Cockroaches, Cher, and 007: Skyfall ****

August 18, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 10, 2012)

Anderson Cooper interviews Rip Taylor in Skyfall.

I’m sure you’ve heard the old chestnut about cockroaches and Cher surviving the Apocalypse? As the James Bond movie franchise celebrates its 50^th year with the release of Skyfall, you might as well add “007” to that short list of indestructible life forms.

Many of us have literally grown up watching six actors battle a gaggle of “Bond villains”, bed a bevy of “Bond girls”…and generally facilitate the audience’s expectation to see lots of cool shit blow up real good by the end of the film. We could argue all day about who was the best Bond (Sean Connery) Bond villain (Gert Frobe), or best Bond girl (Diana Rigg!), but that’s purely subjective. Love him or hate him, it’s a fact of life that as long as he continues to lay those gold-painted eggs for the studio execs, agent 007 is here to stay.

It might surprise you to learn that not only is the franchise still very much alive and well, but that I would rank Skyfall among the very best in the series. Assembled with great intelligence and verve by American Beauty director Sam Mendes, this tough, spare and relatively gadget-free Bond caper harkens back to the gritty, straightforward approach of From Russia with Love (the best of the early films).

That being said, Mendes hasn’t forgotten his obligation to fulfill the franchise’s tradition of delivering a slam-bang, pull out all the stops opening sequence, which I daresay outdoes all previous. Interestingly, the film’s narrative owes more to Howard Hawks than it does to Ian Fleming; I gleaned a healthy infusion of Rio Bravo in Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and John Logan’s screenplay.

In this outing, Bond (Daniel Craig) has gone into self-imposed exile and crawled inside of a bottle (not unlike Dean Martin’s drunken and dispirited lawman in Hawks’ film) after uncharacteristically blowing a mission and suffering a near-death experience.

However, when a diabolical cyber-terrorist (Javier Bardem) with a very personal grudge against M (Dame Judi Dench) begins wreaking havoc directly on the MI6 HQ, the presumed-dead and barely fit for duty 007 reluctantly comes out of hiding to offer his help. Still, M doesn’t exactly greet the prodigal son with open arms; he must first prove that he can get his mojo back (the subtext of rebirth serves as a device for rebooting the mythology of a couple significant franchise characters, including a passing of the torch).

Craig has finally settled comfortably into the character; his Bond feels a little more “lived in” than in the previous installments, where he was a little stiff and unsure about where he should be at times. I was glad to see one element return to 007’s personality: a mordant sense of humor.

Bardem is a great Bond villain; his characterization mixes the cool intelligence and creepy charm of Hannibal Lecter with the nihilism and disconcerting cruelty of The Joker (topped off with a blonde fright wig). Ralph Fiennes is in fine form as a government overseer, and it’s always a treat to have the great Albert Finney on board. Naiome Harris is excellent as an MI6 agent.

This is one of the most beautifully photographed Bond films in recent memory, thanks to DP Roger Deakins (one particularly memorable fight scene, staged in a darkened high rise suite and silhouetted against the backdrop of Shanghai’s neon nightscape, approaches high art). I think the Bond geeks will be pleased; and anyone up for pure popcorn escapism will not be disappointed. Any way you look at it, this is a terrific entertainment.

Cult Movie, Male Bonding, Neo-Noir, School Days

Welcome to hell: Wake in Fright ***1/2

August 18, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 27, 2012)

There’s a great old Temptations song that goes “you make your own heaven and hell right here on earth.” That would have made a perfect tag line for a rarely seen, one-of-a-kind 1971 drama called Wake in Fright. Restored in 2009 for a successful revival in Australia and considered a great lost film from that country’s “new wave” of the early to mid-1970s, it was directed by the eclectic Ted Kotcheff (The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz, Fun With Dick and Jane, North Dallas Forty), and is currently playing in select cities.

As someone who is a huge fan of Aussie cinema from that era (Picnic at Hanging Rock, Walkabout, The Last Wave, etc.) I’m ashamed to admit that this film was under my radar until I was offered a DVD press screener a few weeks back (I don’t recall it ever showing on cable, and it’s never been available domestically on VHS or Region 1 DVD).

