Double double! "World War Z" and "Man of Steel" Review

Toil and trouble! Today, after much too long a time with nothing new posted here, I am quite pleased to present a Dynamic Duo Double Feature Double Dialogue Review, with my brother and fellow writer and movie-lover, the fantastic Joe Faultersack! This will be a much more informal approach than usual, as we'll basically just be going back and forth with our thoughts on the two movies we saw last weekend and this weekend, respectively, "World War Z" and "Man of Steel."

Joe:  "World War Z."  This one is an very nontraditional zombie movie.  The things that make it different are the following: 1) suspense instead of just action 2) tastefulness instead of tastiness 3) scope. 

Dan: Well, I'm no expert on the zombie genre in general, but I'd say that some other zombie films probably feature a mixture of suspense and action as well. But you're certainly right in pointing out that the way this film combines those two things works very well. I'd almost say they basically just alternate, and it works splendidly.

Joe: Yeah, well put.  What stands out most to me about the suspense is that it is done so well.  They kill off a couple characters early on--characters who you think might become important side characters.  This means that later on, you think any of the side characters could suddenly get killed off, and so you're nervous.  They add to that the fact that the zombies are mainly attracted to sound, and that gets you wincing and silently screaming every time someone kicks a soda can.

Dan: Indeed. The sound-attraction thing is a plot point that the script plants very early on, and it pays off majorly in the third act, where, as you said, we in the audience are wincing a lot as the characters keep making these small but potentially deadly noises. It is interesting too that we go from a lot of action in the middle sections to a very tight, small-scale, suspense-driven sequence at the end. That whole part in Scotland with the [plot details] was what really won me over to this film. There were some very epic, even iconic moments, I thought.

Joe:  Absolutely.  A lot of movies try to make their end "epic" by just making a really, really big battle at the end.  "World War Z" does it just by brilliant suspense, high stakes, and like you said, at least one very iconic shot.  Another thing that won me over for this movie is Brad Pitt's character, Gerry.  He's not a "stand out" character as far as quirks are concerned, but I found myself thinking throughout the movie, "What a guy."  You really, really root for him.

Dan: Agreed. And I think that is the value of an actor like Pitt who is also a "star" in the classical sense--even with a very basic, everyman type character, his talent and charisma pull you in and make you care about the guy. Also, to jump into some comparisons, I think the thing you just mentioned about epic not necessarily meaning big was a problem with "Man of Steel," and one spot at least where "World War Z" had it beat. "Man of Steel" goes very big and very cacophonous at the end, full of smashing and explosions and bright lights and jittery camera work.

Joe:  The end battle in "Man of Steel," which indeed is more of the last third of the movie, is big, and like you say, "World War Z" wins out there.  I find I get board very quickly with big action sequences with lots of explosions and flying stuff, and more and more movies are obsessed with those these days.  I didn't notice the jitter too much in "Man of Steel," but you do have an eye for that, so they probably did use it, (and it is in general an overused style).  Before we move away from "World War Z," my last comment on that one is that it side-steps the blood-bath style of zombie flick.  Zombie movies have so much potential, but they also usually revel in this sort of Roman Circus love of blood, guts, and outrageous violence for its own sake.  "World War Z" deliberately avoids this time and time again.  That's tasteful.

Dan: Agreed. And it should be noted that it is PG-13, and more scary than gory for the most part. I'll add that the jittery camera is present in "World War Z" as well, especially in the first third or so, which was perhaps part of why it took a little while for me to get into the film. But once it had its hooks in me, I was very engaged. Anyways, on to "Man of Steel," which I think you liked considerably better than I did. So why don't you start us off!

Joe: Right-oh.  "Man of Steel" got my attention with its first teaser trailer, featuring music lifted from Howard Shore's Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack, Russel Crowe narrating, and beautiful, dream-like imagery.  I started to wonder, "is it possible that this movie could be as good as this trailer?"  I'm still not sure.  That trailer was hard to beat.  But the movie overall was beautiful to me.  First of all, I hope it at very least gets an Oscar nomination (if not award) for Best Cinematography.  It was shot in a fantastic way.  And I mean that in both senses of the word: it was really great shooting, and it was unearthly shooting.  Unearthly both in that it was visually striking sci fi and that it had this imaginative, lyrical quality to it.  So that shooting combined with the feel of the score and some of the ideas the film played with to make it a beautiful movie, that in its best moments was haunting.  It's less great moments... well I'll let you take those.

Dan: Lyrical is a great word to describe what "Man of Steel" does well, to a large extent living up to the promise of that excellent teaser trailer, at least visually. Where it doesn't quite do the trick, in my opinion, is in the story department. The teaser made me imagine a detailed and emotional origin story somewhere along the lines of Christopher Nolan's "Batman Begins" or Sam Raimi's original "Spider-man" (both of which "Man of Steel" admittedly beats by a mile visually). But there wasn't a whole lot of that. Maybe it is because he is inherently less complicated of a character, but I never got very emotionally involved with Clark Kent in this film. He has some identity/destiny issues, yes, but in the super-hero/adopted alien world, who doesn't?

Joe: Certainly the weakness of the movie is the lack of specific emotional attachment.  I felt emotionally involved at specific moments and in a general, thematic sort of way, but not very much with specific characters throughout the course of the movie.  This is actually the first Superman film I have seen, but it is my impression that other ones might try to get down to a more personal level with Clark.  I assume Smallville tried that.  In a way, maybe the Superman story does not lend itself super well to intense, personal, character emotion stuff, so maybe "Man of Steel" finds other strengths to build on.

Dan: I think you've probably hit on something there. And "Man of Steel" definitely has its very impressive strengths, don't get me wrong. The performances are all solid, with no weak spots, which actually strikes me as a bit of an amazing feat for this type of movie, which usually has a least one weaker performance holding it back. I will specifically call out Kevin Costner and Diane Lane, who do tremendous work with their relatively small amount of screen time as Kal-El's adopted earth-parents. And as we keep coming back to, the visuals are just continually gorgeous. I compared it to "Tron: Legacy" on the car ride back, but that's not quite right. The images are deeper, more vibrant, whereas "Tron" was all about shiny surfaces, either glowing or reflecting light. "Man of Steel"'s images offer more weight and significance, especially that flapping red cape, which I think handily encapsulates both the sense of royalty and old-fashioned, uncomplicated goodness. Perhaps some of the troubles are in trying to make Clark Kent too moody and troubled then? Was that wrong route to take? But the melancholy/elegiac mood is part of what works so well . . .

