Driver! Follow that pedestrian! … Metropolitan

I have discovered a new cinematic character worth quoting and his name is Nick Smith. Ever since Criterion decided to release a couple Whit Stillman films, I was intrigued to find out exactly what made them ‘worthy’ of the slightly slanted ‘C’ seal of approval. The artwork alone piqued my interest with its hand drawn aristocratic aesthetic, but it was the mystery of having never really heard the name before that truly drew me in. Next thing I knew, his debut Metropolitan was available for viewing in HD, so I took the plunge and am glad I did. I’ll admit to being a bit cautious when the credits began with the word ‘introducing’—I did not think the film would be populated by first-time actors—however, as soon as Chris Eigeman’s Nick Smith appeared, begging to share a cab with Edward Clements’ Tom Townsend so as to forgo any ill will, I knew I’d be in good hands. You see, the acting doesn’t really play a huge role in the film at all—not that it is bad, these are spoiled rich kids, so the stilted performances work because they were all trying to be proper and fit in the debutante life. What resonates and lingers is the magnificent and memorable script. Equal parts intelligent and witty, I was enraptured by every word these pompous preppies, I mean UHBs, uttered.

Here is a generation of college kids at the end of the 80s, drifting through Christmas vacation from dance party to after party, showing that all you need is a suit coat, a black tie, a white tie, and a cursory knowledge of what it means to be intelligent, (not necessarily being intelligent yourself), in order to survive the boredom and loneliness of upper class life. Or do the parties and late night debates themselves epitomize tiresome boredom? One of the best exchanges in the film comes towards the end when Sally Fowler, the unofficial hostess of this clique tells Tom that they can’t get together with the same people every night for the rest of their lives. In response, Tom dejectedly replies, “I wish you would have told me this before I joined in”. These people only exist in so much as they accept each other. You don’t even have to like your fellow attendees, as long as you can wax poetic with them, about them, or despite them. In the end, it all really comes down to numbers. There must be enough male escorts for female members, and of course a multiple of four to play bridge. Who fills the quota is inconsequential … even, God forbid, a West Side resident low on cash can join the fun.

But, is this class of America’s youth doomed for failure? Through all the blow-hard conversations and political debate, one topic crops up over and over again—do kids raised in the upper class have a destiny to never succeed? And if so, what is the definition of failure? As Taylor Nichols’ Charlie Black relays, if something ceases to be, it has thus failed. This is countered by Tom’s point of view on the fact that everything ceases to be at some point, it doesn’t mean everything is a failure. Maybe things just go out of favor despite their success, who knows? One can’t help but feel a little helpless, though, when looking into a mirror aged ten years or so, listening to your future at the bar in the guise of man full of regret. He tells the boys that the true acid test of success is whether you take pleasure in the question, “What do you do?” He for one can’t bear it, despite a good paycheck and standard of living. Was he doomed to that fact because of his background though? He doesn’t think so; after all, some people he went to school with became well known success stories. Charlie’s cynical answer to that, “They must not have been true UHBs; there must have been another factor involved”.

Every one of these kids is completely wrapped up in their own social standing. They hate ‘titled’ aristocrats, but not ‘untitled’ ones, (how can you despise yourself after all?); their egos are so bloated that it becomes arrogant to worry about the less fortunate, (because you then in turn show that you are fortunate); and even reading literature is above most when you can stick to literary criticism and learn whether it’s good or bad despite its own merits, (“You don’t need to read a book to have an opinion on it”). This world is so vain, so vapid, that I wish I could visit it and just bask in the absurdity of it all. What Stillman does is allow us in as flies on the wall, hearing the words come out of their mouths so we can smirk and shake our heads at the seriousness they say it all in. They are all parentless in the fact that the adults are all out at their own parties, (does anyone actually work for a living?), and have bottomless bank accounts. Some revel in the lifestyle because it suits them and they feel entitled, (Jane, Sally, Charlie), some loathe it but find themselves drawn in to the feeling of acceptance, (Tom, Audrey), and others see the nonsense to it all but can’t help love the spectacle, (Nick). Everything Nick says is pure gold, (I love his ‘composite’ story); he knows his world is insane, he knows why his lifestyle is meaningless, but he loves the journey too much to stop himself.

Something is to be said also about the candor and realism displayed by Clements and Carolyn Farina’s, (Audrey Rouget), relationship. She loves him; he loves another while enjoying the interaction with her. Everything is so matter-of-fact and thought to be obvious, but it never is. Feelings get hurt, feelings evolve, but the pain of brutal honesty never goes away. One thing about this group of people is that they have no fear in telling others what they feel, because who wouldn’t want to know the truth? Audrey knows how much explicit honesty can hurt, she has something we lower middle class like to call morals and conscience, things the entitled bourgeoisie seem to think is just unnecessary clutter. This world is so fascinating to visit, but one that I don’t think I’d ever want to live within. Sure, the group includes people that I can match to friends of mine—every class system has their versions of these kids—but until you see it all from the outside, you don’t realize it. Stillman puts a mirror up for us to see our own shortcomings through his characters, while also giving an enjoyable look into unearned affluence.

Metropolitan 8/10

Conundrum of Carnage … Saw VI

From what I read, the storylines set forth in and around Saw III will culminate to a conclusion with the eighth entry in the bloody saga. After a pretty dismal opening and quick fall from the Top 5 in week number 2 for Saw VI, the question shouldn’t be when the story ends, but when the money does. I know that the films have a pretty cheap budget and so far reaped a huge profit, but you do have to wonder when enough is enough. Personally, I found the past three installments to be riveting as far as the overall mythology goes, if not a bit lacking in their ability to stand by themselves, so I’d be willing to go as far as the story needs to find an end. What unfortunately appears to have occurred this time around is that the plot needed a little bit of padding. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the film in as far as it continues what came before, however, I couldn’t help thinking how similar it was to Saw V. When all was said and done, we as an audience learn one thing of importance—what was in the box, pretty lame and obvious in the end—and are posed one question for the sequel—what’s in the envelope? Everything else, I’m afraid, was just an excuse to make people scream.

