All posts by Dennis Hartley

Animated, Fantasy, The Environment

Sea my friends: Ponyo, on a Cliff by the Sea ***

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on August 15, 2009)

If you are not particularly in the mood to watch summer movie viscera exploding across the screen in a sea of gore, I do have an alternative suggestion. The newest film from anime master Hayao Miyazaki has finally reached U.S. theatres (in limited release right now).Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea is a slight but lovely tale in the Hans Christian Andersen vein, infused with the lush visual magic we’ve come to expect from Studio Ghibli.

A young boy named Sosuke, who lives (wait for it)…on a cliff by the sea discovers an amorphous ocean creature with vaguely humanoid features floundering on the beach one.  Naming “her” Ponyo, he lovingly nurses it back to health. Imagine his surprise when the little fish begins to mimic human speech (at the point where she says, “Ponyo loves Sosuke!” I couldn’t help but wonder if Miyazaki was homage to the classic “Fa loves Pa!” line from Day of the Dolphin).

Sosuke’s affinity and kindness toward his “pet” is soon reciprocated via a  wondrous transmogrification; it’s sort of a puppy-love take on Wings of Desire. Complications ensue when Ponyo’s dad (a Neptune-type sea  god) registers disapproval by unleashing the power of the ocean.

Although many of Miyazaki’s recurring themes are on display, they are less strident than usual; still, I think this is the director’s most accessible and straightforward storytelling since My Neighbor Totoro. I’ll admit, in the opening scenes I was initially a bit dismayed that the animation seemed more simplistic than usual (at least by Studio Ghibli’s own standards); but as the film unfolded I came to realize that the use of soft lines and muted pastels is a stylistic choice that meshes perfectly with the gentle rhythms of its narrative.

My review is based on a screening of the Japanese PAL DVD that is already available. I still anticipate catching it on the big screen (always preferable), especially for some gorgeous and amazingly detailed underwater milieus, and a powerful sequence of an ocean tempest that features the most breathtaking animation I’ve seen in quite a while. Overall, it may pale when compared to, say, Spirited Away, but in my experience, there is no such thing as “mediocre” Miyazaki. I can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.

Action, Dystopian, Sci-Fi

Oops! Wrong planet: District 9 ***

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on August 15, 2009)

It’s hip on the mothership.

The alien invaders have come knock knock knockin’ on the box office door to signal their seasonal pilgrimage to the local multiplex. Okay, technically, in the case of District 9, the aliens aren’t necessarily “invaders” so much as…refugees, who have the misfortune of running out of gas (in a matter of speaking) while hovering over South Africa. Boy, did they make a wrong turn.

We learn from a montage that 20-odd years have passed since the aliens first made contact; in the interim the South African government has evacuated the malnourished populace from their gargantuan mothership and introduced them to the joys of township living. The aliens, referred to derogatorily as “prawns” due to their crustacean-like physiology, develop a proclivity for tinned cat food, and resign themselves to living the slum life whilst the global debate about what ultimately should be done about them drags on.

In the meantime, the government has contracted a private company to micro-manage the residents of “District 9” (official speak for the area where the aliens are interred). The company, Multi-National United, has taken a keen interest in unlocking the secret to operating the alien weaponry that was confiscated; much to their chagrin, the hardware does not respond to human touch.

While one of the company’s officials (Sharlto Copley, as the type of officious, soullessly cheerful bureaucrat you love to hate) is serving eviction notices in one of the slums, he stumbles into a situation that soon turns him into a political football in the brewing conflict between the disgruntled aliens and their human oppressors.

Writer-director Neill Blomkamp is a “discovery” by producer Peter Jackson, who originally enlisted the up-and-comer to help develop a feature film adaptation of the Halo video game (a project which looks  to be on permanent hold). As you watch District 9, you glean why Jackson has banked on this previously unknown filmmaker; he certainly has an imaginative style and a flair for kinetic action sequences.

Although the film eventually descends into a somewhat predicable flurry of loud explosions and splattering viscera, it does sport a rousing first half, thanks to the terrific production design, outstanding alien creature effects and the gripping docu-realism. It’s not for the squeamish; if you are, you might want to take a pass.

As for the political allegory, while it can safely be assumed and is definitely implied (especially considering South Africa’s history) it is not necessarily ladled on with a trowel. I didn’t get the impression that the filmmakers were trying to make it the central theme; sometimes, a sci-fi story…is just a sci-fi story.