Joe: Yeah, I didn't have a problem with the moodier side of Clark Kent, since he didn't really mope a whole lot.  A last couple thoughts on other characters before we close up: General Zod and Lois Lane.  I love Michael Shannon in "Take Shelter," but he has a little less latitude in this movie.  Zod isn't quite the maniacal 2D villain that many Action or Superhero movies sport, but the writing for him doesn't allow for a huge level of depth.  He has too many monologues.  That said, there is one moment near the end where you suddenly see his soul, and I love that part.  Also near the start, Michael Shannon pulls off a moment of genuine fear, which you don't see often in the bad guy.  Amy Adams plays Lois Lane, and does a very competent job of it, though again, the character doesn't go deep.  She and Superman had some moments that I like, but there was one that just didn't work for me.  She has a line about relationships just going downhill after the first kiss, and he has a quip back about being an alien.  It sounded like it came out a normal superhero movie.  This movie has a lyrical tone, so that kind of line has no place in it.  Their relationship also didn't have time to develop, so I thought they should have just played up more fairy-tale style in it.  It would have fit the tone and it was unrealistic anyway, so...  Anyway, I thought it had great imagery, interesting themes about genetic manipulation and destiny, and a wonderful feel.  The last flashback was brilliant.  I'll let you close us out.

Dan: Agreed on all those points. (I guess our differences must come down to how much we're weighing story/characters vs imagery and "intangibles" for this particular movie?) I think we've pretty much covered everything. So I hope everyone had a fun time reading this; maybe we'll try another double-feature dialogue review sometime! And thanks, Joe!

The Place Beyond the Pines

"If you ride like lightning, you're going to crash like thunder."


Some films take over my head, replaying themselves vividly in my mind's eye and dominating large swaths of my waking thoughts. These tend to be films with either dense and complex narratives (like "Inception"), or unique and arresting visual displays and cinematography (like "The Fall" or "Tree of Life"), or both (like "The Prestige"). But other films linger in the back corners of my consciousness, and their power seems a bit harder to pinpoint. Derek Cianfrance's remarkable "The Place Beyond the Pines" is such a film, and it has been lurking in my head for a week now, haunting me with its ambition, simplicity, and deep melancholy.

I want to convey some sense of why this film is powerful, and at the same time I don't want to give away the emotional and structural surprises up its splendid sleeve, so I'm going to tread carefully here, and also warn you against reading plot-heavy reviews or synopses if you want to see the film unspoiled, because it is rather difficult to talk about it in-depth without giving away certain aspects of the story which are probably better left for the viewer to discover.

"The Place Beyond the Pines" stars Ryan Gosling as Luke, a carnival stunt biker who discovers he has a son by way of old fling Romina (Eva Mendes). To his credit, he decides he wants to be involved in their lives, and quits the carnival so he can stay in town. The way he goes about providing for this makeshift family from there, however, quickly becomes somewhat less than admirable, and less than legal, to put it mildly. Gosling gives easily the best performance in the film, projecting at once both a reckless outlaw cool and an intense emotional vulnerability. A nice visual touch that neatly summarizes the captivating duality of the performance is the tattoo at the corner of his eye that looks like a teardrop, until you look closer and see that is in fact a dagger dripping blood. Here is an utterly convincing portrayal of a man who can show incredible gentleness and sweetness giving his baby son ice cream for the very first time, and then a couple sequences later be screaming hoarse profanities at the petrified employees of a bank he is robbing. (See! I'm already giving things away!) The great thing though is that you can hear the rising panic and desperation in his voice in those same screams, the fear of a man who may have a perfect and daring plan for his heist, but on the other hand may not have what it takes emotionally for a sustained life of crime.

The now seemingly omnipresent Bradley Cooper co-stars, but the less I say about his role in things the better. He carries it off well though. (Who would have thought that the earnest and unlucky reporter from "Alias" would ever end up being a major Hollywood star and Academy Award nominee?) Mendes also gives a fine performance, but her role as Romina, though incredibly sympathetic, is much less developed (as is too often the case with female roles) and she gets a bit less screen time. Australian actor Ben Mendelsohn brings a weary slyness to his part as a workaday criminal who may also be playing, unaware, the part of a devil in the larger drama around him. Just listen to the music when he and Luke meet in a sunny but ominous clearing in the woods. The way Cianfrance is able to use this character both as a perfectly commonplace albeit opportunistic criminal, someone I was absolutely convinced I could find in the real world, and also simultaneously as a symbolic figure of dark temptation, is emblematic of the way the film as a whole works, functioning at once both as realism and as heightened epic, with the weight of some forgotten Greek or Shakespearean tragedy that has been shifted seamlessly into a modern environment. The alternately gritty and soaring cinematography works together with the gorgeous score to help accomplish this. The former grounds us in the real, specific, detailed day-to-day world, while the latter ties the characters and the themes together and emphasizes the scope and the emotional weight of the events. Ordinary moments are thus imbued with chilled majesty, and certain shot/score combinations held me entranced. Combined with sharp writing and acting, this results in everything that transpires feeling fated, and yet always dependent on the choices of these profoundly screwed up characters. I could have sworn this was an adaptation of a great undiscovered novel, but no, the whole thing is an original script by Cianfrance and his co-writers Ben Coccio and Darius Marder.

Again wording things carefully, I'll simply mention the fact that the film is divided roughly into thirds, and that this division has advantages and disadvantages. For one thing, the structure often makes it hard to tell where the story, or any given arc within it, is headed. This unpredictability lends an air of intensity and realism—anything could happen!—but also at times left me feeling adrift, unconnected to the plot. Only at the end could I see what it was building too. And frankly, the last third does not, for my money, quite live up to what precedes it. It fails to fully capitalize on and bring full circle all the emotions and sense of grandeur instilled by the first sections and the generally ambitious nature of the film. In fact, to put it harshly, the three acts of the story are each slightly less compelling than the one that came before, when they should be building on each other's successes. Nonetheless, "The Place Beyond the Pines" is a strong and fiercely emotional film about fathers, sons, violence, and generational consequences.

