solid-colored of the 1970s. Every building looks as if it hasn’t been touched for 25 years, the soundtrack is a nostalgic mix, and the three main characters’ costumes are straight from Good Will. The film is awash with the kind of youthful exuberance that only high schoolers know; the sexually explicit comments made with no regard over who hears and the feeling that a sense of freedom ends, not begins, with graduation. While there is a fleeting moment of deeper thought when Seth and Evan appear to explore their relationship a bit more, it is all turned into comedy when the morning hangovers come around. In their search for sex and, just maybe, something a little more long-lasting, we are content to sit back and watch them work their way out of seemingly inescapable fates.
The film is crude and crass, and never makes any lies about it. If one is ready to accept that (and there will be those that won’t), SUPERBAD will be the funniest movie to come along in quite a while. Producer Judd Apatow has scored another home run that will become an instant classic to his target group; basically anyone who enjoys a good sex comedy. Even those a little hesitant to the genre will be won over by the film’s relentless pace and complete lack of restraint. The jokes come fast, getting dirtier each and every time. While some will shake their heads in disgust, there are those who will realize it for what it is and just let in happen. And in the process, they’ll laugh their heads off.
***
Best friends Evan and Seth (likely named for the film’s writers, Evan Goldberg and co-star Seth Rogen) have only a few weeks left before high school graduation, and therefore are running out of time to snatch a summer girlfriend and have a special, alcohol-influenced late night encounter. Their opportunity arises when they are invited to a typical high school party (you know, just a few people, it’ll be fun…) and their geeky third wheel Fogel scores a fake I.D. with the already-renowned moniker “McLovin”. Charged with supplying the booze for the party, the rest of the film follows their misadventures in their quest to buy and deliver the alcohol. This includes storming a party with a sexual predator, several brawls and a few meetings with a pair of bored, yearning-for-the-past policemen, played with comic gusto by Bill Hader and Rogen.
Jonah Hill and Michael Cera play the sex-starved teenagers, both in a role that seems tailor made for them. Hill is a loud, volatile character, unafraid to ridicule his shape for the sake of comedy. Cera, as on TV’s “Arrested Development”, is the instantly likable dork; the kind you can’t help but root for. These are kids who liken their sexual life to Orson Welles’s film career; they’re not your typical teenage misfits. In his film debut, Christopher Mintz-Plasse (as Fogel/McLovin) leaves viewers in an uproar from the first moment he arrives. From his sweaty panic attacks to his painfully awkward attempts at anything “hip”, he remains the epitome of the nerd.
Though the film is set in the present, its style clearly reaches back to the best and solid-colored of the 1970s. Every building looks as if it hasn’t been touched for 25 years, the soundtrack is a nostalgic mix, and the three main characters’ costumes are straight from Good Will. The film is awash with the kind of youthful exuberance that only high schoolers know; the sexually explicit comments made with no regard over who hears and the feeling that a sense of freedom ends, not begins, with graduation. While there is a fleeting moment of deeper thought when Seth and Evan appear to explore their relationship a bit more, it is all turned into comedy when the morning hangovers come around. In their search for sex and, just maybe, something a little more long-lasting, we are content to sit back and watch them work their way out of seemingly inescapable fates.
The film is crude and crass, and never makes any lies about it. If one is ready to accept that (and there will be those that won’t), SUPERBAD will be the funniest movie to come along in quite a while. Producer Judd Apatow has scored another home run that will become an instant classic to his target group; basically anyone who enjoys a good sex comedy. Even those a little hesitant to the genre will be won over by the film’s relentless pace and complete lack of restraint. The jokes come fast, getting dirtier each and every time. While some will shake their heads in disgust, there are those who will realize it for what it is and just let in happen. And in the process, they’ll laugh their heads off.
***
Friday, August 17, 2007
The Invasion
Every twenty years or so, we are given a new film version of the sci-fi classic “The Body Snatchers” by Jack Finney. Each incarnation of the story speaks directly to the time it was produced; in this post-9/11 era, a revisiting of the material would prove appropriately apt. Yet instead of a smart and thought-provoking sci-fi thriller, we have been given a jumbled mess made of swallow observations of today’s America. Any potentially noteworthy aspects of the film (and there are many) are destroyed by poor writing and risk-free producing by those only in it for the money.
The basic premise is the same; a lone hero, here a therapist, (as portrayed by Nicole Kidman) receives an odd complaint from an acquaintance, one of her patients (Veronica Cartwright, an alumnus of the 1978 Philip Kaufman remake): her husband is not her husband. At first, the heroine writes it off as the ramblings of an insecure person, but more and more people begin displaying the same symptoms; emotionless detachment, sudden bursts of violence and a tendency to stare unsettlingly at people. It is not long before the acquaintance’s proclamations are proved right: an alien life form is taking over the bodies of humans, changing them during REM sleep. All of this is taken directly from previous versions of the film, but several turns are made; aside from the main character being female, a son now enters the picture. And this son is not just any ordinary child; he holds the key to the secret behind the invasion. Is it just me, or is “the key” something we all lose when we hit 18? Children only seem to have “the key” nowadays.