Here’s the film’s actual tag line: “Have a drink, mate? Have a fight, mate? Have some dust and sweat, mate? There’s nothing else out here.” That actually could work as a plot synopsis. Sort of a cross between Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and (speaking of the Australian new wave) Peter Weir’s The Cars That Ate Paris, it’s a relatively simple tale about a burned-out teacher (Gary Bond) who works in a one-room schoolhouse somewhere in the Outback.

Headed back to Sydney to visit his girlfriend over the school holiday, he takes the train to Bundanyabba (the nearest town with an airport) where he will need to lodge for one night. At least that’s his plan. “The Yabba” is one of those burgs where the clannish regulars at the local pub take an unhealthy interest in strangers, starting with the (too) friendly town cop (Chips Rafferty) who subtly bullies the teacher into getting blotto. This kick starts a “lost weekend” that lasts for five days.

Without giving too much away, let’s just say that the ensuing booze-soaked debaucheries have to be seen to be believed; particularly an unnerving and surreal sequence involving a drunken nocturnal kangaroo hunt that I guarantee no film before or since matches for sheer audacity (a strange, lengthy disclaimer in the credits may not assuage animal lovers’ worst fears, but at least acknowledges viewers’ potential sensitivities).

That aside, this is a unique and compelling film; dripping with an atmosphere of dread and tempered by sharp, blackly comic dialog (Evan Jones adapted the script from Kenneth Cook’s novel). Splendid performances abound, especially from Donald Pleasance as a boozy MD. One more thing. In all sincerity, I hope that no one is foolish enough to devise a drinking game based around the film, because somebody in the room will surely drop dead of alcohol poisoning long before credits roll.

Documentary, Religion

You’re gonna burn: Hellbound? **1/2

August 18, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 27, 2012)

God is a concept, by which we measure our pain.

-John Lennon

Whenever I’m about to impart a smart ass observation (which is often), I preface it with the disclaimer: “I’m already going to Hell anyway…” I’ve never contemplated why I feel compelled to say that. Is Hell merely a state of mind, or is it an actual travel destination? And if it is the latter, how do you get there? Spend your life committing unspeakable acts? Turn left at Greenland? Besides, don’t you first have to buy into the idea of “Heaven” to enable a “Hell” to co-exist?

I have no religious affiliation to speak of, and I’m fairly convinced that any “afterlife” is, at best, a feast for the worms. However, while watching a new documentary called Hellbound? I found it particularly fascinating to learn that even among the “true believers”, there seems to be as many different interpretations of “Hell” as there are, oh I don’t know…denominations.

With the exception of the odd rabbi or token atheist, director Kevin Miller has assembled a bevy of (mostly) Christians to offer up windy definitions. These are Christians of all stripes, from sober and scholarly (theologians) to frothing and unhinged (members of the Westboro Baptist Church). To tell you the truth, my eyes began to glaze over halfway through, but from what I was able to discern, interviewees seemed fairly evenly divided between three concepts.

There’s your Coke Classic, with Mother Teresa in the penthouse and Hitler in the basement (based on the assumption that evildoers will suffer “eternal torment” after they snuff it). “Annihilationists” believe that it’s their way…or the highway to you-know-where (how that differs from “fundamentalism” is unclear to me). And lastly, there’s “universalism”, which is what it sounds like…all sentient beings end up in God’s good graces, no matter how they act (another way of saying that the penalty for sin has an expiration date?).

Once this trio of theories is established, the film becomes somewhat redundant; and it ultimately raises more questions than it answers. For example, how do Muslims define Hell, I wonder? Buddhists? Hindus? It might have made for a more interesting exercise, had Miller approached one or two of those folks to toss in their two cents worth. Then again, I’m no theologian, so what do I know?

Besides, I’m already going to Hell anyway.

Action, Dystopian, Sci-Fi

Will it go round in circles? – Looper ***

August 18, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 6, 2012)

My dinner with me: Willis and Gordon-Levitt talking to themselves.

If there’s a cardinal rule of time-travel I’ve gleaned from watching sci-fi movies over the years, it’s this: make sure that you never, ever “meet” yourself. Why? Dunno, really, just that you’re not supposed to. I imagine it could be quite unnerving, in either direction. I mean, it’s traumatic enough looking at that dorky version of my younger self in that yearbook photo, and who in their right mind is chomping at the bit to get a sneak preview of themselves in drooling dotage?