"The Place Beyond the Pines" (R) ***1/2

Note: This film was on limited release, but just this week got a wider release, so the likelihood that it is available in a theater near you just went up significantly.

Moon

“Moon” is a movie I was all set up to fall in love with. It looked great, and promised brains and heart. The problem is that every good movie is a blind date (unless given away by a too revealing trailer). Where does this movie go wrong? Why did I feel like it fell flat on its pretty face, despite enormous potential?

“Moon” stars Sam Rockwell, an actor who displayed terrific talent both in “Galaxy Quest” (the terrific spoof that is like the “Princess Bride” of science fiction) and in Ridley Scott’s “Matchstick Men.” In this movie, he plays Sam Bell, a solitary worker on a mining base on the moon. He misses his family, who he can only talk to via slow and unreliable recorded video messages. The presence of a smiley-face robot named Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey) is useful, but not very reassuring to us in the audience if we remember “2001: Space Odyssey.” Neither does the machine offer much comfort to poor Sam Bell, although it could be given credit for trying. Sam has been up on the moon base for a long time; in the opening scenes we see him with a thick and untamed beard, an unusual look for Mr. Rockwell which serves to underline how long he has been up there. He has been isolated so long, in fact, that his sanity is clearly on edge. This makes the events that follow (which I will try not to give away, although the trailer spoils a bit of the plot) all the more interesting, because we are always wondering how mentally stable Sam really is. He does hallucinate, and recognizes it, so we have to question whether some other strange things that go on might be hallucinations too. It also may not surprise you that his employers are not entirely to be trusted, and everything is definitely not as it seems.

This fits the type of story I love: tight, contained, suspenseful, character-based dramas. Even better, it is science fiction, a genre I have a weak spot for, and “hard” science fiction at that—it feels realistic, and could probably be based on some simple extrapolations from current science and technology. Too many science fiction movies these days are nothing but gunfights and explosions, just action movies (good or bad) dressed up in sci-fi clothes. This one is intelligent and subtle, for which I must give it credit. And Sam Rockwell gives a terrific performance as this lonely, insecure, unstable man, who may know much less about himself and his situation than he at first appears to. He is the only actor on the screen for easily 95% of the movie, and he carries it off just fine. (Although, thinking about it, I have to say Will Smith did a better job of winning over my sympathy with his one-man-wonder portrayal of loneliness in “I Am Legend.” But maybe that’s just because he had the advantage of possessing the almost invulnerable charisma of Will Smith. Or maybe it was because he had a dog instead of a robot.)

So why didn’t this film quite click with me? Despite all the twists and the thoughtful turns and introspection, and the logical consistency of the story, I was left cold at the end. I guess I’m left wondering what the larger truth behind this movie is, other than the frankly self-evident ones that loneliness stinks, and can drive someone to the edge of madness. There’s also a feeling of incompleteness, that perhaps the real story, with higher stakes and more character interaction, might be actually just about to begin. And “Moon” could have perhaps gone further with its premise. I expected it to ratchet up a couple levels of crazy further than it did. So, in the end, while I might have a crush on the concept and careful execution of this movie, I have yet to locate a heart or a truth that could take it from competent to great. For anyone out there who has seen this, I would love to be proven wrong.

"Moon" (2009) **1/2

Hidden Gems of Netflix: Raising Arizona

"It's a craaazy world."
"Someone oughta sell tickets."


Overall I find myself harboring mixed feelings about the work of the Coen brothers. They are clearly possessed of excellent craftsmanship, yet while their films are always fascinating and entertaining at the very least, there seems to lurk beneath the surface of most of them a certain cynicism. Some of their harshest critics accuse them of being out-and-out misanthropes, perhaps snickering up their sleeves at the often hapless characters that inhabit their tonally patchy and sometimes abruptly absurd stories. And I can see that this line of reasoning could indeed be applied to some portion of their oeuvre. Still, I will not go nearly so far as to say that such injurious appellations as misanthropy properly reflect each and every one of their films indiscriminately.

And thus I want to champion an early example of a film of the brothers Coen that has genuine heart and optimism. I dare to suggest that "Raising Arizona" (being the second film by said brothers, and being the chief subject of this review), represents their most sincere effort to come alongside their screwed-up screwball characters. In H.I. and Edwina (Nicholas Cage and Holly Hunter), the repeat offender criminal and the policewoman he marries, they proffer protagonists who are at once woefully incompetent and deeply sympathetic. For this oddest of odd couples have a persistent, ingrained, and emotional desire to have a child, but Ed is barren. The farcical plot of the film is launched (after a splendidly paced opening that introduces these characters to the audience and each other), by this most primal, natural, and Biblical of human desires, and by the desperate and criminal plan that the two dream up to fulfill the glaring lack in their newly minted domestic life. Because of H.I.'s criminal past they cannot adopt, so they decide to steal a baby, one of the Arizona quintuplets.

This rash act—which the film readily admits through H.I.'s earnest though somewhat torpid narration is not such a great idea—leads to a multitude of problems, not the least of which is that neither of these two would-be parents really know how to take care of a baby. Their ineptitude fuels much of the comedy, but at the same time we are shown that though they are clearly misguided (can there even be comedies about sane, reasonable people?), they love this kidnapped kid and they love each other. The other main difficulty they encounter stems from the fact that almost everyone in the wacky world of "Raising Arizona" is a would-be parent. Nathan Jr. the missing Arizona boy is in very high demand, and H.I. and Ed are soon surrounded by alternately quirky and over-the-top criminal elements, comically determined and hell-bent on the baby himself and the reward money respectively. Both of these elements link back directly to the hapless and continually flustered H.I.:  two of his prison friends break out and want to hole up in his house, and his nightmares predict and/or produce a ridiculous bounty hunter outlaw, the grenade-loving, small-animal-obliterating Lone Biker of the Apocalypse, whose visual introduction very much lives up to that title. The Coens clever script makes plain that this figure of almost abstract macho evil (the farcical forerunner of Javier Bardem's stone-faced killer in "No Country for Old Men"?) is the embodiment of the bad and criminal tendencies that keep pulling H.I. back in, and the danger in which he thus puts his fragile new family. This tangle of conscience, consequences, and comic catastrophe builds slowly but surely to several great scenes: a fantastic whirling slapstick set-piece that keeps doubling back on itself, a genuinely touching emotional and moral reckoning, and an intense and bizarre showdown involving guns, grenades, and a revelatory tattoo. The films final moments express a graceful and sincere hopefulness that is incredibly refreshing.