There is some controversy regarding the film’s depiction of Nigerian nationals who live among the aliens. The characters in question are a Nigerian crime lord and his evil henchmen, who profit off the refugees via prostitution, extortion and black marketeering. In the context of the narrative, I thought those characters served the story (perhaps we could have done without the anachronistic witch doctor). This is not the first movie of its kind (nor will it be the last), but it is one of the more original genre entries in recent memory.

Comedy, Conspiracy a-go-go, On Politics, War(s) on Terror

Generals and majors ah ah: In The Loop ****

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on August 8, 2009)

Here’s a revelation, in the midst of summer movie torpor: The political satire is not dead; it’s just been sort of resting …at least since Wag the Dog sped in and out of theaters in 1997. Armando Iannucci and co-writers Jesse Armstrong, Simon Blackwell, Ian Martin and Tony Roche (much of the team responsible for the BBC series The Thick of It) have mined the headlines and produced a nugget of pure satirical gold with In the Loop. I daresay that it recalls the halcyon days of Terry Southern and Paddy Chayefsky, whose sharp, barb-tongued screenplays once ripped the body politic with savage aplomb.

When the British Minister for International Development (Tom Hollander) gets tongue-tied during a BBC news interview and blurts out that “War is unforeseeable” in response to a question about his stance on a possible U.S. military intervention in the Middle East, it stirs up a trans-Atlantic political shit storm, as hawks and doves on both sides of the pond scramble to spin his nebulous statement into an endorsement for their respective agendas.

When he later tries to backpedal by saying “Sometimes, to walk the road of peace, we have to…climb the mountains of conflict” it raises murderous ire from the Prime Minister’s Director of Communications (Peter Capaldi, as a classic Type-A prick) who tells the minister (among other colorful admonishments) that his awkward metaphor made him sound like some kind of “Nazi Julie Andrews”.

The gaffe-prone minister is given a chance to redeem his now precarious career status with a “fact finding” visit to D.C., under the watchful eye of Capaldi. Also along for the trip is the minister’s ambitious new advisor and chief handler (Chris Addison).

They are feted by the dovish Assistant Secretary of Diplomacy( Mimi Kennedy) who is desperately trying to keep him from the clutches of the hawkish Assistant Secretary of State (David Rasche) who is like an amalgam of Rumsfeld and Cheney, and of whom Kennedy observes that “…the voices in his head are now singing barbershop together.” Things get interesting when a war-weary general turned desk-bound Pentagon brass (James Gandolfini) joins the mix.

The filmmakers take aim at multiple targets, and hit the bull’s eye nearly every time with creatively honed insults delivered in deliciously profane pentameter by all members of the cast. Capaldi’s character in particular spouts some of the most uproariously clever lines I’ve heard in years. As for my personal favorite, I’d say that it’s a tossup between “I’m putting you on a probationary period…from today until the end of recorded time” or (b) “I will marshal all the media forces of darkness to hound you to an assisted suicide.”

Politics as usual, I suppose.

Action, Heist Caper, Neo-Noir

Remake/remodel: The Taking of Pelham, 1-2-3 **

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on June 20, 2009)

Washington and Travolta: Got to do with where choo-choo go.

Well, summer is back, and apparently, so are the Seventies. Let’s put it this way: if I had been able to construct a time machine back in 1979, and had set the controls for 30 years hence, I would have looked at the marquees and assumed that either a) my experiment had failed, or b) Hollywood had completely run out of original ideas.

The latest Will Farrell vehicle, Land of the Lost is based on the 1970s TV show. Quentin Tarantino’s upcoming (and spellchecker-challenged) Inglourious Basterds is a remake of a 1978 B-movie. And now,  we have Tony Scott’s The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3, a retooling of Joseph Sargent’s original 1974 action thriller of the same name.

Good morning, Mr. Blue.

In Joseph Sargent’s gritty, suspenseful 1974 thriller, Robert Shaw leads a team of bow-tied, mustachioed and bespectacled hijackers who take control of a New York City subway train, seize hostages and demand $1 million in ransom from the city. If the ransom does not arrive in precisely 1 hour, passengers will be executed at the rate of one per minute until the money appears.

As city officials scramble to scare up the loot, a tense cat-and-mouse dialog is established (via 2-way radio) between Shaw’s single-minded sociopath and a typically rumpled and put-upon Walter Matthau as a wry Transit Police lieutenant. Peter Stone’s sharp screenplay (adapted from John Godey’s novel) is rich in characterization; most memorable for being chock full of New York City “attitude” (every character in the film down to the smallest bit part is soaking in it).