In his stylish and ultra-violent sci-fi thriller Looper, writer-director Rian Johnson not only breaks the cardinal rule, but manages to violate a few that haven’t been invented yet (see what I did there?). Johnson has himself a jolly old time exploring the potential fluidity of the time-space continuum, toying with causality and paradox like a kitten batting a ball of yarn all about the room with gleeful abandon.

The year is 2044, and America is a dystopia (it took that long?). The economy has gone 2008 for good, crime is rampant and 1 out of every 10 people has a mutation that gives them the power to levitate objects at will (although for a majority of the afflicted, their abilities are limited to the occasional Uri Geller parlor trick). Jobs are scarce; the biggest “job creator” is organized crime (again…it took that long?).

And yes, they still have plenty of gigs for hit men in the future; especially for “loopers”. Loopers have a relatively easy time of it; unlike your standard assassin, who has to meticulously plan the right time and the right place to do a hit, the looper simply shows up for “work” at a designated spot, where the target-bound, hooded and festooned with a set of silver bars, is delivered to him like an overnight FedEx package…from 30 years in the future (don’t ask…just enjoy your delicious buttered popcorn and accept it).

Pretty easy job, wouldn’t you say? The hours are good, the wages are decent, and loopers party like rock stars when they go out on the town. However, there is a calculated risk every looper takes by choosing this career path. “Retirement” (at least in the traditional sense) isn’t necessarily part of the equation. Should your bosses (who can be a fickle lot) determine that for whatever reason your services will no longer be required, they send the older version of yourself back to the present so that your younger self can take you out. This is referred to by the higher-ups as “closing the loop”.

Naturally, they don’t give you a heads up; it’s just another anonymous hooded victim who appears out of thin air in the middle of a cornfield somewhere in Kansas. Either way, you never see it coming. Ergo, as looper Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) confides with self-effacing irony in voice-over, this is not a profession that attracts “forward-thinkers”. Joe does have plans; he’s stashing all his silver bars and learning to speak French. Everything is going swimmingly for young Joe until that one fateful day in the cornfield, when his Victim du jour turns out to be… “old” Joe (Bruce Willis), who manages to flee. Uh-oh.

I’ll leave it there, and let you discover and enjoy the surprising twists and turns in your own time (in a manner of speaking). While there are some obvious touchstones here (primarily 12 Monkeys, The Terminator and Logan’s Run, with a few echoes of Groundhog Day) Johnson has fashioned a clever and original thriller that’s smarter than your average modern sci-fi action flick, yet not so self-consciously “meaningful” as to drown in its own self-importance (i.e., the director remembers to entertain the audience along the way).

Most notably, there’s an emphasis on character development (remember that?) and a palpable focus on the quality of the writing that is sorely lacking in most genre entries these days. The production design, special effects and atmospheric flourishes are “futuristic” without going over the top. It’s the little touches I especially enjoyed, like the fact that the time travel device is clearly modeled after George Pal’s design for his 1960 version of The Time Machine. Gordon-Levitt and Willis are terrific, and there are strong supporting performances from Jeff Daniels and Emily Blunt. See it now. See it later. It doesn’t really matter…time being relative and all.

Art world, Culture Clash, Romantic Comedy, Writers

New York, Nouveau York: 2 Days in New York ***1/2

August 18, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on September 15, 2012)

As Woody Allen continues gallivanting around Europe, leaving his home kingdom of Manhattan vulnerable to incursion by Visigoths and Vandals, the inevitable has occurred. In fact (and as if to prove that turnabout is fair play), it is likely that around the same time the quirky NYC native’s ode to the City of Light, Midnight in Paris was opening in theaters, a quirky Parisian-born filmmaker was quietly invading Allen’s beloved Big Apple, churning out precisely the type of oft-lamented “earlier, funny” movie that his most ardent fans have been wishing (in vain) he would someday resume making.

So who is this usurper, laying claim to the Sacred Throne of Neurotica? Julie Delpy, best known to American audiences for her work in Richard Linklater’s popular diptych Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, began tasting the whine in 2007 by writing, directing and co-starring in 2 Days in Paris; she’s made a sequel called 2 Days in New York…and it’s one of the funniest films I’ve seen in 2012.

Delpy again casts herself as Marion, a French ex-pat living in Manhattan. The 2007 film followed her and neurotic American boyfriend (Adam Goldberg) on a trip to Paris, where they found themselves reassessing a tempestuous relationship. Five years have passed; in a cleverly staged preamble, we discern that while they ended up having a child together, they amicably decided it would be best for their mutual sanity if they went their separate ways.

