13 October 2007
WORLD'S END
Hingham, Mass., the day before Labor Day. This park is part of the Mass. Trustees of Reservations. The last photo was taken in nearby Hull, along Nantasket Beach--it was too good not to include here.
11 October 2007
AN UPDATE
I've been none-too-ambitious lately, at least where this blog's concerned. Work and life are sucking up too much time and energy. I just spent a long weekend in Minneapolis--went for a wedding and stayed to catch up with family and an old friend that I haven't seen in years. I hadn't been in the Twin Cities in over a decade, and not much has changed (apart from the I-35W bridge collapse, of course).
While there, I saw INTO THE WILD at the Lagoon Cinema. It's a fascinating, ambitious adaptation, but at least a half-hour overlong and terribly marred by Sean Penn's occasionally overwrought, pompous direction (any scene not dealing with the McCandless family is bascially fine). Fortunately, the performances are pretty excellent: it's clearly Emilie Hirsch's film, but Catherine Keener and Hal Holbrook also shine in smaller, less flashy roles.
Also finally saw THE DARJEELING LIMITED upon my return. I'll post a review after I see it again, since Wes Anderson films always resonate more for me after repeated viewings. I'm concerned that the blind spot I gave to some of the director's quirks (and self-indulgence) in his previous films is beginning to fade. Still, I'm excited that he's slowly pushing toward something new with this one: call it a more pronounced maturity and looseness. It gives me hope that he'll eventually make something as wonderful THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS, only without the cute, fussy demeanor that is so off-putting to many. To be continued, indeed.
While there, I saw INTO THE WILD at the Lagoon Cinema. It's a fascinating, ambitious adaptation, but at least a half-hour overlong and terribly marred by Sean Penn's occasionally overwrought, pompous direction (any scene not dealing with the McCandless family is bascially fine). Fortunately, the performances are pretty excellent: it's clearly Emilie Hirsch's film, but Catherine Keener and Hal Holbrook also shine in smaller, less flashy roles.
Also finally saw THE DARJEELING LIMITED upon my return. I'll post a review after I see it again, since Wes Anderson films always resonate more for me after repeated viewings. I'm concerned that the blind spot I gave to some of the director's quirks (and self-indulgence) in his previous films is beginning to fade. Still, I'm excited that he's slowly pushing toward something new with this one: call it a more pronounced maturity and looseness. It gives me hope that he'll eventually make something as wonderful THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS, only without the cute, fussy demeanor that is so off-putting to many. To be continued, indeed.
24 September 2007
THE EDGE OF THE WORLD
Or at least this country. I'm behind in my photo-blogging (ie-too lazy to write anything, so I'll post snapshots instead). These were taken over a month ago on a short trip to Maine's southern coast.
18 September 2007
THE GOLDEN DOOR
Emanuele Crialese's film puts a novel spin on the oft-told tale of Europeans immigrating to America in the early 20th Century: instead of fixating on a traveler's first few proud, iconic moments in the new world, THE GOLDEN DOOR is about what comes before. It follows the Mancusos, a Sicilian family headed by widowed father Salvatore (Vincenzo Amato), his skeptical, superstitious mother and his two teenaged sons.
After a slow, somewhat cryptic start, the film finds its rhythm once the Mancusos reach the overcrowded boat to America. There, the men of the family are charmed by and in awe of Lucy (Charlotte Gainsbourg), a beautiful, comparatively wealthier Englishwoman whose reasons for emigrating with hundreds of Italians is not immediately clear (she's possibly the only person on the boat without exceptionally dirty fingernails). Crialese meticulously recreates what the trip really would've been like all the way to Ellis Island where the incoming are poked and prodded both physically and mentally before they're allowed citizenship (or not).
To these people, America is only a concept, and often a misconception stirred by tall tales and doctored photos of money literally growing on trees. Crialese honors this notion by never showing us (or his characters) any sweeping vistas of the Statue of Liberty or the Manhattan skyline: we're just left with hearsay and dreams, and they suffuse the film with a mysterious, compelling aura. Agnès Godard's cinematography is superb as usual, and her intuitive style meshes well with the director's approach. The whimsical final shot and closing credits, in particular, nail what this unique film is all about—I walked away from it nearly beaming with joy.