Years later, Quentin Tarantino blatantly lifted (OK, I’ll be nice and say: “paid homage”) to one of the film’s signature gimmicks. Shaw’s gang adapts nom de plumes for their “job” based on colors (Mr. Blue, Mr. Green, Mr. Grey and Mr. Brown). The men who pull off the heist in Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs are designated by their ringleader as Messrs. White, Orange, Blonde, Blue, Brown, etc. (prompting the chagrined Steve Buscemi’s immortal line: “Why am I Mr. Pink?!”)

Which now brings us to Tony Scott’s new version. Refreshing myself on the director’s credits (as listed on the Internet Movie Database), I see that I have somehow managed to overlook all of his output between Enemy of the State (1998) and this one. It wasn’t necessarily by design; I love Enemy of the State, which holds a coveted place in my Conspiracy-A-Go-Go section. It’s just that Scott historically doesn’t make the types of films that particularly grab me (The Hunger and True Romance aside). And don’t get me started on that towel-snapping military recruitment ad, Top Gun (no, seriously…don’t).

In the new film, Denzel Washington steps into Walter Matthau’s shoes as Walter Garber, with a slight shift in job description (here he is a subway dispatcher, instead of a transit cop) and John Travolta plays the heavy, simply referred to as Ryder (What? No more Mr. Blue?!).

The setup remains the same; Ryder and his henchmen hijack a subway, seizing hostages and demanding ransom. Now, the prices have gone up since 1974 (even terrorists have to adjust for inflation). Ryder wants $10 million…and one cent. As in the original film, Garber and Ryder verbally square off (via cell phone in this outing) while the ransom is assembled and the clock ticks away.

I know that this is  an action movie, but the problem with Scott’s hyper-kinetic visual style is that his goddamned camera never stops moving, even when it should. For instance, there’s a bit of exposition where the Mayor (James Gandolfini) is standing on the street having a confab with his advisors about the crisis. For the entire scene, Scott never stops spinning his camera in a dizzying 360, making you feel like you’re on a runaway merry-go-round (it damn near triggered a positional vertigo condition that I suffer on occasion).

Another issue is the lack of character development. What made the original so good that it was a great ensemble piece; even minor walk-on characters had detectable personalities. There are a few attempts; for instance, Washington’s character has hints of moral ambiguity that begins to move  the narrative in an interesting direction, but then drops it (I had expected a little more from screenwriter Brian Helgeland, because he had done such a marvelous job co-adapting L.A. Confidential).

Even the bad guys all had distinct personalities in the original film; here it’s all about keeping an over-the-top Travolta in the spotlight, while his cohorts are just your standard-issue, nondescript evil henchmen.

I realize no matter how big, dumb and loud they are, summer films are virtually critic-proof. And to be sure, Washington and Travolta are talented actors (especially with the right material) and lend box office clout to any opening weekend; but this is strictly a paycheck gig. My advice? Stand clear of the closing doors…and this movie.

Documentary, On Politics

The bi-curious case of the closeted Neocons: Outrage ***

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 23, 2009)

If you want to know about the gay politician
If you want to know how to drive your car
If you want to know about the new sex position
You can read it in the Sunday papers, read it in the Sunday papers

-Joe Jackson

Speaking as the court jester, class clown, resident buffoon (take your pick) here among the otherwise accomplished and well-respected political writers at Digby’s Hullabaloo, what I am about to do could be construed as tantamount to biting the hand that feeds me, but I want you to know that I do this out of love. Think of it as an intervention. My esteemed colleagues have a dirty little secret, and I’m going to out them, right  here, right now. Okay…are you ready?

Hypocrisy is their bread and butter.

There, I’ve said it. Mind you, this “hypocrisy” of which I speak is not in reference to what they write, but what they write about. Because let’s face it-if hypocrisy did not proliferate in politics like the weeds on the banks of the Potomac, they would not have much to write about. And I’ll wager that they would sleep better, stop yelling at the tube, and not have to keep blood pressure pills in a Pez dispenser.

Political hypocrisy is certainly nothing new, nor is it a particularly partisan phenomenon when one is speaking in general terms. However, one of the biggest head-scratchers in recent years is revelation after revelation concerning closeted Republican politicians who refuse to publicly address gay rights issues and have a record of consistently voting down legislation that would benefit the LGBT community. The explanations for this  behavior may not be as cut and dry as you might think, according to a fascinating, provocative new documentary from Kirby Dick, called Outrage.

