I think I enjoyed watching The Fisher King, but I felt really...disappointed by the end. I guess one of the things I expect and perversely enjoy about Terry Gilliam movies is getting trumped out of a happy, well-resolved ending. I was surprised to find a sappy, happily-ever-after finish to a satisfyingly weird plot. Why would Mercedes Ruehl's character take back that schmuck (Jeff Bridges)? Why was Lydia okay with finding out Parry (Robin Williams) was a clinically insane hobo? The ending really jumped a plot point or two.
That said, I rather enjoyed all the performances, but especially Mercedes Ruehl. What a sass machine she is. I always seem to enjoy Mercedes Ruehl, and every time I see her in something, I remember I need to re-watch Lost in Yonkers, which I haven't seen since I was 9. I have a feeling I'll enjoy it more this time around. Amanda Plummer was quite convincing as Parry's weird, unfriendly love interest. Robin Williams didn't irritate me to death. I rather like Jeff Bridges, even when he's playing a sleazy character like this one. Of course, in any Gilliam movie the minor performances are the scene stealers. In this one it's Michael Jeter as the homeless, faggedy, cross-dressing cabaret singer with a death wish. He was marvelous. And Tom Waits has a cameo as a legless, philosophizing bum. In fact, if you ignore the saccharine mess of a plot this becomes and just focus on the homeless guys, this movie becomes an ode to the eccentric fabric of bums that carpets New York City.
Gilliam is not to blame for my problems with this movie. He does his trademark job with fisheye lenses and disorienting flights of fancy, and does it well. The problem rests with Richard LaGravenese's retarded screenplay manipulations. He's the guy who brought us that impossible-to-watch-without-cringing Living Out Loud and the load of sap that is Bridges of Madison County. He's also the reason why I have to cover my eyes through half of The Mirror Has Two Faces, and that's got Babs in it! Someday I'd like to meet this bloke just to shake my fist at him and ask him, "where are your balls, dude?"
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Diva Series
I watched a sort of Diva Series last week with my dear chum Brandi: Coal Miner's Daughter, What's Love Got To Do With It and Sweet Dreams. Though Brandi and I love love LOVE divas and the biopics that tell their oft-tragic stories, I had issues with Sweet Dreams. The other two were superb.
Coal Miner's Daughter is remarkable mostly for Sissy Spacek's incredible portrayal. That was some obsessive mimicry, and while her voice could never match the timbre of the real Loretta, her singing was sensational! The movie hooked Brandi and me in immediately, and casting Tommy Lee Jones--whom we both consider to be creepy in just about every role--as her husband was eerily convincing. Because the movie was made with Loretta's collaboration, and using her biography, we had to assume that the horrifying wedding night rape scene and subsequent violent and outrageous behavior exhibited by said hubby were true. The movie certainly made us uncomfortable, and made us yell at the screen like we should. Even though she's not exactly sassy, wacky, and sharp-witted like most divas, we agreed that Loretta is a diva in terms of making savvy business deals and being a self-made sensation. Also, her singing costumes are DIVINE. I approved of this as a well-made drama, a convincing biopic, and a substantial portrayal of a country legend near and dear to my heart, which does, I'm sorry to admit it, Loretta, have a tendency to come home a drinkin' with lovin' on my mind. I hope you can forgive me.
