3/4 stars
So, a year or two ago, sometime before there was a separate article on Wikipedia for this movie, I was wasting time on said website, and found my way to the article on the short story upon which the movie is based. It's a strange coincidence that a story written long before I was born should be made into an acclaimed film within such a short time of my reading it. Or maybe not. Anyway, this film shouldn't really be compared to F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story; the overlap of a few significant details only confuses the fact that they are different stories that serve different purposes.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a long film, in the best sense. I commented back in 2006 (in response to, among others, Casino Royale, a 2.5 hour Bond movie) that my attention span for a movie is closer to three hours than two. That was probably an overstatement, but two hour movies do sometimes feel a little slight, and I'm happy to grant a third hour of my time to a film that has a good use for it. I'm also fond of movies that have a slow enough pace that, like a novel, you can see distinct sections in them, begin to feel comfortable with a sense of status quo before the events of the film disrupt it. It sounds odd to refer to a movie that spans 85 years as slow-paced, but pacing isn't about how a movie gets through narrative time, it's about how it gets from the beginning to the end. A long movie, when it's good, allows several episodes their appropriate weight and consideration. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a long, sweeping story, with all the complexity and craftsmanship that that entails. It will draw you in and keep you emotionally engaged with what you're seeing for its entire two and three quarter hours.
CCBB (yeah, I just did that) is the story of two lives, and how they are shared. Both Benjamin Button (portrayed by Brad Pitt with a generous amount of soft spoken charm) and Daisy Fuller (portrayed mostly by Cate Blanchett, although Elle Fanning also has a memorable scene) are old when the film begins. She is looking back from her deathbed on him looking forward into an uncertain future. "I was born old," he says simply at one point. As you no doubt are aware, Benjamin is aging backwards, which makes sharing his life with someone else a tricky proposition. You may also have some idea from the ads, what their solution is ("we meet in the middle"). They both have interesting and eventful lives, and the way the world changes around them is what gives the film its massive scope. I especially liked the symmetry of having the film end on the eve of Hurricane Katrina, suggesting the story of city as well as everything else.
I stated last week that the number of Academy Award nominations for this film surprised me. Now I find it interesting to consider how it seems to be an amalgamation of various past Oscar favorites. I think a lot of viewers will notice that it smacks of Forrest Gump, an unusual man with soft spoken Southern charm. Also, what does that recurring hummingbird motif remind you of? The special effects used to allow Brad Pitt to inhabit various ages of the character reminded me of The Lord of the Rings and its hobbits. It even becomes Magnolia for a minute, in an ill advised car crash sequence. If you want to know why I think this is a good but not a great movie, it's that. Yes it entertained me, yes it engaged me, yes it earned the time it took to watch it, and I would watch it again. But I don't think it's the year's best film. As the hasty and underdeveloped coda ("some people get struck by lightning") suggests, it's a good story, but at the end seems to strain to have been about something. It's trying too hard; its fairytale elements are a bit too earnest, its protagonist too purely good. In short, it is wondrous, but it is not curious.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
In Bruges
3/4 stars
In Bruges is both a comedy and a tragedy; it's like a Guy Ritchie movie if people actually cared about the consequences of their actions. The comedy is Ritchiesque, invoking the rapid and irreverent banter of his Lock, Stock... or Snatch. But it is effectively tempered by director Martin McDonagh's somber contemplation of the city itself, and its use as a symbol of guilt. Colin Farrell plays Ray, a hitman whose first job has gone horribly wrong. He is sent to Bruges (it's in Belgium) to lay low, and hates every minute of it. He can't wait to get back to the real world, and although we are assured by the camera (and some of the characters) that it is a breathtaking, fairytale place, Farrell can't stand it. The movie is a comedy because the characters must laugh as a respite from sorrow, and because life is random and unpredictable. It is a tragedy for the same reasons.