12 September 2007
TORONTO BLOGGING
I just returned from the Toronto International Film Festival. I saw 13 films over 5 days. While there, I made a few posts to the Chlotrudis blog:
Days 1 and 2: HOLLYWOOD CHINESE, MY WINNEPEG, THE BANISHMENT, USELESS and PLOY.
Day 3: THE VISITOR and PING PONG PLAYA'.
Day 4: SILENT LIGHT, 4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS AND 2 DAYS, JUNO and JUST LIKE HOME.
Day 5: WITH YOUR PERMISSION, JELLYFISH and a rundown of ratings.
The festival did not disappoint, and I had time to explore a few new neighborhoods (I stayed here). But I'm glad to be back in Boston--I admit I felt a little homesick by day 4.
Days 1 and 2: HOLLYWOOD CHINESE, MY WINNEPEG, THE BANISHMENT, USELESS and PLOY.
Day 3: THE VISITOR and PING PONG PLAYA'.
Day 4: SILENT LIGHT, 4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS AND 2 DAYS, JUNO and JUST LIKE HOME.
Day 5: WITH YOUR PERMISSION, JELLYFISH and a rundown of ratings.
The festival did not disappoint, and I had time to explore a few new neighborhoods (I stayed here). But I'm glad to be back in Boston--I admit I felt a little homesick by day 4.
30 August 2007
A DECADE OUT EAST
I moved from Milwaukee to Boston ten years ago today. To celebrate, here's a decade in snapshots I've taken:
1997: Winchester Path, Brookline Hills
Accustomed to the Midwest's homogeneous street grids, Boston's spaghetti-tangled layout both challenged and captivated me. I was awestruck the first time I came across this pedestrian hillside walkway. This was taken on a brisk Thanksgiving Day hike when I really had nothing better to do (except maybe renting movies). Thanks to the sun's position, it's the only self-portrait here.
1998: Revere Beach
Only I would take the Blue Line outbound to its terminus on a not particularly warm November Saturday afternoon to go to the beach and explore. Luckily for me, the sky was a magnificent blend of hues and textures--plus, I had the place practically all to myself.
1999: Aldie Street, Lower Allston
Another gorgeous, otherworldly sky. I remember a few instances over the years where I just had to run home to my apartment, grab my camera, and rush back out again to capture the remnants of a sunset in all of its glory before it would irrevocably fade away.
2000: Bussey Hill, Arnold Arboretum
Now I live within spitting distance of this place, but for many years, it involved much more effort to get there. Consequently, I take this vista (looking out towards the Blue Hills) for granted until those increasingly rare occasions when I see it in person.
2001: Deluxe Town Diner, Watertown
How I ended up living in the suburbs for two years isn't terribly complicated, but not compelling enough to get into here. However, this refurbished vintage diner in my then neighborhood was a godsend; it remains one of my favorite haunts in the whole area and the only place I know where one can get real maple syrup at no extra charge.
2002: EarthFest, The Esplanade
Spring always feels more vibrant here than it did where I grew up. As with Autumn (curiously not as dynamic as back home), every year I try to capture the world in flux. This was taken at a free radio station-sponsored concert headlined by Bonnie Raitt; I love how the people strewn all over the grass almost seem like a natural part of the landscape at this distance.
2003: Belmont Street, Cambridge
Over two feet of snow fell the day before my birthday that year. I strolled through my nearly deserted neighborhood, taking pictures of sidewalks and snowbanks, crouched down in an effort to get an accurate sense of just how much precipitation the storm left in its wake.
2004: The Public Gardens
I view this now and immediately feel warm and serene. Cities can be tough, irritating places to live in and just deal with, but once in awhile you can sense their beauty and poetry.
2005: Jamaica Pond
I moved to Jamaica Plain over two years prior to this photo, and the place it was taken at contributes greatly to why I feel so home in that part of town. I'll visit The Pond any time of year and usually see something in a way I haven't previously. This shot is from late Autumn; I think it proves that trees don't necessarily need fauna to appear interesting.
2006: The Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge
Having just missed a commuter rail train at North Station, I had two hours to kill. So, I ambled through Charlestown and the North End and got a few shots of something that wasn't there ten years ago. It's no Golden Gate, but it's mightier than the Hoan. I like how it gives Boston some much-needed drama (aesthetically, of course--it has more than it needs in the attitudinal sense).
