Finding Neverland

Thanks to Images for allowing me to catch up with this final Oscar nominee, which turned out to be a very pleasant surprise, since I have no particular feeling for Peter Pan. It might have been just treacle and tearjerk, but I found this a well-made film from top to bottom, so credit to director Marc Forster, whose Monster’s Ball I found literally unwatchable. Is there anything Johnny Depp can’t do? From the first minute I felt him fit right into the skin of J.M. Barrie, from the gentle Scots burr to the warm and liquid attention he brings to children (not to go for the dismal modern diagnosis of pedophilia that the film eschews.) Paired with her nominated performance in Sunshine, this role as winsome but doomed widow and mother of four boys would make Kate Winslet a worthy winner of the “Best Actress” Oscar. And what a brilliant inspiration to cast Julie Christie as her mother! The whole cast is marvelous, right down to “Gareth” from The Office as an usher. The Edwardian theatrical milieu is well put on, even if the storyline evinces some anachronistic emotions. On the whole, I found this to be a worthy evocation of the power of imagination. (2004, Images, n.) *7+* (MC-67, RT-84.)

Christo by Maysles marathon at the Clark

Wow, that could not have gone better! Several hundred people joined me in celebrating two pairs of artists, and the art of collaboration in itself. The five films in succession created just the epic I had in mind, growing and deepening as they went, charting the evolution of both the Christo projects and the art of direct cinema. In my intro I highlighted two words the artists attach to their own work, which apply to both: for Christo and Jeanne-Claude, the work is all about freedom, and for Albert and David Maysles, the work is all about faith. I’ve taken to describing the Christo projects as “titanic whimsies” -- capricious acts of beauty notable not just for the scale of the engineering marvel, but because their maiden voyage is always their final voyage, they sail into memory on waves of romance. I could wax rhapsodic for paragraphs on end, but will simply refer you to my op-ed piece in the Eagle last week, “Enter ‘The Gates’.” Link to it here: http://www.berkshireeagle.com/Stories/0,1413,101%257E9694%257E2717284,00.html

Oscar horserace

I’ve been polled by the Berkshire Eagle for my top Oscar choices, and this is how I replied:

Officially -- I deplore the horserace, winner-take-all mentality that has overrun our culture, this continuous oddsmaking is a symptom of moral rot, and the Oscar race is a prime example. But since you ask -- of the nominated films, The Aviator is my clear choice for “Best Picture,” though Vera Drake was certainly the best new film I saw, with Maria Full of Grace close behind. “Best Actor” really is a horserace, with five thoroughbreds in the running, wire to wire excitement, but by a nostril in a photo finish I see Jamie Foxx as Ray edging Leonardo DiCaprio as Howard Hughes. “Best Actress” also offers a pleasing choice, but being in the better film barely carries Imelda Staunton over Hilary Swank (who’s won once already and will surely get more chances.) (The mare over the filly, if I may beat a dead horse.) You didn’t ask for “Best Director” but there the choice is clearcut -- it’s Marty’s turn, Scorsese in a walk, though Mike Leigh also has a lengthy career worth honoring.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

A somewhat deflating re-viewing. The loss of wild surprise was greater than any increase in comprehension. Able in retrospect to put the story together, I was less blown away by the energy of the telling. Where the the manic visuals seemed thrilling first time through (in a first-rate theater), they began to seem a little cheesy on second look. Cleverness can sweep you away once, but second time through you look for deeper satisfactions, and I did not find them on offer here. (Unlike Charlie Kaufman’s earlier celebrated screenplay, Being John Malkovich, which grew with familiarity.) I like all the actors a lot, from Kate Winslet to Tom Wilkinson, and there are plenty of moments that are funny and inventive, and plenty of occasion to think about just what memory is, but even at its furious pace Michel Gondry’s film wants to tug hearts, and it just does not tug mine. (2004, dvd, r.) *7* (MC-89, RT-93.)