We had both seen What's Love Got To Do With It before, and it was so amazing that it was worth watching again. Talk about a self-made sensation: Tina not only had overcome adversity to make it in a racist, sexist recording industry, she had to kick her abusive, controlling husband to the curb. Lawrence Fishburn was another eerily convincing casting choice. He gives us both the creeps in real life, and that was quite necessary for you to hate Ike as viciously as we do. Angela Bassett SHOULD have won an Oscar for this stellar, heart-stopping performance. I say that, but I'm a hypocrite, because that particular Oscar went to Holly Hunter, and anyone who's met me knows how much I love The Piano. That said, Angela Bassett poured her soul into this role. My only qualm with this film--and believe me, it's silly--is that Angela Bassett is so fucking ripped she could have beat the shit out of Ike. She is literally so ripped that it pushes the limits of plot plausibility. Also, it's too distracting for a lesbian to watch a woman that ripped and still be emotionally engaged in the film. (my spurious criticisms are another backhanded compliment: I can't find anything actually wrong with this movie)
Sweet Dreams, on the other hand...ugh. Brandi liked it, even though she only got to watch the first half, but I watched the whole damn thing and I gotta say, it does not do ANY justice to Patsy. We both noted how odd it was that the girl who plays Patsy's sister looks much more like Patsy than Jessica Langue. Yes, I know an actress doesn't have to look exactly like the icon she portrays--but it certainly helps! Babs may not look like Fanny Brice, but they've both got funny, striking faces. Langue did not feel much like the Patsy I've seen in old footage, nor did the film's portrayal of her career rise seem at all accurate. Patsy was much more in control and cavalier about her recording career, whereas the biopic made it seem like it sort of just happened to her, and that she was constantly distracted by her marriage to Charlie Dick. Her marriage is my other big beef with the film--from all I've read, they had a pretty solid marriage, and nobody could push Patsy around. She was a beast. I did not get the feeling that the movie did that marriage justice. She said Charlie was the love of her life, and she said that after a failed marriage and a long-term affair left her feeling pretty desolate. I believe her over the movie, and I doubt she was such a victim. Also, there was an awesome twist to the tragic story of her death that was not even used in the movie! You'd think a dramatic interpretation of somebody's life would use some of the best foreshadowing to ACTUALLY HAPPEN. It is recorded that Patsy had several premonitions of her death, and even started giving away lots of her stuff to friends (including Loretta Lynn, whom she mentored). Why would that not be included in the movie? It just seemed like a weak movie in many ways, although Brandi had to note that Ed Harris is a hottie pachotch of hubby casting. I'll have to trust her on that.
Coal Miner's Daughter is remarkable mostly for Sissy Spacek's incredible portrayal. That was some obsessive mimicry, and while her voice could never match the timbre of the real Loretta, her singing was sensational! The movie hooked Brandi and me in immediately, and casting Tommy Lee Jones--whom we both consider to be creepy in just about every role--as her husband was eerily convincing. Because the movie was made with Loretta's collaboration, and using her biography, we had to assume that the horrifying wedding night rape scene and subsequent violent and outrageous behavior exhibited by said hubby were true. The movie certainly made us uncomfortable, and made us yell at the screen like we should. Even though she's not exactly sassy, wacky, and sharp-witted like most divas, we agreed that Loretta is a diva in terms of making savvy business deals and being a self-made sensation. Also, her singing costumes are DIVINE. I approved of this as a well-made drama, a convincing biopic, and a substantial portrayal of a country legend near and dear to my heart, which does, I'm sorry to admit it, Loretta, have a tendency to come home a drinkin' with lovin' on my mind. I hope you can forgive me.