There are several points of interest that keep the film from sliding into complete banality, or a mere clone of other new age paranoia thrillers. For one, the accomplished cast gives the material their all. Kidman is quite effective in the lead, her portrayal becoming more intriguing as she begins the hunt for her son. The direction of German-born Oliver Hirschbiegel is stark and alienating; the perfect look for the type of paranoid thriller the film wants to be. At several points in the film, he creates small montages of jump cuts, moving forward and back in time that heighten tension and purposely create confusion, adding some life into what otherwise would be completely predictable. This technique is most effective in a thrilling sequence set in a dank, dirty subway station. As Kidman struggles to get away from the infected, the image jumps forward in time, giving brief glimpses of the aftermath before it happens. It is a daring move, one that pushes the film to an experimental level not typically seen in summer Hollywood fare.
Unfortunately, producer Joel Silver apparently noticed and seems determined to stop it. The finale, your typical explosion-filled, quick-cutted and loud car chase sequence, seems to belong to another movie entirely; it may as well be, since the scenes were obviously directed by another (the Wachowski brothers). It is this, coupled with the swallow writing that prove the film’s downfall. The script subscribes to nearly every cliché set forth by THE RING, THE GRUDGE, and other recent thriller hits. Distressed woman in the lead? Check. Creepy yet lovable child who becomes the point of interest? Check. Topical subjects just to show how important this film is? Check. It’s all there. And what’s worse, the film’s final message is about as subtle as the aforementioned car crash; from the constant barrage of news footage covered shuttle explosions and Middle East conflicts to blatant suspicions that pharmaceutical companies may be doing more damage than good (gasp!) and that the government may be lying to us (double gasp!), the script practically brands itself with IMPORTANT in every scene. It gets so bad as to become laughable in certain cases; for example, the infected pass on the “virus” by vomiting into drinks and serving them to the unbeknownst. It’s like flu mania, as if the entire country was populated by five-year olds who think cooties are worse than germs.
The end result is simply disappointing. With a source that appears always ripe for reinvention, a talented cast and highly acclaimed director, THE INVASION should be much better than it is. The film’s descent into standard Hollywood thriller moviemaking is one of the main faults; one wonders if the film would have been better off untouched. Hey, look at the Bourne franchise; there are people willing to use their brains while they’re at the movies. Yet the swallow and painfully obvious script is a major fault as well; in an effort to connect to today’s world, the film becomes preachy when it should be alienating and terrifying. By the film’s end, when everything has been wrapped up all neat and tidy, the viewer is left unsatisfied. The only moments of genuine suspense belong all to Hirschbiegel; if anything, this film will be remembered as the severely flawed yet intriguing debut of this fascinating filmmaker.
*1/2
The basic premise is the same; a lone hero, here a therapist, (as portrayed by Nicole Kidman) receives an odd complaint from an acquaintance, one of her patients (Veronica Cartwright, an alumnus of the 1978 Philip Kaufman remake): her husband is not her husband. At first, the heroine writes it off as the ramblings of an insecure person, but more and more people begin displaying the same symptoms; emotionless detachment, sudden bursts of violence and a tendency to stare unsettlingly at people. It is not long before the acquaintance’s proclamations are proved right: an alien life form is taking over the bodies of humans, changing them during REM sleep. All of this is taken directly from previous versions of the film, but several turns are made; aside from the main character being female, a son now enters the picture. And this son is not just any ordinary child; he holds the key to the secret behind the invasion. Is it just me, or is “the key” something we all lose when we hit 18? Children only seem to have “the key” nowadays.
There are several points of interest that keep the film from sliding into complete banality, or a mere clone of other new age paranoia thrillers. For one, the accomplished cast gives the material their all. Kidman is quite effective in the lead, her portrayal becoming more intriguing as she begins the hunt for her son. The direction of German-born Oliver Hirschbiegel is stark and alienating; the perfect look for the type of paranoid thriller the film wants to be. At several points in the film, he creates small montages of jump cuts, moving forward and back in time that heighten tension and purposely create confusion, adding some life into what otherwise would be completely predictable. This technique is most effective in a thrilling sequence set in a dank, dirty subway station. As Kidman struggles to get away from the infected, the image jumps forward in time, giving brief glimpses of the aftermath before it happens. It is a daring move, one that pushes the film to an experimental level not typically seen in summer Hollywood fare.
Unfortunately, producer Joel Silver apparently noticed and seems determined to stop it. The finale, your typical explosion-filled, quick-cutted and loud car chase sequence, seems to belong to another movie entirely; it may as well be, since the scenes were obviously directed by another (the Wachowski brothers). It is this, coupled with the swallow writing that prove the film’s downfall. The script subscribes to nearly every cliché set forth by THE RING, THE GRUDGE, and other recent thriller hits. Distressed woman in the lead? Check. Creepy yet lovable child who becomes the point of interest? Check. Topical subjects just to show how important this film is? Check. It’s all there. And what’s worse, the film’s final message is about as subtle as the aforementioned car crash; from the constant barrage of news footage covered shuttle explosions and Middle East conflicts to blatant suspicions that pharmaceutical companies may be doing more damage than good (gasp!) and that the government may be lying to us (double gasp!), the script practically brands itself with IMPORTANT in every scene. It gets so bad as to become laughable in certain cases; for example, the infected pass on the “virus” by vomiting into drinks and serving them to the unbeknownst. It’s like flu mania, as if the entire country was populated by five-year olds who think cooties are worse than germs.