Marion has a new man (sort of) in her life, her long-time friend turned lover Mingus (Chris Rock) who has a tween daughter from a previous relationship. The four all live together in a cozy Manhattan loft. Marion and Mingus are the quintessential NY urban hipster couple; she’s a photo-journalist/conceptual artist; and he’s a radio talk show host who also writes for the Village Voice.

Marion is on edge. She has an important gallery show coming up. Then there’s her family, who have just flown in from France for a visit and to get acquainted with her new Significant Other. The relatively buttoned-down Mingus is in for a bit of culture shock.

For starters, he finds that Marion’s father (real-life dad Alpert Delpy, reprising his role from the previous film) reeks of imported sausages and cheeses, which he unsuccessfully attempted to smuggle through airport security. Marion’s exhibitionist sister (Alexia Landeau) parades around the apartment in various stages of undress, and her perpetually baked boyfriend Manu (Alex Nahon) is nothing, if not eccentric . And yes-Franco-American culture-clash mayhem ensues.

Compared to the previous film, there is some unevenness in the script; this could be attributable to the addition of co-writers Landeau and Nahon this time out. But still, for the most part, it works nicely, thanks to the charming Delpy’s ability to elicit consistent belly laughs, despite her tendency to vacillate from high-brow to low-brow (first rule of comedy: whatever works).

It’s interesting to see Rock essentially play the straight man (although he still fires off some of the film’s funniest lines). While I think he is brilliant as a stand-up, I’ve found much of his previous film work only so-so; I suspect this to be not so much a reflection of ability as choice of projects). He’s very good here, just from reining it in a bit. Vincent Gallo has a hilarious cameo (playing himself…and parodying himself) that doubles as a satirical jab at art poseurs. OK, so it isn’t Annie Hall, but this is about as close as you’ll get in 2012.

Con Game, Drama, Religion

You’re gonna have to serve somebody: The Master ****

August 18, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on September 29, 2012)

Starring Montgomery Clift and Charles Laughton (?)

The characters and events depicted in this photoplay are fictitious. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead are purely coincidental

(Standard end of film disclaimer)

“Comparisons are not invariably odious, but they are often misleading,” Orson Welles once wrote, in reference to the debate over whether or not the many parallels in his film Citizen Kane to the real life story of William Randolph Hearst and the rise of his powerful publishing empire were purely coincidental. It is quite possible that current and future generations of critics and audiences will engage in similar debate regarding the parallels in writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film, The Master to the life of L. Ron Hubbard and the founding of his Church of Scientology. Neither the church nor Anderson have confirmed or denied.

Despite the number of “coincidences”, the answer to the most obvious question is, “no”. This is neither a hagiography nor a smack down of any specific doyen or belief system (thinly disguised or otherwise). Anyone who would pigeonhole the film with such a shallow reading likely has not seen it (or is perhaps unfamiliar with certain themes running through all of Anderson’s films). What he has crafted is a thought-provoking and original examination of why human beings in general are so prone to kowtow to a burning bush, or be conned by an emperor with no clothes; a film that begs repeated viewings. Is it a spiritual need? Is it an emotional need? Or is it a lizard brain response, deep in our DNA?

As Inspector Clouseau once ruminated, “Well you know, there are leaders…and there are followers.” At its most rudimentary level, The Master is a two-character study about a leader and a follower (and metaphorically, all leaders and followers). It’s also a story about a complex surrogate father-son relationship (one of those aforementioned recurring themes in Anderson’s oeuvre; more on that in a moment). Anderson frames his narrative using the zeitgeist of America’s existential post-war malaise, in the person of ex-sailor Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix).

Socially withdrawn, prone to dipsomania, odd sexual compulsions and unpredictable fits of rage, Freddie’s transition back to civilian life has not been a smooth one. His character embodies many traits of the quintessential “disillusioned vet” protagonist that fueled post-war noirs like Act of Violence, Thieves’ Highway, The Blue Dahlia, Ride the Pink Horse and High Wall (in fact, The Master vibes overall with the verisimilitude of some great lost genre film of the late 40s or early 50s).