We had both seen What's Love Got To Do With It before, and it was so amazing that it was worth watching again. Talk about a self-made sensation: Tina not only had overcome adversity to make it in a racist, sexist recording industry, she had to kick her abusive, controlling husband to the curb. Lawrence Fishburn was another eerily convincing casting choice. He gives us both the creeps in real life, and that was quite necessary for you to hate Ike as viciously as we do. Angela Bassett SHOULD have won an Oscar for this stellar, heart-stopping performance. I say that, but I'm a hypocrite, because that particular Oscar went to Holly Hunter, and anyone who's met me knows how much I love The Piano. That said, Angela Bassett poured her soul into this role. My only qualm with this film--and believe me, it's silly--is that Angela Bassett is so fucking ripped she could have beat the shit out of Ike. She is literally so ripped that it pushes the limits of plot plausibility. Also, it's too distracting for a lesbian to watch a woman that ripped and still be emotionally engaged in the film. (my spurious criticisms are another backhanded compliment: I can't find anything actually wrong with this movie)
Sweet Dreams, on the other hand...ugh. Brandi liked it, even though she only got to watch the first half, but I watched the whole damn thing and I gotta say, it does not do ANY justice to Patsy. We both noted how odd it was that the girl who plays Patsy's sister looks much more like Patsy than Jessica Langue. Yes, I know an actress doesn't have to look exactly like the icon she portrays--but it certainly helps! Babs may not look like Fanny Brice, but they've both got funny, striking faces. Langue did not feel much like the Patsy I've seen in old footage, nor did the film's portrayal of her career rise seem at all accurate. Patsy was much more in control and cavalier about her recording career, whereas the biopic made it seem like it sort of just happened to her, and that she was constantly distracted by her marriage to Charlie Dick. Her marriage is my other big beef with the film--from all I've read, they had a pretty solid marriage, and nobody could push Patsy around. She was a beast. I did not get the feeling that the movie did that marriage justice. She said Charlie was the love of her life, and she said that after a failed marriage and a long-term affair left her feeling pretty desolate. I believe her over the movie, and I doubt she was such a victim. Also, there was an awesome twist to the tragic story of her death that was not even used in the movie! You'd think a dramatic interpretation of somebody's life would use some of the best foreshadowing to ACTUALLY HAPPEN. It is recorded that Patsy had several premonitions of her death, and even started giving away lots of her stuff to friends (including Loretta Lynn, whom she mentored). Why would that not be included in the movie? It just seemed like a weak movie in many ways, although Brandi had to note that Ed Harris is a hottie pachotch of hubby casting. I'll have to trust her on that.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Hiroshima, mon amour
I have no idea why I hadn't seen this movie before. I feel like an idiot, always telling my people, "You haven't lived if you haven't seen this movie!" because I must not have lived myself.
During the viewing, I constantly compared the film to Shadows and Fog and Last Year at Marienbad, two other experimental films directed by Alain Resnais. The trio of films concerns trauma, and the aftermath of trauma. Shadows and Fog is a shattering documentary-poem that discusses the holocaust while panning over photos of the atrocities intercut with the present-day sites, already disappearing under fresh greenery.
Last Year at Marienbad, a baroque narrative, is as hollow as Shadows and Fog is laden with endless meaning. The Holocaust will always be the heaviest weight in cinematic depiction (and the easiest Oscar win), whereas Last Year at Marienbad concerns a mere encounter that may or may not have happened two the two characters the year before. Last Year often seems as though it will become laden with meaning, but that never happens. The dialogue is oblique and repetitive, constantly referring and accusing while relating little humanity, always hopelessly general, no matter how particularly they revisit each detail of their encounter: the color of her dress, his way of standing by a statue, a walk through the gardens. I think of Last Year at Marienbad as a wanky cinematic exercise that doesn't quite stand the test of time, except for wanky cinema nerds like myself who enjoy killing themselves reading Deleuze's interpretation and re-watching the film.
Hiroshima, mon amour seems to straddle both these films. The narrative, while oblique, is sensible: two lovers meet in Hiroshima. Both are laden with trauma: the Japanese man is, like any Japanese at the time, scarred by Hiroshima, emotionally and spiritually, if not physically; the French woman is wounded by the death of her German lover during the liberation. We witness the now-trademark Resnais technique of layering poetic musings over montages of places laden with trauma. I experienced real anxiety as these lovers met and parted, met and parted through the night. They are both "happily married" and I had no idea what I wanted the outcome to be--is there any "happy" outcome for such a film? I doubt it. No ending is entirely happy for anyone who has survived such horror as Hiroshima, an unspeakable loss.
My favorite thing about the film is probably how the synecdochic theme is wrapped-up in the last few lines of dialogue. Throughout, he describes his experience of her in relation to her birthplace, Nevers, and she describes her experience of him in relation to what she knows of Hiroshima, what she remembers of 1945. In the last few moments of the film, she says, "Hiroshima. Your name is Hiroshima." "My name is Hiroshima. And you, your name is Nevers. Nevers, in France."
