Sunday, December 27, 2009
Avatar
An experience not to be missed, James Cameron’s long-awaited, super-expensive venture into 3-D is a mélange of movies you’ve seen before, presented in a way you’ve never seen. At first I was aware of the 3-D lenses themselves, with their layers perceptible like floaters in one’s eyeball, but then I was simply immersed into a swooning depth of field as an alien world was penetrated, and finally the dimensions resolved simply into a more rounded way of viewing things, aside from a few “duck! here it comes!” moments. Blending Cousteau with Costner, eye-popping (un)nature documentary with primitive parable, all-over-the-place parallels to contemporary politics with gameboy blasting away, this film has something for everybody, but ultimately too much and too little to make it the future of film. It’s cowboys and Indians, it’s interstellar space opera, it’s ecological fable and New Age spiritualism, it’s kick-ass battle scenes and cross-species love story. It’s too much, but it’s quite a ride. You’d be well advised to respond, “I see you.” (On the other hand, you wouldn’t be amiss if you left the movie when Sigourney Weaver does, unless you’re a connoisseur of explosions and mayhem.) Another technological breakthrough of this film is in the evolution of the CGI technique of “performance capture,” to the point where an actor can be slipped seamlessly into the skin of an alien being. This is not a development I would expect to be thrilled by, but is in fact pretty thrilling. It doubles down on the meaning of the word "avatar." The story of this film is that the story and the characters are sort of beside the point, but when it comes to production values, it can’t be beat. (2009, Beacon) *8-* (MC-83)
Documentaries on parade
A heterogeneous assortment of documentaries continues to pass in review before my eyes, each of which I can recommend if you’re interested, and one I urge upon you even if you think you’re not.
If, for example, you’re interested in avant-garde favorite Guy Maddin, his quasi-documentary My Winnipeg (2007, dvd, MC-84) is a good place to start. His style is in place – fragmented, fantastical, in blurry black & white – but well suited to rendering a whimsical and wistful portrait of the city he has never been able to escape, where sleepwalking is a way of life and the winter never ends. The film comprises archival footage of Manitoban history and campy dramatic recreations of Maddin’s life with an overpowering mother, along with repeated scenes of “Maddin” sleeping on a train that is supposed to be taking him out of town at last. One suspects that much of the history is made up, fact melding into fantasy, but it seems a true portrait of this on-the-frontier, north-of-the-border city where radicalism meets somnambulism. And the lament for lost landmarks of the filmmaker’s youth, whether downtown department store or hockey arena, is poignant and true. I’m a fan of first-person documentaries -- “Self-Portraits in Cinema” as I called them in a series at the Clark some years ago -- and My Winnipeg offers a novel twist, an excellent companion piece to the recent Of Time and the City by Terence Davies.
One respectfully-received self-portrait that I do not recommend is The Windmill Movie, which noted Harvard documentarian Richard P. Rogers (The Midwife’s Tale, among many others) worked on for 25 years and left unfinished (or barely started) when he died of brain cancer. At the request of his wife, the celebrated photographer Susan Meiselas, protégé Alexander Olch reviewed all the footage and put together this homage. Though I personally tend to be tolerant toward cinematic navel-gazing, this film does not, despite some striking moments, break out of the self-referential into any wider significance.
Of the widest significance is Food, Inc. (2009, dvd, MC-80), which does an excellent job of aggregating the findings of Michael Pollan (The Omnivore’s Dilemma) and Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation) into a thorough unmasking of megacorporate agriculture, which has turned farms into horrific factories, based on monocultures sustained by cheap oil, pesticides, government subsidies, and genetic copyright enforcement, disastrous in every facet of how and what they produce. This information is out there, though thoroughly obscured by corporate lobbying and advertising, but is here put together in a concise and striking manner. The film would be entertaining if it weren’t so scary, with indelible images of just what food production has become in this country. More like the lively King Corn than the meditative Our Daily Bread, Robert Kenner’s Food Inc. offers an indictment that has to be seen to be believed, in a latter day reprise of The Jungle of Upton Sinclair. It does not just diagnose the disease, but outlines the cure, through a profile of an enthusiastic and articulate sustainably organic farmer in Virginia. Warning: this film will haunt every trip to the grocery store after you see it.