Dick grabs your attention right off the bat, with audio excerpts from the police interrogation of Senator Larry Craig after his arrest for “homosexual lewd misconduct” in a restroom at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. However, it soon becomes clear that the film is not going to be just a collage of sensationalized “outings” or a prurient rehash of high-profile media circuses like the Craig case.

Instead, the film specifically targets those closeted politicians who play the charade by cloaking themselves in the time-honored “family values” meme of the conservative Right. It’s not about calling these public servants out on the fact that they are living a lie in their personal life, per se; rather, it patiently illustrates how this type of self-deluding behavior by people in positions of power not only does a disservice to their constituents at large, but contributes to the continued sociopolitical suppression of the LGBT community.

The director finds a perfect framing device by profiling Blogactive’s Michael Rogers, who has been on a diligent one-man crusade to out every closeted politician who has voted down gay rights issues. There are also archival and new interviews with the likes of ex-New Jersey governor James McGreevey (who outed himself after resigning his post), the former Mrs. McGreevey, current Florida governor Charlie Crist, and Congressman Barney Frank (who offers the most pragmatic perspective on the issue).

In one of my favorite scenes, Dick cleverly parses the by-now-familiar footage of McGreevey’s final press conference as governor by deliberately zooming in on his wife’s blanched, incredulous facial expression (I think I now understand what they mean by “looking daggers”) There are surprises as well, like several well-chosen Freudian bloopers by TV anchors (Dick, like Michael Moore, does not forget to entertain, as well as outrage).

The film also gives  historical perspective on the phenomenon; particularly in regard to notorious McCarthyite Roy Cohn (playwright Tony Kushner briefly discusses the fictionalized Cohn character he created for Angels in America). Curiously, the most dangerously powerful closet case of all time, J. Edgar Hoover is not mentioned. Then again, Dick may not have even known where to start; Hoover’s decades-long reign of hypocrisy could easily provide enough material for a Ken Burns-length miniseries in and of itself.

The takeaway for me was this: Anyone who would lie to themselves (about anything of conscience or consequence, not just sexual identity) ideally should never, ever be entrusted to power over the lives of others. Which begs a question: If that credo could be magically imposed, how many people would be left in government? Do you think we could count them on more than one hand?

Drama, Neo-Noir

Pure escapism: The Escapist ***1/2

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 2, 2009)

Shakespeare in gloves: Joseph Fiennes fights dirty.

I always face prison dramas with trepidation. While there have been outstanding ones produced over the years, it’s one genre that has gone a bit hoary. What more could they possibly do with it? I sometimes amuse myself by ticking off my mental checklist of prison drama clichés . I played this little game while screening The Escapist, the feature film debut for British writer-director Rupert Wyatt:

Shiv in the kidneys? Check.

 Suffocation by pillow? Check.

Shower rape scene? Check.

Brutal fistfight (with wagering) while guards look the other way? Check.

 Someone takes an “accidental” header from the upper cell block? Check.

 Cat-calls and wolf-whistles for the “new meat” as they’re processed? Check.

Drug vending via rolling book cart? Check.

 And of course, a daring, seemingly impossible escape plan? Check.

Just as I was thinking that I had The Escapist sussed and settled  in to brace for another intense (if  predictable) British prison drama along the lines of Scum, McVicar or The Criminal, I soon found myself sitting up a little straighter. Then, before I knew it, I was literally on the edge of my seat, breathlessly caught up in an exciting and compelling story that is capped off by an unexpectedly mind-blowing finale.

The story is set in a London facility that vibes vintage Wormwood Scrubs (in reality, Dublin’s  Kilmainham Jail). Brian Cox stars as an aging, life-tired convict named Frank Perry, who is doing life without parole. When he learns that his daughter has fallen gravely ill as a result of her struggle with drug addiction, he devises an escape plan that involves literally worming one’s way through the city’s hellish labyrinth of underground infrastructure to freedom. He enlists a team of four disparate personalities (played to the hilt by Dominic Cooper, Seu Jorge, Liam Cunningham and Joseph Fiennes)-who are bonded together by a fierce desire to escape their bleak milieu.

The storyline is relatively simple, but it’s really all about the journey (in this case, both literally and figuratively). The attention grabber in Wyatt’s screenplay (co-written with Daniel Hardy) is the flashback/flash forward construct; it’s an oft-used narrative trick that can be distracting or gimmicky, but it’s very effective here.

