Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.
You’re desperately behind on movies. Time is of the essence in seeing many of these limited releases. Certain films have already left theaters, meaning you’ll have to scramble to find Academy screeners of them. What’s the logical way to kick off Christmas Day?
Go see something you’ve already seen before, of course.
In my own defense, let me say that CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON is one of those films that doesn’t just invite a second viewing, it demands it. As much as I was blown away by the beauty and the elegance of Ang Lee’s new masterpiece when I originally reviewed it, I knew that I wanted to get another look at the performance work, that I wanted to get lost in the film now that I could watch it without the weight of anticipation and expectation crushing me. Myself and a few of the other Misfit Toys who were adrift without local family on Christmas morning made our way to the 1:30 show of CTHD at the Regent Showcase on La Brea. We got there over a half-hour early and were astonished at the line already waiting to get inside. By the time we were seated and the lights were going down, there wasn’t a seat in the place. More remarkable than the size of the crowd was the diversity of it. There were families, old couples, 20-something geek clusters, young marrieds. There were kids running up and down the aisles before the film started. This certainly isn’t the typical crowd I see at arthouse theaters here in LA. If this is any indication of the job Sony has done positioning this film as a cross-over hit, then I’m proud of them, and I’m excited to see what happens as the film continues its national rollout.
Since I’ve already reviewed the film once, let me just add a few thoughts here. I don’t normally have a problem with dubbed versus subtitled releases in America. I’ll take the subtitled version if it’s offered, but anything that gets a film a wider release and possible exposure to an audience is okay with me. In this case, the dub simply wouldn’t be necessary. Ang Lee’s film is transporting, and the subtitles simply seem to vanish as you watch the film. In my memory, it’s the subtle flashes of Chow Yun Fat’s eyes, full of regret, or the simple sweet smile of Michelle Yeoh, somehow balancing years of sorrow and tender hope that loom large, and I remember their dialogue as if spoken. These are tremendous performances, and I’d be heartbroken if I didn’t actually hear the voices of these characters, the nuance in what they’re playing. Zhang Ziyi is startlingly good here, and knowing the film’s secrets as I watched a second time led me to even greater admiration of the way she balances the different sides of her character. She doesn’t just have one secret life, she has two, and each of them is radically different. The flashback in the middle of the film, nearly a half hour of digression, has led some people to criticize the film, but I think it’s a genius touch. Just as the film has asserted its true nature as a kung fu epic, it takes this right turn into something that plays like a combination of THE ENGLISH PATIENT and THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.
And just why is that people are reacting to this film so enthusiastically? Why did I give my heart to it so completely? I think it has something to do with the shock of seeing a film filled with such dazzling martial arts and wire work that is also brimming over with feeling and filled with acting on par with any drama released in any language this year. Fans of kung fu films have gotten used to panning for gold, and suddenly we’ve been offered something that is an embarrassment of riches, something that’s winning over even the most jaded audiences. It’s a great feeling, and I think that’s what makes my love for the film burn particularly bright. It feels like undeniable respectability at last.
I’m sure that’s part of what led Sean Connery to take the title role in Sony’s FINDING FORRESTER, that same quest to be taken seriously. I grew up in a Connery household, taught to respect him as one of cinema’s great icons the same way I was with John Wayne. To my father, he was the one true Bond. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found my own reasons to love his body of work. There’s that sense of humor that pops up from time to time, taking the piss out of his own image. Any close friend of the Moriarty Labs can attest to my near-obssession with Connery’s voice, that odd mix of Scottish brogue and speech impediment that makes him so distinct. Nothing amuses me more than making answering machine messages of Connery puzzling his way through the song lyrics of Tori Amos or adopting the patois of Eminem as his own. When he won the Oscar in 1987 for THE UNTOUCHABLES, I was of decidedly mixed emotion. On the one hand, the sentiment was undeniable, but there was no question in my mind that Albert Brooks deserved the award for his searing, bitter, brilliant work in BROADCAST NEWS. That was a Supporting Actor award, and it looks like Connery didn’t quite work the itch out. He’s going for the gold again with this new picture, and part of my problem with it is that the path he’s chosen is a familiar one.