Maybe I am selling it short, though, the film also has one more thing, a pretty obvious commentary on healthcare. With the political climate of America trying its best to promote healthcare reform, I guess one shouldn’t be surprise that the debate hit cinemas in veiled attempts to express an opinion. I just don’t think anyone saw the Saw series as a platform for such a concept. Throughout the story, we have learned Jigsaw’s motivations on showing people death in order for them to finally want to live. Here is a man that has sought revenge on those wasting away God’s gift while he disintegrated away from the cancer ravaging his body. After the first two films, the stakes got a little more personal with victims all of a sudden becoming people who either wronged him or had a direct effect on his current state. Whether this was an original idea behind the franchise or not, it has become the staple driving force behind everything happening. Jigsaw’s marriage was destroyed, his unborn child killed, his business ripped from under him, and his very life snuffed out too soon. At some point, the trial runs featuring his maniacal games graduated to the big leagues, holding people hostage to show how they have been killing others for nothing more than the bottom line as well as some revenge too.

Who better to place a vendetta against than the insurance company that declined to give him the money for experimental treatment, even going so far as saying they’d drop him for breach of policy if he went ahead and paid for it himself? We even get a little jab in about how people blame the sick, people blame the government, but in fact it is the insurance companies that have destroyed our system. I actually liked the anecdote about Far East countries that pay doctors when they are healthy and not when they are sick. In some messed up utopia kind of way that makes sense; if the doctor cures you, pay until the result ceases. If the doctor fails, well, he got his practice and will try harder next time to earn his paycheck. But I digress, the point of it all being intertwined with the plot of Saw VI is that Jigsaw needed a mark to hatch a new elaborate scheme, even larger in scope than V’s pitting multiple people against each other. Why not get the man responsible for a Health Insurance logarithm that seals the fate of so many without any human interaction and watch him see how impersonal and disgusting his system is? Have Mr. Easton pick and choose with the lives of people he cares about and knows; make the man behind the curtain see whether logic can truly prevail.

The aesthetic does hold strong, creating some fun instances of blood and gore—especially the pound of flesh beginning—and the acting remained stalwart too. Tobin Bell has made himself into a stable visage on the horror scene, doing his best to be a ‘morally just’ homicidal maniac; Shawnee Smith returns in flashbacks to remind us of her reformed misfit; and Betsy Russell continues to stealthily hide her true motivations as Jill, creating the biggest enigma to the tale, something I hope begins to unravel in the next film. As far as our Jigsaw Part Deux, Agent Hoffman, Costas Mandylor once more portrays the burly madmen with more brains than your usual movie muscle. He plays the part well, even if it’s not the best acting performance you could hope for. I did really enjoy Peter Outerbridge’s Easton, though, the most memorable part of the mini-story at the center. He shows a definite evolution in thought process, discovering how his decisions really affect the strangers he keeps far away from. And who doesn’t like blasts from the past like Darius McCrary in a small role. That’s right, young Eddie from “Family Matters” has risen from the ashes.

In the end, I do think this encapsulated test is done better than the somewhat sprawling and overly ambitious one in the previous episode. You see how Easton’s company personally affected Jigsaw as well as so many others, almost giving you pleasure in watching these soulless money-grubbing cowards bite the dust. But once again, it pales in comparison to the true reason I keep watching, to find out how John Kramer’s unconventional system of ‘saving’ people will finally play out. The problem, however, is that the parts shown connecting this to what came first are pretty inconsequential, or at least not enough to warrant its own segment. I do think parts V and VI are the same exact film, giving a little bit to make them feasible, but not enough to make me feel they couldn’t have been combined into one. We all know that Hoffman is framing Strahm, we all know Jill Tuck knows more than she is letting on, we all know Hoffman never liked Amanda, etc, etc. Rather than enlightening us with something new, the film just confirms what we deciphered for ourselves. I do like the conclusion, however, setting up a battle that could derail everything, but 90 more minutes weren’t needed to get us there.

Saw VI 5/10

As comparison: Saw 7/10; Saw II 5/10; Saw III 7/10; Saw IV 7/10; Saw V 6/10

photography:
[1] Costas Mandylor stars as ‘Hoffman’ in SAW VI. Photo credit: Steve Wilkie
[2] Tanedra Howard, winner of VH1’s “Scream Queens,” as ‘Simone’ in SAW VI. Photo credit: Steve Wilkie

Ask Mother … While the City Sleeps

It may be difficult to accurately critique Fritz Lang’s While the City Sleeps since the conversation afterwards amongst friends pretty much tore apart any credibility the film had. What, upon completion, felt to me as a pretty solid film noir despite its schizophrenic story threads and tone soon saw its worth decreased with every nitpicked plothole we stumbled upon. From surreal moments of absurdity, to insanely coincidental occurrences, to bafflingly glossed-over events, to poorly written characters, the movie is more a comedy of errors than a taut suspense thriller. The audience is hard-pressed to figure out whether the true main plot is a serial killer on the loose being hunted by a newsroom of reporters or a cynical look at the media being ushered into a new era of cutthroat reporting—where scandals are of more importance than fact-checking—from one of credibility and service to the public. Neither becomes a clear winner at any point in the proceedings, but they do add on a third competitor with the love of our lead to his girlfriend being fully tested. Three plotlines competing simultaneously for our attention, much like the trio of newsmen fighting for the “prize” of a made-up position created by the media empire’s, recently deceased, president’s son.

Before Amos Kyne’s dying last breath, he declared a murder as top news, coining the killer as the “Lipstick Murderer”, and let it be known that he never did find a true successor. His son, Walter, was “killed with kindness” and spoiled into a lifestyle that didn’t cultivate a sense of honor and his top reporter, Ed Mobley, turned his back on the power of running the place in lieu of a leading anchor role in the television branch. But Amos explains that the job at the top isn’t about power, it is about the responsibility of giving the world information, to educating the public. Well, as no one was ready to take his place, naïve Walter takes the job and decides to use his power in order to create a game that will wipe the smiles off his subordinates’ faces. Threatening his top three men that their jobs were safe for the moment, he manufactures a position, that would theoretically be doing his work as he lounges at home, putting golf balls into glass tumblers while his wife oddly spins with arms outstretched in their small sand box, to set them against each other, proving that the media was more salacious than factual. Libel suits are almost reached, false leads almost printed, and shoddy reporting rewarded in attempts to defeat the others, all spear-headed by the building’s top man, someone who pits them against each other and then weeks later wonders why there is so little cooperation amongst departments.