Those last lines were just so good! They re-iterated how these characters will never be able to separate themselves from the synecdoche of their tragedy: he will always, in a way, be the horror of Hiroshima; she will always, in a way, be a bout of madness in Nevers.
So now I can say I've lived because I've seen this movie. I hope this kind of humbling happens often.
During the viewing, I constantly compared the film to Shadows and Fog and Last Year at Marienbad, two other experimental films directed by Alain Resnais. The trio of films concerns trauma, and the aftermath of trauma. Shadows and Fog is a shattering documentary-poem that discusses the holocaust while panning over photos of the atrocities intercut with the present-day sites, already disappearing under fresh greenery.
Last Year at Marienbad, a baroque narrative, is as hollow as Shadows and Fog is laden with endless meaning. The Holocaust will always be the heaviest weight in cinematic depiction (and the easiest Oscar win), whereas Last Year at Marienbad concerns a mere encounter that may or may not have happened two the two characters the year before. Last Year often seems as though it will become laden with meaning, but that never happens. The dialogue is oblique and repetitive, constantly referring and accusing while relating little humanity, always hopelessly general, no matter how particularly they revisit each detail of their encounter: the color of her dress, his way of standing by a statue, a walk through the gardens. I think of Last Year at Marienbad as a wanky cinematic exercise that doesn't quite stand the test of time, except for wanky cinema nerds like myself who enjoy killing themselves reading Deleuze's interpretation and re-watching the film.
Hiroshima, mon amour seems to straddle both these films. The narrative, while oblique, is sensible: two lovers meet in Hiroshima. Both are laden with trauma: the Japanese man is, like any Japanese at the time, scarred by Hiroshima, emotionally and spiritually, if not physically; the French woman is wounded by the death of her German lover during the liberation. We witness the now-trademark Resnais technique of layering poetic musings over montages of places laden with trauma. I experienced real anxiety as these lovers met and parted, met and parted through the night. They are both "happily married" and I had no idea what I wanted the outcome to be--is there any "happy" outcome for such a film? I doubt it. No ending is entirely happy for anyone who has survived such horror as Hiroshima, an unspeakable loss.
My favorite thing about the film is probably how the synecdochic theme is wrapped-up in the last few lines of dialogue. Throughout, he describes his experience of her in relation to her birthplace, Nevers, and she describes her experience of him in relation to what she knows of Hiroshima, what she remembers of 1945. In the last few moments of the film, she says, "Hiroshima. Your name is Hiroshima." "My name is Hiroshima. And you, your name is Nevers. Nevers, in France."
Those last lines were just so good! They re-iterated how these characters will never be able to separate themselves from the synecdoche of their tragedy: he will always, in a way, be the horror of Hiroshima; she will always, in a way, be a bout of madness in Nevers.
So now I can say I've lived because I've seen this movie. I hope this kind of humbling happens often.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Isn't It Romantic?
This post is only tangentially related to film. This morning I opened the almost-floor-to-ceiling-windows of my tiny Parisian apartment to one of these. It was so darling and unexpected. The couple waved to me when they saw me leaning on the railing and smiling, and as I looked about, I noticed others doing the same in their cramped Haussmanian high-rises. Then I noticed the street-cleaners with their bright green, imitation plastic straw brooms, and women shaking out tablecloths on their balconies, and other Parisians going about their daily business, and was reminded of one of the most delightful movies I've ever seen, Love Me Tonight. Specifically the opening scene.
You think things like that aren't real, but they are! At least, they are in Paris. What a place to be in Springtime!
You think things like that aren't real, but they are! At least, they are in Paris. What a place to be in Springtime!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Suddenly, Last Summer
At this point I know I am enormous fan of Tennessee Williams, but I have never seen one of his plays, only film adaptations. Each film adaptation seems to trump the last. I liked A Streetcar Named Desire well enough. I only watched it once. Then I saw Night of the Iguana and was blown away. Then I watched Suddenly, Last Summer and I thought, "why do people make fun of Elizabeth Taylor? She's such a fantastic actress. She can act as kooky as she likes, for all I care. She's earned it." Then I watched Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and I FELL OFF THE COUCH. You think I'm exaggerating. Hmph.