As the escape itself unfolds, the events leading up to it are revealed in a deliberate, Chinese puzzle-box fashion. With this device, the filmmakers build dramatic tension on two fronts, and by the time they intersect, you’ll have to remind yourself to breathe. What’s killing me here is that I can’t reveal the classic crime thriller that this most closely recalls-as that would be tantamount to a major spoiler!

The actors are all superb, particularly Liam Cunningham and the Scottish-born Cox, who I think is underrated. He’s one of thos skilled, “all purpose” character actors whose name may escape you, but you definitely have seen him. He worked extensively in British television from the early 70s thru the mid-80s, but didn’t register a blip with U.S. audiences until his memorable turn as (the original) Hannibal Lecktor in Michael Mann’s 1986 crime thriller, Manhunter.

I have to admit, I didn’t recognize Joseph Fiennes until the credits rolled; I guess that proves he is more of a chameleon than I had previously thought. Damian Lewis is also quite good as the prison kingpin, and Steven MacKintosh delivers an edgy, unpredictable performance as his dangerous, perpetually tweaked brother.

I think Wyatt will be a director to watch. I can tell that he has studied the masters. There are echoes of Carol Reed, particularly in a sequence that takes the escapees through the London sewers; the expressionistic use of chiaroscuro lighting recalls The Third Man. He’s not overly flashy, and most refreshingly, does not appear to be trying to remake Reservoir Dogs (like so many first-time out directors are these days). There’s no escaping one fact: this is one terrific film.

Conspiracy a-go-go, Journalism, On Politics

Conspiracy a go-go: State of Play ***

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 18, 2009)

Hey, Aqualung! Crowe and Affleck in State of Play.

Let’s get this out of the way. I have not seen the original BBC series that Kevin MacDonald’s terrific new thriller, State of Play, was based upon. So if there are any nuances that have been lost in translation, I will profess in advance that I am blissfully unaware of them (so feel free to fight among yourselves in the comment section).

Chock-a-block with paranoid journalists, shadowy assassins, corrupt politicians, and soulless lackeys of the corporate war machine (perhaps “State of the Union” would have been more apt?), the film is a mash-up of complex, old school conspiracy thrillers like The Parallax View and slicker contemporary fare like Enemy of the State. And perhaps most interestingly, it views its timely appraisal of corporatist Washington politics and the usurpation of responsible American journalism through a decidedly European sensibility.

Cal McAffrey (Russell Crowe) is an investigative reporter for The Washington Globe; he’s one of those grizzled, rumpled newspaper veterans of the “analog” variety. His office cubicle has that “lived-in” look; an explosion of chaotic, paper-strewn clutter that tells us that this is a guy with ink-stained fingers who actually digs deep, takes notes and probably even fact checks before he writes a story (remember that kind of journalism?). Cal, sporting unkempt long hair, a scraggly beard and frequently outfitted in a long wool overcoat, may look like he just strolled off a Jethro Tull album cover, but you sense that once he latches onto a story, he is going to get the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.

In his years on the Beltway beat, Cal has made a lot of friends in high places, including Congressman Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck), a golden boy whose star is on the rise. Collins chairs a committee that is investigating some dubiously vetted Defense Department contract awards (are there any other kind?). Currently under the committee’s microscope is a shady Blackwater-type corporation that appears bent on spearheading the complete privatization of America’s Homeland Security operations.

On the eve of the scheduled hearings, the congressman’s young female research assistant (wink wink) dies under mysterious circumstances. Cal is immediately put on the story by his requisite crusty yet benign editor (Helen Mirren). When the panicked congressman reaches out for Cal’s counsel as a friend, the stage is set for a test of the reporter’s objective integrity, especially as the (personal and professional) circumstances become more byzantine.

If it’s starting to sound like you may have been here before, there’s a reason for the plot point déjà vu. Three reasons, actually. The trio of writers who adapted the screenplay is kind of like the Crosby, Stills & Nash of conspiracy thriller scribes. Tony Gilroy wrote Michael Clayton, which was about deadly corporate machinations; Matthew Michael Carnahan did Lions for Lambs, which delved a bit into the grey areas in the relationships between Beltway journalists and politicians; and Billy Ray scripted Breach (based on a true story) which dealt with duplicity and betrayal within the intelligence community.