The contest lies in finding and printing, before any other news source, the true identity of the “Lipstick Murderer”. Just the fact that the killer has a nickname so arbitrary shows how ill conceived and innocuous he is. Lipstick is used once, scrawling a cryptic message on the wall of a victim—the only victim at the time, by the way—hardly a pile-up of bodies. We not only see the man’s face in the opening scene, but we watch as his flimsy motivations and covering-his-tracks mentality are figured out by Mobley and his police detective friend, killing all suspense. The police don’t even seem to be the ones on the case; it’s as though the newsmen are the real clue finders, even hatching their own stings. So, the film becomes a lesson in patience as we wait to see who finds the killer that we already know, therefore solidifying their acquisition of a promotion. To convolute it even more, however, the man at the forefront of finding the monster—a comic book reading, mama’s boy—isn’t even in the running for the job. Mobley is instead proxy for managing editor John Griffith, a cutthroat operator himself, but also the only one honest enough to tell Ed that any help he gives probably won’t win him anything. He asked for a friend while the others looked to con and gain a “partner”. Maybe there is some credibility left after all, except Mr. Honorable Mobley is also a drunkard that feels no shame in kissing another woman while his fiancé discovers his flowers outside her door. Such a fickle world we live in.

There is just so much going on that nothing can ever become a true focal point. Every plot thread needs to be seen through to its end, oftentimes overlapping easily to tie up loose ends. Two characters just happen to live across the hall from one another? The pharmacy boy that delivers to the victims is never looked into for questioning? Everyone is sleeping with everyone else behind his/her back? The timing to catch people at the exact moments they need to in order to capture them is always perfect? Convenience is key and the lazy writing doesn’t end just there. Not only have so many people been written in that all competition for superiority gets smothered, but some of them are just poorly written. Sally Forrest’s Nancy Liggett, the love of Dana Andrews’ Mobley, is possibly the dumbest woman ever written. She plays it smart, all coy and proper when flirting with his advances, but in fact, she is the illiterate bimbo she jokes s his type anyways. When set up to be the bait that gets the killer out in the open, her complete non-realization is too comical to watch to ever take her seriously again.

I did like Andrews, though, especially playing drunk opposite Ida Lupino. George Sanders is brilliant as the haughty sophisticate with the best odds at securing the promotion and Thomas Mitchell, (a smarter and more sly version of his It’s a Wonderful Life character), is great as the ruthless editor that still holds onto a shred of heart when all others seem to have lost theirs fully. Even Vincent Price is entertaining as Walter Kyne, a playboy in over his head as he attempts to run a business he never wanted. He is actually funny and interesting as a goof when all previous experience with the actor was in horror/thrillers utilizing that distinct voice to send chills rather than create laughs at his ineptitude. Bad casting? Maybe. But then I think that most of these characters are just rushed and written too hastily to have a true three-dimensionality to them. You can’t fault the direction, though, with many moments harkening back to Lang’s M days. The use of cuts is sharp progressing scenes along. Watching Lupino and Andrews at the bar, oftentimes cutting between one to the other rather than showing both in frame shows this nicely, and then you have the subway chase, the only scene with even a shred of suspense.

I think my one friend hit the nail on the head when he said that the script needed one more, good look over before going before the cameras. It needed one more trim to relieve it of its excess and find a more central significance. So much occurs that is never shown again; interesting avenues are explored only to be tossed aside without further question; and there appear to be more distractions than actual necessary story points. While the City Sleeps is an entertaining film, it just isn’t for the reasons it bills itself to be.

While the City Sleeps 5/10

It was my inner child getting scared … Paranormal Activity

Here we are, a decade later, (well, actually eight years if you factor the 2007 original release date), and the fervor caused by The Blair Witch Project in 1999 has begun again, this time in the world of ghosts/demons. Oren Peli’s low budget thriller Paranormal Activity didn’t enrapture viewers at Slamdance enough to find a distribution deal, but after a viewing by Steven Spielberg, it has become one of the feel-good stories of Hollywood. Loving the simplicity, as I’m sure the potential profit margin too, ($11,000 budget turning into a current $60 million large), the prolific auteur requested a change to the ending to make it more palatable to audiences, trimmed off ten minutes, and gave it its shot at greatness. After an ingenious release tactic through college cities and the internet “demand it for your town” system, Peli’s little engine that could has become a phenomenon in wide release. But with all the hype, and all the audience testimonials, does it live up? Unfortunately for this viewer, the answer is no, not at all.

Back in ’99, I remember still being a little unsure about this Blair Witch thing. Was it real? Was it fake? The excitement was still in its infancy when my sister, cousin, and I went to a night screening at the Amherst Dipson, when we still thought it was kind of a creepy, dingy theatre house. So, the mood was set, the unexpected assumed, and genuine scares delivered. Whatever one may say about its replay value—heck, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it a second time—it was everything it promised to be and more that initial sit down. The final image is still one vividly recalled to mind if thought about. I desperately wanted a repeat of this; the time had come for a ghost story to be chilling in its minimalism and realism. Thinking back, though, there was a lot going against Paranormal Activity successfully achieving it. You know going in that it’s a dramatization; you’ve heard the stories, you’ve seen multiple first-person films come out in the past ten years, but you still hold on to the hope of being terrified. For some reason, however, the so-called build-up of tension just fell flat into uninteresting boredom. Until the final ten/fifteen minutes, half of which was Spielberg’s doing, (and a far cry better than the original ending, watched after I came home from the theatre), I will admit to being restless, waiting for something good to finally occur.

The big problem, I feel, is that so much of the creep factor is shown without a human presence. Unlike a film coming out soon, The Fourth Kind, or Blair Witch itself, this film has its shadow play, its baby powder footprints, and Ouija Board antics occurring without anyone there to react to it. What those other two films had in spades was an experience involving people we as an audience could relate to. We were given the tears, screams, and looks of fear and helplessness, allowing our empathy as human beings to kick in and start feeling those emotions ourselves. Everything that happens in Paranormal Activity does so for us to see, eliciting a smile or a “how did they film that” reaction from myself, and only reacted to by the characters of Katie and Micah the following day from watching video. There is something palpable and resonating about seeing true terror onscreen and relating to it, putting yourself into the situation and fearing what might happen next. Just watching a series of parlor tricks or loud noises off-screen leaves you wanting so much more.