At this point I can't even give any sort of coherent criticism because these movies are all just SO AWESOME. I could write essays, I suppose, on the constructions of fragile masculinity and the crazy homophobia and the strange sexless female characters and the skewed angular cinematography and how incendiary the feminine archetypes are when pitted against each other...but that's not necessary at the moment. Here is my list of awesomeness:
1. Night of the Iguana
2. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
3. Suddenly, Last Summer
4. A Streetcar Named Desire
So why is A Streetcar Named Desire the movie everybody sees? They're getting gypped. Seriously. Reevaluate your top ten lists, fellas. Consider how epic John Huston was. Imagine Ava Gardner in a wet t-shirt. Crippling sexual tension between Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman, for chrissakes! Katharine Hepburn playing a crazy faghag mother! Watch all these movies and tell me I'm wrong. I don't care if you disagree, but you've got to see them all.
Note: I still haven't seen The Glass Menagerie, but when I do, I will modify this list. And I'm pretty sure Jane Wyman won't disappoint if she's half as good as in a Douglas Sirk movie.
At this point I can't even give any sort of coherent criticism because these movies are all just SO AWESOME. I could write essays, I suppose, on the constructions of fragile masculinity and the crazy homophobia and the strange sexless female characters and the skewed angular cinematography and how incendiary the feminine archetypes are when pitted against each other...but that's not necessary at the moment. Here is my list of awesomeness:
1. Night of the Iguana
2. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
3. Suddenly, Last Summer
4. A Streetcar Named Desire
So why is A Streetcar Named Desire the movie everybody sees? They're getting gypped. Seriously. Reevaluate your top ten lists, fellas. Consider how epic John Huston was. Imagine Ava Gardner in a wet t-shirt. Crippling sexual tension between Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman, for chrissakes! Katharine Hepburn playing a crazy faghag mother! Watch all these movies and tell me I'm wrong. I don't care if you disagree, but you've got to see them all.
Note: I still haven't seen The Glass Menagerie, but when I do, I will modify this list. And I'm pretty sure Jane Wyman won't disappoint if she's half as good as in a Douglas Sirk movie.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Peau d'Ane (Donkey Skin)
Um...this is about as weird as a musical gets. First, the credits: Directed by Jacques Demy (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The Young Girls of Rochefort) and starring Catherine Deneuve (you may have heard of her), Jean Marais (Orpheus, Beauty and the Beast), Jacques Perrin (he was Deneuve's unsuspecting soulmate in The Young Girls of Rochefort), and Delphine Seyrig (Last Year at Marienbad).
Next, the story: Donkey Skin begins with a beautiful king, his beautiful queen, their beautiful daughter, and a prosperous kingdom. The kingdom is prosperous because of a magic donkey that shits gold. Really. The queen falls ill, and on her deathbed makes the king promise that he will only marry a woman more beautiful and "mieux faite" than her. He goes a little crazy from grief, and after rejecting many neighboring princesses, realizes his daughter fits the bill! He asks her to marry him, and she gets rather confused because she doesn't know if marrying her father fits under the category of filial devotion.
Luckily, her fairy godmother (played deliciously campy by Seyrig) steps in and advises her that this is not the case, and that she needs to get the hell out of there. After a few failed schemes, the princess flees the country, disguised in the skin of said magic donkey. She takes a job as a scullery maid in a nearby land, a prince falls madly in love with her, and the rest is evident.
Fucked up fairy tale aside, the magic of this movie is in the details. It is, in many ways, an homage to the cinematic tricks and styles of Jean Cocteau (perhaps one of the reasons why Marais did this film), as well as Cocteau's preoccupation with archetypes and fairy tales. The film is full of whimsical sets, rich sets, slow motion, reverse motion, and retro Méliès-style jump cuts. There are several anachronistic jokes, as well as references to other strange fairy tales penned by Charles Perrault.