And thus, to my pleasant surprise, I can report that the famously sarcastic and weird Coen brothers have smuggled within the undeniable oddness of "Raising Arizona"—a goofy and misshapen crime dramedy farce—a thoughtful reflection on parenthood and responsibility.

"Raising Arizona" (PG-13) **** (Available on Netflix Instant)

Vantage Point

 

When people say a movie is “non-stop action,” they don’t mean it. The phrase is a useful hyperbole used to describe films that have intense action scenes in them. Because of how "Vantage Point" is structured, it really does become non-stop action. A terrorist act is displayed early on, and then the movie dances around explaining repercussions from different angles for the rest of its length. From the point when that crucial explosion occurs on, the movie does not let up. By the end, this becomes exhausting, and the movie feels much longer than it actually is. It does not help that the performances are not great. Dennis Quaid does his best with the underwritten role of a body guard with an Important Past full of Regrets. He emotes well and has a desperate energy, and he wins our sympathy, and so holds the movie together more than it deserves. We care, because we sense his innate decency. However, Sigourney Weaver is wasted here in the role of a news producer. Her character goes nowhere, and I wondered if she was added so the cameraman could film something while the other actors were desperately trying to catch their breath between takes. Forest Whitaker is merely passable here as a tourist with a video-camera and a sense of urgent compassion. The script gives him no other traits. William Hurt, a great actor in the right part, is also sadly wasted as the US president. You would think it would be an important role in this kind of movie, but he is allowed barely any screen time. Finally, the terrorists are rather unbelievable. They are always five steps ahead of everyone else. Their reasons for the act of terrorism are alluded to, but never fully fleshed out. Yet somehow, against all odds, this film was entertaining. The never-let-up pace didn’t let me think about the problems with the movie while watching it. And the gimmick of showing multiple angles did add an air of mystery, and somewhat covered up for the fact that other elements of style, like good camerawork, were mostly absent. So this movie basically worked, despite the leaky script and barely-there performances from its leads. I wouldn't exactly suggest going out of your way to find it, but if you're in the mood for something exciting and mostly mindless, and you're wandering around one of those stubbornly lingering movie rental stores, there are certainly worse options than the tense and somewhat loopy thriller "Vantage Point." How's that for a recommendation?

"Vantage Point" (PG-13) ***

Hidden Gems of Netflix: Changing Lanes

"Changing Lanes" came out in April of 2002, smack dab in between the self-important Oscar-bait films of the previous fall and the dumb and noisy action
flicks of the summer, and long enough ago to have slipped past. It received relatively favorable reviews, made a good box office showing, and then promptly disappeared. Its solid reputation could not save it from obscurity, and neither could its stars: Ben Affleck was about to enter a downward spiral as an actor (see "Paycheck" and the widely despised "Gigli") that he would only later pull out of as a director, and the always reliable Samuel L. Jackson performs in so many movies, both good and bad, that another appearance by him is hardly a major cultural event.

However, this film should not be forgotten. It tells an excellent story of a very unusual sort for Hollywood: one with real moral issues on its mind, issues which it can articulate well. It is also an engaging and effective thriller, boasting Affleck's best performance and possibly Jackson's as well.

The premise is as follows: A successful lawyer and a desperate dad become entangled in each other's lives after a fender-bender in hairy New York traffic. This one small event sparks a horrible day of thoughtless cruelties and reckless reprisals from both of them as the veneer of polite society falls away. Running late for an important case, ambitious lawyer Gavin (Affleck) hands the weary insurance salesman Doyle (Jackson) a blank check. Doyle protests; he wants to handle things the right way. But Gavin drives off, leaving Doyle, whose car is inoperable, stranded and unable to get to a custody hearing—in the same courthouse!—in time to prevent an unimpressed judge from granting custody of the man's two sons to Doyle's ex-wife. It only gets worse from there for these two mismatched enemies. And this all happens on Good Friday.

 See? It doesn't even sound that good. In fact, it sounds dangerously high-concept and ready to teeter over into contrived and schematic what-ifs or tacky literalism. I set about watching it the first time expecting a by-the-numbers revenge thriller that would probably throw in some pseudo-profound babbling about fate and chance and being not-so-different, you and I. But director Roger Michell, working off an excellent script from Michael Tolkin, Chap Taylor, and Anthony Picharillo, has crafted a much more compelling film, a moral thriller centered on two entirely believable characters who are neither heroes nor villains, but men stuck with having to make increasingly harsh moral choices that have likewise escalating impacts on their lives and those of the people around them.

Affleck often stumbles around over-earnestly in roles that don't do him any favors. (He was the weakest link in the ordinary but likeable "Sum of All Fears," even though he was first-billed.) He's not cut out for to be an action hero; he's not magnetic enough to skate by just on charisma as a leading man; and he's too bland to be a character actor. But here he is handed a complex role and fits himself to it ably. Gavin is slick and self-confident, a man with a buried conscience who is all too comfortable in the ethically dubious situations his job puts him in. As the bad Good Friday progresses, however, and he keeps crossing moral lines, Affleck does a masterful job of showing Gavin's growing unease with himself and incredulity at the mess he has gotten into. "Is there any other way?" he asks at one point. "Sure," says the man with his finger poised above a mouse-click that will wreak havoc on Doyle's finances. "Call him up and just be nice to him." But that would mean humbling himself, and by that point both characters are already acting out of spite and anger. Affleck sells both sides—the doubt and the arrogance.