Mike Rich is a young writer, and one of the reasons this melange of past mentor-student films doesn’t bother me is because he shows admirable taste in how he blends these familiar elements into something restrained and intimate. It’s no wonder Gus Van Sant was attracted to the material as a director. It’s perfect for him, a logical step after GOOD WILL HUNTING. It resembles that movie in some ways, and the cameo by Matt Damon as lawyer Steve Sanderson may prove too distracting a reminder of that fact for some people. More than GWH, though, this film reminds me of Martin Brest’s SCENT OF A WOMAN. Whereas Brest’s film was unapologetic Hollywood corn, big and loud and determined to entertain at any cost, Van Sant brings his particular sensibilities to bear on this film, keeping it grounded, refusing to give in to cheap sentiment or easy crowd-pleasing ploys. Right at the start, there’s an odd flourish, a clapper that fills the frame, reminding us that this is a movie. Despite that, Van Sant comes closer to truth with his film than Brest ever did. He etches in the world of Jamal Wallace (Rob Brown) with great feeling, working to fill each frame with honest detail. Jamal’s a smart kid, smarter than he’s let on to his friends or even his family. He’s grown up in the shadow of divorce, his older brother (Busta Rhymes in a nice, small supporting role) and his mother (April Grace) both pinning their hopes on this quiet boy with a gift for basketball. When test scores reveal that Jamal’s gifts might be just as prodigious off the courts as on, he is offered a place at a private school where he is challenged by new professors like Robert Crawford (F. Murray Abraham) and where he makes friends like Claire Spence (Anna Pacquin).
As these seismic changes rock Jamal, he’s also nursing a secret, something he can’t talk about with his friends or even his family. Jamal’s met an unlikely mentor, a man who turns out to be a famous author living in seclusion, hidden away from the prying eyes of the public and the idle speculation of the media. This man, William Forrester, is obviously inspired at least in part by JD Salinger, whose CATCHER IN THE RYE must stand as one of the most widely read and deeply misunderstood books of all time. Time and time again, this loony or that lists Salinger’s book as part of the reason they’ve done this terrible thing or another. When people like John Hinkley and Mark David Chapman start listing you as an inspiration, the world can seem like an ugly and depressing place, and it’s little wonder Salinger has spent most of his life avoiding the spotlight. The way Connery plays Forrester, he’s a man uncomfortable with being asked to be responsible for others, tired of being asked to explain his art. In many ways, Connery doesn’t appear to be acting here. He doesn’t suffer foolishness well, and his gruff manner is intimidating, even after seeing glimpses of the human frailty behind the mask. Those glimpses are the real innovation of Connery’s work here. I don’t think we’ve ever seen him actually show us weakness. I’m fairly sure we’ve never seen this kind of fear from him.
Special mention must be made of the soundtrack assembled by Bill Frisell and longtime collaborator Hal Wilner. They’ve done tribute albums like STAY AWAKE over the years together, and that comes in handy here, with the two of them choosing a very special assortment of Miles Davis songs to lend support to the picture. There’s a version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" in the middle of the film that’s so quiet, so subtle as to be almost unrecognizable, and it seems an odd choice, but one that works very well. At the end of the film, the song returns as performed by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, and as strange a theme as it seems for this film, it pays off. You’ve actually heard this version lately, whether you realized it or not, as the score for the Toys.com campaign on TV. It’s all ukelele, haunting but somehow upbeat. There’s original work by Frisell, but it’s mixed in among tracks like "Black Satin," "Little One," and "Lonely Fire" by Miles, as well as some Ornette Coleman. This is a case where songs were chosen for the way they work, not because they’re by some hot new artist and there’s a chance for an MTV video. It’s the way I’ve always believed underscoring should work if using songs, and it pays off tremendously here.
Overall, the film seems unwilling to wallow in sentiment, and it’s admirable in the way it walks that tightrope all the way to the end. I hate the trailers for the film. They all feature Connery barking out, "You the man now, dawg!" It looks like they’re reaching for their big catch-phrase line with the way they emphasize it in the trailers, but in the film itself, it’s a throwaway bit of sarcasm at the tail end of a line, and it makes sense there. The trailer sells the worst version of the movie, but Van Sant is the very model of good taste in how he brings it all together. There’s much to like here, particularly in the way Rob Brown and Connery play off each other. Brown is a sharp, intuitive young actor, and he manages to open up gradually over the course of the film, letting us in by degrees. He’s worth the wait. By film’s end, he makes a real impression. Abraham does perfectly respectable work as the bullying Professor Crawford, but it’s a role we’ve seen him play, with more than a touch of Salieri to it. Anna Pacquin isn’t given much to do, but she’s growing into an actress you can’t stop watching. You find yourself hoping she’s going to come to life, be given something worthy of her. There’s something electric about her, and when a filmmaker finally figures out exactly how to tap that, she’ll be dynamite. Now, the more cynical among you are never going to be able to give yourselves over to the movie’s pleasures. For some of you, Van Sant has become a punching bag for some reason. Inevitably, someone’s going to bring up PSYCHO in the TalkBacks below and grouse and piss and moan about how Van Sant ruined Hitchcock’s movie. This is, of course, nonsense. Van Sant’s bizarre experimental remake may have been an artistic dead end, but it’s nice to see that Van Sant still has those urges, and that he’s in a position where he can buy himself room to play like that. I’ve liked his work quite a bit since the days of MALA NOCHES and DRUGSTORE COWBOY, and if making a film like FINDING FORRESTER is what sets him free to explore his own voice further, then I’m all for it.