Most importantly: this is a musical! Cocteau, if he had lived longer, might have graced us with a musical. We'll never know. But Demy does his best to rectify that with a catchy, eery score by Michel Legrand (he did several other Demy films, as well as pretty much everything else under the sun).
Lastly, the critique: Though this movie was entertaining and certainly original, it wasn't nearly as luminous or emotionally resonant as the Cocteau films it honors. Nor is it even up to par with other Demy films. I was genuinely amused by the satirical moments, but what I love about Cocteau's fantasies is the depth of absorption I experience, even in the most clichéd of tales, like Beauty and the Beast. Cocteau understands archetypes so well, and the proto-emotions that still ring true from fairy tales. Demy might have plumbed a lot more depth in this story than the facile Freudian jokes that are easily divined. There also were not nearly enough musical numbers...I believe there were only three or four, and several were reprises. Perhaps Demy was working on a tighter budget than in the 60s?
Next, the story: Donkey Skin begins with a beautiful king, his beautiful queen, their beautiful daughter, and a prosperous kingdom. The kingdom is prosperous because of a magic donkey that shits gold. Really. The queen falls ill, and on her deathbed makes the king promise that he will only marry a woman more beautiful and "mieux faite" than her. He goes a little crazy from grief, and after rejecting many neighboring princesses, realizes his daughter fits the bill! He asks her to marry him, and she gets rather confused because she doesn't know if marrying her father fits under the category of filial devotion.
Luckily, her fairy godmother (played deliciously campy by Seyrig) steps in and advises her that this is not the case, and that she needs to get the hell out of there. After a few failed schemes, the princess flees the country, disguised in the skin of said magic donkey. She takes a job as a scullery maid in a nearby land, a prince falls madly in love with her, and the rest is evident.
Fucked up fairy tale aside, the magic of this movie is in the details. It is, in many ways, an homage to the cinematic tricks and styles of Jean Cocteau (perhaps one of the reasons why Marais did this film), as well as Cocteau's preoccupation with archetypes and fairy tales. The film is full of whimsical sets, rich sets, slow motion, reverse motion, and retro Méliès-style jump cuts. There are several anachronistic jokes, as well as references to other strange fairy tales penned by Charles Perrault.
Most importantly: this is a musical! Cocteau, if he had lived longer, might have graced us with a musical. We'll never know. But Demy does his best to rectify that with a catchy, eery score by Michel Legrand (he did several other Demy films, as well as pretty much everything else under the sun).
Lastly, the critique: Though this movie was entertaining and certainly original, it wasn't nearly as luminous or emotionally resonant as the Cocteau films it honors. Nor is it even up to par with other Demy films. I was genuinely amused by the satirical moments, but what I love about Cocteau's fantasies is the depth of absorption I experience, even in the most clichéd of tales, like Beauty and the Beast. Cocteau understands archetypes so well, and the proto-emotions that still ring true from fairy tales. Demy might have plumbed a lot more depth in this story than the facile Freudian jokes that are easily divined. There also were not nearly enough musical numbers...I believe there were only three or four, and several were reprises. Perhaps Demy was working on a tighter budget than in the 60s?
Friday, April 3, 2009
Synecdoche, New York
Normally I would write my own review, but after an excruciating evening of watching this movie with Annie, I pretty much agree with everything Stephanie Zacharek says:
http://www.salon.com/ent/movies/review/2008/10/24/synecdoche/
Except for what she says about Claire--I think Kauffman actually wrote Claire to be a rather unsympathetic character, not someone fragile (nor do I think Williams is a "fragile" sort of actress), someone we're supposed to ridicule because she's the kind of theatre actress who isn't as smart as the plays she plays and because she has no idea how self-centered she is. That bugged me in the movie. It seemed petty.
