Across the Universe

No doubt with becoming a mind to being this generation’s TOMMY or THE WALL, Julie Taymor’s Beatles extravaganza ACROSS THE UNIVERSE is probably one of the most unique films you’ll see all year. Unique in that it indeed hearkens back to the trippy musical fests of the late 60s and 70s, yet it somehow doesn’t prove to be a method for success. Despite all its visual pleasure (and it is there in spades), the film feels disjointed, a mash-up that attempts to cram in as many Beatles songs and references that they can while sacrificing a cohesive plot.

The bare-bones story follows Jude (Jim Sturgess), a lad from Liverpool making the leap across the pond. Once he does, he strikes up a friendship with a local frat boy and, subsequently, a romance with his younger sister Lucy (Evan Rachel Wood). The story is the basic boy-meets-girl line with a whole lot of historical subplots and archetypal supporting characters thrown in. Chief among them is the boy’s land lady, a Janis Joplin-esque rock star with an addiction to brooze (strangely enough); a Jimi Hendrix-esque guitar player brought to New York after the Detroit riots; a sexually confused cheerleader from Smalltown, USA. And let’s not forget the Vietnam War, which does more than loom in the background as the film progresses.

There are so many subplots and historical snapshots in the first hour of the film that it doesn’t seem to have a narrative whatsoever. Often times the film would come to a complete halt, all so the makers can find an excuse to stick in “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” or “Let it Be.” Some may see this as an attempt to give the film’s message (which is “all you need is love” of course) a wide-reaching angle, but as the film focuses more tightly in its second half, several earlier sequences seem like vignettes, and unnecessary ones at that. The only purpose several numbers serve in the beginning of the film is merely to be there; they do nothing to advance the story and nothing would be lost with their absence.

And, as is often the case with musicals, it tends to break up into sequences that either succeed or fall flat. Disappointingly, it isn’t until later in the film that its more straightforward numbers begin to have true meaning or effect. They’re all sung ably by the cast (no, they’re not the Beatles, but was anyone expecting them to be?), but there are several flaws in the performances. Nearly all the performers come off as likable, but not many manage to make lasting impressions beyond their singing abilities. As Jude, and therefore the eyes the viewer looks through, Sturgess is nothing more than a blander version of Ewan McGregor. Wood fits well into the wholesome, pretty-girl type, yet it isn’t until her beautifully rendered “Blackbird” late in the film that we sense any deep emotion.

It isn’t until midway through the film that the real fireworks begin and Taymor delivers on what she promises. Once the filmmakers finally decide to focus on Lucy and Jude rather than the characters around them, the film often becomes thrilling. “Because”, “Strawberry Fields” the few moments of Dana Fuch’s exhilarating rendition of “Helter Skelter” we’re given, and “Happiness is a Warm Gun” show Taymor at her most effectively visual; a kind of wonderfully bizarre showmanship that is impossible to resist. “Warm Gun” in particular contains the best sequences in the entire film. And “Something”, along with the before-mentioned “Blackbird”, injects the kind of feeling the film has been attempting for 90 minutes beforehand. Yet even in the banal, episodic numbers early in the film, Bruno Delbonnel’s enriched, bright and almost luxurious photography provide plenty of beautiful pictures to distract us from the meandering plot.

In the end, ACROSS THE UNIVERSE is neither a triumph nor a failure. A few months ago, the internet was buzzing with news of a rife between Taymor and producer Joe Roth; she wanted a 130-minute running time, he wanted a 100-minute. Well, it appears Taymor won, but some cuts definitely would have been justified. True, there would have been some classic songs sacrificed, but when they add nothing cohesively to the film, what good do they do? Still, an overlong, unfocused and disjointed beginning doesn’t keep ACROSS THE UNIVERSE from being any less of an experience. It’s still delightfully trippy in parts and occasionally heartfelt. Regardless of the end product, it’s unlike anything you’ll see all year.

**

Eastern Promises

Working for the first time entirely outside of Canada, director David Cronenberg moves into new territory with the crime thriller EASTERN PROMISES, a harrowing and thrilling examination of culture and family values. Working from a tight and intricately plotted script from Steven Knight, Cronenberg reinvents himself as a cultured thriller auteur; simultaneously retaining the graphic violence he’s best known for while crafting a drama that rivals the best of Neil Jordan or Martin Scorsese.

