Acclaimed screenwriter Tony Gilroy (whose credits include the recent BOURNE films) makes his directorial debut with MICHAEL CLAYTON, a legal drama that recalls the feel of 1970s paranoid thrillers to craft its story of a lawyer with questionable morals thrust into the dangerous world of big business’s most secret dealings. With an admirable turn by George Clooney, supported with a solid script and uniformly excellent performances from the supporting cast, MICHAEL CLAYTON serves as a stylish and assured debut from one of Hollywood’s smartest voices.
Michael Clayton (a shagged-up Clooney) is known as a “fixer” at his law firm; he comes in quietly and solves problems as quickly as possible, regardless of the legality of his actions. Yet when one of his coworkers, Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson), embroiled in a six year long lawsuit as a major corporation’s defender, strips down during an interrogation and runs through a parking lot, Michael realizes there may be more than the man’s own mental instability. Before he knows it, Michael finds himself acting against a dangerous and deadly cover-up lead by the company.
The plot seems unusual for a legal thriller, and the film certainly is. Instead of focusing on the cover-up, Gilroy is more concerned with the characters: the line Michael crosses between helping a friend and doing his job and the question of mental instability when Arthur’s mad ramblings begin to show merit. The actual legal battle between the corporation and the affected citizens is only briefly touched on. The rather narrow scope of the film gives it an isolated effect, a kind of “anywhere anytime” feel; it does not pin itself to one situation completely. This is where Gilroy plays into the paranoia aspect directly; the events of this film could happen to anyone in any situation.
Yet the script has a tendency to overemphasize several themes. Most lines that take longer than ten seconds to deliver are morphed into long speeches filled with quick-paced wordplay and lots and lots of underlying meaning. The character of Michael’s son seems there only to ramble on about a book that seems to connect to everyone else’s life in some way or another. And in an effort to inject some suspense and confusion in the viewer, the prologue takes place four days into the film’s plot. While it does successfully create a sense of disorientation (as in the best paranoia thrillers), the sequence becomes rather tedious and ineffective when the film returns to it.
But the film is bolstered by strong performances all around. As the titular character, Clooney strips himself of the easygoing charm so obviously detectable in most of his roles thus far. Here, he is driven and determined, relying on his tenacity and quick-thinking rather than his ability to win people over. Tilda Swinton is equally intriguing as the spokeswoman of the corporation, though she is sadly underused. The biggest impression, and the showiest performance, is given by Wilkinson, whose raving antics (“I am Sheba the god of death!”) have been a staple of the film’s promotion. For most of the film, interest is driven purely by Wilkinson, wondering if his nearly-incoherent ramblings mean anything. Though the film is anchored ably by Clooney’s solid work, one almost wishes Wilkinson were the focus.
Gilroy films in a very sparse, cold and sleek style. Each of the characters seem isolated, often the lone figures in long takes. The muted color scheme and dim lighting also heighten the subdued, quiet nature of the film. While nothing revolutionary, the film’s look serves its purpose and supports the script and the performances, which are the heart of the piece. Gilroy is still much more of a writer than a director, but that doesn’t keep MICHAEL CLAYTON from being one of the most intelligent, involving thrillers this year. It will not grip audiences with constant tension or half-hour long chase sequences; it prefers to get under your skin and unsettle you from there. And in the end, it is the latter that is much more effective.
***
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
Elizabeth I’s recent wave of filmic popularity continues with director Shekhar Kapur’s ELIZABETH: THE GOLDEN AGE, his follow-up to the Oscar-nomined 1998 film ELIZABETH. He has assembled a mini-reunion of names and faces seen in the original film, including stars Cate Blanchett and Geoffrey Rush and screenwriter Michael Hirst, among others. While the first film focused on the early years of Elizabeth’s reign, playing fast and free with facts and ultimately producing an engaging and passionate film, this sequel focuses on the Gloriana days during the middle of Elizabeth’s reign, a territory studied twice in the past two years (both for British television). As a result, not only does the action seem all-too familiar this time around, the film does not succeed in creating an overarching theme that forgives the dramatic license taken.