I confess that I came at The Cove (2009, dvd, MC-82), a well-reviewed plea to save the dolphins, from a slant angle. Somehow I had formed the impression that it was a faux-documentary and I kept waiting for the twist that would reveal that it was all made up. I guess I’d read that it was a documentary that turns into a thriller, and that remains the problem I have with it. Director Louie Psihoyos brings an Ocean’s Eleven caper quality to his team’s effort to film the regular, but resolutely covered-up, slaughter of dolphins in a Japanese fishing village, a by-product of the capture of performers for marine parks around the world. The dolphins that don’t have the star quality to earn big bucks in aquatic entertainment are herded into a secret cove, where they are slaughtered to be sold as whale meat, in a primitive process that turns the entire cove red with blood. If the story hadn’t been told in such a self-congratulatory way, then the tragedy would have emerged in much starker terms, through the character of Richard O’Barry, who was the original trainer for the tv series Flipper and now holds himself responsible for the fate of dolphins worldwide, freeing them from captivity wherever and however he can. So admittedly I approached this film as a hoax (like a Holocaust or global warming denier), but I blame it for failing to convince me otherwise, for seeming more like a stunt than an exposé, though the truest thing in it is the haunted look on the face of Ric O’Barry.
In Ballets Russes (2005, dvd, MC-81), Dayna Goldfine and Dan Geller craft a documentary with appeal well beyond its ostensible subject. Apart from the cogently presented dance history of the competing companies that vied for the mantle of Diaghilev from the Thirties through the Fifties, the hook here is the juxtaposition of supremely agile young bodies, shown vividly in archival footage, with their octogenarian incarnations, jumping off from a 2000 reunion of two groups that danced under the Ballet Russe banner. So we see Balanchine’s “Baby Ballerinas” in pre-adolescent exuberance and as white-haired old ladies, and it’s intrinsically fascinating and moving. Two troupes, mostly of émigré Russians, spread the gospel of dance through nonstop tours around the world, seeding local ballet companies across the globe, from Australia to Uruguay. Both the memories and the recorded performances are stirring.
If you think a film about origami would be cute at best, or at worst a deep snooze, then you have the same surprise in store that I did with the PBS “Independent Lens” presentation of Between the Folds (2008, now on dvd as well). Vanessa Gould’s film is intriguing and exhilarating, going way beyond the familiar craft of folded paper to jaw-dropping art and mind-blowing science. It comes at the subject from a variety of angles in profiling ten different people and their respective approaches to paper engineering, design, portraiture, even genetic modeling. I defy you to come away from this film without a newfound appreciation of origami -- it unfolds a whole new world.
If, for example, you’re interested in avant-garde favorite Guy Maddin, his quasi-documentary My Winnipeg (2007, dvd, MC-84) is a good place to start. His style is in place – fragmented, fantastical, in blurry black & white – but well suited to rendering a whimsical and wistful portrait of the city he has never been able to escape, where sleepwalking is a way of life and the winter never ends. The film comprises archival footage of Manitoban history and campy dramatic recreations of Maddin’s life with an overpowering mother, along with repeated scenes of “Maddin” sleeping on a train that is supposed to be taking him out of town at last. One suspects that much of the history is made up, fact melding into fantasy, but it seems a true portrait of this on-the-frontier, north-of-the-border city where radicalism meets somnambulism. And the lament for lost landmarks of the filmmaker’s youth, whether downtown department store or hockey arena, is poignant and true. I’m a fan of first-person documentaries -- “Self-Portraits in Cinema” as I called them in a series at the Clark some years ago -- and My Winnipeg offers a novel twist, an excellent companion piece to the recent Of Time and the City by Terence Davies.
One respectfully-received self-portrait that I do not recommend is The Windmill Movie, which noted Harvard documentarian Richard P. Rogers (The Midwife’s Tale, among many others) worked on for 25 years and left unfinished (or barely started) when he died of brain cancer. At the request of his wife, the celebrated photographer Susan Meiselas, protégé Alexander Olch reviewed all the footage and put together this homage. Though I personally tend to be tolerant toward cinematic navel-gazing, this film does not, despite some striking moments, break out of the self-referential into any wider significance.