Freddie’s laundry list of personality disorders has not endeared him to the 5 o’clock world; he drifts from job to job. He hits rock bottom after his indirect responsibility for a tragic mishap has him literally fleeing for his life from a work site. Desperate to get out of Dodge and headed for a meltdown, Freddy skulks in the shadows of a San Francisco marina, where he crashes a shipboard wedding party, hoping to blend in with the revelers and then stow away.

The ship, a converted cattle trawler rechristened the Aletheia, is captained by the father of the bride, Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman). Dodd is a self-described writer/doctor/nuclear physicist/ philosopher and “hopelessly inquisitive man.” (if he were to take up guitar and form a rock band, he’d be Buckaroo Banzai). He is also a burgeoning cult leader; the boat is chock-a-block with devotees in thrall with Dodd and his philosophy, referred to as The Cause (the tenets have been laid out in Dodd’s eponymous book).

Initially, the paranoid Dodd admonishes his uninvited guest (suspecting him to be some manner of government spook assigned to infiltrate and/or sabotage his organization); but instead of giving him the heave-ho, “something” compels him to do a sudden 180 and invite the twitchy and troubled Freddie along for an imminent (Homeric?) ocean voyage with his family and followers to New York (some shades of The Stuntman).

And so begins the life-altering relationship between the two men, which vacillates tenuously between master/servant, mentor/apprentice, and father/son (the latter recalling Philip Baker Hall and John C. Reilly in Hard Eight, Burt Reynolds and Mark Wahlberg in Boogie Nights, Tom Cruise and Jason Robards in Magnolia, and Daniel Day-Lewis and Dillon Freasier/Paul Dano in There Will Be Blood). It’s also the catalyst for two of the most fearless and extraordinary performances that I have seen this year.

Not to denigrate Hoffman, who is mesmerizing as always; nor fine supporting performances from Amy Adams (as Dodd’s subtly controlling wife, who plays a sort of Livia to his Augustus), Laura Dern, or Breaking Bad’s Jesse Plemons , but Phoenix in particular has really hit one out of the park, achieving an Oscar-worthy transformation. I don’t know if this was by accident or by design, but I swear he is channeling Montgomery Clift, not only replicating his acting tics and vocal inflection, but his physicality (right down to the hunched shoulders and sunken chest-it is downright eerie).

The film is beautifully shot in 65mm by DP Mihai Malainare, Jr. (try to catch it in a 70mm presentation if you can), and nicely scored by Jonny Greenwood. Those with short attention spans are warned: This film demands your full attention (and begs repeated viewings). It’s exhilarating, audacious, and while at times a bit baffling, it is never dull.

Dramedy

Le grande chill: Little White Lies **1/2

August 18, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on September 22, 2012)

In 1976, a Swiss ensemble piece called Jonah Who Will Be 25 in the Year 2000 unwittingly kick-started a Boomer-centric “midlife crisis” movie subgenre that I call The Group Therapy Weekend (similar to, but not to be conflated with, the venerable Dinner Party Gone Awry). The story usually centers on a coterie of long-time friends (some married with kids, others perennially single) who converge for a (reunion, wedding, funeral) at someone’s (beach house, villa, country spread) to catch up, reminisce, wine and dine, revel…and re-open old wounds (always the most entertaining part).

It’s usually accompanied by a nostalgic soundtrack spotlighting all your favorite hits from the (60s, 70s or 80s). Like any film genre, the entries range from memorable (The Return of the Secaucus 7, The Big Chill) to so-so yet watchable (The Decline of the American Empire) to the downright execrable (last year’s I Melt With You). The latest, Guillaume Canet’s Little White Lies (Les petits mouchoirs) lies somewhere in the middle.

Which is a shame, because writer-director Canet has assembled a fabulous cast; the problem is that somewhere around the 90-minute mark of this 2 ½ hour dramedy, he seems to run out of interesting things for his actors to do or say. It begins intriguingly enough; a happy-go-lucky fellow named Ludo (Jean Dujardin) hops on his motorcycle after a night of drugs and debauchery at a Parisian club, and promptly gets T-boned at an intersection by a truck when he runs a light.