Jackson on the other hand has long been one of my favorite actors. He elevates whatever he is in. He was revelatory in the stylish "Unbreakable" and his perfect delivery single-handedly saved the ending of that film from potentially groan-worthy dialogue. However, he is admittedly an actor who has a basic type he often returns to: the loud, angry, charismatic, menacing troublemaker who swears up a storm but has a core integrity beneath the rage and the bluster. He perfected this role as Jules in "Pulp Fiction." We see some of that fire here. There is a moment where he is telling a story and his eyes lock into a stare and his voice goes flat, and it is chill-inducing. But overall Doyle is almost the opposite of Jackson's typical role: he is a weary and cautious everyman, a man of integrity who strives to be a responsible father but is limited by his history of mistakes and battered by the grinding, mundane details of modern life until the quiet rage and desperation long coiling inside him is finally loosed in a cacophony of raw emotion. And when Jackson does show that rage, it is all the more potent and frightening for having been hidden so long beneath Doyle's meek and patient exterior. It is followed by trembling amazement at how far he has allowed himself to go, and a weary regret. Jackson's Doyle is one of the most memorable, believable characters I've encountered in film; while watching him I feel like I know exactly who he is, in the way usually only possible after having lived with a character for a long time in a novel or television series. Every time he comes up against a hard choice, I desperately want him to make the right decision, but every wrong decision he makes is perfectly motivated and perfectly understood.

Jackson's performance makes Doyle the more sympathetic of the two characters, but he is also a recovering alcoholic on the edge both of falling off the wagon and also, more importantly perhaps, of failing as a father. One of the film's strongest moments is when his AA sponsor (William Hurt) calls Doyle out on his flimsy excuses. Hurt is the first among equals in a uniformly excellent (and perfectly cast) cadre of supporting actors, including Amanda Peet, Kim Staunton, Toni Collette, Richard Jenkins, and a splendidly creepy yet ordinary Dylan Baker. Special mention should also be made of the fantastic Sydney Pollack, who as Gavin's boss plays a powerful, intelligent, and self-righteous man who justifies himself with the notion that, "At the end of the day, I think I do more good than harm." This is the central line of the screenplay for me, an exposure of a very commonplace type of moral code as in fact a compromise. It's this "I'm a good person" logic that the literate and tightly-constructed script deviously interrogates and undermines. At "the end of the day" (or life), is "more good than harm" good enough?

If I had to name a fault with "Changing Lanes," I could perhaps point out that it is occasionally too obvious with its parallels between the situations and actions of Doyle and Gavin (both have confrontations with their respective wives, who are wise to their patterns of behavior). Or I could complain that the ending seems a touch too upbeat, and risks undermining the moral horror story that came before. But these are nitpicks that I won't dwell on, because so much in this film—from the writing to the directing to the acting—is head-and-shoulders above 99 percent of what crops up in this genre, and in Hollywood in general.

"Changing Lanes" is a thoughtful and intelligent picture, full of fleshed-out characters and bravura speeches that cut to the quick, a criminally underrated work that deserves to become a modern classic.

"Changing Lanes" (R) ***** (Available on Netflix Instant)

Hamlet (1996)

"Suit the action to the word, the word to the action."

Kenneth Branagh's 1996 film adaptation of "Hamlet" is, for me, the definitive cinematic version. It is a personal favorite to which I always return with my mind flooded by a potent mixture of joyous anticipation of again soaking up its undiminished glories (it has really aged well), and a peculiar lurking dread at the thought of braving in one sitting (the best, though most painful, method) its gargantuan 242 minute running time. For those keeping score at home, that is just over four hours. There's a method to this seeming madness though, because Branagh's is the first unabridged film treatment of Shakespeare's most famous tragedy. As such, all of the Bard's glorious language is preserved, which alone makes for a remarkable experience, and one particularly appealing for devotees of the original text such as myself. If its strengths stopped there, it could be dismissed as merely an exercise in precise adaptation and an excellent study tool for English majors. However, Branagh has given us not only a fine adaptation, but a fine film.

The first remarkable strength is the production design (by Tim Harvey). Branagh makes several bold choices that contrast with other adaptations of the play. The action is set in the Victorian era, and the rich Victorian costumes and furnishings create an unapologetically vibrant and even gaudy atmosphere, all the better to illustrate the corruption—the "something rotten" beneath the sparkling sheen—at the heart of the court, as well as prince Hamlet's own gloomy melancholy and relative isolation. In keeping with the temporal update, Branagh makes splendid use of the magnificent Blenheim Palace (the birthplace of Winston Churchill) as the play's Elsinore Castle exterior. The interior is dominated by a massive throne room and hall lined with mirrors and secret chambers, an equally perfect stage for the exuberant regal pomp of Claudius's first appearance and the political and familial trickery that dominates the middle part of the story. This memorable setting also hosts Branagh's take on the ubiquitous but admittedly crucial "To be or not to be" soliloquy: his Hamlet delivers the speech to himself in a mirror, behind which lurk the spying Claudius and Polonius—a gloriously sustained and surprisingly tense scene that hinges not so much on the question of suicide couched in terms of action versus inaction, but on the question of whether Hamlet is aware of his murderous uncle's presence in the room. If so, the famous words do not a make up a soliloquy at all, but a skillful combination of acting and threatening aimed at a specific in-world audience, and the following encounter with Ophelia takes on added resonance as we realize how Hamlet feels he cannot trust her and yet also feels compelled to protect her by removing her from any proximity to his dangerous position. The creeping corruption of the court and its decadent scheming has already reached their once promising relationship and turned it to heartbreak for both of them. Of course, the core of these dramatic elements resides in the play itself, but Branagh's clever staging helps mightily in drawing them forth. Additional highlights of production design include a massive chandelier, which sees some Errol Flynn style swashbuckling use in a fantastically staged duel, and the dim and claustrophobic confessional where Hamlet sneaks up on Claudius. When the ghost of Hamlet's father appears to him, it tempts him into a dark and almost Gothic woods, where the primal fears of the dark and the wilderness mix with the threats of bodily decay and spiritual damnation to form a truly frightening scene. And by the end of the play, the action has come full circle back to the center of Elsinore Castle and that radiant hall of mirrors and black and white tile, a fittingly reflective and dichotomous location for the final burst of purgative violence and revelations. Also of note is the gorgeous use of 70 mm film by cinematographer Alex Thompson, which allows us to appreciate all of this in breathtaking detail.