Of the widest significance is Food, Inc. (2009, dvd, MC-80), which does an excellent job of aggregating the findings of Michael Pollan (The Omnivore’s Dilemma) and Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation) into a thorough unmasking of megacorporate agriculture, which has turned farms into horrific factories, based on monocultures sustained by cheap oil, pesticides, government subsidies, and genetic copyright enforcement, disastrous in every facet of how and what they produce. This information is out there, though thoroughly obscured by corporate lobbying and advertising, but is here put together in a concise and striking manner. The film would be entertaining if it weren’t so scary, with indelible images of just what food production has become in this country. More like the lively King Corn than the meditative Our Daily Bread, Robert Kenner’s Food Inc. offers an indictment that has to be seen to be believed, in a latter day reprise of The Jungle of Upton Sinclair. It does not just diagnose the disease, but outlines the cure, through a profile of an enthusiastic and articulate sustainably organic farmer in Virginia. Warning: this film will haunt every trip to the grocery store after you see it.
I confess that I came at The Cove (2009, dvd, MC-82), a well-reviewed plea to save the dolphins, from a slant angle. Somehow I had formed the impression that it was a faux-documentary and I kept waiting for the twist that would reveal that it was all made up. I guess I’d read that it was a documentary that turns into a thriller, and that remains the problem I have with it. Director Louie Psihoyos brings an Ocean’s Eleven caper quality to his team’s effort to film the regular, but resolutely covered-up, slaughter of dolphins in a Japanese fishing village, a by-product of the capture of performers for marine parks around the world. The dolphins that don’t have the star quality to earn big bucks in aquatic entertainment are herded into a secret cove, where they are slaughtered to be sold as whale meat, in a primitive process that turns the entire cove red with blood. If the story hadn’t been told in such a self-congratulatory way, then the tragedy would have emerged in much starker terms, through the character of Richard O’Barry, who was the original trainer for the tv series Flipper and now holds himself responsible for the fate of dolphins worldwide, freeing them from captivity wherever and however he can. So admittedly I approached this film as a hoax (like a Holocaust or global warming denier), but I blame it for failing to convince me otherwise, for seeming more like a stunt than an exposé, though the truest thing in it is the haunted look on the face of Ric O’Barry.
In Ballets Russes (2005, dvd, MC-81), Dayna Goldfine and Dan Geller craft a documentary with appeal well beyond its ostensible subject. Apart from the cogently presented dance history of the competing companies that vied for the mantle of Diaghilev from the Thirties through the Fifties, the hook here is the juxtaposition of supremely agile young bodies, shown vividly in archival footage, with their octogenarian incarnations, jumping off from a 2000 reunion of two groups that danced under the Ballet Russe banner. So we see Balanchine’s “Baby Ballerinas” in pre-adolescent exuberance and as white-haired old ladies, and it’s intrinsically fascinating and moving. Two troupes, mostly of émigré Russians, spread the gospel of dance through nonstop tours around the world, seeding local ballet companies across the globe, from Australia to Uruguay. Both the memories and the recorded performances are stirring.
If you think a film about origami would be cute at best, or at worst a deep snooze, then you have the same surprise in store that I did with the PBS “Independent Lens” presentation of Between the Folds (2008, now on dvd as well). Vanessa Gould’s film is intriguing and exhilarating, going way beyond the familiar craft of folded paper to jaw-dropping art and mind-blowing science. It comes at the subject from a variety of angles in profiling ten different people and their respective approaches to paper engineering, design, portraiture, even genetic modeling. I defy you to come away from this film without a newfound appreciation of origami -- it unfolds a whole new world.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Julie & Julia
One more two-word recommendation: Meryl Streep – ’nuff said. It’s not that I have any familiarity with the real Julia Child, but Streep’s embodiment of her is pure joy in itself, deep and funny. Stanley Tucci is the perfect accompaniment, a delicious side dish as Julia’s husband. The critical consensus is correct -- one half of this dual story thoroughly outshines the other. As appealing as Amy Adams is, I found her vaguely annoying in the role of Julie, a would-be writer dying on the vine in Queens until she gets the idea of cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking in 365 days, and blogging about it the while. Of her husband, it is kinder to say nothing. Nora Ephron negotiates the back and forth reasonably well, but 1949 Paris comes though much more engagingly than 2002 New York. Just so, one delightful portrait of an unlikely marriage -- between a fluting giantess and her small bald husband -- renders the other completely superfluous. (2009, dvd) *7-* (MC-66)
A Christmas Tale [etc.]