Next up was David Mamet’s ensemble comedy STATE & MAIN, the story of a Hollywood film crew that descends on a small Vermont town, determined to shoot there for their new picture THE OLD MILL. The film crew has already had to leave New Hampshire, abandoning finished sets ("They’re holding the Old Mill ransom") and barely escaping some sort of never-defined legal wrath. As soon as they hit town, they start causing chaos and havoc, and soon they find themselves facing potential ruin again. All of this is played as a sort of affable goofball comedy with a wicked sense of verbal wit. The cast features such stalwarts as Philip Seymour Hoffman, William H. Macy, Sarah Jessica Parker, Charles Durning, David Paymer, and Alec Baldwin. It's handsomely made. So what is it that nags me about the film? Why don’t I love it?
I’ve been studying Mamet’s work as a writer for both stage and film for decades now, it seems. I remember the first time I saw a film he wrote that really knocked me out. It was THE VERDICT, the Paul Newman film about the lawyer searching for redemption in a seemingly unwinnable case. It’s a wonderful character drama, one of Newman’s best roles, and there’s a sadness to the film that placed the film among the great ‘70s films in my mind, a last gasp for that period where mainstream films dared to try for something more than mere entertainment. It was Mamet who wrote the role that won Connery his first actor, part of the sprawling Prohibition adventure THE UNTOUCHABLES. More than Brian De Palma’s operatic camera work, it’s the script by Mamet that propelled the film to success, I believe. It’s riddled with great moments, and why wouldn’t it be? Mamet’s from Chicago. In that town, this is mythology, the greatest story ever told. I fell in love with plays like AMERICAN BUFFALO and GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS and SEXUAL PERVERSITY IN CHICAGO while in college. By that time, Mamet was making films as a director, and I think his career has been very inconsistent so far. HOUSE OF GAMES is a fun little puzzle of a film, but his later THE SPANISH PRISONER struck me as fake from start to finish. THINGS CHANGE is aimless, too coy for my taste, while his adaptation of OLEANNA is damn near unwatchable, precious and painful and awash in politically correct doublespeak. THE WINSLOW BOY was very good, and it was nice to see Mamet work in unfamiliar territory. Of all the movies he’s directed, HOMICIDE was my favorite by far, smart and mature in the same way THE VERDICT was. He’s done nice work as a screenwriter for other directors, too, writing James Foley a kick-ass adaptation of his own GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS. I think WAG THE DOG was more hype and timing than anything else. Because I’ve had such varied reactions to his work over the years, I never know what to expect when I step into a theater to see something he’s made. I try to remain open minded.
And make no mistake... STATE AND MAIN has charm to offer. It’s got a consistent energy from the first frame to the last. Like Van Sant, Mamet starts his movie with an image that reminds you this is all a movie. In this case, it’s opening credits played over leader that’s been colored and re-edited to an almost Warhol-esque effect. As soon as Macy makes an entrance, he owns the movie. He’s one of the few actors alive who I believe when watching him work at a job. He’s not some pampered movie star, moving through some fantasy version of a job. He gets the details of work, the exhaustion and the weariness, and he never overplays it. He uses his cell phone like a weapon in this movie, a magic wand that solves all problems. His movie stars are played with a good deal of self-deprecation by Sarah Jessica Parker and Alec Baldwin. They’re both very good, very funny, seeming to enjoy every scene they’re in. Neither one of them is at the center of the film, though, and it’s not really challenging material for them. The storyline that seems to be the spine of the film involves the writer of the movie, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman as a slightly terrified, vaguely out-of-his-depth playwright who’s trying to rewrite the film on location amidst all the madness. He meets a local bookstore owner, Ann Black, who’s played by Rebecca Pidgeon. This is the first time I’ve ever liked Pidgeon in a film. In both OLEANNA and THE SPANISH PRISONER, she came across as mannered and fake and without the slightest hint of warmth. She’s got a sly smile she wears through much of STATE AND MAIN that makes it look like she’s in on a joke that no one around her knows yet. It’s no wonder Hoffman ends up drawn to her, and her fascination with what he does makes sense, too. It’s not a surprise when she announces to her fiance Doug McKenzie (Clark Gregg) that they’re finished. It wasn’t until I got home that it clicked for me why I knew Clark Gregg’s name. He’s the one who wrote WHAT LIES BENEATH this summer. He’s the one I spent weeks grousing about. He wrote the worst Robert Zemeckis film ever, the only one that I don’t like on any level. Even GUMP is something I can admire technically. His performance here is that of the raging asshole, the one person in town who’s going to fight the Hollywood establishment, no matter what. He’s the most artificial character in the movie, and he exists solely to make the plot happen. There’s nothing else to him. I think the addition of this stock sort of bad-guy character is what keeps me from really embracing the film. As it stands, it’s a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, and I’d suggest you stay through the very end of the closing credits. Some of Mamet’s very best jabs are hidden there, and if you stay to catch them, you’ll definitely leave with a smile on your face.