As the film opens, Spain is mounting an attack against the protestant queen, enlisting not only the help of a devoted Catholic sect in London, but of Mary, Queen of Scots herself (the film does end up portraying her in a rather villainous light). All the while, England’s stalwart queen (Blanchett) still finds herself dealing with courtiers and would-be husbands from across Europe. She is disinterested until her passions are roused by the adventurous Sir Walter Raleigh (Clive Owen), who unfortunately also has eyes for Elizabeth’s favorite maid, Bess (Abbie Cornish). As pressure from Spain builds up and the queen’s opposition begins to show itself, Elizabeth must prove once again why God put her in her place.
As in ELIZABETH, the film rests entirely upon Blanchett’s shoulders. While she does have many strong moments throughout, she does not capture attention in the role as easily. She still remains a pillar of strength, her booming voice and cool complexion making her a natural born leader in every sense. Yet in the first half, the film seems to play almost as a comedy, and Blanchett reflects that. Instead of awe-inspiring tenacity, she imbues the character with a been-there, done-that sense of sarcasm reminiscent of Bette Davis in ALL ABOUT EVE. Once the action sets along its main course (the inevitable war with Spain), Blanchett strikes with all the bottled-in rage that the audience has been longing for. Her impassioned speeches, most notably to the Spanish ambassador and, later, to the English troops, are masterpieces of control and emotion. And as the film goes on, she begins to show signs of the panicked jealousy and fear that would mark Elizabeth’s later years, giving the fearless leader a more sympathetic slant sorely missed in the first half.
The film is sumptuously constructed, with every element seemingly one degree away from being over the top. That is, except the score, which is pervasive, loud and (at times) highly inappropriate. But the sheer epic scope as illustrated by the towering sets and intricate costumes make the film a visual feast. There are many beautiful images to behold, but even they veer dangerously toward the clichéd and over the top; a candle blowing out signifying defeat, a horse leaping over the side of a ship, etc. The script’s emphasis on wind is rather irritating as well. Not only does there seem to be a constant dramatic breeze blowing through drapes and curtains, but the characters make far too many references to the oncoming storm, the hurricane that is to come, the clouds that are gathering overhead, blah blah blah. The fact that there IS actually a storm when the English and Spanish collide makes these statements even more grating.
The film most errs in its depictions of the villains, which are so cartoonish and obvious that a two-year-old would be able to identify them. The Spanish are all of the moustache-twirling, darting eyes type, with Philip doing nothing more than delivering typically creepy sounding speeches of foreboding… well, creepiness. Even Samantha Morton’s minutes-long performance as Mary falls under into the clichéd villains club; the type that remains quietly evil and blindly aligned with their cause. It’s a wonder that the assassins in this film actually got so close to Elizabeth; they may as well be walking around with signs on their heads.
This film is a far cry from its predecessor, both in terms of storytelling and style. Where the first film was passionate and unexpected, this film plays it by the books, seeking out visual grandeur in place of meaningful scenes. Blanchett still gives it her all, and still remains impressive, but everything else seems half-baked, much like Elizabeth’s relationship with Raleigh. ELIZABETH: THE GOLDEN AGE is a sure sign that enough has been said about Elizabeth I in the world of film. It’s high time we moved on to the next fascinating monarch.
*1/2
As the film opens, Spain is mounting an attack against the protestant queen, enlisting not only the help of a devoted Catholic sect in London, but of Mary, Queen of Scots herself (the film does end up portraying her in a rather villainous light). All the while, England’s stalwart queen (Blanchett) still finds herself dealing with courtiers and would-be husbands from across Europe. She is disinterested until her passions are roused by the adventurous Sir Walter Raleigh (Clive Owen), who unfortunately also has eyes for Elizabeth’s favorite maid, Bess (Abbie Cornish). As pressure from Spain builds up and the queen’s opposition begins to show itself, Elizabeth must prove once again why God put her in her place.