I think it’s notable that the film also gives a nod to the advent of the blogosphere, and the ripple effect it is has had on traditional mainstream journalism (something my friend Digby has written about, oh, once or twice). When a cub reporter (Rachael McAdams) from the news paper’s online division ingratiates herself into a co-assignment with Cal on the congressional assistant’s murder story, he initially reacts with a fair amount of hostility.

There’s a great scene where Cal calls her with urgent information that she needs to write down; the look on his face as he waits for her while she scrambles to find a pen speaks volumes. Eventually, despite the “oil and water” mix, the pair develops a working dynamic that vacillates between the time-honored student/mentor relationship and Woodward and Bernstein following the money.

Despite the utilization of a few genre clichés (I think there has been a rule ever since All the President’s Men that you are required to have at least one tense scene that takes place after hours in a dark and foreboding underground parking garage) I found the film quite involving, thanks to a great cast and tight direction.

It was fun to watch Mirren and Crowe working together; these are two of the finest actors currently walking the planet (although I wish they would have given Dame Helen a bit more to do aside from pacing and fuming about imminent deadlines). The underrated Robin Wright-Penn (excellent as the congressman’s wife) is also on hand.

I think MacDonald, who also directed The Last King of Scotland, has the potential to be the next Costa-Gavras. His feature films all vibe an undercurrent of docu-realism; perhaps not too surprising, since he made his bones with highly lauded documentaries like Touching the Void and One Day in September. In a spring season of mall cops and 3-D monsters, with Summer Release Purgatory looming, State of Play is one movie that will not require putting your brain on hold.

Culture Clash, Drama, Family Issues, Gangsters

Take me to the river: Sin Nombre ***1/2

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 11, 2009)

Every now and then a debut film comes along that has a voice. And when I say “voice”, I mean that the director’s confidence and clarity of cinematic vision has a tangible presence-from the very first frame to the closing credits. Maybe I’m a little jaded, but it doesn’t happen that much these days. So when I saw Cary Fukunaga’s  assured first feature, Sin Nombre, it “…made my big toe shoot right up in my boot,” (as Little Richard described the first time he ever saw Hendrix live).

Defying all expectations, this modestly budgeted, visually expansive gem hinges on a simple narrative, but is anything but predictable. It’s an adventure, yet it is informed by an almost meditative stillness that makes the occasional frisson that much more gripping and real. It delves into gang culture, but it isn’t a movie about gangs. It has protagonists who are desperately attempting to immigrate to the United States by any means necessary, yet this isn’t yet another earnest message film about “the plight” of illegal immigrants. It’s a “road movie”, but the future’s uncertain-and the end is always near.

The film has two narratives, which eventually merge as one. One story begins in Honduras, concerning a headstrong teenage girl named Sayra (Paulina Gaitan) who joins her long estranged father and uncle as they journey to Mexico, where they plan to ride the rails as far north as possible before making a final dash across the border to America, where dreams of milk and honey await.

Sayra’s father hopes to use their time together to become reacquainted with his daughter. Sayra, who seems to be working through abandonment issues, is polite but keeps a cool distance from his belated attempts at offering fatherly advice and exerting parental authority. Still, Sayra, her father and her uncle begin to form a family unit, precipitated more by necessity than affection.

Another type of extended family unit is examined in the film’s companion narrative, which takes us to the southern Mexico state of Chiapas, and centers on a local chapter of the notorious “MS-13” gang. We witness a brutal initiation rite, a 13-second long “beat down” on a young inductee nicknamed “El Smiley” (Kristian Ferrer).

Punches and kicks are soon replaced by congratulatory hugs, as Smiley is welcomed as a “brother” by his new homies, and anointed a “son” by the leader, “Lil Mago” (Tenoch Huerta Mejia). We also meet Willy, known in the gang as “El Caspar” (Edgar Flores) who is Smiley’s sponsor, and a de facto big brother figure to the young boy.

While he is a dedicated and respected member of the gang, Willy vibes creeping disenchantment; we sense he dreams of a better life. He also has something  lacking in the others-a sense of conscience. This leads to a fateful conflict with Mago, a repugnant sociopath who will accept nothing less than blind obedience . Circumstance puts Willy in the same yard where Sayra and her relatives await to jump a train that will take them north; and thus their paths converge.

While this is a very human story, containing all the elements of classic drama (love, hope, betrayal, revenge, personal sacrifice), it is also about the locales, and the elegiac tone that these backdrops lend to what is otherwise a harrowing tale. As the train whistle stops its way through Mexico, the country’s rugged beauty is captured in gorgeous “golden hour” hues by cinematographer Adriano Goldman.