The end result is simply disappointing. With a source that appears always ripe for reinvention, a talented cast and highly acclaimed director, THE INVASION should be much better than it is. The film’s descent into standard Hollywood thriller moviemaking is one of the main faults; one wonders if the film would have been better off untouched. Hey, look at the Bourne franchise; there are people willing to use their brains while they’re at the movies. Yet the swallow and painfully obvious script is a major fault as well; in an effort to connect to today’s world, the film becomes preachy when it should be alienating and terrifying. By the film’s end, when everything has been wrapped up all neat and tidy, the viewer is left unsatisfied. The only moments of genuine suspense belong all to Hirschbiegel; if anything, this film will be remembered as the severely flawed yet intriguing debut of this fascinating filmmaker.
*1/2
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Rescue Dawn
I recently saw Werner Herzog’s newest film, RESCUE DAWN, in the unlikeliest of places: my local multiplex. While the theatre in question has been known to show some indie flair (usually around awards time), I never would have expected to see the newest film from the director of AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD stuck in between showings of BRATZ and DADDY DAY CAMP. I went in wondering how commercial the film must be to be getting this type of exposure during the summer; whether or not Herzog had produced a mainstream film or not. The good news is RESCUE DAWN is still entirely a Herzog picture. While more accessible than some of his other works, the film grapples with the power of nature over man, and the ferocity of the human spirit when it is determined to survive.
The film tells the true story of Deiter Dengler (Christian Bale), a German-born US pilot whose plane is shot down during a top-secret bombing in Laos during the mid sixties. After surviving the crash, Dengler is captured by Laotian soldiers and brought to a small camp in the middle of the jungle, where he meets other men captured, some of whom have been there for years. Through forced charm and sheer determination, Dengler recruits them all to plan an escape mission. Yet once the mission succeeds, he realizes that his prison was not kept within the gated confines of the camp; his prison is the endless jungle around him.
At the center of it all is Christian Bale’s mesmerizing, repeatedly astounding performance. In a role that seems tailor made for his matinee idol-type looks and deeply focused intensity, Bale commits himself completely. As the film goes on and Dengler’s strength and sanity are pushed to the brink, Bale visually decays before our eyes. From the frankly-shot torture sequences early in the film to the horrors of the jungle Bale faces on his own; his performance is a tour-de-force of a sustained human breakdown. By the film’s end, he has been stretched thin, stripped of all excess and he becomes a prime example of human survival at its fiercest. As his prison mate and fellow escapee, Steve Zahn is a revelation as well. His wild, ragged hair and wide, frightened eyes make him a man haunted. As his spirit begins to break, he becomes almost unrecognizable as the broken man clutching at Bale’s side, holding on to life. The only weak link in the cast is Jeremy Davies, who plays a slightly spacier version of his character in SOLARIS. The viewer grows tired of him even quicker than the characters do.
Despite the apparent commercial value of the film, it is still a Herzog picture. He balances his role as narrative filmmaker and documentary filmmaker, inserting several sequences of newsreel to great effect, especially in the opening scenes. Through the entire film, even the crash sequence, he never caves in to a traditional Hollywood style of filming. Whereas a studio film would stick in dramatic music and explosions, the actual crash is filmed naturally, followed immediately by a dead silence. When Dengler is thrust into the jungle, the film’s soundtrack becomes the sound of bugs jumping through the grass. There is no dialogue for long periods of time, with the characters moving silently through the ever-thickening and suffocating leaves and branches. The film becomes vibrantly alive as Dengler finds himself in the jungle. No extra ingredients are necessary; the mere image of these two men struggling against the terrifying power of nature drives the point home. Herzog unfortunately gives into Hollywood sentimentalism for the film’s finale, cheating the viewer out of what could have been a truly transcendental experience.
Still, RESCUE DAWN is a unique and special film, featuring two of the best performances this year. It’s unlikely I’ll ever find a Werner Herzog movie playing at a Regal Entertainment Group theatre, so I hope the people who wandered in expecting a typical blockbuster story of survival were surprised and affected. Herzog has once again shown us what a man will do when thrown into pure nature. He has crafted a film that, with a great deal of help from Bale, pushes us to the breaking point, hoping for salvation with every glimpse of the open sky.
***1/2
The film tells the true story of Deiter Dengler (Christian Bale), a German-born US pilot whose plane is shot down during a top-secret bombing in Laos during the mid sixties. After surviving the crash, Dengler is captured by Laotian soldiers and brought to a small camp in the middle of the jungle, where he meets other men captured, some of whom have been there for years. Through forced charm and sheer determination, Dengler recruits them all to plan an escape mission. Yet once the mission succeeds, he realizes that his prison was not kept within the gated confines of the camp; his prison is the endless jungle around him.