Although there is a somewhat ineffective romantic subplot with Clémence Poésy, the main performances are by Farrell, the sturdy Brendan Gleeson as his partner, and the dynamic Ralph Fiennes as the boss. Farrell has the hardest work; his character is an extrovert who races from comical mischief to suicidal grief several times in each scene. Gleeson's character is more reserved, less emotionally involved, but he too has baggage and heavy decisions to make. Even Fiennes, though his character is a problem for the movie, executes well what he has been given, revealing the humanity behind an outwardly menacing character.
The movie sees Ray find his way back to the desire to live. Bruges represents the purgatory he is trying to escape, between life and death. The symbolism is rich, but not overbearing, much of the Christian analogy delivered seamlessly through the culture of the city itself. Where the movie falls short is in the conception of two characters, the woman and the boss. Poésy does everything she's supposed to, but the affair just feels peripheral. The script (by McDonagh) is trying to tell us that her love could be redemption, and Ray certainly sees it as such; what we get instead is the impression that the lure of sex is enough to make Ray forget that he should be feeling guilty. Fiennes presents two problems. For one, the relationship between his character and Gleeson's is well developed, but distracts from the arc of the movie. The second is a plot twist which I won't detail, but which is intended to bring the movie neatly together, and instead turns it into a farce, and reduces everything that has come before.
McDonagh, in his first full length effort, has inspired ideas and proficient technique. He has the misfortune that his few mistakes are noticeable and frustrating, and disrupt the balance of a fine film. Nonetheless, what he gets right and what he draws out of his actors is worth seeing.
In Bruges is both a comedy and a tragedy; it's like a Guy Ritchie movie if people actually cared about the consequences of their actions. The comedy is Ritchiesque, invoking the rapid and irreverent banter of his Lock, Stock... or Snatch. But it is effectively tempered by director Martin McDonagh's somber contemplation of the city itself, and its use as a symbol of guilt. Colin Farrell plays Ray, a hitman whose first job has gone horribly wrong. He is sent to Bruges (it's in Belgium) to lay low, and hates every minute of it. He can't wait to get back to the real world, and although we are assured by the camera (and some of the characters) that it is a breathtaking, fairytale place, Farrell can't stand it. The movie is a comedy because the characters must laugh as a respite from sorrow, and because life is random and unpredictable. It is a tragedy for the same reasons.
Although there is a somewhat ineffective romantic subplot with Clémence Poésy, the main performances are by Farrell, the sturdy Brendan Gleeson as his partner, and the dynamic Ralph Fiennes as the boss. Farrell has the hardest work; his character is an extrovert who races from comical mischief to suicidal grief several times in each scene. Gleeson's character is more reserved, less emotionally involved, but he too has baggage and heavy decisions to make. Even Fiennes, though his character is a problem for the movie, executes well what he has been given, revealing the humanity behind an outwardly menacing character.
The movie sees Ray find his way back to the desire to live. Bruges represents the purgatory he is trying to escape, between life and death. The symbolism is rich, but not overbearing, much of the Christian analogy delivered seamlessly through the culture of the city itself. Where the movie falls short is in the conception of two characters, the woman and the boss. Poésy does everything she's supposed to, but the affair just feels peripheral. The script (by McDonagh) is trying to tell us that her love could be redemption, and Ray certainly sees it as such; what we get instead is the impression that the lure of sex is enough to make Ray forget that he should be feeling guilty. Fiennes presents two problems. For one, the relationship between his character and Gleeson's is well developed, but distracts from the arc of the movie. The second is a plot twist which I won't detail, but which is intended to bring the movie neatly together, and instead turns it into a farce, and reduces everything that has come before.