Another reconsideration: A day later I was checking out the rather lackluster extras on this dvd, when I thought to fast-forward through just to get the structure clear in my mind, and wound up revisiting various moments. Though the characterizations remain thin, the performances are solid and the structure does hold (unlike the beach house at the end.) There is a coherence to the madness. Like an amusement park ride, your first time through is wild exhilaration, then second time a letdown, and third time you begin to appreciate the makers’ intent. Not in a class with Before Sunset and Sideways, Sunshine is still among the better films of the year. Final grade: *7+*

Hotel Rwanda

Honorably-made and important, Terry George’s film tells a story that needs to be told, in a coherent if not especially dynamic manner, but it is the performance of the always-exceptional Don Cheadle that grabs you, excites your attention. Hotel Rwanda has none of the propulsive, you-are-there energy of Bloody Sunday for example, immersing you in a tense situation descending through anarchy to mayhem. Instead you sit back and admire Cheadle and his character in the Schindleresque attempt to salvage a saving remnant from the abyss of genocide. You don’t participate in the terror, face your own anguished choice. (Pardon the Kaelish “you” -- believe me, I’m no Paulette.) I confess I will usually skip over a magazine story on a distant, horrific tragedy like the Hutu massacre of the Tutsis, it’s so awful but so remote; and thus I definitely learned things from the movie that I didn’t know about this old yet ever-present news. One of the movie’s artful touches, the use of the radio to supply narration through the hateful Hutu announcer, actually conveyed an important point about armed insurgencies, why their first target will always be the available media. Thankfully the film did not become a gorefest -- a box of machetes spilling out over the floor and a snippet of newsreel seen on an editing machine were sufficient to suggest the unimaginable. And again, Cheadle really holds the film together with his portrayal of an accomplished manager trying to manage an unmanageable situation, but his choices never become our choice. To be bearable the film had to fit the story to a familiar arc, which is an inevitable falsification through wish-fulfillment. So it qualifies as edifying entertainment, but hardly suffices as a call to action in current and future situations of a lamentably similar nature. (2004, Images, n.) *7* (MC-79, RT-90)

Grey Gardens

The Maysles’ brothers obviously have a gift of empathy, and it grants them rare intimacy with their subjects. David the soundman who establishes contact and the contract of trust, and Albert the cameraman who diagnoses himself with ADD and makes it the discipline of his life to focus. With the Maysles, you’re always up close and personal. And then they always work with equally empathetic women as editors, giving them prominent credit and frequently a start on a career. The worthwhile commentary on this Criterion Collection dvd features three women who worked on the film, with David, the surviving brother, adding only an occasional observation. So this intense portrait of two fallen society ladies in a dilapidated Hamptons mansion, mother and daughter, Bouvier relatives of Jackie O, has a flavor of femininity that has endeared it to the gay community over the years, a cult fave with the fashion crowd. Big Edie, the 79-year-old singer, and Little Edie, the 56-year-old dancer, achieved notoriety when they were “raided” by local officials trying to evict them because of their overgrown gardens and derelict home to countless cats and raccoons. That brought the Maysles, whom the Bouviers immediately loved for bringing them attention and the chance to perform. People who deem this film exploitation have missed an essential component of the transaction. Sure, the old biddies may strike you as demented and embarassing, but as Little Edie addresses the camera, “You do not see me as I see myself.” Despite the endless bickering of the locked-in pair, they love each other, they love themselves, and they love their filmmakers. And boy, do they sell their performances! You have to see it to believe it, and then you have to see it again to make up your mind what you think about the characters. Which makes for a masterpiece of direct cinema, to rival the Maysles’ Salesman or Concert of Wills: The Making of the Getty Center or any of the Christo films I will be showing at the Clark this Saturday, in a marathon screening from noon to 5:30. (1976, dvd, n.) *8*