Goldman’s work  reminds me of Nestor Almendros, who did the magnificent photography for Terence Malick’s Days of Heaven. The Texas prairies used as backdrop in Days of Heaven are in the same neck of the woods, and some story elements (like the protagonist’s point of view) are reminiscent of that film as well. Whether or not Malick was a conscious influence on Fukunaga is a moot point, because his film stands on its own. One could have worse influences.

For an unknown cast (many non-professionals), there are an astonishing number of outstanding performances. This adds to the naturalistic, believable tone. My film going companion, a native of Mexico (she’s from Colima), was impressed by that element, and seconded the motion that the milieu was muy autentico. Sin Nombre is another rarity these days-it’s meant to be seen on the big screen.

Male Bonding, Romantic Comedy

Flowers of bromance: I Love You, Man ***

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 28, 2009)

Oh, bloody hell…not another Rush tribute band.

Matt Groening once observed: “Sex is funny. The French are a funny people. Then why is it that no French sex comedies are funny?” On the other hand,  Roger Ebert once lamented about “a trend in which Hollywood buys French comedies and experiments on them to see if they can be made into English with all the humor taken out.” I generally concur with both those sentiments, but I think I have found the exception to Groening’s and Ebert’s rules- in the guise of a smart, funny and warm French comedy that has inspired an equally smart, funny and warm American remake.

Okay, so Patrice Leconte’s Mon Meilleur Ami  (my review) was not a “sex” comedy, nor was it a huge hit with critics or audiences (I caught flak from some readers for including it in my Top 10 films list for 2007). I’m not gloating here-but obviously, someone felt Leconte’s film to be worthy of a Hollywood makeover, and the latest vehicle for Paul Rudd.  I Love You, Man is all that (and a large orange soda).

Rudd is Peter Klaven, a  good-natured L.A. real estate agent who has decided to pop the question to his ladylove, Zooey (Rashida Jones). Zooey immediately phones up a bevy of close girlfriends to share the happy news. When she asks her fiancé why he isn’t jumping on the horn to tell all his pals, he mumbles some vague excuse and tries to change the subject. It turns out that while Peter is adept at meeting women, he is more diffident when it comes to interacting with the dudes; he can’t readily cough up a candidate for his Best Man. Someone is going to have to come up with an Action Plan.

Desperate to find a good bud on such short notice, Peter seeks assistance from his gay brother (SNL’s Andy Samberg), who encourages him to go on a few “man dates”. Zooey pitches in. brokering a “poker night” invite for Peter from her best friend’s reluctant husband (a skulking Jon Favreau, hilariously effective here playing a supreme dick weed). Most of these intros and invites end in embarrassment and/or some form of social disaster. Just when all seems lost, a Dude ex Machina arrives in a free-spirited man child named Sydney Fife (Jason Segel). Teach me to dance, Zorba.

In its best moments , I was reminded of Barry Levinson’s Diner, which I consider the granddaddy of all modern “bromantic” comedies, as well as one of the most keenly perceptive observations about male friendship ever put on screen. I think it’s interesting to note that screenwriter Larry Levin (who co-scripted with director John Hamburg) also wrote a classic 2-part Seinfeld episode called “The Boyfriend”, in which Jerry develops a “man crush” on one of the N.Y. Mets (this film could be seen as an extrapolation on that theme).

In its worst moments, the film threatens to lean on that tiresome crutch of cheap gross-out humor that has put me off contemporary “comedies”, but thankfully, the reins are judiciously pulled in (Woody Allen has managed to make tons of funny films over a 40 year period without one scene involving projectile vomiting-so why can’t the current crop of comedy directors take lessons from this?).

Rudd and Segel (who previously teamed up in Forgetting Sarah Marshall) play off each other extremely well, and are obviously developing a solid comedy duo franchise (I think it would be a real kick to see them remake one of the Hope-Crosby “Road” movies-or perhaps that’s just me).

Rudd continues to perfect an onscreen persona as the modern comic Everyman. Segel’s performance recalls Donal Logue’s slovenly yet endearing self-styled hipster saint in The Tao of Steve. Thomas Lennon (best known as “Lieutenant Dangle” from the wonderfully twisted comedy series, Reno 911) is a riot as a love struck stalker (no spoilers, please). Lou Ferrigno (as himself) is an unexpected delight, unveiling some previously hidden comic chops, and air guitar geeks will swoon at the cameo appearance by the Holy Trinity of Canadian prog-rock. And if you have to ask who that is-you ain’t my bro, man!