As in ELIZABETH, the film rests entirely upon Blanchett’s shoulders. While she does have many strong moments throughout, she does not capture attention in the role as easily. She still remains a pillar of strength, her booming voice and cool complexion making her a natural born leader in every sense. Yet in the first half, the film seems to play almost as a comedy, and Blanchett reflects that. Instead of awe-inspiring tenacity, she imbues the character with a been-there, done-that sense of sarcasm reminiscent of Bette Davis in ALL ABOUT EVE. Once the action sets along its main course (the inevitable war with Spain), Blanchett strikes with all the bottled-in rage that the audience has been longing for. Her impassioned speeches, most notably to the Spanish ambassador and, later, to the English troops, are masterpieces of control and emotion. And as the film goes on, she begins to show signs of the panicked jealousy and fear that would mark Elizabeth’s later years, giving the fearless leader a more sympathetic slant sorely missed in the first half.
The film is sumptuously constructed, with every element seemingly one degree away from being over the top. That is, except the score, which is pervasive, loud and (at times) highly inappropriate. But the sheer epic scope as illustrated by the towering sets and intricate costumes make the film a visual feast. There are many beautiful images to behold, but even they veer dangerously toward the clichéd and over the top; a candle blowing out signifying defeat, a horse leaping over the side of a ship, etc. The script’s emphasis on wind is rather irritating as well. Not only does there seem to be a constant dramatic breeze blowing through drapes and curtains, but the characters make far too many references to the oncoming storm, the hurricane that is to come, the clouds that are gathering overhead, blah blah blah. The fact that there IS actually a storm when the English and Spanish collide makes these statements even more grating.
The film most errs in its depictions of the villains, which are so cartoonish and obvious that a two-year-old would be able to identify them. The Spanish are all of the moustache-twirling, darting eyes type, with Philip doing nothing more than delivering typically creepy sounding speeches of foreboding… well, creepiness. Even Samantha Morton’s minutes-long performance as Mary falls under into the clichéd villains club; the type that remains quietly evil and blindly aligned with their cause. It’s a wonder that the assassins in this film actually got so close to Elizabeth; they may as well be walking around with signs on their heads.
This film is a far cry from its predecessor, both in terms of storytelling and style. Where the first film was passionate and unexpected, this film plays it by the books, seeking out visual grandeur in place of meaningful scenes. Blanchett still gives it her all, and still remains impressive, but everything else seems half-baked, much like Elizabeth’s relationship with Raleigh. ELIZABETH: THE GOLDEN AGE is a sure sign that enough has been said about Elizabeth I in the world of film. It’s high time we moved on to the next fascinating monarch.
*1/2
Friday, October 5, 2007
Lust, Caution
Ang Lee’s newest film, an erotically-charged espionage thriller with more than a few deliberate shades of Hitchcock is definitely not for the casual moviegoer. Not only will its occasionally meandering 2 ½-hour plus running time try the patience of the less easily engrossed, but the intensely graphic sex scenes (the film is rated NC-17, almost exclusively for that reason) will no doubt shock and offend many viewers. But to those that are swept away by the alluring visuals and suspenseful story, LUST, CAUTION will be a rich, wonderfully evocative experience.
The place is Japanese-occupied China in the midst of World War II. Wang Jiazhi (Wei Tang, making an impressive film debut) is a young college student who finds herself swept up in a resistance-centered drama troupe. When the leader of the troupe decides that merely staging theatrical protests is not enough, they turn to assassination. They disguise themselves in order to infiltrate the house of a political figure (Tony Leung) with known ties to the Japanese government. He begins to focus his attention on Wang, and the others soon realize the only way to get to him; he must be seduced.
But the plan, as always, is not simple; a fact represented well by the film’s length. The narrative stretches over several years, using the tried-and-true method of bookends to introduce the story. The problem, though, is that with the jumps back and forward in time, the chronological sequence of events becomes muddied for an extended period. And while the film is nail-bitingly suspenseful in parts, the effectiveness is subdued by the long stretches of straight dramatic scenes. The film does well with fleshing out its characters (as it should in a film this long), but it has too many near-climaxes for its own good; with each apparent finale dashed away, its energy sags just a bit. But this does not wither away the film too badly; by the film’s end, the engaged viewer is still completely engaged.