I don't exactly agree with Zacharek about the potential the movie had, because I really liked Eternal Sunshine and Adaptation. I think those movies did have emotional resonance, even as they got so meta they made my eyes roll. I think if Synecdoche had been reined in somewhat and taken one direction instead of another, I might have liked it more. Synecdoche reminds me, in that sense, of The Science of Sleep, which I still really like but feel is lacking in many ways. In both instances a very unique screenwriter took a hand at directing their own work and kind of ran away with themselves.
http://www.salon.com/ent/movies/review/2008/10/24/synecdoche/
Except for what she says about Claire--I think Kauffman actually wrote Claire to be a rather unsympathetic character, not someone fragile (nor do I think Williams is a "fragile" sort of actress), someone we're supposed to ridicule because she's the kind of theatre actress who isn't as smart as the plays she plays and because she has no idea how self-centered she is. That bugged me in the movie. It seemed petty.
I don't exactly agree with Zacharek about the potential the movie had, because I really liked Eternal Sunshine and Adaptation. I think those movies did have emotional resonance, even as they got so meta they made my eyes roll. I think if Synecdoche had been reined in somewhat and taken one direction instead of another, I might have liked it more. Synecdoche reminds me, in that sense, of The Science of Sleep, which I still really like but feel is lacking in many ways. In both instances a very unique screenwriter took a hand at directing their own work and kind of ran away with themselves.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Ghost Town
Ricky Gervais is invariably hilarious, and I rather like Téa Leoni, but why oh why did this movie have to get so unbearably sappy toward the end? It had a lot going for it, I liked the dynamic between them, and then the nausea kicked in. What a shame. If you can, watch the first hour and turn it off, and I'll tell you the shocking secret--they end up together at the end. The best part of a romantic comedy is the meet-cute, anyway, and that's no different in Ghost Town, despite the silly semi-supernatural plot.
Happy Go Lucky
The latest installment from Mike Leigh was not what I expected. Even after reading the reviews, I kept thinking, "something horrible has gotta happen...where's the social drama?" That ended up adding some serious suspense to two key moments in the movie, which I won't divulge because I hate giving away plot. It actually made the movie more exciting to watch, knowing the kind of movies Leigh has made previously and having my audience expectations subverted.
So what is Happy Go Lucky really about? It really is about being happy. The main character, Polly, played by Sally Hawkins (whom you may recognize from Vera Drake or a deliciously bad lesbian BBC miniseries, Fingersmith), is truly a happy person. Through interactions with her friends, flirting, confrontations with family, and especially when she's alone, we realize that we cannot rationalize away her happiness as we are wont to do, thinking to ourselves, "oh, she's just being cheerful...he's just repressing things...she's gotta be faking it." Polly really is happy, and the reactions of people around her are astonishingly accurate and damning.
Why do we hate happy people? Why do we think they're so smug, and that they're rubbing their happiness in our faces? Why do we balk whenever anyone asks, "Are you happy?" These are all questions Leigh tackles in Happy Go Lucky, and I really admire the sharp observations he makes. I also loved the tone of the movie...not a lot happens, but it's always engaging, and the dialogue is very well-written.
Two things I really, really liked about this movie, aside from the fact that somebody managed to make life-affirming movie that doesn't make me gag but has quite a bit of substance, are the Buffalo '66-esque scenes with the driving instructor, which become so tragic toward the end, and the rather poetic moments where Polly is alone and observing the world around her. Through most of the movie, Polly talks a mile a minute and says cringe-worthy, awkward-yet-charming things, and when she lets up from the barrage, it feels like a breath of fresh air, and in those moments Polly's character takes on such depth that I can't believe I ever thought she was one-dimensional.
I highly recommend this movie. It might be one of the best I've seen all year. It's so original and well-filmed and well-acted and unusual--a happy-go-lucky film that doesn't leave a bad taste in one's mouth afterwards. Definitely give it a try.
So what is Happy Go Lucky really about? It really is about being happy. The main character, Polly, played by Sally Hawkins (whom you may recognize from Vera Drake or a deliciously bad lesbian BBC miniseries, Fingersmith), is truly a happy person. Through interactions with her friends, flirting, confrontations with family, and especially when she's alone, we realize that we cannot rationalize away her happiness as we are wont to do, thinking to ourselves, "oh, she's just being cheerful...he's just repressing things...she's gotta be faking it." Polly really is happy, and the reactions of people around her are astonishingly accurate and damning.