Gimme Shelter

The Maysles brothers deliver an eloquent document on a countercultural turning point, the free concert turned violent debacle at Altamont in 1969. At that time the Rolling Stones might legitimately have been “The Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Band in the World,” and the first half of the film gives them ample opportunity to stake their claim. Even when Tina Turner steals the show by performing an explicit set act on stage -- um, I mean by singing a song. My gawd, Mick was young back then, as were we all. It’s painful to watch all those communal, lion-lie-down-with-the-lamb fantasies evaporate in dark eruptions of id from the Hell’s Angels (and inanity from all the rest), while supposedly providing security but mainly exciting violence, as the band stands by helplessly. How much “sympathy for the devil” now, hunh, Mick, you “streetfighting man” from the London School of Economics? Albert Maysles’ searching camera follows the Stones into the recording studio and also into the editing room, to run over and over the footage of mayhem and murder. An impressively intimate collective portrait emerges. (1970, dvd, r.) *7+*

Crimson Gold

From two masters of Iranian cinema, with script by Abbas Kiarostami and direction by Jafar Panahi, this is another trip across the divide of cultural difference. As Iran is next on America’s “axis of evil” hit list, it is important for us to see the daily life of Teheran -- even the traffic is a revelation. Though not as winning and fully engaging as Panahi’s White Balloon or The Circle, this film is much more pointed in its critique of class division and fundamentalist enforcement. Based on a true story and starring an actual pizza deliveryman, it depicts one of the same as he makes his rounds, and is driven to the desperate and misbegotten robbery attempt that begins and ends the film. Slow and oblique, this is hardly a crowdpleaser, but remains distantly fascinating. (2003, dvd, n.) *6* (MC-81, RT-87.)

On this film, I permit myself a next day reconsideration. Let’s be honest, the glories of Iranian neorealism can be boring to eyes attuned to the speed of American filmmaking, once you get past the sheer exoticism of going behind the veil, as it were. But the strength of Kiarostami’s schema emerges in reflection after the fact, and scenes that may have seemed pointless and endless in their duration begin to seem like clear statements in a syllogism. In deference to less refined tastes, I cannot give this an unqualified recommendation, but it’s worth at least a: *7-*

Million Dollar Baby

Definitely a contender for awards across the board, this film’s makers are not the fighters I am betting on. Despite all the elements of excellence, I am bothered by the screenplay’s reliance on spoken narration (even in the mellifluous tones of Morgan Freeman) and gaping implausibilites in the storyline, though I acknowledge the argument that making it a tale told allows the mythic element to creep in. That said, Clint Eastwood has delivered a bold and thoughtful, as well as rousing and enjoyable, boxing film. Hilary Swank is the title character, all that and more, as the irrepressible and irresistible poor white trash waitress-turned-boxer, who finally enlists the reluctant Eastwood as her trainer, at the gentle prodding of his oldtime sidekick Freeman. The film calls up those tried-and-half-true Rocky emotions and then turns them on their head. I’ve never been a particular Eastwood fan, his worldview too punishingly grim for my taste (except when it was just the thing to cut the treacle of The Bridges of Madison County), but there’s no denying that he has latterly developed into a major director as well as a fearless actor. (2004, AMC Theater, n.) *7+* (MC-86, RT-92)