The film focuses on Nikolai, the enigmatic almost ghost-like hitman working for the son of a prominent Russian mobster (Armin Mueller-Stahl) living in London. When English nurse Anna (Naomi Watts) uncovers a Russian-written diary from the purse of a pregnant Jane Doe case, she unknowingly delivers it to the very same Russian mobster to translate. It is soon discovered that the murdered girl was dangerous ties to the family, and the daughter she birthed is the key to unlocking everything. Nikolai is then charged with tailing Anna, developing his relationship with her as she is pulled deeper and deeper into trouble. As Nikolai becomes more important in the family, Anna’s life is endangers and the exact motives of Nikolai’s actions come into question.

As the ruthless assassin, Viggo Mortensen gives a heavily-layered, selflessly brave and completely mesmerizing performance. Never before has Mortensen been so compelling, vanishing into the thickly-accented front of a human monster. His unexpressive face constantly keeps the viewer guessing until his sudden and terrifying outbursts of violence show how much he is capable of. It is these sequences of violence in particular that are most noteworthy; one such scene features full-frontal nudity so risky and daring that very few other actors working today would even attempt it. Yet Mortensen is entirely assured, refusing to let those around him (and those watching the film) to see a moment of weakness or doubt. Watts and Mueller-Stahl give solid performances as well, with Mueller-Stahl especially making an impression as the aged head of the family, switching from tender and caring to cold and menacing in mere moments. The only weak link in the cast is Vincent Cassel as Mueller-Stahl’s rebellious and outlandish son, giving another ranting and raving performance to add to his resume of international creeps. But apart from Cassel, the acting is handled subtly and masterfully on all accounts.

While this certainly isn’t the Cronenberg of SCANNERS or VIDEODROME, there is no doubt that this is a Cronenberg picture. It’s possibly one of the most violent films of the year, its scenes of excessiveness made even more effective by the discomfort it invokes in the viewer. The scenes of graphic acts (and there are plenty) aren’t meant to please, in the way a horror film might. They’re meant to disturb, and they accomplish the job almost too well. The script is nearly too tightly plotted, moving from one point to the next without much time for development. This becomes criminally obvious towards the end of the film, which is too vague for its own good. The build-up to the finale is excellent, yet when it arrives the viewer is asked to assume too much, and the lasting impact falters.

Still, EASTERN PROMISES is one of the best films of the year, carefully crafted and memorable, thanks in no small part to Mortensen’s performance. While the film’s violent content and frank nudity may be a turn-off to some viewers, it should not stop the willing from experiencing the many moment of brilliance the film offers. This is new territory for Cronenberg, yet if he decides to make a habit of it, we may be all the better for it.

***1/2

The Brave One

Despite the dedication of its star, Jodie Foster, THE BRAVE ONE is an unfortunate mix of messages: a morality tale and revenge thriller at once. While these two genres are undoubtedly similar, the script never quite decides which side of the argument it takes. As a result, the film is a dark, muddied and muddled affair, momentarily appeasing those seeking for thrills and disappointing those expecting a valid point to be made.

Radio commentator Erica Bain is about to get married to her boyfriend, and the couple couldn’t be happier. That is not an understatement: it appears that the sun goes out of its way to shine on these two. A level of happiness that high in the movies only means one thing: death and destruction. After being severely beaten and watching her fiancee’s murder in a shadowy tunnel, Erica finds it difficult to return to the normal world. The one way she finds to cope with her anxiety is to buy a gun illegally off the streets. Initially to be used for protection, Erica’s life takes a dramatic twist after accidentally being involved in a drug store shooting. After, she begins on her own quest of vigilante justice, despite a soft-spoken and supportive policeman (Terrence Howard) on both her tracks: her daytime life as Erica and her nightlife as a new, frightening creature.

Director Neil Jordan (of THE CRYING GAME and INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE) visually brings Erica’s paranoid, unraveling life into dizzying effect; the camera often sways from side to side, plainly illustrating Erica’s anxiety and her growing disgust with herself. And, as always, Foster’s performance as woman-on-the-verge is compelling and instantly sympathetic. To see her diminutive figure and wide blue eyes shaking with fear whenever she fires doesn’t exactly illicit whoops and cheers from the audience. Never is this combination more apparent than in the chilling drug store sequence, when Erica fires her first shot.