As his friends gather at the ICU, we are introduced to our principal players: Max (Francois Cluzet, star of the director’s terrific 2006 mystery-thriller, Tell No One) and his wife Veronique (Valerie Bonneton), Antoine (Laurent Lafitte), Marie (Marion Cotillard), Vincent (Benoit Magimel) and his wife Isabelle (Pascale Arbillot) and Eric (Gilles Lellouche). This unfortunate event has occurred on the eve of an annual vacation getaway for the gang, hosted by well-to-do restaurateur Max and Veronique at their beach house. After a powwow, they decide that while it’s a bummer that Ludo can’t join them, they should nonetheless plow ahead.

As events unfold at the beach, each player shows their colors as an archetype (the free-spirit with commitment issues, the aging Lothario, the recently dumped single carrying the torch, the harried husband, the sexually frustrated wife, the substance abuser, the sexually conflicted character, etc). However, despite a script overstuffed with clichés and stereotypes, the talented and well-directed ensemble shines with genuine chemistry and great performances. The tepid third act deflates most of the dramatic tension with one too many self-pity parties and a subplot that has two characters running around in a sputtering state of gay panic.

Still, there are enough compelling reasons to recommend the film; besides the appealing cast, DP Christophe Offenstein nicely captures the sun-dappled beauty of Gironde’s Atlantic coast, and there’s a well-selected soundtrack ranging from contemporary (The Jets, Damien Rice, Ben Harper) to nostalgic (David Bowie, Janis Joplin, CCR). Singer-songwriter Maxim Nucci (in a small role as Cotillard’s latest boy toy) performs a poignant original called “Talk to Me”. While Canet may not necessarily have anything new to say, he at least talks to us like we’re grownups.

Big Money, Documentary, On Politics

Harvest uptown, famine downtown: The Queen of Versailles **1/2

August 17, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on August 11, 2012)

(*Sigh*) Mon Dieu, I hate being so right all the time. Several weeks ago, in my review of Benoit Jacquot’s Farewell, My Queen (a drama centered on intrigue in the court of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI at Versailles on the eve of the French Revolution), I wrote:

It’s nearly impossible to observe the disconnect of these privileged aristocrats carrying on in their gilded bubble while the impoverished and disenfranchised rabble sharpen up the guillotines without drawing parallels with our current state of affairs (history, if nothing else, is cyclical).

Which reminds me of a funny story. In Lauren Greenfield’s new documentary, The Queen of Versailles, billionaire David Siegel (aka “The Timeshare King”) shares an anecdote about his 52-story luxury timeshare complex on the Vegas strip (the PH Towers Westgate). In 2010, Donald Trump called him and said, “Congratulations on your new tower! I’ve got one problem with it. When I stay in my penthouse suite, I look out the window and all I see is ‘WESTGATE’. Could you turn your sign down a little bit?” (And you thought that the rich never suffered?) Oh, he’s got a million of ‘em.

However, Mr. Siegel isn’t the sole subject of Greenfield’s study. A good portion of screen time is hijacked by his wife. To say Jackie Siegel (possibly the love child of Joanna Lumley and Tammy Faye) “really knows how to light up a room” would be an understatement. Her most amusing anecdote? “The first time I ever took the boys on a commercial plane, they said: ‘Mommy! What are all these people doing on our plane?!’” OMG! That is so hi-lair-ious!

Now, lest you begin to think that it’s all about chewing the fat and towel-snapping shenanigans around the mansion with the Siegels, their eight kids, nanny, cook, maids, chauffeur and (unknown) quantity of yippy, prolifically turd-laying teacup dogs…there is a sobering side to this tale. Now, I hope you’re sitting down, and I don’t want you to take this too hard (I’m bravely fighting back tears as I write this), but it seems that even this family of means has not been immune from hardships in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis (I know-it’s so tragic). This “riches to rags” theme provides fuel for Greenfield’s film (or…Citizen Kane meets The Beverly Hillbillies).

The family’s ensuing “sacrifices” provide a succession of reality TV moments. Jackie is doing her Christmas shopping at Wal-Mart (the humanity!); David is losing his shit over lights being left on in the house, and so on. You know, they’re just everyday folks like you and me, worrying about the bills and feeding the kids . The elephant in the room is the family’s unfinished Orlando, Florida mansion, the infamous “largest home in America”, a 90,000 square foot behemoth inspired by the palace at Versailles. Drama arises when the bank threatens to foreclose on it, along with the PH Towers Westgate. So does the family end up living in cardboard boxes? I’m not telling.