The Aviator

Now that’s my idea of a “Best Picture,” and not just because it’s Marty’s turn. I had no idea Howard Hughes could be such an interesting character, genuinely the aviator of the title, not just the billionaire weirdo recluse he became, and Leonardo DiCaprio superbly embodies his charm and drive. (The character’s forceful passion for flight, and his ability to back up his ideas with energy, made me think of my good old friend, Tom Krens, director of the Guggenheim, the only world-class Archimedean mover that I know personally.) And Hughes’ high-flying passion is matched by Scorsese in his daring, go-for-broke direction. He outdoes his undervalued New York, New York in three singing and dancing scenes set in LA’s Cocoanut Grove nightclub over the span of two decades. He orchestrates several exciting and even witty plane crashes. He sweeps in passing characters from Jude Law as Errol Flynn to Alec Baldwin as the head of a rival airline and Alan Alda as his bought and paid for senator. Cate is no Kate, but once you get past the mismatch in mimicry, Blanchett gives a very effective performance as Hepburn, who was herself all performance. Kate Beckinsale was a weird choice to play Ava Gardner, but also brings a sense of the personality if not the person of the star. The whole movie is saturated with movie love, which makes it a likely favorite with the Academy and almost forgives the film’s major flaw, its lifting from Citizen Kane of a Rosebud-like motif to explain Hughes’ descent into madness, his mother’s quasi-erotic warning against cooties. Much better if the film had merely observed the gradual incursions of obsessive-compulsive mania, instead of offering a facile explanation. One thing The Aviator does very well is demonstrate the thesis of Malcolm Gladwell’s book of the moment, Blink, which argues that decisions made instantly, almost impulsively, can be better than carefully reasoned decisions. Watch DiCaprio as Hughes look at blueprints and see him make instant decisions. At other times, watch the circuits overload and see him go into manic repetition of phrases like “show me all the blueprints.” Scorsese draws the two traits into connection by using whiteouts to convey the mental transition into total understanding or breakdown. DiCaprio and Scorsese do not make Hughes into an understandable or appealing character, but do give him (and the film) a compelling, outsized energy. (2004, AMC Theater, n.) *9-* (MC-77, RT-89)

Reminder: Christo film marathon at Clark 2/19

I'll be away for a few days, culminating with a pilgrimage to Central Park on Sunday to walk through "The Gates," but before going I want to reiterate the invitation to join me next weekend at the Clark for a long journey of artistic and cinematic exploration:

THE CLARK WRAPS UP CHRISTO

On Saturday, February 19, from noon to 5:30 p.m., Clark Art Institute will present a continuous marathon screening of five documentaries made by Albert Maysles and associates over three decades, about the massive but ephemeral art projects of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. The latest environmental project of this challenging pair of artists, “The Gates” in New York City’s Central Park, is scheduled to unfurl on February 12 and transform the center of Manhattan for two weeks.

These five films represent an extraordinary sustained collaboration between artists and filmmakers, and they are the most immediate record imaginable of some of the very greatest works of contemporary art. The Maysles brothers were pioneers of direct cinema, best known for Gimme Shelter and Salesman, and the combination of their intimate access and subtle storytelling skills offer an unprecedented perspective on an immensely complicated artistic process.

The Maysles have noted: “The Christos come up with an idea that at first seems impossible, then let it grow; so do we. . . The Christos’ projects and our films are both outrageous acts of faith.”

Each of these acclaimed films stands as the permanent record of lengthy planning and fleeting beauty, of political wrangles and emotional commitments, and of the transforming effect of the Christos’ projects on their varied sites and various viewers, both rural and urban, both art sophisticates and ordinary skeptics, across many different cultural divides.

The Clark’s program will begin at noon with a brief introduction to the collaborative careers of Christo and Jeanne-Claude, as well as the Maysles brothers. An excerpt will be shown from the Maysles’ film in progress, about “The Gates,” and this lineup of films will follow:

12:30: Christo’s Valley Curtain. (1974, 28 minutes.) Academy Award-nominated short about the hanging of a huge orange curtain between two Colorado mountains.

1:00: Running Fence. (1978, 58 minutes.) The building of a 25-mile, 18-foot-high fence of white fabric across the hills of northern California.

2:00 Islands. (1986, 57 minutes.) The political and physical struggle to surround eleven islands in Miami’s Biscayne Bay with acres of bright pink fabric.

3:00 Christo in Paris. (1990, 58 minutes.) The wrapping of the Pont Neuf across the Seine, which provides the occasion for Christo and Jeanne-Claude to revisit the history of their relationship.