This French holiday feast from Arnaud Desplechin is de trop – too much packed in, too many characters and story threads, too many stylistic hijinks, too many references and allusions. As stuffed as it is, this repast requires a second helping, just too dense and yet diffuse to take in at a single sitting. A family gathers for Christmas in the provincial city of Roubaix, where the mother is diagnosed with leukemia and requires a bone marrow transplant from a compatible donor. Is anyone in this family really compatible? The mother (Catherine Deneuve) is regal and remote, the father is troll-like but genial, and the kids are messed up, largely it seems because their elder brother died at the age of six. The elder sister (Anne Consigny) has banished one of the brothers from the family, for reasons that remain hard to fathom, though goodness knows the Mathieu Amalric character would be enough to try anyone’s patience. Melvil Poupard is the younger brother, married to Chiara Mastrioanni (in one of the many inside jokes of the film, her real mother – Deneuve – dismisses her as boring, but I loved to watch her performance and see the genes of her famous parents express themselves in the play of her face). Desplechin muse Emmanuelle Devos turns up as Amalric’s girlfriend. So the movie has real Gallic star power to go with its familiar set-up, plus all the Truffaut, Nietzsche, Shakespeare – whatever – that the auteur can cram in. But unlike Olivier Assayas’ recent and not-dissimilar SummerHours, in which I understood, despite indirection and elision, exactly what each family member was thinking and feeling, here I remained on the outside looking in, however mesmerizing the scene going on behind the window of the family home. (2008, dvd) *7* (MC-84)
Another film that was a tad too French for my taste was Catherine Breillat’s The Last Mistress (2008, Sundance, MC-78). Yeah sure, l’amour fou, but the crazier the love, the less I get it. In 1830s France, a lush-lipped playboy renounces his longtime mistress, a Spanish fireball played by Asia Argento, for marriage to a virginal aristocrat. But the flamenco hottie refuses to be cast aside, even though their relationship is predicated on hate as much as love, not to mention the torrid sex on a tiger-headed rug. The film certainly looks good and has its moments, but the relationships are too kinky to make sense for the likes of me, more vampire horror than comprehensible romance, however weighted with doom.
I prefer my Frenchiness diluted a bit by British qualities, so I much preferred Cheri (2009, dvd, MC-63), Stephen Frears’ adaptation of two Colette novels. A very handsome production of the Belle Epoque, it tells of a society of aging but highly successful courtesans, as they negotiate their respective retirements. My recommendation of this film comes down to two words: Michelle Pfeiffer. At 50 she is still entrancingly beautiful, but not afraid to show her age in a longtime affair with decades-younger Rupert Friend, as the son of fellow-courtesan Kathy Bates. At barely ninety minutes, this is not a film that tries to do too much, but Michelle herself is quite enough.
Another film that was a tad too French for my taste was Catherine Breillat’s The Last Mistress (2008, Sundance, MC-78). Yeah sure, l’amour fou, but the crazier the love, the less I get it. In 1830s France, a lush-lipped playboy renounces his longtime mistress, a Spanish fireball played by Asia Argento, for marriage to a virginal aristocrat. But the flamenco hottie refuses to be cast aside, even though their relationship is predicated on hate as much as love, not to mention the torrid sex on a tiger-headed rug. The film certainly looks good and has its moments, but the relationships are too kinky to make sense for the likes of me, more vampire horror than comprehensible romance, however weighted with doom.
I prefer my Frenchiness diluted a bit by British qualities, so I much preferred Cheri (2009, dvd, MC-63), Stephen Frears’ adaptation of two Colette novels. A very handsome production of the Belle Epoque, it tells of a society of aging but highly successful courtesans, as they negotiate their respective retirements. My recommendation of this film comes down to two words: Michelle Pfeiffer. At 50 she is still entrancingly beautiful, but not afraid to show her age in a longtime affair with decades-younger Rupert Friend, as the son of fellow-courtesan Kathy Bates. At barely ninety minutes, this is not a film that tries to do too much, but Michelle herself is quite enough.