2007: Winchester Path, Brookline Hills
I couldn't resist going back to where I started. Of course it's not an exact replica, this being August. But it's comforting to know it's still within my grasp (I currently work about a ten-minute walk away from it). Like Boston itself, it also still hasn't lost its charm.
1997: Winchester Path, Brookline Hills
Accustomed to the Midwest's homogeneous street grids, Boston's spaghetti-tangled layout both challenged and captivated me. I was awestruck the first time I came across this pedestrian hillside walkway. This was taken on a brisk Thanksgiving Day hike when I really had nothing better to do (except maybe renting movies). Thanks to the sun's position, it's the only self-portrait here.
1998: Revere Beach
Only I would take the Blue Line outbound to its terminus on a not particularly warm November Saturday afternoon to go to the beach and explore. Luckily for me, the sky was a magnificent blend of hues and textures--plus, I had the place practically all to myself.
1999: Aldie Street, Lower Allston
Another gorgeous, otherworldly sky. I remember a few instances over the years where I just had to run home to my apartment, grab my camera, and rush back out again to capture the remnants of a sunset in all of its glory before it would irrevocably fade away.
2000: Bussey Hill, Arnold Arboretum
Now I live within spitting distance of this place, but for many years, it involved much more effort to get there. Consequently, I take this vista (looking out towards the Blue Hills) for granted until those increasingly rare occasions when I see it in person.
2001: Deluxe Town Diner, Watertown
How I ended up living in the suburbs for two years isn't terribly complicated, but not compelling enough to get into here. However, this refurbished vintage diner in my then neighborhood was a godsend; it remains one of my favorite haunts in the whole area and the only place I know where one can get real maple syrup at no extra charge.
2002: EarthFest, The Esplanade
Spring always feels more vibrant here than it did where I grew up. As with Autumn (curiously not as dynamic as back home), every year I try to capture the world in flux. This was taken at a free radio station-sponsored concert headlined by Bonnie Raitt; I love how the people strewn all over the grass almost seem like a natural part of the landscape at this distance.
2003: Belmont Street, Cambridge
Over two feet of snow fell the day before my birthday that year. I strolled through my nearly deserted neighborhood, taking pictures of sidewalks and snowbanks, crouched down in an effort to get an accurate sense of just how much precipitation the storm left in its wake.
2004: The Public Gardens
I view this now and immediately feel warm and serene. Cities can be tough, irritating places to live in and just deal with, but once in awhile you can sense their beauty and poetry.
2005: Jamaica Pond
I moved to Jamaica Plain over two years prior to this photo, and the place it was taken at contributes greatly to why I feel so home in that part of town. I'll visit The Pond any time of year and usually see something in a way I haven't previously. This shot is from late Autumn; I think it proves that trees don't necessarily need fauna to appear interesting.
2006: The Leonard P. Zakim Bunker Hill Memorial Bridge
Having just missed a commuter rail train at North Station, I had two hours to kill. So, I ambled through Charlestown and the North End and got a few shots of something that wasn't there ten years ago. It's no Golden Gate, but it's mightier than the Hoan. I like how it gives Boston some much-needed drama (aesthetically, of course--it has more than it needs in the attitudinal sense).
2007: Winchester Path, Brookline Hills
I couldn't resist going back to where I started. Of course it's not an exact replica, this being August. But it's comforting to know it's still within my grasp (I currently work about a ten-minute walk away from it). Like Boston itself, it also still hasn't lost its charm.
15 August 2007
SUMMERCAMP!
It's easy for most of us to forget what it feels like to be a child, especially if you don't work with children or aren't a parent. Bradley Beesley and Sarah Price's straightforward but affecting documentary unerringly captures the nostalgic warmth and pure sense of discovery of those pre-teen (and early teenaged) years. It also honestly depicts how naturally vulnerable and bewildered children occasionally are whether they're struggling to make friends or simply feeling homesick.