The second major strength comes from the delightfully strong cast of A-list actors that Branagh employs to bring Shakespeare's words and characters to life. Veteran Shakespearean actor Derek Jacobi brings gravitas, lecherousness, regret, and rage to his conniving but conscience-stricken Claudius, making us hesitate along with Hamlet in our desire to see vengeance done. Julie Christie seamlessly inhabits the alternately flighty and forceful Gertrude, showing a deeply-feeling human side beneath her surface frivolity. Kate Winslet endows Ophelia with raw emotion; her descent into heartbroken badness is visceral and difficult to watch. Nicholas Farrell, another veteran of the English stage, gives a strong performance as the deeply decent, loyal, and reasonable Horatio, supporting and grounding Hamlet selflessly. Charlton Heston's trembling thunder suits the pivotal Player King well, providing the catalyst for a key emotional turning point. Robin Williams is somewhat distracting when he pops up in the small role of the much-ridiculed Osric, but this kind of all-stars-even-for-the-bit-parts casting pays off superbly with Billy Crystal, of all people, giving a barbed and twinkling turn as the gravedigger who converses with Hamlet in a standout scene that sees Branagh meeting Shakespeare's challenge by keeping the most humorous bits of dialogue in place right next to the darkest philosophizing about death, and hitting every single note of each. And did I mention that the cast also includes Judi Dench, Gérard Depardieu, Brian Blessed, Richard Attenborough, John Gielgud, Rosemary Harris, Jack Lemmon, Rufus Sewell, and Timothy Spall?

In the center of it all, Branagh cast himself as the melancholy Dane, the titular Prince of Denmark, "the observ'd of all observers." This rather smells of arrogant presumption, but if it was, it was worth it for us to get the fierce, energetic, brash, frankly emotional Hamlet that Branagh throws forth. We do not struggle to believe the court's assumption of his madness. This Hamlet is a man for whom genuine madness would not be a stretch. But it is not all bluster, either. Branagh also convincingly shows the sharp, cunning intelligence of a grieved and bereaved son who wants to be sure before he commits to vengeance, who hatches clever schemes to discover Claudius and protect himself, who is always one step ahead of his opponents but also teetering on the edge of paranoia. His performance is also helped by having all of Hamlet's soliloquies intact to work with, reveling in the highs and lows they depict. While his "To be or not to be" is all careful consideration and buried threat, his "What a rogue and peasant slave am I" is a thrashing fit of self-hatred and wild impatience, and his "How all occasions do inform against me" builds from dull resignation to a bombastic declaration of righteous anger and renewed purpose, underlined in red by Patrick Doyle's Oscar-nominated score. Branagh makes it a truly grand, heightened moment, capping off the first half of the film and leading into the more meditative back half of the fourth act, after a merciful intermission.

Despite some small missteps (the aforementioned Robin Williams appearance, an unnecessary flashback sex scene between Hamlet and Ophelia, occasionally over-the-top music cues or scenery-chewing), this is truly a powerful film, a splendidly realized adaptation of one of the greatest works of Western literature. Branagh's "Hamlet" whispers and roars and brings Shakespeare's words delightfully to life. It is the definitive film version to date. Accept no substitute.

"William Shakespeare's Hamlet" (PG-13) ****1/2

Hidden Gems of Netflix: Shotgun Stories

 

"You started all of this."

"This started a long time ago."

"Somebody's gonna finish it."

I was introduced to the work of indie director Jeff Nichols with his 2011 film "Take Shelter," which I consider to be a tremendous film, one of the best of a great year; I hope to review it here at some point, but I want to watch it again first. Going back in time to 2007, however, I discovered that his first feature film, "Shotgun Stories," both shows the promising talent that would go on to make "Take Shelter," and lacks the focus and haunted intensity of that masterful follow-up.

Nichols' impressive debut opens showing the towering Michael Shannon sitting on the edge of a bed, shirtless, reading a note, his arms resting wearily on his knees. He is half turned from us, and we can see the faint shape of deep marks on his back. He gets up and checks two dresser drawers, finding them both empty. Then for a moment he turns his back completely, and we are faced with those marks full on: pocked-looking scars cover his back in a scattered pattern, ugly little craters from a shotgun blast. Title card: "Shotgun Stories."

Shannon plays a character named simply "Son" who lives with his brothers, "Boy" and "Kid" in  southeast Arkansas. They are left with these dubiously blunt monikers because their father abandoned the family to restart with a new wife and a new life. Son lives in an empty house because his wife (or girlfriend?) Annie has taken their son and left due to his refusal to give up card-counting, which he insists is not gambling but a "system." Boy (Douglas Ligon) lives in an old van with a broken stereo and a window air conditioner, and coaches kids' basketball. Kid (Barlow Jacobs) lives in a tent in Son's yard, but expects a raise soon at the catfish farm where he and Son work, at which point he intends to ask his quietly cheerful waitress girlfriend Cheryl to marry him. Their lives progress at a leisurely pace, and Nichols' fleshes out the beautiful but decaying rural atmosphere with a Malick-like attention to cotton fields and sunsets and a gentle acoustic guitar score. Then the brothers' mother, who Son refers to as a "hateful woman," drops by to inform them that their father is dead. She is not going to the funeral. When is it? They can look in the paper.

At the funeral, the minister calls the father "a man of faith" and "a productive member of the community." Son calls him "the same man who ran out on us," and proceeds to spit on the casket. This provokes the other band of brothers attending, the ones wearing buttoned-down shirts and ties, the second set of sons, the Hayes boys, who received from their father real names like Mark, Steve, and John. Son's rash action brings the two clans almost to blows, but that is just the beginning. The conflict between Son, Boy, and Kid and the Hayes brothers slowly but steadily escalates throughout the film, aided by a friend of Kid's with the doubtful name of Shampoo, who seems to be quietly spoiling for a fight, and deals in information and rumors that only make things worse, as well as showing the ropes of gun use at a crucial juncture.

Son's scars get referred to repeatedly throughout the film, a reoccurring commentary I found annoying and too obvious at first. But there are conflicting reports of how he got the scars, and eventually they handily and indirectly inform how we think of him and his brothers. Shannon contributes to the sense that this is an almost legendary character by keeping Son stonily aloof throughout, burying his bitterness, while the themes of legacy and inheritance that the scar stories (the title's shotgun stories?) plant are developed further later in the script. "Is that your boy?" one of the Hayes brothers asks Son. "Wonder how he's gonna take it when I give a speech at your funeral." Nichols follows the insinuating aggression of that line with a perfect, heartbreaking cut away shot of Son's son watching another fight beginning, making clear the generational stakes of the conflict. Son wants to be a good father, taking his son fishing, but the anger of the feud threatens to override his more protective impulses.