McDonagh, in his first full length effort, has inspired ideas and proficient technique. He has the misfortune that his few mistakes are noticeable and frustrating, and disrupt the balance of a fine film. Nonetheless, what he gets right and what he draws out of his actors is worth seeing.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Aviator
3.5/4 stars
One of the thoughts I kept having during The Aviator was how lucky Leonardo DiCaprio was to have gotten the role. He gives a great performance, maybe his best, but it doesn’t change how fortunate he was that Scorsese saw the great actor in him and gave him this chance to bring it out. The Aviator is one of those actor’s movies, built around a single performance as its centerpiece. DiCaprio delivers the drive and obsession of Howard Hughes, and his powerful neuroses. He manages to unify the two prevalent images of the man, his highs and lows, into one character on the screen. “I care a great deal about aviation,” he says at one point, in an attempt to explain himself, “It is the great joy of my life.” We know what Hughes cares about, and we know what he is afraid of thanks to an opening scene in which his mother warns him strongly about the dangers of disease. We also see why the one gives him some relief from the other; Scorsese illustrates how from above, everything seems like a miniature version of itself, simpler and cleaner.
The rest is Scorsese putting it into context. This seems like a slight way to appreciate such rich work, but it seems to be how the film wants to be viewed. The cinematography mixes retro experimentation (limited color palates, static long shots) with more modern techniques depending on the specific needs of the particular scene. As a period piece, the settings and costumes are thorough and engrossing, and a small army of background characters fills in the spaces.
The major flaw of the film is however that it fails to answer why. We see Hughes personality, illustrated brilliantly, but we don’t understand it. The opening scene mentioned earlier is about all we get by way of motivation for the compulsions that tear Hughes’ life apart. We understand his fascination with flight, but his forceful personality, his simultaneous indulgence and disregard for wealth… these things pose a question that is never answered. I understand that as a biopic, the film must be careful about what it tries to answer with speculation, but when so much speculation is necessarily present anyway, reticence towards completing the task of transforming the person into the character seems somewhat silly.
Still, it’s wasteful to poke holes in such a spectacle. As a show of acting and direction, The Aviator outpaces its worth as a script. But acting and direction are worthwhile crafts, and this is an enjoyable display.
One of the thoughts I kept having during The Aviator was how lucky Leonardo DiCaprio was to have gotten the role. He gives a great performance, maybe his best, but it doesn’t change how fortunate he was that Scorsese saw the great actor in him and gave him this chance to bring it out. The Aviator is one of those actor’s movies, built around a single performance as its centerpiece. DiCaprio delivers the drive and obsession of Howard Hughes, and his powerful neuroses. He manages to unify the two prevalent images of the man, his highs and lows, into one character on the screen. “I care a great deal about aviation,” he says at one point, in an attempt to explain himself, “It is the great joy of my life.” We know what Hughes cares about, and we know what he is afraid of thanks to an opening scene in which his mother warns him strongly about the dangers of disease. We also see why the one gives him some relief from the other; Scorsese illustrates how from above, everything seems like a miniature version of itself, simpler and cleaner.
The rest is Scorsese putting it into context. This seems like a slight way to appreciate such rich work, but it seems to be how the film wants to be viewed. The cinematography mixes retro experimentation (limited color palates, static long shots) with more modern techniques depending on the specific needs of the particular scene. As a period piece, the settings and costumes are thorough and engrossing, and a small army of background characters fills in the spaces.
The major flaw of the film is however that it fails to answer why. We see Hughes personality, illustrated brilliantly, but we don’t understand it. The opening scene mentioned earlier is about all we get by way of motivation for the compulsions that tear Hughes’ life apart. We understand his fascination with flight, but his forceful personality, his simultaneous indulgence and disregard for wealth… these things pose a question that is never answered. I understand that as a biopic, the film must be careful about what it tries to answer with speculation, but when so much speculation is necessarily present anyway, reticence towards completing the task of transforming the person into the character seems somewhat silly.
Still, it’s wasteful to poke holes in such a spectacle. As a show of acting and direction, The Aviator outpaces its worth as a script. But acting and direction are worthwhile crafts, and this is an enjoyable display.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Once
4/4 stars
Note: I found it quite impossible to discuss one of the primary reasons that I was impressed with this movie without revealing the ending. If you haven’t seen Once and value not knowing what happens, do not proceed.