This is a slickly produced film, yet it left me ambivalent; it wasn’t particularly enlightening. I suppose one can wallow in the schadenfreude (obviously, I did), but that’s still not enough to carry the 100 minute running time. The problem is that regardless whether they are down to their last red cent or have 500 million in the bank, these people are not very interesting. They have little to offer beyond the glorified banality of puffed-up Lotto winners.

Then again, maybe that’s the point of the film-money can’t buy you charisma. Apparently, however, it can buy you a POTUS. When Siegel boasts that he was “personally responsible” for the election of George W. Bush in 2000, the director asks him to elaborate. “I’d rather not say,” he replies, “…because it may not necessarily have been legal.” Any further thoughts? “Had I not stuck my big nose into it, there probably would not have been an Iraqi War, and maybe we would have been better off…I don’t know.”

Now that is “rich”.

Dramedy, Religion

Sacred aging man: We Have a Pope **1/2

August 16, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 28, 2012)

I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor.

-Charlie Chaplin

I now quit public affairs and I lay down my burden.

-Edward VIII

Take this job and shove it.

-Johnny Paycheck

Here’s something you or I will likely never be asked: “Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem (Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?).” Now, some of us may have rehearsed an Oscar, or Grammy award acceptance speech, just for fun. Or contemplated a response to: “Do you prefer to receive your Lotto winnings in lump sum, or as annual payments?”

Realistically, of course, we are more likely to face queries like “Paper…or plastic?” or “How do you plead to these charges?” However, in the event you have speculated about how the world looks from inside the Popemobile, a Franco-Italian import called We Have a Pope offers a test drive.

Actually, this newly elected Pope, formerly known as Cardinal Melville (Michel Piccoli), is not so eager to leave his gilded cage and flit onto the St. Peter’s Square balcony. His unexpected response to “that question” is to go into a full-blown panic attack. As puzzled speculation among the thousands waiting patiently in the Square spins into dark rumor, the pontiff’s handlers brainstorm ways to snap Melville out of his accelerating malaise. They decide to take drastic measures. Loathe as they are to do so, they bring in a (gulp) psychoanalyst (director Nanni Moretti) to see if he can get right to the heart of the matter.

It becomes apparent that the hapless shrink (a non-believer, no less) cannot ply his trade with a flock of hand-wringing cardinals eavesdropping to make sure he doesn’t ask any “inappropriate” questions. He is chagrined to learn that Vatican rules dictate that the cardinals be present; even more so when he finds out that he is to be sequestered on the premises until “we have a Pope”.

Exasperated, he puts in a plug for his ex-wife, also a psychoanalyst, with a caveat that she is obsessed with “parental deficit”. Melville is whisked off (unbeknownst to the cardinals), for a session with the ex (Margherita Buy). It still doesn’t take. Shortly after the visit, Melville gives his handlers the slip. The rest of the film is divided between following Melville’s misadventures around Rome, and how the boys back at the ranch are killing time (the chief handler has convinced them that Il papa is resting comfortably up in his apartment).

Moretti has some great ideas here (he also co-wrote, with Francesco Piccolo and Federica Pontremoli), but none of them gel, making his film an uneven and ultimately unsatisfying affair. The setup reminded me of Theodore J. Flicker’s 1967 political satire, The President’s Analyst, which likewise framed the narrative by humanizing someone who holds a larger-than-life position of power and responsibility by depicting them to be just as neurotic as anybody else.

Moretti seems unsure where he’s going; just when you think he’s delivering a humanist character study, he lurches into silly slapstick (an overlong segment with the cardinals playing “prison volleyball” falls flat). If it is intended as satire, the targets are too soft (I’m shocked! Shocked to learn that the Holy See is a cloistered world of gossipy, fussy old men, padding around in slippers and funny robes!).

There is one intriguing moment where the psychoanalyst, who has been killing time reading the Bible (the only book in his room), holds it up in front of the cardinals and says, “In this book, are all the symptoms of depression: feelings of guilt, weight loss, suicidal thoughts.” But alas, Moretti tosses the idea out there and then abandons it.

The film works best when Piccoli is onscreen. His performance is warm, funny and touching, particularly when he takes his Roman Holiday-esque sojourn through the city. In these scenes, his character reminded me of the angel in Wim Wenders’ WIngs of Desire. who elects to leave a hermetic bubble of rituals and spiritual contemplation to revel in the simple joys of everyday life; to rediscover his humanity. It’s only in these brief moments, that Moretti’s film, and his star, shines. It reminds us that, at the end of the day, the man behind “The Pope” is nothing but a man.