Rather than terror, the reaction we see most is that of excitement and laughter. The demon causing all the fuss has been following Katie around for her entire life and therefore has much more meaning to her. Micah, on-the-other-hand, is just loving the idea that he can catch these phenomena on camera, maybe sell it to a youtube site or something. The guy is a day trader, seemingly to have an infinite amount of spare time as his wealth is increased while he plays amateur documentarian. He is enjoying the experience, trying to provoke the entity living with them for something cool to capture. There are no real stakes for him as he thinks it’s all just a joke—neat things happening, but nothing that will actually hurt his girlfriend of himself. Going against the suggestions of a psychic who came to visit, he doesn’t want a demonologist to help, he instead wants to communicate with the demon himself, in all respects inviting it to come into their world and enjoy complete control over them. So, in a genre of cinema where the impact is greatly influenced by empathizing with the people onscreen, instead of fear we start to feel Micah’s sarcasm and invincibility, effectively taking us out of the terror to wonder when a good scare will finally come.

I do believe both Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat do an admirable job of being realistic without falling into the amateur actor trap. They are playing themselves, leaving all sense of artifice out. The thought of them being “bad actors” never crossed my mind; I felt that they portrayed what they would feel and do if that situation presented itself to them. I do think that they revved up the emotion at the end, however, losing that happy-go-lucky sheen by adding an edge to their performances as stress sets in and things get personal. When the being in the house finally takes a physical interest in the characters, when it finally makes contact with their bodies and proves itself to be there despite being unseen, this film becomes something so much more intriguing. Why did they wait so long before adding those stakes and giving us something to fear? Maybe it’s just me, but lights turning on and off or doors slamming don’t elicit feelings of dread. Two parallel planes of existence overlapping and seeing people moved by an invisible force … now that is something my adrenaline kicks in for. It is just too bad that an intense ten minutes of supernatural simplicity can’t even begin to make up for the hour of laughable seen it all before scare tactics leading up to it.

Paranormal Activity 5/10

photography:
[1] Katie (Katie Featherstone, left) and Micha (Micha Sloat, right) are a young couple who move into what seems like a typical suburban “starter” tract house and become increasingly disturbed by a presence that may or may not be demonic but is most active in Paranormal Activity.
[2] 3:08:26 AM; a scene from Paranormal Activity.

A little more booty … Michael Jackson’s This Is It

It’s hard to believe that Michael Jackson passed away just four months ago. I don’t say that because I miss the guy—honestly, he hadn’t been in my consciousness since all the child molestation hoopla made him more a joke that talent—but because the footage shot of rehearsals for what was to be his final curtain call tour has already been spliced together into a tribute documentary. Not to say that This Is It is a complete “cashing in” on his death, but one can’t look at it without a slight taint in that respect. For die-hard fans, however, I think the film will succeed 100%. All I had to do was turn to my right and see a middle-aged woman clapping and singing to every song in order to come to that conclusion. As for someone like me, someone who appreciates the music immensely, (especially the older catalog), and is interested in the process and amount of work that goes into a concert extravaganza like Jackson was going to give, it also doesn’t disappoint.

Everyone wants to see the man that was Michael Jackson. The American public went crazy whenever he agreed to do an interview on television, either from the need to hear him talk or morbid curiosity. But all those appearances were in some regards staged or overly saturated by the media, showing more of the myth than the man himself. What makes Kenny Ortega’s film better than all that is the fact we are seeing Jackson as he didn’t want the public to see him, as the artist he was. Ortega was the director of the tour and had been working very closely with Jackson up until his death. It was, therefore, only fitting that he should be the one to piece this movie together, having been there firsthand and knowing what should be shown to get an idea of the professionalism exuded by the King of Pop. Just listening to Michael talk, or seeing his appearance behind stage shows that maybe the falsetto and extreme spaced-out feel were only an act for the public, to add to his mystique. Sure his voice is a bit higher than most and yes his demeanor is obscenely kind and generous, saying ‘God Bless You’ every time someone does as he asks, but this guy was coherent, sharp, and very knowledgeable of his own music and the craft itself.

Besides an extensive closet filled with gold/silver shiny pants and a woman’s jacket with pointy shoulders—very weird to look at—the Jackson shown at work is just like any other musical artist. He is sitting at the tryouts, he is choreographing his moves during sound checks, he is telling the instrumentalists when to let the note simmer, when to not rush the meter change, and when to exaggerate a note and go crazy. This is a family activity, working with people he has before and newcomers that grew up becoming dancers or musicians because of this man. The opening of the film shows those who made the show giving testimonials and crying about the opportunity to work with their idol. It is all quite surreal, especially for someone like me that never could buy into the whole celebrity freakshow of needing to touch/be near famous people. We all know that side of Jackson, we’ve seen the mass of humanity fainting, crying, and screaming as he announces his tour. What we’ve never seen, and what makes this film worth a glimpse, is Michael creating. He says at the end that no one should be nervous; they are doing something for the people. He wanted to bring his audience into a world they’ve never seen with escapism through sound and visuals. This show looked absolutely killer.

Not only was Jackson in shape and ready to take on the world, he was as sharp and as good as ever. No one can say that this guy was going to die before taking the stage; he was jumping and grooving, and kicking like never before. During a rehearsal for “Beat It” he does his whole routine, stomping on the floor, going to his back to kick up his legs, and to his stomach to stomp some more. When a cue goes wrong, he gets up, says what he wants done differently, and when the musician says ok, we don’t have to do it again, Michael tells Ortega to take it from the first jump and does it all once more. A perfectionist for sure, Jackson put his entire being in this reunion/goodbye tour. He wanted to leave nothing behind or hold anything back. Saving his voice for the real tour, his performances here oftentimes miss words or consist of very soft vocals, but when he sees the dancers off stage watching, clapping, and smiling, sometimes he goes all out and brings the house down. He says afterwards that he can’t do that anymore, that they shouldn’t egg him on like that, but you know he loved every minute of it.