4:00 Umbrellas. (1995, 81 minutes.) Thousands of immense umbrellas opening simultaneously, blue in a rice-farming valley of Japan, yellow across the arid hills of southern California.

“5 Films about Christo and Jeanne-Claude” is available in a boxed set of 3 DVDs with an informative booklet, and will be for sale in the Clark Museum Shop.

Casque d'Or

I’ve been looking for this for a while, thinking the Renoir-esque setting would make it appropriate to show at the Clark sometime, and the indispensible Criterion Collection has delivered a beautiful print, with worthwhile dvd extras. Jacques Becker’s tale of the Parisian underworld in 1898 is funny, moving, and unpredictable. With ladies of pleasure and gentlemen of crime cavorting in riverside dancehalls, and dives where the wealthy go slumming, the film offers a whirling merry-go-round of classic French characters, led by the “golden-helmeted” Simone Signoret as the saucy, radiant tart with a whim of iron and Serge Reggiani as the ex-con-turned-carpenter with whom the sparks fly, with Claude Dauphin as the double-crossing gang leader. It’s the old story of honor and dishonor among thieves, and the even older story of love at first sight, artfully interwoven in a sprightly yet subtle waltz to the guillotine. (1952, dvd, n.) *8*

I'm Going Home

A slight, late work from nonagenarian Manoel de Oliviera, reputed to be Portugal’s greatest director. This story of an old actor played by Michel Piccoli is short but slow, and yet still very watchable. My problem is summed up in Oliveira’s own words, “The cinema does not exist. Theatre exists. Cinema is a way of capturing it.” Like an old guy with nothing left to prove, he lives according to his dictum. Much of this film captures Piccoli acting on stage, or finally (and improbably) on a film set. But what really makes it breathe are scenes of streets, parks, and cafes in Paris. There is some wit and some point in, for example, shooting a whole dialogue sequence focussed on the new shoes that are the topic of the conversation, rather than on the faces of the conversants. The framings are almost always unusual, what’s included, what’s excluded, suggesting a past master who doesn’t have to give a damn anymore what viewers think or want. Piccoli is poignant and revelatory, but the film is ultimately more schematic than plausible, more stagebound than real. Catherine Deneuve and John Malkovich have bit parts, testament to Oliviera’s emeritus status. (2001, dvd, n.) *6* (MC-86, RT-96.)

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All This, and Heaven Too

Bette Davis back again, from the year previous to the previous film reviewed, with a character twenty years younger, a governess in the household of Charles Boyer, a duke in the Bourbon restoration, just before the revolution of 1848. A genuine star, always a sight to behold, she supplies most of the interest in this overstuffed film from Anatole Litvak. Boyer obviously got his role in this film based on Mayerling, also revolving around a murder/suicide, but here his performance is stiff and lacks dimension. The film’s provenance in a popular novel, one of the infinite progeny of Jane Eyre, makes for a shapeless, baggy, draggy melodrama, with some good elements that might show through better if it were a half-hour shorter. And what does that title refer to anyway? (1940, TCM/T, n.) *5+*

The Little Foxes

Really very good -- how did I miss this for so many years? William Wyler successfully cinematizes Lillian Hellman’s play, with able assistance from cinematographer Gregg Toland, working the same deep-focus magic he did on Citizen Kane just before. The pack of yapping predators denoted in the title are two brothers and a sister scheming for wealth in the Deep South of 1900. Bette Davis plays Regina as one of the iciest bitches in the history of movies. Herbert Marshall is her husband with a troubled heart, and the always-appealing Teresa Wright makes her film debut as their daughter. The rest of the cast, black and white, fill their roles admirably. None of it is very subtle, but still theatrically satisfying in its portrayal of revolting and triumphant greed. (1941, TCM/T, n.) *8*