At the center of it all is Christian Bale’s mesmerizing, repeatedly astounding performance. In a role that seems tailor made for his matinee idol-type looks and deeply focused intensity, Bale commits himself completely. As the film goes on and Dengler’s strength and sanity are pushed to the brink, Bale visually decays before our eyes. From the frankly-shot torture sequences early in the film to the horrors of the jungle Bale faces on his own; his performance is a tour-de-force of a sustained human breakdown. By the film’s end, he has been stretched thin, stripped of all excess and he becomes a prime example of human survival at its fiercest. As his prison mate and fellow escapee, Steve Zahn is a revelation as well. His wild, ragged hair and wide, frightened eyes make him a man haunted. As his spirit begins to break, he becomes almost unrecognizable as the broken man clutching at Bale’s side, holding on to life. The only weak link in the cast is Jeremy Davies, who plays a slightly spacier version of his character in SOLARIS. The viewer grows tired of him even quicker than the characters do.
Despite the apparent commercial value of the film, it is still a Herzog picture. He balances his role as narrative filmmaker and documentary filmmaker, inserting several sequences of newsreel to great effect, especially in the opening scenes. Through the entire film, even the crash sequence, he never caves in to a traditional Hollywood style of filming. Whereas a studio film would stick in dramatic music and explosions, the actual crash is filmed naturally, followed immediately by a dead silence. When Dengler is thrust into the jungle, the film’s soundtrack becomes the sound of bugs jumping through the grass. There is no dialogue for long periods of time, with the characters moving silently through the ever-thickening and suffocating leaves and branches. The film becomes vibrantly alive as Dengler finds himself in the jungle. No extra ingredients are necessary; the mere image of these two men struggling against the terrifying power of nature drives the point home. Herzog unfortunately gives into Hollywood sentimentalism for the film’s finale, cheating the viewer out of what could have been a truly transcendental experience.
Still, RESCUE DAWN is a unique and special film, featuring two of the best performances this year. It’s unlikely I’ll ever find a Werner Herzog movie playing at a Regal Entertainment Group theatre, so I hope the people who wandered in expecting a typical blockbuster story of survival were surprised and affected. Herzog has once again shown us what a man will do when thrown into pure nature. He has crafted a film that, with a great deal of help from Bale, pushes us to the breaking point, hoping for salvation with every glimpse of the open sky.
***1/2
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Stardust
The 1980s were a great film for lovers of fantasy films. Today, films like THE PRINCESS BRIDE, THE NEVERENDING STORY, LEGEND and the Jim Henson films stand up as classics in many people’s eyes. These people are the target audience for the Neil Gaiman adaptation STARDUST, a throwback to the golden age of fantasy films from the story and characters, right down to the unbearably cheesy rock song during the end credits (courtesy of Take That.) While injected with some creative visuals and off-kilter storytelling, thanks to Gaiman’s source novel, the entire film is so reminiscent of others that it has a “been there, done that” feel. It’s enjoyable, but every plot twist can be telegraphed from a mile away, and there’s never any real doubt about what will happen.
Young Tristran (Charlie Cox) is a charmingly befuddled man who finds himself hopelessly in love with his village’s beauty, Victoria (Sienna Miller). Unfortunately, the vain and shallow girl only has eyes for Humphrey, one of the foppiest fops you’ll ever see. After spotting a falling star, Tristran declares he will prove his love for Victoria by fetching the star and bringing it to her. Much to his surprise, when he meets the star, he finds not a smoldering rock but an ethereal (and grumpy) woman calling herself Yvaine (Claire Danes). But before he is able to whisk the star away, the plot thickens. A centuries-old trio of witches (led by Michelle Pfeiffer) seek to cut out the star’s heart to restore their youth and beauty. And after the death of the king, a determined prince (Mark Strong) sets off to take the star’s ruby necklace to prove his right to the throne. And as if this weren’t enough, there is also time to squeeze in subplots featuring captured princesses, missing mothers and pirates (played disturbing by Robert de Niro, continuing on his recent rampage of, “Hey, I’m Robert de Niro! Isn’t that funny?”)
The film is almost entirely story, with recognizable faces stuck into the smallest of parts. It’s a pity, as the likes of Rupert Everett, Peter O’Toole and Ricky Gervais are limited to a handful of scenes or less. Each gives their miniscule part a biting sense of humor, making the viewer wish their time wasn’t so constrained. As the film’s hero, Cox aims directly for the passively innocent, “who, me?” type of unlikely hero, and largely succeeds; instead of heroically jumping onto a moving carriage, he crashes into the side and falls to the ground. Yet his boyish nature and charming smile keep his fish-out-of-water act from becoming tiring. While he makes quite an impression, it is Michelle Pfeiffer who walks away with the movie. Relishing her role as the aged witch, she plays the entire range of fairy tale female villains; she moves from the sexy seductress to the ragged hag in mere moments. It is often said that the villain is the most interesting character in a fairy tale, and Pfeiffer fully realizes it and plays it for all it’s worth.
Yet the film cannot shake the feeling of being something familiar. It’s a clear throwback to the films of the 80s, and though it offers moments of twisted humor, it follows the standard book of plot devices directly. The film’s narration (voiced by Ian McKellen) makes this even more obvious; there is no need for it in the first place, and its presence only serves as a reminder that the film is really just like any other. The design of the film is adequately sumptuous, especially the camerawork; director Matthew Vaughn lets the camera travel from place to place, often picking up details from a bird’s eye view and focusing on them. The CGI work is a bit spotty, but the filmmakers were wise enough not to make their limited resources painfully obvious.