But it isn’t all just Jackson singing and dancing onstage. There is a lot of that, don’t get me wrong, and probably thirty minutes of the two hour runtime could have been deleted as a result, however, what truly fascinated was the down time and the vignette filming. This extravaganza was going to be more than a concert; it was to be an experience. Jackson filmed mini-movies in gangster garb opposite Bogart and Robinson for “Smooth Criminal” and the make-up was brought back for a new “Thriller” intro full of creepy zombies. Here’s the kicker, though … it was shot in 3D. The concertgoers were to have glasses and the zombies were to come straight for you, as well as the bullets and glass during “Criminal”. Jackson spared no expense at all; the This Is It tour would have been an amazing swan song for a guy that did so much for music. This film may not be the true performance—it may overdub some rehearsals so the audience can hear the song—but we see Jackson as one of the hardest workers in the business. Here is the first true look at the man behind the myth; it’s a shame we only see it because of his death, but as a eulogy to his music, it does the job well.

This Is It 6/10

That’s not a boy named Bjorn? … Four Christmases

Perhaps I was in an overly good mood before bed, or maybe I was just so tired that I’d laugh at anything, but Four Christmases ended up being a pretty good time despite my trepidation and warnings to steer clear by friends. It was cute, somewhat innocuous, and had its fair share of big laughs. By no means is it great cinema, nor intelligent storytelling—its sub 90-minute runtime shows us only the craziness spending time with the four parts of two divorced marriages and nothing else—it does its job well. The characters don’t evolve, no matter what you think at the end each person is really as selfish as they were at the start. A little dialogue and “talk” about the future does nothing to change that. However, that is what makes the movie fun. We don’t want them to be kind or gentle, we need them to be cruel and hurtful because that is what makes it funny. We laugh because no matter how bad our own families are, they, hopefully, don’t come close to the circus on screen.

Our leads, Vince Vaughn’s Brad and Reese Witherspoon’s Kate, are the biggest culprits involved. They like to tell themselves that they want to stay as far from their parents as possible, not get married, and not have children, because they’d only continue the cycle of dysfunction. Really, though, they are being as selfish as their elders, in the opposite way. Rather than grow to hate each other and separate to hopefully give the children a chance, they stay as close to each other as possible by not letting anything else in to ruin their equilibrium, even withholding facts about their childhoods, like being named Orlando or going to fat camp. One could even say that this duo is worse than the misfit parents/siblings, at least they want to see each other and celebrate Christmas amongst other life events, it is Brad and Kate that forsake all to share a boutique joy that is more of the moment than anything lasting.

The story basically is told in the trailer, our couple is grounded from their yearly tradition of lying to the family, (you can’t spell families without “lies”), and going on tropical holiday. While bickering with the airline attendant, a camera crew comes over to ask their opinion about the fog ruining holiday plans, and the next thing you know their phones are ringing and the jig is up. Now they must stay in town and visit two mothers and two fathers separately, along with the motley crew of blood relatives. They discover their love for each other may not be as strong as previously thought and that maybe family is more important to them after all, whether it be theirs together or with the extended lot. Blah, blah, blah, they find things out that make them see each other for who they really are. But, honestly, none of that matters, the plot is thin at best and serves only to loosely connect all the comedic skits together. It is in the supporting roles where this film shines.

Don’t get me wrong; Vaughn can make even the most inane script entertaining with his seemingly improv-laden schtick. His sympathy pukes are hilarious and his rendition of Joseph at Witherspoon’s mother’s church a knockout performance, but it is what the families do to him that brings the biggest laughs. Between his UFC-trained brothers beating him up every opportunity or the henhouse consisting of her mother and female-centric clan hitting on Vaughn and touching him whenever they can, his resulting facial reactions ultimately shine. Jon Favreau, as usual, steals most scenes he is a part of. Built of testosterone and machismo, his tearing down of brother Brad is pretty hilarious. And the scene with the game Taboo, it being a staple with my friends and I, just rung true—the sequence is orchestrated to perfection with the nuances to playing and how frustrating it can get. The other brother, however, is great too, played by a very underrated singer turned actor in Tim McGraw. He is able to express this sense of vulnerability that surprises me every time once I remember who he is.

Everyone else is memorable too. It’s nice to see Kristen Chenoweth getting more roles and I always enjoy a good Dwight Yoakam bit part. Mary Steenburgen has seen a sort of renaissance in the past few years of comedy, not disappointing here as Witherspoon’s mother, and Robert Duvall plays his crotchety best as deadbeat Dad to Vaughn. Sissy Spacek was entertaining as Vaughn’s mother, a bit of a hippie and out of touch with the times, which adds humor to her use of the buzzer in Taboo, and even Jon Voight does an admirable job with the smallest role of the film from a name player. What’s Christmas without the true meaning of the holiday being relayed through that guy’s mouth? There are moments from them all throughout that got me laughing pretty hard; and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Nothing reaches the level of the opening scene, though, Vaughn showing Witherspoon’s Connecticut sexual being how they grow men in the mountains of North Dakota. It’s a great piece of role-playing that got me interested real early, making me forgive the weak story that I knew was to follow, by loosening me up for some laughter.

Four Christmases 5/10

photography:
[1] (L-R) Denver (JON FAVREAU) inflicts a new martial arts move on his brother Brad (VINCE VAUGHN) in New Line Cinema’s romantic comedy, ‘Four Christmases,’ also starring REESE WITHERSPOON. The film is distributed by Warner Bros. Pictures. Photo: John P. Johnson
[2] (L-R) Sisters Courtney (KRISTIN CHENOWETH) and Kate (REESE WITHERSPOON) discuss the finer points of having a family in New Line Cinema’s romantic comedy, ‘Four Christmases,’ also starring VINCE VAUGHN. The film is distributed by Warner Bros. Pictures. Photo: John P. Johnson

I do not have a belly button … The Nines

Caution: Spoilers

There really isn’t a way to talk about John August’s The Nines without spoiling some aspect of the intricate plot and creation structures at play. But first, I need to give a round of applause to the filmmaker for having the audacity to craft something original, thought provoking, and intelligent. I’ve got to say that those things are few and far between these days. The film is not a masterpiece as it does take a while to find the tone that it wants and succeeds with at the end and there are some issues I have with it plothole-wise, yet you cannot deny the brilliance of storytelling that is at work. You believe that the movie concerns a man going crazy, maybe having a mid-life crisis/nervous breakdown, as his being fractures into three separate identities, living simultaneously. Well, that’s what I got from the trailer anyways, and it’s not that far off. One man is many characters, but the cause of this and its effect on the world as a whole is far bigger than a psychological disorder. We are dealing with Gods and higher beings, humanity’s puppet-masters. Maybe we were created in his image after all.