A slow, thoughtful film about poverty, revenge, and inheritance, "Shotgun Stories" is very quietly disturbing, with under-the-surface tension that builds to quick, non-cathartic violence. Nichols shows restraint, poise, and a deep empathy for his messed-up and lifelike characters.

"Shotgun Stories" (PG-13) **** (Available on Netflix Instant)

Hidden Gems of Netflix: Safety Not Guaranteed

"My calibrations are flippin' pinpoint, okay?"

Colin Trevorrow's time-travel indie "Safety Not Guaranteed" is undoubtedly a minor work, a purposefully low-key film with its dramatic stakes built around muted and slowly-revealed emotions rather than any sort of physical danger. It fits right in with the current overly quirky indie film trend, for better and for worse. However, this does not prevent it from telling an effectively touching and even surprising story, centered on notable and promising performances.

"Safety" opens with a black screen and a flat voice-over: "How far back do you want me to go?" The voice is that of Aubrey Plaza (familiar to me as the sarcastic and deadpan April on "Parks and Recreation"), and the characteristic blankness of her tone here suggests a certain numbed apathy. The question of how far back, in a movie that expressly concerns the idea of time-travel as a cornerstone of its premise, is a slyly deceptive one with which to begin, because Plaza's character, Darius, is actually in a job interview; she gives too little pretense of taking it seriously to impress the potential employer. This seemingly off-topic opening sets the tone of the film, emphasizing its concern with mostly everyday problems and heartbreaks, but also cleverly pointing out, due to our potential for initial misunderstanding, that these things have a connection with the concept of time-travel. The opening also primes us to accept the stealth structure of the film—a series of one-on-one "interviews," varying in level of casualness and in purpose, that make up the backbone of the story.

Darius is a bored and jaded college graduate, self described as "not a quality hire," and living at home with her widower father, who is of course Facebook friends with her college roommate and somewhat unbelievably accuses Darius of being a virgin. "How do I eject?" she deadpans, with an impressive mix of incredulity and passivity. Her internship at a Seattle magazine is the kind where she takes names and fetches toilet paper. Her mother died when she was young, and she is painfully nostalgic for childhood, a time when she just naturally expected to be happy. Now, she says, "Everything cool is gone."

With this background, it makes sense that Darius jumps at the opportunity to tag along with Jeff, one of the magazine's writers (Jake Johnson, of "New Girl"), as he sets out to investigate, with growing disbelief and curiosity, the "weird" writer of an advertisement seeking a time-traveling partner:

Wanted: Somebody to go back in time with me. This is not a joke. P.O. Box 91 Ocean View, WA 99393. You'll get paid after we get back. Must bring your own weapons. Safety not guaranteed. I have only done this once before.

Jeff tries to join up with would-be timelord Kenneth (Mark Duplass, of "The League" and "Jeff, Who Lives at Home"), but is rejected because his cool guy schtick cannot hide the fact that he is a poser, and he has no specific reason ready to hand for why he would even want to time travel. Then Darius—who the other young intern, a stereotypically nerdy looking Indian college student named Arnau (Karan Soni), unsubtly notes is much prettier than Jeff—for once in her life intrigued, gives it a shot herself, and with the help of some hilarious lurking behind sunglasses stands, ends up befriending Kenneth by pretending to take his plans absolutely seriously and imitating his lapses into important-sounding technical/military vocabulary. The scene where Darius and Kenneth meet for the first time in the grocery store where he works is full to brimming with sharp banter-y dialogue that makes it feel instantly classic and memorable. It is one of the best written scenes in a generally strong script, and both Plaza and Duplass handle the back and forth rhythm and the self-seriousness expertly. As their relationship progresses—he totally enveloped in his plans, she (and we) wondering just how delusional he really is—Plaza especially does a fine job of showing both Darius' doubt and her desire to give in to her rediscovery of wonder as she begins to admire and respect, and maybe love, this guy who professes to be building a time machine. The problem with the middle section of the movie, however, is that the chemistry between these two is always iffy at best, and is complicated by the fact that Kenneth wants to travel in time to save his wife from being killed. (More than that I won't spoil, but the script by Derek Connolly has several twists that, while neither game-changing nor impossible to see coming, do nicely shed different light on the characters and premise.) And Duplass, although admirably committed to the role, never really makes it clear that Kenneth more than simply comes to trust Darius.

"Safety" also falls into several independent movie industry cliches, the most annoying to me being the incessant jangly indie songs that play beneath dialogue scenes that would do just fine or better without them, especially in the first half. Presumably they are supposed to imbue the scenes with a light-hearted or comedic undertone, but they mostly just distract from the characters and erode the pseudo-realism of movies like this. That said, there are a couple of transitions and montages that are well scored. The film also risks being too sugary in its earnestness. The themes of nostalgia and regret are present, and not heavy-handed, but the emphasis on romance and a vague "believing," which again the music oversells, at times threatens to take the story in a sticky-sweet direction. The ending is also somewhat . . . unclear, despite dramatic appearances, and left me with an inconclusive feeling.

Trevorrow has a secret weapon, however, in Jake Johnson, who makes his too-cool-for-school magazine writer into a tragic case of a deeply nostalgic man who feels past his prime and longs for his glory days. His real motive is to reconnect with a past girlfriend, who he is startled to find has actually aged and is no longer the hot blonde he remembers. As their renewed relationship bumbles through ups and downs (in a nice parallel to the main plot), Johnson gets to do everything from comparing his old flame to a fairy tale character representing lost purity to drowning his sorrows and trying to live large vicariously through Arnau (who otherwise has next to nothing to do) by helping him hook up with some random girl—a shockingly wrong-headed idea that the script sadly lets pass with no comment. But Johnson does all these things convincingly. There is one brilliant, sad, hilarious shot of him whirling around in a go-kart teary-eyed, with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other, that perfectly encapsulates both the childishness and the sadness hidden beneath the sunglasses of the successful and confident guy who defines himself by his job, his Escalade, and his condo.