As much as I hated this summer’s WHAT LIES BENEATH, it didn’t change my desire to see CAST AWAY one little bit. I thought the Bill Broyles script was poetic and simple and direct, and I thought there was some powerful material in there about the use of art as a means of survival. As I watched the film unfold yesterday, I had a wide range of reactions to it, and I’m left with decidedly mixed feelings. I think there’s some very good work here, and Zemeckis has an eye that still surprises me, even after two decades of watching his work. It’s surprisingly slight, though, and it dissolves into air at the end of its considerable running time. It’s last moments remind me of HENRY FOOL and LIMBO, but without the same impact. I’m not exactly sure why that is.
I think the film starts off very strong. I like the opening, the way Zemeckis traces the Fed Ex system from a home in Texas to a sorting office in Moscow. I like that Hanks isn’t immediately loveable here. Chuck Noland is obsessed with time, way too wrapped up in his job. This is a man for whom work is life. He is defined by how good he is at what he does, and it’s the one weak link in his relationship with Kelly, his girlfriend, played by Helen Hunt in a role that simply didn’t need an actress of her fame. She overpowers the role, unbalances the film. It would have worked better, I think, if we didn’t already know whoever it was who played Kelly, if we simply saw her through Chuck’s eyes. Tom Hanks is the reason for this film to exist. It rises or falls based on the strength of his work, and casting Helen Hunt suggests that this is their story, that the two of them are on something like equal footing. It’s a perfect example of why you shouldn’t always use movie stars for everything.
When Chuck’s plane crashes en route to Malaysia, it’s as brutal a plane crash as I’ve ever seen in film. It’s harrowing, and if you see it in a great theater, you’ll be physically rocked by it. All of Zemeckis’ technical departments are working at the top of their game, as usual. The scene goes on and on, too, with imagery that puts THE PERFECT STORM to shame. It’s relentless and terrifying, and we feel it just as much as Chuck does. Time and time again, Zemeckis makes us feel for Hanks, puts us there on that sandy shore, there in that first frightened night. When Hanks lacerates his feet or impales himself on a reef, the entire audience winces. These are the physical things, though, the simple accumulation of the abuse of the elements. Zemeckis and Hanks aren’t quite as successful at letting us into the inner pain that Chuck is feeling. They suggest it with his ranting to Wilson, the volleyball he adopts as his only companion, and in the attachment he has to Kelly’s photo. But it still feels like it’s playing on the surface, even after Chuck makes it back to civilization. It should destroy us to see him lose Kelly again after showing up alive, but it doesn’t. We’re told to feel sad more than we’re made to feel it. By the time Zemeckis stages his 30th scene in the rain for dramatic effect, we’ve become a bit numb to it. As much as I admire the good parts of the film, I find the whole piece to be less than successful, and it seems to have glanced off me in many ways, leaving no impression. It’s a shame. I had high hopes for the film, and wish I could recommend it as something more than a decent rental, a mild entertainment.
Today’s going to be Cuban Day. I’m kicking it off with a morning show of BEFORE NIGHT FALLS, set during the Cuban Revolution, then following it with THIRTEEN DAYS, dinner at a Cuban restaurant, and finally wrapping it all up with an evening excursion to a secret location where I’ll be writing that set of reviews while smoking Cuban cigars.
Have I mentioned yet that I love this time of year?
"Moriarty" out.