If I were to delve deeper into the meaning of everything, I’d say that this is a very personal film to August, almost a representation of his life and career, constantly creating new worlds and characters in his work, only to see some succeed and flourish while others get stuck in house-arrest, never to see the light of day. It is the storytellers that exist on a higher plane than mere humans, they are God-like in their duties, but still must answer to a higher power, 9’s to God’s 10. Oh, and let’s not forget those pesky koalas living at an 8, directly above humanity’s 7, because of their telepathic abilities—loved that little touch. It only takes a thought on behalf of Ryan Reynolds’s Gary/Gavin/Gabriel to bring something to life or to take it away. He is the creator of his world, loving his toys so much that he decides to manifest himself into the “game”, becoming addicted and infused completely with a litany of avatars running around. He is a man that has lost his way, engrossed in being a human, he has forgotten his true place on the hierarchy, needing another 9, Hope Davis’s Sarah/Susan/Sierra, to wake him up and bring him back to their plane to create new things and break free from the gravity of the old.

It is Melissa McCarthy’s role that intrigues the most however. She is Reynolds’s favorite, always a part of his lives, no matter which version he is. However, she is a human, a 7, with knowledge of everything. How has this occurred? Being his most cherished, did he tell her many iterations what was going on? But that’s impossible since he doesn’t even know what he is. I can understand Davis turning on the computer and playing a role to reach Reynolds and wake him from his daze because she is a 9, but McCarthy doesn’t have that power, yet her Margaret tells Gary what is happening and her Mary understands that Gabriel must leave her. And even then, when Gabriel leaves, she is left with the same husband she has as Melissa in Gavin’s story. Does that mean these three existences are parallel to each other but never touching? Gary and Gavin do have a close encounter, briefly seeing the other and hearing their movements as though ghosts. Maybe everything happening is doing so at the same time; multiple game versions being played with the same settings, but Reynolds’ programmer is inside a different pod on each. Maybe he is doing a Being John Malkovich, entering a character for a limited time, so that we the audience see him as Reynolds, but the “game” characters still see him as the person he is inhabiting. There truly is this much going on.

What is really enjoyable, though, is the cyclical nature of it all. The Gary character is under house arrest in the Gavin character’s house while he is pitching a television pilot of Gabriel’s story. In this aspect, perhaps the 9 version of Reynolds hated that Gavin’s vision was sabotaged, so he created a new world where that show was a reality. It is a nice thought, but kind of impossible since Davis was the one who destroyed the show in the first place, a ploy to wake Reynolds up by removing him from that story’s version of McCarthy. She needed to rid him of his attachment to her on every single plane, breaking that bond so he would leave each game he has entered, coming back to whatever reality he truly exists on. Playing so many roles—playing God in general—just may be as hard as it looks. With so many lives running around in his head, there is bound to be overlap. Gavin’s subconscious might have just been thinking about Gabriel’s life, therefore writing the story for his teleplay. The same person inhabits them both, so it is not that hard to believe.

The Nines will make you think, it will make you question, and it will entertain in its originality. This is not your run-of-the-mill drama that will appeal to the general population; you need to have an analytic mind and desire to be challenged in order to comprehend what is going on. There are a few gimmicks thrown in to help you come to a conclusion on how it is all occurring—Sim City like numbers floating above people’s heads at the end of Gavin’s reality show being the most blatant—but I think August leaves enough to the imagination and to our intelligence to figure the rest out ourselves. The acting is great throughout and it is nice to see Reynolds be able to branch out and show some dramatic chops, while still retaining his usual sarcastic wit. Again, though, the tone is a bit mixed at the start, leaving a little to be desired by not taking itself seriously. As the story progresses, the reality becomes darker and more serious, definitely something that made it work much better for myself. And I have to single out Melissa McCarthy for a really magnificent performance. She is so endearing and funny as Margaret, so vulnerable and likable as Melissa, and loving and emotive as Mary. Consistently stealing each “game” she is a part of, it’s interesting that a human becomes the strongest part of each arc. But then, maybe that’s why Reynolds’s 9 loved his world so much, he needed to be with her at any cost.

The Nines 7/10

photography:
[1] Ryan Reynolds as Gary and Hope Davis as Sarah in Newmarket Films’ ‘The Nines’.
[2] Melissa McCarthy as Margaret and Elle Fanning as Noelle in John August’s ‘The Nines’

How do you know what’s good and what’s bad? … The Informers

Author Bret Easton Ellis completely resonates with me. Actually, I’m not sure I can make that statement since I’ve never read a book by him, despite having most on my shelf. Where his characters have affected me is in the films adapted from his work. Every single person he infuses into his sprawling tales of excess and youth culture is devoid of morals, selfish beyond measure, and living life as though the next day will be his last. Between American Psycho and Rules of Attraction, two absolutely fantastic films in my eyes, you see the blank stares and coldness these people possess. They are mannequins in superb physical condition, living in a world of superficiality, their insides empty to emotion or compassion. When a semblance of being good, or feeling something real comes up, they don’t know how to deal with it after so long a time of not caring. From all the press and reviews I read about the latest Ellis adaptation, The Informers, I thought that I’d finally be let down. I should have known his words would not lie, however, because director Gregor Jordan has crafted them into another winner.

The film is the weakest of his works, but lesser Ellis is still more enthralling to me than most things out there. Going back to the 80s, recalling the heightened actions of playboys like Patrick Bateman and his crew in American Psycho, this multi-narrative tale shows a little bit more of the emptiness excess brings with it. Instead of watching as a rich yuppie goes on a killing spree because he can and no one cares enough to notice during their quests motivated by greed, we see the intricacies of wealth and its effect on the youth of Los Angeles. Hollywood’s seedy underbelly is on full display from all parts of the social spectrum. You have the film producer son beginning to grow a conscious as his girlfriend cheats on him, his parents show what a failed relationship is, and his so called friends prove to only be there for him when it suits their needs; the out of work actor manning the desk of a condominium as he tries to break into the industry being visited by his criminal uncle looking to make a quick buck by kidnapping and selling a young boy; a junkie rockstar so out of his mind that he needs to ask whether he’s lived in LA before, despite having an estranged wife and child in the area, when he’s coherent enough to remove the underage boys and girls he’s bedding; and the young product of a failed marriage taken to Hawaii by dear old Dad, more as an attempt to see if his son is gay then to try and reconnect with him. Boy the 80s sound like a great time, don’t they?