Yet the one aspect that will turn away the most viewers is the film’s graphic depictions of sex. Lee does not shy away from the act itself or the frightening, uncomfortable and disturbing emotions connected with it. The film’s thematic content is helped a great deal by the frankness of these scenes; a sequence where Wei and Leung’s bodies are literally meshed together visually illustrates the heroine’s mind far better than words ever could. This is one of the many Hitchcockian traits Lee uses to great effect; there is a distinct reliance on visuals over dialogue throughout, letting the actors’ eyes speak volumes more than their mouths.
As always with Lee’s films, the film is superbly constructed. All the technicals, from the lush production and costume design to the subdued cinematography brings wartime China vividly to life. Alexandre Desplat’s evocative score injects a sense of tragic romance in the film, shaping it into a thing of beauty reminiscent of VERTIGO. Lee gives great detail to the surrounding environment, making even the smallest of images, like lipstick on the edge of a cup, noticeable and meaningful.
LUST, CAUTION is not a film for someone who basically wants to stop thinking for two hours and watch a movie. Those who are up to the challenge will feel more than justly rewarded by what they see. It is a long, roller coaster-like journey, but a very effecting one. Those who watch it will understand that they’ve seen something very different; a film that takes severe risks and deftly pulls them off. Lee once again shows he is a modern master of the cinema, able to adapt to any genre and produce a work of art.
***
The place is Japanese-occupied China in the midst of World War II. Wang Jiazhi (Wei Tang, making an impressive film debut) is a young college student who finds herself swept up in a resistance-centered drama troupe. When the leader of the troupe decides that merely staging theatrical protests is not enough, they turn to assassination. They disguise themselves in order to infiltrate the house of a political figure (Tony Leung) with known ties to the Japanese government. He begins to focus his attention on Wang, and the others soon realize the only way to get to him; he must be seduced.
But the plan, as always, is not simple; a fact represented well by the film’s length. The narrative stretches over several years, using the tried-and-true method of bookends to introduce the story. The problem, though, is that with the jumps back and forward in time, the chronological sequence of events becomes muddied for an extended period. And while the film is nail-bitingly suspenseful in parts, the effectiveness is subdued by the long stretches of straight dramatic scenes. The film does well with fleshing out its characters (as it should in a film this long), but it has too many near-climaxes for its own good; with each apparent finale dashed away, its energy sags just a bit. But this does not wither away the film too badly; by the film’s end, the engaged viewer is still completely engaged.
Yet the one aspect that will turn away the most viewers is the film’s graphic depictions of sex. Lee does not shy away from the act itself or the frightening, uncomfortable and disturbing emotions connected with it. The film’s thematic content is helped a great deal by the frankness of these scenes; a sequence where Wei and Leung’s bodies are literally meshed together visually illustrates the heroine’s mind far better than words ever could. This is one of the many Hitchcockian traits Lee uses to great effect; there is a distinct reliance on visuals over dialogue throughout, letting the actors’ eyes speak volumes more than their mouths.
As always with Lee’s films, the film is superbly constructed. All the technicals, from the lush production and costume design to the subdued cinematography brings wartime China vividly to life. Alexandre Desplat’s evocative score injects a sense of tragic romance in the film, shaping it into a thing of beauty reminiscent of VERTIGO. Lee gives great detail to the surrounding environment, making even the smallest of images, like lipstick on the edge of a cup, noticeable and meaningful.
LUST, CAUTION is not a film for someone who basically wants to stop thinking for two hours and watch a movie. Those who are up to the challenge will feel more than justly rewarded by what they see. It is a long, roller coaster-like journey, but a very effecting one. Those who watch it will understand that they’ve seen something very different; a film that takes severe risks and deftly pulls them off. Lee once again shows he is a modern master of the cinema, able to adapt to any genre and produce a work of art.
***
Sunday, September 30, 2007
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.
**
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.
**
Friday, September 21, 2007
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 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
Friday, September 14, 2007
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.
*
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.
*
Sunday, September 2, 2007
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.
**
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.
**
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