Although it is impressive from an academic standpoint, Once can be a difficult movie to talk about in this way. Though the movie employs a very practiced and difficult cinematography, one that expresses an unbroken illusion of reality with the steady gaze of a documentarian, the effect is not to dazzle the audience with technical achievement. Rather, Once simply allows its characters’ charms to pull the viewer into its representation of their lives.
One would be remiss not to mention the music, of course. The music critic side of me feels the need to point out that it’s not earth-shattering stuff, but it has an honest, unpolished feeling that would likely draw me to it even without the benefit of the film. The way it works with the story though, is truly brilliant. As the two main characters come to know each other through music, that music communicates their love story. The music is integrated seamlessly into this film, it doesn’t appear to be shown off, we simply experience it the way the characters do. One scene in particular, in which Markéta Irglová walks through the night to get batteries for her walkman, then listens to it all the way back home is almost completely, perfectly engrossing.
Of course, like the brilliant and heartbreaking film Before Sunrise, which is a favorite of mine, Once ends with our movie couple separated by the circumstances of the world. Their moment is over, and unlike in the other film, it remains unfulfilled. I like happy endings as much as anyone else, but they do leave you with less to think about, and less to feel as well. This is a story that exists in the spaces of hope and curiosity and enchantment that are closed far too quickly in life. While some fortunate relationships manage to gel within that time, we’ve all experienced ones that did not. Once (and I do feel that the title is appropriate only if we’re viewing the film this way) is a memory of those occasions.
Note: I found it quite impossible to discuss one of the primary reasons that I was impressed with this movie without revealing the ending. If you haven’t seen Once and value not knowing what happens, do not proceed.
Although it is impressive from an academic standpoint, Once can be a difficult movie to talk about in this way. Though the movie employs a very practiced and difficult cinematography, one that expresses an unbroken illusion of reality with the steady gaze of a documentarian, the effect is not to dazzle the audience with technical achievement. Rather, Once simply allows its characters’ charms to pull the viewer into its representation of their lives.
One would be remiss not to mention the music, of course. The music critic side of me feels the need to point out that it’s not earth-shattering stuff, but it has an honest, unpolished feeling that would likely draw me to it even without the benefit of the film. The way it works with the story though, is truly brilliant. As the two main characters come to know each other through music, that music communicates their love story. The music is integrated seamlessly into this film, it doesn’t appear to be shown off, we simply experience it the way the characters do. One scene in particular, in which Markéta Irglová walks through the night to get batteries for her walkman, then listens to it all the way back home is almost completely, perfectly engrossing.
Of course, like the brilliant and heartbreaking film Before Sunrise, which is a favorite of mine, Once ends with our movie couple separated by the circumstances of the world. Their moment is over, and unlike in the other film, it remains unfulfilled. I like happy endings as much as anyone else, but they do leave you with less to think about, and less to feel as well. This is a story that exists in the spaces of hope and curiosity and enchantment that are closed far too quickly in life. While some fortunate relationships manage to gel within that time, we’ve all experienced ones that did not. Once (and I do feel that the title is appropriate only if we’re viewing the film this way) is a memory of those occasions.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Definitely, Maybe
3/4 stars
Before I start complaining, I should mention that Definitely, Maybe is well acted, good looking, has a better than average soundtrack and is a generally enjoyable way to spend two hours. Now that that's out of the way... I honestly kinda wonder what was wrong with the people that made it.
The film stars Ryan Reynolds and Abigail Breslin; him as a father telling the story of how he met his (soon to be ex) wife, her as his precociously inappropriate young daughter who just took what one hopes is a very preliminary sex-ed class at school. Watch the movie and you'll agree, it seems likely that this point was thrown in just to justify the way she talks, and the things she seems to understand. That the story he tells is bizarrely inappropriate for a young child ended up being one of the things that bothered me the least about the movie. Anyway, so he introduces his tale as a "mystery love story," and spends the rest of the movie bouncing between three women (Elizabeth Banks, Isla Fisher and Rachel Weisz) in flashback. His daughter will not know which is the one he ended up marrying, until... well, pretty much until he gets there. As she points out, the fact that he's about to get a divorce (and we never do find out why) makes the whole thing seem a little pointless.