Recorded over one summer at the Swift Nature Camp in northern Wisconsin, the film dutifully illustrates all the familiar rituals of a prototypical spell at camp, from arts and crafts and nature hikes to talent shows and roasting marshmallows to a burnt crisp over an open fire. We meet many campers, but the film focuses on a select few, like roly-poly Cameron, whose anti-social behavior gradually spirals out of control, or loner Holly, whose cute, curious obsession with chickadees is far more significant than it first appears. Throughout a season of canoeing trips, bedtime stories, first crushes and plastic bowls of lime jell-o, some of the kids make friends and grow in character and have the times of their lives; others don't.
While not exactly revelatory filmmaking, after years of slasher pics, sex comedies and agenda-centric docs, this is as close to an authentic look at the culture of summer camps that we're ever likely to get. Refreshingly, there is a minimum (if not complete lack) of mugging for the camera from these kids, and this makes a huge difference. Beesley and Price's real accomplishment is in how genuine and unaffected their subjects appear—it's what endears them and the film to us.
09 August 2007
FOGGY WATERFRONT
I had some time to kill the other night before meeting up with a friend in Fort Point Channel (for an outdoor screening of this), so I explored the Boston waterfront, which I haven't walked through much lately.
Quincy Marketplace swarmed by tourists, though you'd never know it at this angle.
In nearly ten years, I can't remember walking across the old Northern Ave. bridge before.
I think I prefer the Boston Harbor Hotel from a comfortable distance.
Last time I was this close to the new ICA, it was way too frigid out to take any pix.
Lobotomized giddiness over the prospect of eclectic cuisine, or PODS?
Quincy Marketplace swarmed by tourists, though you'd never know it at this angle.
In nearly ten years, I can't remember walking across the old Northern Ave. bridge before.
I think I prefer the Boston Harbor Hotel from a comfortable distance.
Last time I was this close to the new ICA, it was way too frigid out to take any pix.
Lobotomized giddiness over the prospect of eclectic cuisine, or PODS?
Same town, different bridge.
01 August 2007
DESERT ISLAND REVISITED
In celebration of the publication of Marooned (a generational sequel to the rock-crit classic Stranded), here are ten albums I'd love to take with me to a desert island (in the order they came to mind):
Ivy - APARTMENT LIFE
Saint Etienne - TALES FROM TURNPIKE HOUSE
Kate Bush - THE DREAMING
The Avalanches - SINCE I LEFT YOU
Belle and Sebastian - IF YOU'RE FEELING SINISTER
Brian Eno - BEFORE AND AFTER SCIENCE
XTC - SKYLARKING
Sam Phillips - A BOOT AND A SHOE
The Go-Betweens -OCEANS APART
Calexico - FEAST OF WIRE
If you take a glance at my 100 favorite albums from three years ago, you'll notice that the top ten is radically different from this one. Has my taste in music fluctuated that much? Well, the earlier list is full of records I've listened to so obsessively that I feel I rarely need to hear them. Taking the desert island concept literally, I'm already somewhat sick of 'em, so I can't imagine what hell on earth would emerge if I was permanently stuck with 'em.
So, why these ten?
Well, the Saint Etienne, Go-Betweens and Sam Phillips albums, all released in the past three years, are there because they flawlessly encapsulate the great qualities of each artist’s oeuvre while also pushing them further than they previously dared to.
Though much older, the Brian Eno (and, to a lesser extent) Kate Bush albums are also recent discoveries; the intricate, adventurous worlds they contain ensure hours and hours of detecting all the unforeseen nuances within.
Ivy, Belle and Sebastian and The Avalanches were on the original top ten (and XTC in the top 20); perhaps they remain because I haven’t gotten to know them as well as this one or that one.
As for the Calexico album, I needed a tenth disc and could’ve easily put one by Tori Amos, Stew or Sufjan Stevens in its place. It wins out because of its sonic diversity, its flow, and the fact that it would make an apt soundtrack for a harsh, endless, isolated landscape.
And, if I bent the rules and snuck in five additional greatest hits albums, they would be Pet Shop Boys’ DISCOGRAPHY, The Smiths BEST… I, Kirsty MacColl’s GALORE, ABBA GOLD, and Saint Etienne’s SMASH THE SYSTEM: SINGLES AND MORE. Because what are the chances of being stuck on a desert island, anyway?
30 July 2007
YOU'RE A PIECE OF WORK, CHARLIE BRANASKI
Oh my, this is wrong, wrong, wrong, but incredibly funny and dead-on: Charles Schulz's Peanuts, if it were written by Charles Bukowski. As a lifelong fan of the former, I can appreciate a parody as long as it's this sharp. 