A Serious Man
One is obliged to be of two minds about Joel and Ethan Coen. They’re funny when they’re serious, and serious when funny. I tend to like them less when slick and hugely successful (Fargo; No Country for Old Men), and more when off-beat and off-hand (The Hudsucker Proxy; O Brother, Where Art Thou?). This film feels as close to home as anything they’ve ever done. Though not Jewish myself, I grew up in a Jewish community in the suburban Midwest in the Sixties, precisely as portrayed in this film. It's the extreme accuracy of this portrait that has divided critical opinion on this film, with some Jewish writers clearly uncomfortable with how close to the bone it is. I found it hilarious and spot on. Sure, the Coen boys take a little too much glee in piling the tsuris on their main character, a college math professor played by Michael Stuhlbarg, but the sheer exuberance of their storytelling with this modern-day Job supercedes their cynical nihilism. This seriously funny film makes you think while you laugh, and think about why you’re laughing. (2009, Beacon) *7+* ((MC-79. For a while I’ve been linking to the Metacritic page for films I review, but now when there is one commentator who nails my take on a given film in a way that leaves me little to add, I will link to it directly -- in this case, A.O. Scott of the NYTimes.)
This was my first trip to the new Beacon Cinema on North Street in Pittsfield. It is an impressive facility and I wish them well. The viewing experience was among the best I’ve ever had, from comfortable seats to impeccable image and sound. Too bad there seemed to be more loitering staff than patrons the evening I attended. Some legitimate disappointment has been expressed that the Beacon will be less Triplex North than Mall South in its programming, but I am hoping for some improvement in film choices after their shakedown cruise. I’m certain there’s hunger for more serious films in Central Berkshire than their current marketing plan calls for. It’s troubling that in their first month they’ve shown only one film I considered worth going to the theater for (and which I could have seen at Images at the same time), but there’s reason to hope that the year-end critical faves will get to the Berkshires quicker now. And a 3-D venue may make Avatar a must-see.
This was my first trip to the new Beacon Cinema on North Street in Pittsfield. It is an impressive facility and I wish them well. The viewing experience was among the best I’ve ever had, from comfortable seats to impeccable image and sound. Too bad there seemed to be more loitering staff than patrons the evening I attended. Some legitimate disappointment has been expressed that the Beacon will be less Triplex North than Mall South in its programming, but I am hoping for some improvement in film choices after their shakedown cruise. I’m certain there’s hunger for more serious films in Central Berkshire than their current marketing plan calls for. It’s troubling that in their first month they’ve shown only one film I considered worth going to the theater for (and which I could have seen at Images at the same time), but there’s reason to hope that the year-end critical faves will get to the Berkshires quicker now. And a 3-D venue may make Avatar a must-see.
Il Divo
Oh, those Italians! Paolo Sorrentino bids fair to join the ranks of Scorsese and Coppola, not to mention Fellini and Visconti. This autopsy on recent Italian politics through the character of Giulio Andreotti -- three-time prime minister, with high cabinet posts in four other governments, and currently at 90 still Senator for Life as he was appointed in 1991, despite conviction and then reversal for association with Mafia murders – is both opulent spectacle and sly comedy. Much of the politics and personalities will be highly confusing to the uninitiated, but the film includes a visual clue for American audiences as a key to understanding. There is a brief glimpse of a photo of the real Andreotti sitting next to Nixon in the awkward flesh. Just as an Italian wouldn’t be able to follow every Haldeman or Liddy in some film about Watergate, an American can’t follow all the factions and conflicts in Italian governments’ deadly dance with the Church and Mafia. But the central character, embodied stiffly but evocatively by Toni Servillo, inhabits the halls of power in a convincing manner. Even if one does not comprehend the political maneuvering going on, the scenes set in the Italian parliament, for example, make for a fascinating spectacle, with all the filmmaking stops pulled out for operatic effect. The eye candy carries the day even when the intellect struggles to keep up. (2009, dvd.) *7* (MC-81)
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