I could see this being an okay premise (ignoring the divorce part), but the problem is that the main character doesn't seem to fit with any of these women particularly well, and none more than either of the others. Much like in life, there are nice things about each relationship, and not so nice things. Is that supposed to be the point? Then how do you justify the Hollywood romantic comedy ending that the movie sprints towards once the flashbacks are over? The woman that he ends up with seems chosen at random.
There are other problems with the movie as well. For one thing, it takes place mostly in the early 1990s, which should provide a lot of flavor, but the opportunity is mostly wasted. Another: Reynolds' character is sort of a hipster in the modern day scenes (he has The Flaming Lips playing in his apartment, and a Yo La Tengo poster on the wall), but in the past is what my father identified as a dweeb (he doesn't know who Kurt Cobain is). Does the movie bridge this gap for us? Not so much. And what about all the effort that was put into showing us the idiosyncrasies of the three relationships? There's a lot in the film that seems like it should add up to something, but goes nowhere.
I don't mean this to be a highly negative review, Definitely Maybe is completely passable entertainment and I wouldn't discourage you from seeing it if it's your kind of movie (and you can probably tell from the commercials if it is or not). But it's a 3-star movie that just didn't bother to be a 4-star one, even though all the ingredients were seemingly in place. Like the three relationships it portrays, this film seems like a great thing at first, but by the end it just doesn't click.
Before I start complaining, I should mention that Definitely, Maybe is well acted, good looking, has a better than average soundtrack and is a generally enjoyable way to spend two hours. Now that that's out of the way... I honestly kinda wonder what was wrong with the people that made it.
The film stars Ryan Reynolds and Abigail Breslin; him as a father telling the story of how he met his (soon to be ex) wife, her as his precociously inappropriate young daughter who just took what one hopes is a very preliminary sex-ed class at school. Watch the movie and you'll agree, it seems likely that this point was thrown in just to justify the way she talks, and the things she seems to understand. That the story he tells is bizarrely inappropriate for a young child ended up being one of the things that bothered me the least about the movie. Anyway, so he introduces his tale as a "mystery love story," and spends the rest of the movie bouncing between three women (Elizabeth Banks, Isla Fisher and Rachel Weisz) in flashback. His daughter will not know which is the one he ended up marrying, until... well, pretty much until he gets there. As she points out, the fact that he's about to get a divorce (and we never do find out why) makes the whole thing seem a little pointless.
I could see this being an okay premise (ignoring the divorce part), but the problem is that the main character doesn't seem to fit with any of these women particularly well, and none more than either of the others. Much like in life, there are nice things about each relationship, and not so nice things. Is that supposed to be the point? Then how do you justify the Hollywood romantic comedy ending that the movie sprints towards once the flashbacks are over? The woman that he ends up with seems chosen at random.
There are other problems with the movie as well. For one thing, it takes place mostly in the early 1990s, which should provide a lot of flavor, but the opportunity is mostly wasted. Another: Reynolds' character is sort of a hipster in the modern day scenes (he has The Flaming Lips playing in his apartment, and a Yo La Tengo poster on the wall), but in the past is what my father identified as a dweeb (he doesn't know who Kurt Cobain is). Does the movie bridge this gap for us? Not so much. And what about all the effort that was put into showing us the idiosyncrasies of the three relationships? There's a lot in the film that seems like it should add up to something, but goes nowhere.
I don't mean this to be a highly negative review, Definitely Maybe is completely passable entertainment and I wouldn't discourage you from seeing it if it's your kind of movie (and you can probably tell from the commercials if it is or not). But it's a 3-star movie that just didn't bother to be a 4-star one, even though all the ingredients were seemingly in place. Like the three relationships it portrays, this film seems like a great thing at first, but by the end it just doesn't click.
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