25 July 2007
"TO BE CONTINUED..."
Very little on this green Earth excites me as much as a new Wes Anderson film. It opens the New York Film Festival on September 29 and is scheduled to hit theaters a week later.
Here's the trailer. It looks like textbook Wes Anderson goes to India. Haters won't find anything new to love; I can't wait to see it.
23 July 2007
20 July 2007
BEATLES SMILE TIME VARIETY HOUR
Check out Nathan Rabin's hilarious essay on SGT. PEPPERS LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND (the 1978 movie, not the 40-year-old album) in The Onion's AV Club blog. This sentence alone is (as they say) worth the price of admission:
The closing number is a maraschino cherry of awfulness atop a ten-scoop Sundae of pure crap.
Although I've made ample time to watch such notorious flops as XANADU and CAN'T STOP THE MUSIC, I haven't seen this film and I'm a little afraid to. Even I have a threshold that can't fully support the idea of Peter Frampton and The Bee Gees slaughtering and trivializing Beatles songs with the bloated excesses of an era not immune to laboriously bad taste... I'd probably have to get liquored up first.
And yet, I can watch this over and over again. At least with SGT. PEPPER'S, I have a feeling you could discern what kind of audience it tried to court (no matter how misguidedly), but THE APPLE is just flabbergasting with its futuristic world of "1994", over-the-top musical extravaganzas (including one full of synchronized sex and a Donna Summer sound-a-like) and many, many sequins. It's worse than its two brethren (mentioned above) in the 1980 post-disco, pre-new wave, all-camp terrible trio, but it's fascinatingly bad, and that's the difference.
The closing number is a maraschino cherry of awfulness atop a ten-scoop Sundae of pure crap.
Although I've made ample time to watch such notorious flops as XANADU and CAN'T STOP THE MUSIC, I haven't seen this film and I'm a little afraid to. Even I have a threshold that can't fully support the idea of Peter Frampton and The Bee Gees slaughtering and trivializing Beatles songs with the bloated excesses of an era not immune to laboriously bad taste... I'd probably have to get liquored up first.
And yet, I can watch this over and over again. At least with SGT. PEPPER'S, I have a feeling you could discern what kind of audience it tried to court (no matter how misguidedly), but THE APPLE is just flabbergasting with its futuristic world of "1994", over-the-top musical extravaganzas (including one full of synchronized sex and a Donna Summer sound-a-like) and many, many sequins. It's worse than its two brethren (mentioned above) in the 1980 post-disco, pre-new wave, all-camp terrible trio, but it's fascinatingly bad, and that's the difference.
11 July 2007
FOUR RECENT FILMS
Two of these could likely end up on my year-end Top Ten list, and they couldn't be more different from each other.
THE BRAND UPON THE BRAIN!
This initially seems a tad less accessible than Guy Maddin's previous best work, THE SADDEST MUSIC IN THE WORLD. The story is as deranged as ever, involving a marooned orphanage, a gender-bending teenage detective/harpist, and a sinisterly-derived fountain of youth nectar, among many other quirks. With intertitles and voice-over narration (by the incomparable Isabella Rossellini) in place of any spoken dialogue, it proceeds at a hallucinatory pace: the images often bleed into one another, the intertitles fly by rapidly and occasionally repeat as if we were watching remnants of long-buried film reels (at times resembling a cubist painting come to life), and the lurid action reaches multiple crescendos.