Action, Dystopian, Fantasy, Sci-Fi

Love is blue: Watchmen **1/2

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By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 21, 2009)

I was a weird kid. I never went for the superhero comic books in a big way. I do vaguely recall going through a Classics Illustrated period (Journey to the Center of the Earth kicked major ass, and I think I wore out my copy of Treasure Island). Then, when I was around 9 or 10, I discovered MAD magazine…and all bets were off. I made an exception when I discovered the Adventures of Tin Tin books in my early 20s, but steered clear of  the Marvel/DC stable of caped crusaders, endowed with Special Powers and clad in skin tight suits.

So, I knew going in that I was not in the target audience for Watchmen, the latest graphic novel-to-film adaptation from the DC Comics stable. For those unacquainted with graphic novels, just think Classics Illustrated with sex, ultra-violence and just enough substantive exposition to help you convince yourself you’re reading something akin to literature (sounds like a great pitch for an HBO series). Despite my misgivings about the genre, I was unexpectedly dazzled by Sin City a few years back; so I tried to keep an open mind.

Director Zack Snyder (300) had a formidable task; not only did he have to condense a 12 volume series of graphic novels into feature film length, but he had to deliver a product that would both placate detail-obsessed fan boys and entertain the rest of us without leaving us confounded (or dozing) when the auditorium lights come up.

I can’t speak for the fan boys, but I found the establishing premise of the film intriguing. The story is set in a sort of parallel universe version of mid-1980s America, where an altered course of history has radically changed the sociopolitical fabric of the country from WW 2 onward. The ‘x’ factor lays in an assortment of free-agent superheroes and heroines who have lent their talents to the U.S. armed forces since the 1940s. Actually, super-‘spooks’ might be a more accurate descriptive, as an Oliver Stone style back-story montage behind the opening credits appears to indicate.

In this version of history, thanks to these caped crusaders, America “wins” the Vietnam War. And disturbingly, President Richard M. Nixon has been elected for a fifth term (in this reality, Woodward and Bernstein have been “neutralized”). The Cold War is still in full swing, with a possible nuke-out with the Soviets looming on the horizon. In our post 9-11 world, with the economy on the brink of collapse, this actually plays like a quaint scenario, n’est-ce pas?

With one exception, these superheroes are not blessed with invulnerability; they are just as fragile and flawed as any schmuck on the street; the moral compass doesn’t always exactly point to Truth, Justice and the American Way, either. By 1985, the vigilantes have fallen out of favor with the fickle public; masked avenging has been subsequently outlawed and most have been driven into retirement, or gone underground. When one of the retirees is murdered, it’s time to get the band back together, spearheaded by Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley). The mystery, as they say, is afoot.

After a promising start, the story bogs down. The screenplay (adapted by David Hayter and Alex Tse) while complex and cerebral for what is essentially an action film, is a bit too complex and cerebral for its own good. Pains are taken to flesh out  the back story of each character; this is a good thing, but can be a double edged sword. On the one hand, it raises the bar on the cardboard  characterizations you usually get in a superhero movie. Unfortunately, it also accounts for most of the 162 minute running time. By the time  credits rolled, I had completely forgotten  that there was a mystery afoot.

Still, there was a lot I liked about the film. It has a  “dark city” noir atmosphere that I’m a sucker for, as well as great costume and set design. The performances are  uneven,  possibly attributable to the sometimes overreaching script. Jackie Earle Haley is a standout as Rorschach; I enjoyed his Chandleresque voice-over performance, which vacillates somewhere between Clint Eastwood’s menacing whisper and Lawrence Tierney’s caustic growl.

Billy Crudup, Malin Akerman, Patrick Wilson, Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Carla Gugino are all quite good. I didn’t recognize Matt “Max Headroom” Frewer as “Moloch the Mystic” until the credits rolled. The film has an interesting soundtrack; although I had mixed feelings about hearing a somewhat lengthy lift from Philip Glass’ symphonic score for Koyaanasqatsi (a film I’ve seen many  times).

Still, the sci-fi geek/film noir enthusiast inside of me was hooked by the Blade Runner-like mash-up of those two genres (not that I’m suggesting that this is in the same league as Ridley Scott’s cult classic). You can take that as a guarded recommendation.