Yet despite the high style of the film and Foster’s compelling performance, it is crippled by a lack of initiative on the part of the script. During the more dramatic scenes, Erica’s self-disgust and the sometimes preachy dialogue delivered by Terrence Howard condemn vigilante justice as the wrong solution. Yet when Erica brandishes her weapon, the film is all for vigilante justice. It doesn’t care whether it’s right or wrong, it cares about giving Foster good punch lines before she shoots someone in the face. Alternately condemning vigilantism while praising its ability to make a good revenge thriller, the script pauses after each action sequence as if to say, “Now that was fun. But what’s wrong about this situation?” When the film wraps up in its clichéd and nonsensical manner, it not only betrays the message it was apparently striving for, it renders several aspects of the plot irrelevant.

In the end, the message of the film is more conflicted than the callers on Erica’s radio show. It works decently enough as a typical revenge thriller, but its motives become completely unclear when it tries to kick a message in. Erica is disgusted with what she’s becoming, but the audience cannot agree with her there. Whenever a shady character even glances at her, the audience is practically begging for her to take them down to Chinatown. As a thriller, it does provide some great moments. Yet it strives to be something more, and that is where it fails completely. With a film like this, the main character can either be a misguided and conflicted individual, or they can be a comic book superhero. Unfortunately, the film finally opts for the latter.

*

3:10 to Yuma

Nearly every “long-forgotten” genre has experienced a rebirth since the turn of the century. The American cinema is currently in the midst of no less than three major genre revivals: the fantasy film, the movie musical and the gross-out horror pic. The one genre that has decidedly not been met with success in the past seven years is the American western. Director James Mangold tries his hand at reinventing the western for the new millennium with his remake of 3:10 TO YUMA, originally a 1957 film starring Glenn Ford and Van Heflin. While the film imbues the western with a new-age editing and cinematography, it still falls prey to clichés that can be told from miles away. Despite a few noteworthy performances, the film ends up being something all too familiar.

Russell Crowe stars as Ben Wade, notorious gunman of the west. Once he is captured, with the assistance of a down-on-his-luck rancher (Christian Bale), a small envoy of men is assigned to deliver him to the 3:10 to Yuma Prison train. But things aren’t as easy as all that. Not only do they have to contend with Wade’s murderous band following them (led by Ben Foster, who’s about as threatening as a member of NSYNC), but they must face hidden dangers and, of course, Wade’s superior intellect. The rancher has more at stake as well; the reward money he will collect will save his drought-ridden land from repossession by the bank. And on top of all that, he’s a father. And since he’s a farmer, his oldest son is naturally rebellious and troublesome.

All of this plotting should sound a bit familiar, and indeed it is. The script is ridden with action/western movie clichés, so obvious that any number of plot twists can be determined a mile ahead of time. The other men assigned to Wade’s escort (which include an aged, seen-it-all bounty hunter, an opportunistic railway businessman and an wide-eyed innocent doctor) are all so predictable, two-dimensional and downright irritating that their fates can be foretold at first glance. The only characters that have any real dimension are those that are memorable, thanks mostly in part to the actors giving the performances. Bale does solid if unexciting work, switching mostly between brooding stares, shooting and occasionally giving impassioned speeches about how hard life is. Peter Fonda gives a memorable performance as the wise-cracking bounty hunter, though his rhetoric and sense of superiority is outdone by Crowe, who is completely mesmerizing. His character is far more refined than any other, and Crowe knows it. His character’s cleverness, staying one step ahead in the game while maintaining a sense of detachment is rendered perfectly. Crowe’s performance is easily the standout aspect of the film.

The action sequences are filmed disappointingly, without much inventiveness or spark. It sticks to the modern assumption that all action scenes must be edited quickly, filled with close-shot handheld frames that shake so much it’s nearly impossible to make anything out. Only in the finale does the director display a sense of real tension, creating a rousing and exciting piece, even though the outcome is all too obvious. When a film is supposed to reinvent a genre (as this one was supposedly designed to do) it only becomes memorable if clichés are taken, twisted and run away with. Here, the tried-and-true format is followed to a T. It’s enjoyable, but hardly anything worth writing home about.

While entertaining, 3:10 TO YUMA doesn’t offer any explosive moments that signal a return of the American western. It remains so faithful to the old-style conventions that it neglects adding a few of its own, throwing in a few explosions to try and update the genre. It features generally solid work from most involved, though Crowe is the only real standout. In years to come, if the western does truly make a return, it will likely be thanks to a more ambitious film. As it is, 3:10 TO YUMA is a loud throwback and nothing more.

**