It's no coincidence Maddin recently wrote about underground auteur Kenneth Anger in Film Comment—here he repeatedly injects his own sensibility into Anger's style, but the effect is neither tribute nor copy but its own excitable, idiosyncratic creation. Simultaneously pushing and pleasing his audience, Maddin reaches a great apex here: BRAND is far more involving and relatively easier to follow than his earlier films but thankfully, it doesn't compromise or dilute what made them so delightfully eccentric. (5/5)
BROKEN ENGLISH
Here's a tale we've heard before: Nora (Parker Posey), a woman in her mid-30's, is in pre-midlife crisis mode. Her administrative hotel job neither challenges nor fulfills her and she has yet to truly fall in love. Substitute a few words and you have the plot of a dozen other art-house chick flicks. So, how does BROKEN ENGLISH stand out from them? First, Posey is well-cast and well-tempered, fully expressing Nora's complexities and neuroses without overplaying them. Second, the situations director/writer Zoe R. Cassavetes places her in seem real and relatable without feeling clichéd, from an impulsive, disastrous affair with a narcissistic actor (a perfectly fatuous Justin Theroux) to an impromptu trip to Paris with her best friend (a nicely curt Drea De Matteo). When Nora finally meets a potential romantic partner in Julien (Melvil Poupaud), we watch all the little details accumulate in the subsequent affair and get a vivid sense of character, place, chemistry and conflict. Cassavetes doesn't even come close to attaining the weight and originality of her father John's maverick work, but she doesn't talk down to her audience, either. She's the third Cassavetes sibling to make a film, and by far the most promising one. (4/5)
RATATOUILLE
Brad Bird’s first two animated features (THE IRON GIANT and THE INCREDIBLES) heightened my anticipation for his third, which has an unlikely premise: a rat with an enhanced sense of smell longs to be a great chef in a Parisian restaurant and realizes his goal with the help of a klutzy human friend. Fortunately, RATATOUILLE is a fine, rich dish. The gorgeous, detailed computer animation makes earlier Pixar films seem like embryonic sketches, the cast of voices is pitch perfect without being too celebrity fueled and thus distracting (most recognizable is Peter O’Toole as a deliciously snooty food critic), and a few sequences approach Rube Goldbergian levels of intricacy.
None of that would matter, of course, if it all wasn’t in service of an excellent, unexpectedly affecting narrative. The story not only speaks volumes about how talent and drive go hand in hand to create great art, but also dissects what an audience’s role is in consuming and comprehending it. While entertaining and populist, Bird’s films have always operated at a level of sophistication higher than most of his peers, and this may be his most lithe, ingenuous creation yet: it bursts with creativity and passion and is refreshingly devoid of cloyingness and cynicism. My compliments to the chef. (5/5)
SICKO
To paraphrase an expression one of my colleagues loves to use, I am so over Michael Moore. His earlier movies and TV shows were amusing and unsettling in equal amounts, but he jumped the shark with FAHRENHEIT 911, a film that I liked at the time but now remember as a well-intentioned but clumsy diatribe that's more propaganda than anything resembling artistic merit. Fortunately, SICKO has more of the latter. Pushing for universal health care, Moore makes his most convincing, provocative argument since ROGER AND ME. It helps that he's picked a cause most people can champion and it's to his advantage that he spends less time on camera. Still, I'm having trouble with little things I could overlook before: his condescending voiceovers, his one-sided examples and reasoning, the stunts that don't seem ingenuous as they once did. I appreciate what Moore's trying to do, and the film simmers to a fine boil of outrage and enlightenment; it also hints, more than ever, that the guy is a one-trick pony. He needs to make a different type of film next time out—perhaps one that shows more than it tells. (3/5)
THE BRAND UPON THE BRAIN!
This initially seems a tad less accessible than Guy Maddin's previous best work, THE SADDEST MUSIC IN THE WORLD. The story is as deranged as ever, involving a marooned orphanage, a gender-bending teenage detective/harpist, and a sinisterly-derived fountain of youth nectar, among many other quirks. With intertitles and voice-over narration (by the incomparable Isabella Rossellini) in place of any spoken dialogue, it proceeds at a hallucinatory pace: the images often bleed into one another, the intertitles fly by rapidly and occasionally repeat as if we were watching remnants of long-buried film reels (at times resembling a cubist painting come to life), and the lurid action reaches multiple crescendos.