When sitting down to watch an Ellis film, I truly believe you need to open your mind and understand that it exists in an alternate reality. His view of America is skewed to show the entertaining and horrible aspects of humanity; how greed and sex can manipulate even the best of us into becoming the people we see throwing their lives away despite the silver spoon. Jon Foster’s Graham could be the first character I’ve seen that may actually want redemption. He tells his director friend, sometime lover, and rumored prostitute Martin, (played by Austin Nichols who is king at doing Hollywood bimbo with a mix of conniving intelligence despite his touched country boy in “John From Cincinnati”), that he wants more; he needs someone to tell him the difference between right and wrong. Growing up with money and private schools does nothing to help unburden the need of a role model, especially when his parents are all but absent and the worst examples of good you could find. The life of no consequences in a world falling apart can no longer sustain him. The idyllic image of youth has been destroyed; the Hollywood sign is graffiti-filled, the AIDS epidemic is spreading, and violence has seeped in where the fervor of life and joy used to be.

One could fault the acting due to this hyper-real existence, but it’s slightly off-kilter delivery is what actually makes it great. Everyone is playing their roles purposely over-the-top or with robotic lack of emotion. Lou Taylor Pucci is the epitome of an Ellis creation, doing his best riff of Christian Bale or James Van Der Beek from their entries. Watching his father, an effective portrayal from Chris Isaak, make a fool out of himself, pretending he is much younger and cooler than he is, disgusts him. The chance of love between them has been gone for a long time, so he stands prideful, smoking his cigarette, acting as though he is ruler of the world, a common thought for most Ellis men. I don’t know if it’s the fact that the author wrote the screenplay too—which he didn’t for previous films—but I think The Informers delves deeper into the psyche and darkness of these people. There is more time devoted to internal workings and motivations and evolutions here. It still keeps its dry, sarcastic edge of humor, but there is more, bringing a sense of purpose whereas the other films were more satire.

And the rest of the acting is pretty great on most counts. Billy Bob Thornton is so calm and cool you have to believe he is numb from some sort of drug, or maybe he’s just too selfish to care; Mickey Rourke does what he does best, badass criminals biting off more than they can chew; Amber Heard is given room to be an actual actress rather than the eye-candy ditz she is usually relegated to, interesting since this is the film she is naked for most of its duration, but what she goes through is shown with some truth; Mel Raido is fantastic as rocker Bryan Metro, so messed up that when real feelings come out, they are too foreign for him to know what he should do with them; and Brad Renfro—it’s a shame this is the last we’ll see of him because the ticks and insecurities of Jack the desk clerk are devastatingly authentic. Renfro was kind of a revelation here, showing some range, it’s unfortunate his real life ran a course similar to the glamorous demise befallen of the hard-livers portrayed. This is Ellis with consequences, all the glitz and “fun” of the high life but with the tragic results that occur when the bottom falls out. It suits his world nicely, showing that not all his youngsters are invincible, whether emotionally or physically. I really need to start reading.

The Informers 8/10

Should I be worried? … Prom Night

After a Halloween season of watching some pretty good horror films, mostly high concept, visually interesting ones, I decided I needed to take a break and check out one of the tween travesties released every year to huge box office numbers. So, in comes the 2008 remake of Prom Night—you don’t get much lower on the drivel scale than this one folks. Pretty much all the killing is done off-screen, the prom in question looks as though it cost a million dollars in order to appear like a Hollywood movie premiere, (were those parents behind the ropes taking photos and being waved to by their children doing their best movie star entrance?), and it takes place in a hotel where these 18-year olds are allowed to get rooms for the night. Talk about a liberal school, the prom favors were probably monogrammed condoms with the date and song on them. Everything that happens is beyond convenient and the premise is laughable at best. However, it did do the trick, putting a smile on my face at its absurdity and allowing me to leave my brain far, far away.

The senior in the middle of it all is Brittany Snow’s Donna Keppel, a girl who witnessed her mother getting murdered after coming home to find the rest of her family dead at the hands of an ex-teacher who took an unhealthy obsession to her. Trust me, if someone looking for me killed my entire family, I would not go live with my aunt and uncle down the street and go to the same school while the homicidal maniac sat in a mental institution. I’d get the hell out of Dodge and try and start a new life, maybe change my name and go witness protection even. But not this girl, she is too strong for that and decides to stay with her friends and get her life back to normal. It’s three years later, she has come “a long way”, and prom is upon her. However, her spidey-sense kicks in and the nightmares she had so long ago, (can less than three years be considered long?), crop back into her psyche just at the time her stalker escapes from maximum security—with the weirdest cut scene to show how, that really doesn’t make sense, but is too quick to care.

The night they’ll never forget begins as the limo picks up the three couples and takes them to the event. The dance seems unnecessary as everyone just wants to go to their rooms and play rabbits for the rest of the evening, but wait, we need to see who wins prom king and queen don’t we? For a crowning that is made to appear so important to the lives of these youngsters, you’d think they’d be a little more worried about being at the party to go on stage and accept the prize. But, hey, someone has to wander into harm’s way to be killed. It would be a pretty horrible slasher flick if there wasn’t at least one death every twenty minutes or so. That means characters will go against how they are written to service the plot and become pawns in the film’s game, filling up the space until the villain finally confronts the person he came to get in the first place, something he could have easily done about thirty minutes into the story. And, of course, while all that is happening we have Idris Elba’s Detective Winn on the case, coming so close to catching the guy he thought he put away with a death sentence, but always just missing. Not quite the bumbling cop, he is in fact capable, his failures again service the script. You have to love conveniences.

I did actually enjoy some of the performances. Both Dana Davis and Jessica Stroup play the high schooler well, especially after my having seen both play college-aged girls previously. With small arcs in “Heroes” and “Reaper” respectively, I’d hope to see more of these two in the future, they play it naturally and genuinely appear to be having fun. As for Snow, I feel she just plays it too young. Maybe that goes into the whole psychological thing and what she has gone through, but she becomes the child amongst adults when with her clique. She is the waif heroine, though, so there needs to be a little bit of helplessness. This isn’t Laurie Strode getting ready to hold her own against a maniac, no Donna Keppel is a cheerleading, accepted to Brown kind of delicate flower; she needs a savoir to get her through it all. It’s just too bad that the price has to be those she holds near and dear. Watching everyone she loves die around her in a short three years can’t be a fun experience. I wouldn’t be surprised if Prom Night 2 comes out and she is the badass killer. But then she did say the prom meant that it might be the last time any of them see each other again. Bet she didn’t know how true those sentiments were.