While it is an enjoyable ride and a fond trip to memories past, STARDUST offers nothing revolutionary or new. Throwbacks are nice, but when it makes no attempt to alter or improve the original template, it becomes a tribute and nothing more. Is it more successful in its goals than other throwbacks? Sure, but it still is unlikely to achieve the shelf life of the films it inspired. Still, the craft of Neil Gaiman shows through, and for two hours, we are entertained.
**
Young Tristran (Charlie Cox) is a charmingly befuddled man who finds himself hopelessly in love with his village’s beauty, Victoria (Sienna Miller). Unfortunately, the vain and shallow girl only has eyes for Humphrey, one of the foppiest fops you’ll ever see. After spotting a falling star, Tristran declares he will prove his love for Victoria by fetching the star and bringing it to her. Much to his surprise, when he meets the star, he finds not a smoldering rock but an ethereal (and grumpy) woman calling herself Yvaine (Claire Danes). But before he is able to whisk the star away, the plot thickens. A centuries-old trio of witches (led by Michelle Pfeiffer) seek to cut out the star’s heart to restore their youth and beauty. And after the death of the king, a determined prince (Mark Strong) sets off to take the star’s ruby necklace to prove his right to the throne. And as if this weren’t enough, there is also time to squeeze in subplots featuring captured princesses, missing mothers and pirates (played disturbing by Robert de Niro, continuing on his recent rampage of, “Hey, I’m Robert de Niro! Isn’t that funny?”)
The film is almost entirely story, with recognizable faces stuck into the smallest of parts. It’s a pity, as the likes of Rupert Everett, Peter O’Toole and Ricky Gervais are limited to a handful of scenes or less. Each gives their miniscule part a biting sense of humor, making the viewer wish their time wasn’t so constrained. As the film’s hero, Cox aims directly for the passively innocent, “who, me?” type of unlikely hero, and largely succeeds; instead of heroically jumping onto a moving carriage, he crashes into the side and falls to the ground. Yet his boyish nature and charming smile keep his fish-out-of-water act from becoming tiring. While he makes quite an impression, it is Michelle Pfeiffer who walks away with the movie. Relishing her role as the aged witch, she plays the entire range of fairy tale female villains; she moves from the sexy seductress to the ragged hag in mere moments. It is often said that the villain is the most interesting character in a fairy tale, and Pfeiffer fully realizes it and plays it for all it’s worth.
Yet the film cannot shake the feeling of being something familiar. It’s a clear throwback to the films of the 80s, and though it offers moments of twisted humor, it follows the standard book of plot devices directly. The film’s narration (voiced by Ian McKellen) makes this even more obvious; there is no need for it in the first place, and its presence only serves as a reminder that the film is really just like any other. The design of the film is adequately sumptuous, especially the camerawork; director Matthew Vaughn lets the camera travel from place to place, often picking up details from a bird’s eye view and focusing on them. The CGI work is a bit spotty, but the filmmakers were wise enough not to make their limited resources painfully obvious.
While it is an enjoyable ride and a fond trip to memories past, STARDUST offers nothing revolutionary or new. Throwbacks are nice, but when it makes no attempt to alter or improve the original template, it becomes a tribute and nothing more. Is it more successful in its goals than other throwbacks? Sure, but it still is unlikely to achieve the shelf life of the films it inspired. Still, the craft of Neil Gaiman shows through, and for two hours, we are entertained.
**
Friday, August 10, 2007
Becoming Jane
In the past two years, Jane Austen’s everlasting popularity seems to have reached astronomical heights. Spurred by 2005’s surprise hit adaptation of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, Austen seems to be everywhere. Her books remain very popular and a slew of Austen and Austen-related adaptations are being thrown at us left and right. In addition to the already-existing BRIDGET JONES novels and films, the film version of THE JANE AUSTEN BOOK CLUB is about to hit theatres, and the complete Jane Austen collection is about to air on PBS’s Masterpiece Theatre. This brings us to BECOMING JANE, the supposedly true story that explains Austen’s beginnings and her sources for inspiration. It may hold the record for shortest time span between a film and its remake; it is nothing more than a bleak following of PRIDE AND PREJUDICE’S pattern, with none of the thematic or visual joy that made its chief influence such a delight.
Jane Austen (Anne Hathaway) is a would-be writer with little experience of the world. She longs for greatness, though she is stuck in her small country home with her loving family, giving her only a small margin for opportunity. From the city comes the strapping and daring Tom Lefroy (James McAvoy), a man whose free spirit, worldly-wise attitude and (obviously) charming good looks, Jane is finally able to find inspiration, with a bit of forbidden love thrown into the mix as well. With class pressures pushing down on them from all angles, most notably Jane’s parents and suitor, Jane and Tom begin to realize that they may not get the carefree romance they dream of. And from this comes the main point of the film; to truly capture the spirit of love, you must have both loved and lost.