It's no coincidence Maddin recently wrote about underground auteur Kenneth Anger in Film Comment—here he repeatedly injects his own sensibility into Anger's style, but the effect is neither tribute nor copy but its own excitable, idiosyncratic creation. Simultaneously pushing and pleasing his audience, Maddin reaches a great apex here: BRAND is far more involving and relatively easier to follow than his earlier films but thankfully, it doesn't compromise or dilute what made them so delightfully eccentric. (5/5)
BROKEN ENGLISH
Here's a tale we've heard before: Nora (Parker Posey), a woman in her mid-30's, is in pre-midlife crisis mode. Her administrative hotel job neither challenges nor fulfills her and she has yet to truly fall in love. Substitute a few words and you have the plot of a dozen other art-house chick flicks. So, how does BROKEN ENGLISH stand out from them? First, Posey is well-cast and well-tempered, fully expressing Nora's complexities and neuroses without overplaying them. Second, the situations director/writer Zoe R. Cassavetes places her in seem real and relatable without feeling clichéd, from an impulsive, disastrous affair with a narcissistic actor (a perfectly fatuous Justin Theroux) to an impromptu trip to Paris with her best friend (a nicely curt Drea De Matteo). When Nora finally meets a potential romantic partner in Julien (Melvil Poupaud), we watch all the little details accumulate in the subsequent affair and get a vivid sense of character, place, chemistry and conflict. Cassavetes doesn't even come close to attaining the weight and originality of her father John's maverick work, but she doesn't talk down to her audience, either. She's the third Cassavetes sibling to make a film, and by far the most promising one. (4/5)
RATATOUILLE
Brad Bird’s first two animated features (THE IRON GIANT and THE INCREDIBLES) heightened my anticipation for his third, which has an unlikely premise: a rat with an enhanced sense of smell longs to be a great chef in a Parisian restaurant and realizes his goal with the help of a klutzy human friend. Fortunately, RATATOUILLE is a fine, rich dish. The gorgeous, detailed computer animation makes earlier Pixar films seem like embryonic sketches, the cast of voices is pitch perfect without being too celebrity fueled and thus distracting (most recognizable is Peter O’Toole as a deliciously snooty food critic), and a few sequences approach Rube Goldbergian levels of intricacy.
None of that would matter, of course, if it all wasn’t in service of an excellent, unexpectedly affecting narrative. The story not only speaks volumes about how talent and drive go hand in hand to create great art, but also dissects what an audience’s role is in consuming and comprehending it. While entertaining and populist, Bird’s films have always operated at a level of sophistication higher than most of his peers, and this may be his most lithe, ingenuous creation yet: it bursts with creativity and passion and is refreshingly devoid of cloyingness and cynicism. My compliments to the chef. (5/5)
SICKO
To paraphrase an expression one of my colleagues loves to use, I am so over Michael Moore. His earlier movies and TV shows were amusing and unsettling in equal amounts, but he jumped the shark with FAHRENHEIT 911, a film that I liked at the time but now remember as a well-intentioned but clumsy diatribe that's more propaganda than anything resembling artistic merit. Fortunately, SICKO has more of the latter. Pushing for universal health care, Moore makes his most convincing, provocative argument since ROGER AND ME. It helps that he's picked a cause most people can champion and it's to his advantage that he spends less time on camera. Still, I'm having trouble with little things I could overlook before: his condescending voiceovers, his one-sided examples and reasoning, the stunts that don't seem ingenuous as they once did. I appreciate what Moore's trying to do, and the film simmers to a fine boil of outrage and enlightenment; it also hints, more than ever, that the guy is a one-trick pony. He needs to make a different type of film next time out—perhaps one that shows more than it tells. (3/5)
02 July 2007
MID-YEAR FILM REPORT
Here's my Top Ten Films of 2007, mid-year:
01. AWAY FROM HER
02. THE HOST
03. DAY NIGHT DAY NIGHT
04. PAN'S LABYRINTH
05. MONKEY WARFARE
06. THE LIVES OF OTHERS
07. AUDIENCE OF ONE
08. LINDA LINDA LINDA
09. PAPRIKA
10. CLIMATES
Two of these are festival films still without American distribution, two are from Japan, one is from Korea, one is from Turkey, two have already won Academy Awards. That leaves two other films, both of them directed by women. I'd elaborate further, but I really must go to bed.
01. AWAY FROM HER
02. THE HOST
03. DAY NIGHT DAY NIGHT
04. PAN'S LABYRINTH
05. MONKEY WARFARE
06. THE LIVES OF OTHERS
07. AUDIENCE OF ONE
08. LINDA LINDA LINDA
09. PAPRIKA
10. CLIMATES
Two of these are festival films still without American distribution, two are from Japan, one is from Korea, one is from Turkey, two have already won Academy Awards. That leaves two other films, both of them directed by women. I'd elaborate further, but I really must go to bed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)