Kill Bill: Volumes 1 & 2

Quentin Tarantino confesses it’s “not about real life, it’s just about other movies,” which is damaging enough, but worse given that I have seen so few of the movies it’s about. (Leone yes, chopsocky no, e.g.) I appreciate the energy and passion with which the Kill Bill epic is made, and there is an undeniable excitement to it, both visually and aurally. And it doesn’t hurt to structure your film around a physical object like Uma Thurman, though as an actress she’s capable of a lot more truth than she gets to show here. Anyway, I watched this martial arts Western, foxy lady revenge fantasy against my natural inclination, more or less to confirm my exclusion of Tarantino from my “Dozen Directors Under 50” film series. I didn’t hate it, but didn’t like it either. But if this is what the art of film comes down to, then I’m not particularly interested, unwilling to invest my time and attention in such. My feeling, of course, is that film can get a lot closer to real life, and the more it does so, the better. (2003/4, dvd, n.) *5* (MC-83, RT-83.)

Welcome to my blog!

Greetings if you were led here by my column on the editorial page of today's Berkshire Eagle. If not, then this link will lead you to it: http://www.berkshireeagle.com/Stories/0,1413,101%257E9694%257E2694727,00.html

A word about my rating system: First, let me emphasize its subjectivity. The numerical grade represents my response to a specific viewing under specific conditions. It is an index of my own enthusiasm. It will naturally change for a given film, from viewing to re-viewing. I won't be falsely modest about my critical acumen, but neither will I be taken to be applying some sort of objective grade. (When available I will also include Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes critical consensus scores, for the sake of "objective" comparison.)

On my 10 point scale, *10* equals A+, *9* equals A, and so forth. *7* (B+) is my threshold of confident recommendation. Anything less than *5* I consider unworthy of my time.

Stella Dallas

This melodrama has a lot going for it: time-tested tearjerker material in the tale of a mother’s love and sacrifice, more than competent direction from veteran King Vidor, a fascinating time-capsule of Depression-era class attitudes, some of the most hideous costumes ever to adorn a Hollywood star, and of course the star herself in Barbara Stanwyck’s career-defining role (despite the diverse impact she made in The Lady Eve and Double Indemnity and many others.) She’s quite a dame. Both a presence and an actress. A millgirl in “Millhampton, Massachusetts,” she manages to latch on to Steve Dallas, son of a ruined millionaire, now reduced to office work. They soon separate, mostly due to class difference, but remain attached through a daughter (played very well as she grows up by Anne Shirley, in what could have been a cloying role.) The hubby hooks up again with the nice, rich young widow to whom he was engaged till his father’s suicide, and the new couple can offer the delightfully blossoming Laurel advantages her embarassing though beloved mother can’t. Cue the strings for maternal sacrifice, smiling bravely through the tears. (1937, TCM/T, n.) *7*

He Got Game

Spike got game, no question about it. What he ain’t got is discipline and finish, always with the french pastry, wows the crowd but may never be a champ. He obviously identifies with Earl the Pearl, who gets a an extended tribute scene in the middle of the movie, the “Black Jesus” of the Philly playground, who won his championship only when the Knicks shackled his game. Now that man could create. Denzel Washington (magnetic as always) plays Jake Shuttlesworth, and Ray Allen (believable as a player if not entirely as an character) is his son, Jesus, the #1 high school prospect in the country. Jake’s in Attica (for the drunken but accidental murder of his wife) but the governor will let him out if he gets Jesus to go to Big State. Real coaches and players mix with magic realist elements in a generous celebration and expose of basketball and its place in American culture. The counter-intuitive use of Aaron Copland’s music is indicative of Spike Lee’s try-anything approach to filmmaking, but also of the mixed success of his methods. (With Malcolm X out of contention because of its 3 1/2 hour length, seeing this confirms 4 Little Girls as the best choice to represent Spike in my Dozen Directors film series, his most perfectly realized film, a documentary that nonetheless recapitulates the major themes of his features.) (1998, dvd, r.) *7*