The film takes several liberties with Austen’s life to make it more romantic and shallowly relatable to “Pride and Prejudice.” While the work itself is definitely autobiographical to a point, BECOMING JANE makes it seem like Austen wrote the novel almost verbatim to her own life, changing the names of the characters and places to protect the family and so forth. The film’s look is highly reminiscent of the 2005 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, from the grubby surroundings right down to the cast; young starlet (who both owe their fame to Disney) as the headstrong female, well-known character actress as the fidgety mother, highly respected screen legend as the stuffy definition of the upper classes and the American masquerading as the detached yet lovable British father. The film takes what was likely a minor footnote in Austen’s life and embellishes it to the breaking point. While it does provide a little insight into Austen herself, the forced connections between the film and “Pride and Prejudice” are innumerable, and one wishes the writers could have thought of something a bit more subtle.
As Austen, Hathaway acquits herself quite nicely, though her charm and natural talent for breezy comedy and lighthearted wit (so evident in many of Austen’s heroines) is sadly underused. Instead, Austen is a solemn, grim character whose happiness is only fleeting; the heavy handed nature of the film and its direction limit moments of comedy to a few sequences early on. The only saving grace of the film in its second half is Hathaway’s amiable chemistry with McAvoy. This chemistry is none more apparent during a drawn-out ballroom sequence, where the sudden reveal of McAvoy saves the scene from becoming yawn-inducingly dreary. It’s a rare moment of brilliance in a film that otherwise packs few surprises.
If the filmmakers were so ready to take such liberties with Austen’s life, it would have been far better to treat her life as if it were one of her novels; where an unshakable sense of hope and joy pervades throughout even the most serious of times. Instead, we are given a trifle that attempts to cash in on Austenmania while becoming tiresomely serious to establish itself as “different.” A worthy effort from Hathaway and the rest of the cast cannot save the mistakes made in other departments. Those looking for insight into the life of one of the English language’s greatest writers will be extremely disappointed when they find nothing more than a mirthless rehash of her works.
*1/2
Jane Austen (Anne Hathaway) is a would-be writer with little experience of the world. She longs for greatness, though she is stuck in her small country home with her loving family, giving her only a small margin for opportunity. From the city comes the strapping and daring Tom Lefroy (James McAvoy), a man whose free spirit, worldly-wise attitude and (obviously) charming good looks, Jane is finally able to find inspiration, with a bit of forbidden love thrown into the mix as well. With class pressures pushing down on them from all angles, most notably Jane’s parents and suitor, Jane and Tom begin to realize that they may not get the carefree romance they dream of. And from this comes the main point of the film; to truly capture the spirit of love, you must have both loved and lost.
The film takes several liberties with Austen’s life to make it more romantic and shallowly relatable to “Pride and Prejudice.” While the work itself is definitely autobiographical to a point, BECOMING JANE makes it seem like Austen wrote the novel almost verbatim to her own life, changing the names of the characters and places to protect the family and so forth. The film’s look is highly reminiscent of the 2005 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, from the grubby surroundings right down to the cast; young starlet (who both owe their fame to Disney) as the headstrong female, well-known character actress as the fidgety mother, highly respected screen legend as the stuffy definition of the upper classes and the American masquerading as the detached yet lovable British father. The film takes what was likely a minor footnote in Austen’s life and embellishes it to the breaking point. While it does provide a little insight into Austen herself, the forced connections between the film and “Pride and Prejudice” are innumerable, and one wishes the writers could have thought of something a bit more subtle.
As Austen, Hathaway acquits herself quite nicely, though her charm and natural talent for breezy comedy and lighthearted wit (so evident in many of Austen’s heroines) is sadly underused. Instead, Austen is a solemn, grim character whose happiness is only fleeting; the heavy handed nature of the film and its direction limit moments of comedy to a few sequences early on. The only saving grace of the film in its second half is Hathaway’s amiable chemistry with McAvoy. This chemistry is none more apparent during a drawn-out ballroom sequence, where the sudden reveal of McAvoy saves the scene from becoming yawn-inducingly dreary. It’s a rare moment of brilliance in a film that otherwise packs few surprises.
If the filmmakers were so ready to take such liberties with Austen’s life, it would have been far better to treat her life as if it were one of her novels; where an unshakable sense of hope and joy pervades throughout even the most serious of times. Instead, we are given a trifle that attempts to cash in on Austenmania while becoming tiresomely serious to establish itself as “different.” A worthy effort from Hathaway and the rest of the cast cannot save the mistakes made in other departments. Those looking for insight into the life of one of the English language’s greatest writers will be extremely disappointed when they find nothing more than a mirthless rehash of her works.
*1/2
Saturday, August 4, 2007
The Bourne Ultimatum
It’s been five years since the start of the BOURNE series, and all questions are about to be answered. THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM pushes the limits of the action film; it is a thrilling crescendo of a film, jumping out of the gate at its start and building to an exciting, completely satisfying climax. Not only does it improve on the layout of the previous film, it manages to close the entire story without feeling too forced or contrived.
Picking up immediately where 2004’s THE BOURNE SUPREMACY left off, this film follows amnesiac assassin Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) on his violent quest to discover his past and the top-secret government program he was part of. His journey eventually brings him “back home”; the crowded streets of New York City. Waiting for him there is a select branch of the CIA, led by an emotionally dead all-business agent (David Strathairn) and a familiar face, Pamela Landy (Joan Allen). As he uncovers more about his past, he finds allies in the unlikeliest of places, all helping to propel the film to its final minutes of revelation: the complete uncovering of Jason Bourne’s past.