Big Money, Documentary, On Politics, The Environment

We are Devo: Surviving Progress ***

August 16, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 21, 2012)

In Man’s evolution he has created the city and

The motor traffic rumble, but give me half a chance

And I’d be taking off my clothes and living in the jungle

-Ray Davies

This just in! Our brains haven’t changed much in 50,000 years. “We’re running 21^st Century software on 50,000 year-old hardware,” observes one of the interviewees in a thought-provoking documentary called Surviving Progress…and like anyone who witnesses the perennially absurd behavior of Homo sapiens on the nightly news, I am inclined to agree. Right out of the gate, co-writer-directors Mathieu Roy and Harold Crooks drive that point home with an illustration that doubles as clever 2001: a Space Odyssey homage.

An adult chimpanzee enters a white booth containing nothing but a table, upon which lay two “L” shaped blocks. The chimp spots a primatologist researcher in an adjoining room, on the other side of a clear partition. The chimp can also see that the primatologist holds a nice piece of fruit, so it puts its arm through a hole in the partition. No treat is forthcoming. The chimp assesses the situation. It picks up one of the blocks, rights it into a standing position, and again reaches through the hole. Nada. Aha! After righting the second block, the chimp gets its treat. Is this “progress”? Cut to NASA footage of an orbiting space station. Is this progress? Can mankind have its banana now?

Before tackling such a loaded question (and patting ourselves on the back for being so much “smarter” than monkeys), we first need to define our terms. What is “progress”, exactly? Luckily for us, the filmmakers have come fully armed with an impressive and diverse team of learned specialists: physicists, anthropologists, scientists, environmentalists, futurists and economists. Surely they can shed light on a question like, “What is progress?” Cut to a montage of positively stymied experts. Uh-oh. This isn’t a very thought-provoking documentary so far. Maybe if we offer them a nice piece of fruit?

Not to worry. Ronald Wright, author of A Short History of Progress (the book that inspired the film) pops by and sets up the premise for the ensuing 90 minutes. Humanity’s progress, he posits, has historically been measured by its ever-accelerating “forward” motion. Which is all fine and dandy; that is, until you begin to consider the “cost”. And we are not necessarily talking money.

For example, there is “natural capital”. As scientist/activist David Suzuki observes in the film, “Money doesn’t stand for anything, and money now grows faster than anything in the real world.” He’s right. You can always print more money, but Earth’s resources are finite, and according to one interviewee, up until 1980 (right about the time that the world’s most populous nation, China decided to start playing “catch-up”), we were getting away with “living on the interest”- all for the sake of progress. But today, we’re blowing through our inheritance, as it were. And if we’re not careful, the human race will be in the poorhouse.

Not that the filmmakers are using China, or environmental concerns, as the whipping boy. This is but one example of what Wright identifies as “progress traps”, which could be compromising the future of our planet as a whole. In fact, what makes the film so unique and compelling is how it connects the dots between cultural anthropology, predictable patterns of human behavior, accelerated depletion of Earth’s natural resources, lopsided distribution of the world’s wealth, and most importantly, how all of the above have repeatedly factored into the collapse of previous civilizations.

While dire warnings abound, it’s not all gloom and doom. Stephen Hawking suggests that if we can shepherd the planet through the next 200 years without destroying it, we could flourish for a very long time (barring, one assumes, a big catastrophe like an asteroid hit).

The motifs and subtexts of the visual narrative (beautifully photographed by Mario Janelle and well edited by Louis-Marin Paradis) reminded me of Godfrey Reggio’s (wordless) 1982 film meditation on the price of progress, Koyaanisqatsi (a Hopi Indian word meaning “life out of balance”). I have not read his book, but some of Wright’s on-camera observations about the negative effect of accelerated change recall those of Alvin Toffler, whose 1970 bestseller Future Shock gave us the nickname for the phenomenon.

So while the concept isn’t new, it’s presented in a fresh manner, packing much insight into 87 minutes. Besides, we could use more reality checks like this, and would all do well to remember the film’s money quote, which Wright says he saw scrawled on a graffiti wall:

“Every time history repeats itself, the price goes up.”