Plaza, too, is a standout, here combining her trademark cynicism and deadpan comic delivery with a greater vulnerability and sensitivity. It is not so different from April's general arc on "Parks and Rec" really, but she carries it off so convincingly and effortlessly that I didn't mind. Hopefully this is just the start of bigger things for both these actors.

Despite its flaws, this is a simple and effective film about emotions and choices, a gentle comedy rooted in tragedy that takes both regret and hope very seriously.

"Safety Not Guaranteed" (R) ***1/2 (Available on Netflix Instant)

Hidden Gems of Netflix: Five Minutes of Heaven

 

Liam Neeson has morphed somewhat of late, from an actor who specialized in serious, Oscar-winning films like Steven Spielberg’s “Schindler’s List” (and was also Spielberg’s first pick at some point for the title role now occupied by Daniel Day-Lewis in the somber, reverent “Lincoln”) to an actor who is most likely to be seen in movies like “Taken” and “The A-Team”—both movies that work well in their own way, but are of a completely different caliber and intent than much of his previous work. In this most recent portion of his career, he has successfully reinvented himself as a genuine take-no-prisoners action star; and, I might add, a much more entertaining and convincing one than the present-day versions of eighties’ icons Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone. But despite this transformation, Neeson still gamely lent his star-power, talent, and box-office-draw name to a small European release like “Five Minutes of Heaven”(Pathé, BBC Fims), a film that, although it received some attention at Sundance in 2009, made a comparatively tiny amount of money in the US and slipped by virtually undetected.

Neeson stars here as the Irish-Protestant Alistair Little, who, at the age of 17, killed a Catholic boy named Jim Griffin in his Ulster home. Little eventually served time in jail and is now rehabilitated and released. The movie opens with Neeson narrating in an even, dignified, and straightforward way the specific situation of the 1975 murder and the general atmosphere of the Troubles. “For me to talk about the man I have become,” he says, “you need to know about the man I was.” His narration, and the slightly grainy, washed out footage that accompanies it, examines some of the group-think causes of terrorism. The man he was is played by Mark Ryder, who looks remarkably like a younger Neeson, from the tall, purposeful frame to the long, narrow nose. His eyes, however, are bright and clear, while the present day Alistair played by Neeson has a face weighed down by years of regret and melancholy resignation. Alistair now makes a living speaking about reconciliation, and he is scheduled to meet Joe Griffin, the younger brother of the man he killed. Neeson expertly conveys a blend of conflicting emotions: Alistair does want the meeting to take place, perhaps for his own closure, but is also visibly nervous, and understands and generously insists that the confrontation, which a TV crew will be filming live, must be completely on Joe’s terms. His crime weighs on him, and he wants more than anything to atone, but he also has made a career out of that attitude, a complication deftly shown when he repeats his opening narration lines to the TV cameras; the words begin to sound like something that has become routine for him. Our awareness of this possibility feeds into our comprehension of and sympathy with Joe's bitterness.

Playing Joe Griffin is another great Irish actor, James Nesbitt. His name is not nearly as well known as Neeson’s internationally (although you can currently see him as the comic and roguish dwarf Bofur in Peter Jackson’s “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey”), but his performance is just as important to the success of “Five Minutes in Heaven,” if not more so. Joe is a bitter, angry man. He saw Alistair kill his brother over thirty years ago, and could do nothing, and his mother has blamed him ever since. He stews under a cloud of resentment and simmering ire, barely concealing his own deep sense of guilt underneath. The film first introduces him sitting in the back of a long black luxury car as he is driven to the meeting; it is a long tense scene as Joe keeps flashing back to the fatal event and his mother’s treatment of him afterward, and wavers on whether he will actually go through with the confrontation or not. He is completely agitated and distracted, and the scene is almost painful in its raw emotionality. And this introduction is not even Joe’s most emotional moment; rather the script pushes him further and further into the dark corners of his wounded mind, where his desperate lashing out seems equally divided between Alistair and himself. Joe runs the gamut of emotions in this film, and every one of them is finely stamped on Nesbitt’s haggard and vulnerable face. He also gives Joe an irrepressible nervous energy that shows itself in multitudinous small, quick, intense movements. His mental unease communicates itself bodily and creates a vivid portrait of a torn and broken man. The script by Guy Hibbert also gives Nesbitt several powerful monologues to work with, which he devours with energy, while always making the words sound like they are coming straight from the mess of Joe Griffin’s inner struggles.

I’ve largely dedicated this review to the two main actors because the film does the same thing. It hands over its simple plot to these two actors and characters and reveals itself as a great two-handed acting showcase. Neeson and Nesbit complement each other’s styles as well: where Neeson is all dignified containment, Nesbit is practically boiling over. But director Oliver Hirschbiegel (famous for his German film on Hitler’s last days, “Downfall”) also deserves much credit for his restrained but purposeful, and at times starkly beautiful direction. There are three splendid shots in particular that stand out:  The first comes about halfway through the film, when Joe is finally descending the stairs at the country retreat to confront Alistair, caught on the documentary team’s TV cameras. Hirschbiegel keeps his own camera directly in front of Joe, putting the character’s discomfort at the unnaturally staged quality of the event front and center, as Hirschbiegel's cinematographer (Ruairi O'Brien) takes the place of the fictional film crew. The second two come right near the end of the movie (mild SPOILERS ahead), when Joe and Alistair meet once again: first Alistair enters the ground floor of an abandon building, and the camera pulls back to show Joe waiting on a balcony above him, looking down unseen with an intense and frightening expression; then Alistair climbs the stairs and enters a room on the second floor, and the camera again reveals Joe, again where Alistair cannot see him, this time behind the open door. These shots suggest the moral and power imbalance between these two men. What is between them will forever keep them on different levels, at the same time enslaving both of them to the past, unless in their increasingly desperate hunt for closure and meaning they can somehow get past each other and the mental and emotional space they take up in each other’s lives.

Though at times slow and too dependent on long, play-like talky scenes, this film is a thoughtful drama about terrorism, revenge, and the possibility of forgiveness, elevated by riveting performances from Nesbitt and Neeson.

"Five Minutes of Heaven" (R) **** (Available on Netflix Instant)