The film ties in well to the two previous films, cleverly using clips to emphasize certain moments. Yet, as in most film sequels, it does fall prey to the “sudden revelation not even mentioned in earlier films” plot twist; here, it concerns Bourne’s relationship with Julia Stiles’s wide-eyed and innocent CIA computer gal. It is an area of small annoyance, as any connection between them seems created specifically for this film and this film alone. The film also uses the stereotypical crippling flashback ploy; when visually reminded of something, Bourne experiences violent flashbacks. You know, the kind that render him physically helpless and are always filmed in a jumpy slow motion. You’ve seen them tons of times before, trust me. There’s also the fact that Bourne should have been killed at least ten times during the film; he gets pummeled to the ground and crashes cars left and right, yet always seems to walk away with a few minor cuts and a slight limp that disappears after a few moments.
But it’s no use nitpicking these flaws too much; the film moves at too fast a pace for the viewer to find real fault with them. Returning director Paul Greengrass is a master of the action thriller; he constantly uses the handheld camera in action sequences, yet pulls them off where most others cannot. He films in a surveillance video-type style, the image starting at a wide shot before finding its point of focus and zooming in. He is equally adept at sound as well; a particularly notable chase/fist fight sequence set in Tangiers is a masterpiece of violence and silence. These elements combined make for some of the most breathlessly thrilling, shockingly realistic fight sequences ever put to film. Damon is at the top of his game as well, showing a deep characterization behind his composed façade. His sunken in eyes, the desperation that is glimpsed for only a few moments make Jason Bourne a compellingly stoic-faced hero, all thanks to Damon. Strathairn makes a good impression as well; a phone conversation between him and Damon (which is highly reminiscent of one of SUPREMACY’s most effective moments) is successful due to the fury he shows through his restraint.
Each film in the BOURNE series has developed as the character discovers more of himself. This finale pulls out all the stops, moving in a violent crescendo as Bourne reaches his point of realization. It is a journey well worth taking, no matter how familiar the viewer is with the other films. When the film finally ends with a brilliant visual cue that brings the series into full circle, the viewer is completely satisfied. The film delivers all it promises; loads of action, plenty of story and all questions answered. It couldn’t be any better than it is. A fitting farewell (perhaps?) to one of the more memorable characters in recent years.
***
Picking up immediately where 2004’s THE BOURNE SUPREMACY left off, this film follows amnesiac assassin Jason Bourne (Matt Damon) on his violent quest to discover his past and the top-secret government program he was part of. His journey eventually brings him “back home”; the crowded streets of New York City. Waiting for him there is a select branch of the CIA, led by an emotionally dead all-business agent (David Strathairn) and a familiar face, Pamela Landy (Joan Allen). As he uncovers more about his past, he finds allies in the unlikeliest of places, all helping to propel the film to its final minutes of revelation: the complete uncovering of Jason Bourne’s past.
The film ties in well to the two previous films, cleverly using clips to emphasize certain moments. Yet, as in most film sequels, it does fall prey to the “sudden revelation not even mentioned in earlier films” plot twist; here, it concerns Bourne’s relationship with Julia Stiles’s wide-eyed and innocent CIA computer gal. It is an area of small annoyance, as any connection between them seems created specifically for this film and this film alone. The film also uses the stereotypical crippling flashback ploy; when visually reminded of something, Bourne experiences violent flashbacks. You know, the kind that render him physically helpless and are always filmed in a jumpy slow motion. You’ve seen them tons of times before, trust me. There’s also the fact that Bourne should have been killed at least ten times during the film; he gets pummeled to the ground and crashes cars left and right, yet always seems to walk away with a few minor cuts and a slight limp that disappears after a few moments.
But it’s no use nitpicking these flaws too much; the film moves at too fast a pace for the viewer to find real fault with them. Returning director Paul Greengrass is a master of the action thriller; he constantly uses the handheld camera in action sequences, yet pulls them off where most others cannot. He films in a surveillance video-type style, the image starting at a wide shot before finding its point of focus and zooming in. He is equally adept at sound as well; a particularly notable chase/fist fight sequence set in Tangiers is a masterpiece of violence and silence. These elements combined make for some of the most breathlessly thrilling, shockingly realistic fight sequences ever put to film. Damon is at the top of his game as well, showing a deep characterization behind his composed façade. His sunken in eyes, the desperation that is glimpsed for only a few moments make Jason Bourne a compellingly stoic-faced hero, all thanks to Damon. Strathairn makes a good impression as well; a phone conversation between him and Damon (which is highly reminiscent of one of SUPREMACY’s most effective moments) is successful due to the fury he shows through his restraint.
Each film in the BOURNE series has developed as the character discovers more of himself. This finale pulls out all the stops, moving in a violent crescendo as Bourne reaches his point of realization. It is a journey well worth taking, no matter how familiar the viewer is with the other films. When the film finally ends with a brilliant visual cue that brings the series into full circle, the viewer is completely satisfied. The film delivers all it promises; loads of action, plenty of story and all questions answered. It couldn’t be any better than it is. A fitting farewell (perhaps?) to one of the more memorable characters in recent years.