Why do we hate happy people? Why do we think they're so smug, and that they're rubbing their happiness in our faces? Why do we balk whenever anyone asks, "Are you happy?" These are all questions Leigh tackles in Happy Go Lucky, and I really admire the sharp observations he makes. I also loved the tone of the movie...not a lot happens, but it's always engaging, and the dialogue is very well-written.
Two things I really, really liked about this movie, aside from the fact that somebody managed to make life-affirming movie that doesn't make me gag but has quite a bit of substance, are the Buffalo '66-esque scenes with the driving instructor, which become so tragic toward the end, and the rather poetic moments where Polly is alone and observing the world around her. Through most of the movie, Polly talks a mile a minute and says cringe-worthy, awkward-yet-charming things, and when she lets up from the barrage, it feels like a breath of fresh air, and in those moments Polly's character takes on such depth that I can't believe I ever thought she was one-dimensional.
I highly recommend this movie. It might be one of the best I've seen all year. It's so original and well-filmed and well-acted and unusual--a happy-go-lucky film that doesn't leave a bad taste in one's mouth afterwards. Definitely give it a try.
Gran Torino
I was surprised by how much I liked this movie. At this point I feel like the only roles Eastwood can profit from are the ones that deconstruct his persona. I can't imagine him playing a role that separates him from it, but a role that draws from it, and comments on it, and uses it wisely is immensely satisfying to watch. Eastwood's persona, and his deft directing of his own persona without loads of unnecessary ego (which only makes Clint Eastwood even more awesome), manage to streamline the characterization and distract from the kind of clumsy script and make the interaction between Hollywood's oldest and gruffest acting veteran and the two rookie leads incredibly moving instead of painfully sappy.
I kind of like the way Eastwood directs--it's nothing flashy, just sticks to basics, very well-controlled. It's easy to see his influences lie along the lines of John Ford and the classics. I wasn't a huge fan of the cinematography, but that may have been the streaming quality. The funny moments were the real gems of the movie: the casual interactions between Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) and his Hmong neighbors after his initial rebuttals. They were priceless. I also LOVE that they cast all nonprofessionals to play the Hmong in the movie. When they are directed well, nonprofessional actors can give such astonishing performances!
This movie also brought to light something that a lot of people may not realize about ethnic tensions in America: they won't be solved by policy in Washington. It takes baby steps in shitty Detroit suburbs and sometimes extraordinary circumstances for various ethnicities to see each other not as stereotypes, but as human beings. Gran Torino did a superb job of illustrating the plausibility of an incredibly bitter, bigoted Korean War vet actually befriending, and staunchly defending, his Asian neighbors. I really appreciated that message.
This movie also gets some points for making Annie and I cry at the end, simultaneously, so that we turned to each other and each got kind of embarrassed. It's a real tearjerker.
I kind of like the way Eastwood directs--it's nothing flashy, just sticks to basics, very well-controlled. It's easy to see his influences lie along the lines of John Ford and the classics. I wasn't a huge fan of the cinematography, but that may have been the streaming quality. The funny moments were the real gems of the movie: the casual interactions between Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) and his Hmong neighbors after his initial rebuttals. They were priceless. I also LOVE that they cast all nonprofessionals to play the Hmong in the movie. When they are directed well, nonprofessional actors can give such astonishing performances!
This movie also brought to light something that a lot of people may not realize about ethnic tensions in America: they won't be solved by policy in Washington. It takes baby steps in shitty Detroit suburbs and sometimes extraordinary circumstances for various ethnicities to see each other not as stereotypes, but as human beings. Gran Torino did a superb job of illustrating the plausibility of an incredibly bitter, bigoted Korean War vet actually befriending, and staunchly defending, his Asian neighbors. I really appreciated that message.
This movie also gets some points for making Annie and I cry at the end, simultaneously, so that we turned to each other and each got kind of embarrassed. It's a real tearjerker.
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