It’s not all bad though. Despite the clichéd horror film moments that make up this PG-13 sub-genre—I really don’t think a horror film should exist without being R-rated, you need the ability to go a bit further than teenage sterility—one shining moment comes in the killer himself. Crazed and sadistic, Mr. Fenton is the epitome of escaped patient, with his mute voice, deliberate actions, lack of compassion, and Charles Manson hair before his incarceration. I thought Johnathon Schaech looked like a homicidal psychopath in That Thing You Do!, so he was pitch perfect for me here. A total creep, his sneer will put a chill into anyone standing across the room. I think a career of villainy should suit him well. Hopefully he’ll choose his projects with a little more care, but as long as he’s having fun, (and receiving that paycheck), I can’t really blame him too much.

Prom Night 3/10

photography:
[1] (L to R) Collins Pennie, Dana Davis, Scott Porter, Brittany Snow, Kelly Blatz and Jessica Stroup star in Screen Gems’ thriller PROM NIGHT. Photo by: Suzanne Tenner. ©2008 Screen Gems, Inc. and Miramax Film Corp. All Rights Reserved.
[2] Dana Davis stars in Screen Gems’ thriller PROM NIGHT. Photo by: Suzanne Tenner. ©2008 Screen Gems, Inc. and Miramax Film Corp. All Rights Reserved.

What I need is to get out of here … Eden Log

So, the genre is called Cyberpunk. Can’t say I have heard the term before, but I can definitely see how it applies to the horror/science fiction film I just experienced called Eden Log. The first film from French director Franck Vestiel, it creates a world of heightened technology with a muted palette and cold, steely environments. One could say that we are watching our amnesiac “hero” Tolbiac maneuvering through a computer itself. The genre seems to be a French creation, not only because of this entry, but also because of films like Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element and Jeunet/Caro’s City of Lost Children, (funnily enough, that last one is the only one shot in the native language). I would almost put Proyas Dark City into the category as well with its underground council of authority and futuristic gadgets that still make it hard to quite grasp a specific time period.

What those three films had, however, that Eden Log unfortunately does not, is a coherent and easy to follow storyline. That is not necessarily a bad thing, but despite impressive art direction and a tenuous grasp at relaying the moral ambiguity of technological advancement, I never could find my way into the movie itself. Instead I was always an outside viewer, basking in the grimy beauty of it all, constantly wondering if that was enough to keep me invested. My mind kept wandering, working overtime to comprehend one shred of plot besides the tidbits discovered by our lead man, who was just as confused as me. Why is he there? Where is he? What is going on? It is so ambiguous and thought-provoking that the first thing I did upon its completion was go to Wikipedia to see if anyone had posted some semblance of a summary. There is one to read, and it is pretty much what I had been thinking, however, it also does a good job of connecting the dots and showing the bigger picture, something I’m grateful to the author for doing.

We are thrust into an underground world—just as Clovis Cornillac’s Tolbiac is when he wakes up in the mud without knowing who he is or how he arrived there. Kudos to Cornillac, by the way, for giving pretty much the only good performance in the film. I liked Vimala Pons’ botanist as well, but, besides those two, the line deliveries are quite atrocious and sadly take the audience away from this fully realized world, and that’s a real shame. Tolbiac begins to wander around as though a newborn, trying different things, feeling his way through the tunnels and machinery along his way. He discovers a dead body beside him and a contingent of security soldiers, on the lookout for someone, with what appears to be chained, mutated humans as attack dogs. We follow his journey as he stumbles upon more dead scientists with embedded memories that project onto the walls; facts about the facility they are in, Eden Log, a power plant of sorts that utilizes a giant tree for the energy powering their cities; and the multitude of this structure’s levels, what each contain, as well as strange cube compartments that appear to be trapping people inside. It is all quite the head scratcher, but then it is for him as well.

Only when Pons arrives to save Cornillac from the mutants does the story start to make some sense. She is one of the workers that have been promised a place above ground for her service once her work is done. They are slaves to the system, doing what they are told for the greater good, caring for the tree of life so that it may sustain their own when the cycle advances to a new set of workers while they bask in the glory of civilization. She suspects Tolbiac is a worker as well, on his way to being changed into one of the beasts roaming the cavernous expanse. Surprising to her, however, is that instead of the tree’s energy-filled sap taking over his body like a steroid on steroids, it is his body that appears to make the plant flourish. Quite the reversal and one more mystery to this man who seems to be stronger than anyone else involved, yet completely oblivious to the role he has been or must continue to play. It is towards the end when the answers are made clear, the true source of the energy is revealed, the true fate of the workers discovered, and the cycle itself brought out into the open with an animated diagram shown on the wall of the plant’s surface level. There are lies and deceptions at work, moral quandaries of what is going on manifest as Tolbiac slowly discovers who he really is.

All of that is almost inconsequential, though. The characters themselves are sterile like their environment, never appearing to be real or people an audience can relate to. They are all animals chained to the system like the beasts chained up, the creatures they will become once infected by the saps’ toxin. Each role becomes a part of the scenery, pushing you away from entering the action, creating a chasm between audience and subject, not something a film should be trying to do. But that detachment isn’t all bad, because you will be able to focus on the backgrounds and the props and the metallic detail that goes into each frame. By focusing so little on comprehending the motivations of the characters, it is the silent moments that are remembered, the world itself rather than what is keeping it sustained. I love the boldness of Vestiel for having a vision and sticking to it, I love the science fiction aspects that recall videogame environments seeming to be a world of the past just as easily as the future. Without any actual objects to give a sense of time, the piece becomes timeless, a future never reached. Unfortunately, the aesthetic isn’t enough to achieve success here. It makes the experience memorable, if only for its startling visuals that mask its completely indecipherable plot. The makings for greatness are there; hopefully Vestiel hones his skill and continues to evolve.

Eden Log 5/10

photography:
Courtesy of the Toronto International Film Festival.