***
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Thoughts on Bergman
It’s always been a source of shame for me when I admit how many Ingmar Bergman films I’ve seen thus far. For a cinephile such as I and an undeniably influential and powerful filmmaker such as Bergman, there is little reason why I should have only seen 9 of his films. Imagine my surprise, then, when in my first college film class, my TA asked my class who their favorite directors were, and I was the only person to mention a non-American filmmaker (save for a few mentions of Hitchcock here and there.) More over, I was one of the very few people to mention a director who had made films before the 1970s. Hitchcock and Francis Ford Coppola were mentions otherwise, but the majority of my class (filled with self-professed lovers of the cinema and would-be filmmakers) believed that the most notable film auteurs were Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez and (gulp) Kevin Smith. Now I’m not here to debate the work of these three men; I just wanted to state my worried vision of the future where the next 30 years will be filled with young directors trying to emulate that kind of cinema. (As a side note, I listed Hitchcock, old school Woody Allen and Ingmar Bergman as my favorites.)
So, after hearing of Bergman’s death earlier this week, I began thinking about the films I’ve seen, and a little bit of those I haven’t seen yet. Each time I see a new Bergman, it’s been a new experience. Each of his films have a different taste to them, separate yet totally connected. His work travels from the light and whimsical nature of SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT to the starkness of THE SEVENTH SEAL. From the disjointedness and abstractness of PERSONA to the warmth of THE MAGIC FLUTE. Yet through all his works, the images he paints are undeniably beautiful. With the help of Sven Nykvist, the sumptuous photography of films like THE VIRGIN SPRING and CRIES AND WHISPERS, with its mind-boggling red/white/black palate insures that his films will not be forgotten long after first viewing.
Bergman’s body of work is such that any number of his films could be considered his finest achievement: THE SEVENTH SEAL, PERSONA, CRIES AND WHISPERS, and some of his films I have regrettably yet to see: SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE and WILD STRAWBERRIES, among others. Yet to me, his finest achievement will always be FANNY AND ALEXANDER. Despite its being Bergman’s most commercial feature, the wonder and magic that is imbued in every astonishingly-rendered frame is something to behold. I was lucky enough to see the uncut television version first, all in one sitting (with the occasional pause for bathroom breaks). It was during this five-hour stretch that I realized I had missed out on what would surely be one of my greatest theatergoing experiences: seeing a Bergman film on the big screen. His last US theatrically-released film SARABAND had never come to my area. But I found solace in that his body of work was easily obtainable, and I could enjoy his films as many times as I wanted.
But now that he’s gone, his work is put in a bit of a perspective. His films often focused on death, yet that did not make them depressing affairs. They did not make light of the subject, either. Yet through it all, through the grimness that is tied to human mortality, Bergman managed to find light. Each of his films is an experience, and a different one for whoever watches them. He will be sorely missed, but we must take comfort in knowing that his work WILL live on and be discovered by generations beyond our own. For even though most filmmakers-to-be will declare THE LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy and 300 as the greatest films ever made, there will be a select few that will travel further into the world of cinema. And when they do, Ingmar Bergman will be at the top of the list.
So, after hearing of Bergman’s death earlier this week, I began thinking about the films I’ve seen, and a little bit of those I haven’t seen yet. Each time I see a new Bergman, it’s been a new experience. Each of his films have a different taste to them, separate yet totally connected. His work travels from the light and whimsical nature of SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT to the starkness of THE SEVENTH SEAL. From the disjointedness and abstractness of PERSONA to the warmth of THE MAGIC FLUTE. Yet through all his works, the images he paints are undeniably beautiful. With the help of Sven Nykvist, the sumptuous photography of films like THE VIRGIN SPRING and CRIES AND WHISPERS, with its mind-boggling red/white/black palate insures that his films will not be forgotten long after first viewing.
Bergman’s body of work is such that any number of his films could be considered his finest achievement: THE SEVENTH SEAL, PERSONA, CRIES AND WHISPERS, and some of his films I have regrettably yet to see: SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE and WILD STRAWBERRIES, among others. Yet to me, his finest achievement will always be FANNY AND ALEXANDER. Despite its being Bergman’s most commercial feature, the wonder and magic that is imbued in every astonishingly-rendered frame is something to behold. I was lucky enough to see the uncut television version first, all in one sitting (with the occasional pause for bathroom breaks). It was during this five-hour stretch that I realized I had missed out on what would surely be one of my greatest theatergoing experiences: seeing a Bergman film on the big screen. His last US theatrically-released film SARABAND had never come to my area. But I found solace in that his body of work was easily obtainable, and I could enjoy his films as many times as I wanted.
But now that he’s gone, his work is put in a bit of a perspective. His films often focused on death, yet that did not make them depressing affairs. They did not make light of the subject, either. Yet through it all, through the grimness that is tied to human mortality, Bergman managed to find light. Each of his films is an experience, and a different one for whoever watches them. He will be sorely missed, but we must take comfort in knowing that his work WILL live on and be discovered by generations beyond our own. For even though most filmmakers-to-be will declare THE LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy and 300 as the greatest films ever made, there will be a select few that will travel further into the world of cinema. And when they do, Ingmar Bergman will be at the top of the list.
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