Category Archives: Drama

The weight of water: Undertow ***1/2

August 8, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on January 22, 2011)

Just when you thought you’d had your fill of romantic ghost stories about closeted Peruvian fishermen, along comes writer-director Javier Fuentes-Leon with his debut film Contracorriente (Undertow). And yes, I am being facetious. A cross between Making Love and Truly Madly Deeply, it is a unique, compassionate, beautifully moving tale.

The story is set on the Peruvian coast. We meet an amiable young fisherman named Miguel (Cristian Mercado) and his lovely, very pregnant wife Mariela (Tatiana Astengo), who live in a sleepy little village-the kind of place where everyone not only knows your name, but nearly everything that you might be up to at any given moment.

So it’s a minor miracle that no one knows about Miguel’s amor secreto-an artist/photographer named Santiago (Manolo Cardona), an urban ex-pat who lives in an isolated beach shack, where he works on his paintings. Although he’s a low-key and gentle man, Santiago lives in literal and figurative isolation ; due to the fact that he is an openly gay agnostic. In a small town heavily imbued with the deeply conservative values of both traditional machismo culture and the Catholic Church, this counts for two big strikes against him.

Because of his high standing with fellow fishermen and the village priest (and the fact that he is a father-to-be), Miguel is bound and determined to keep his languid, passionate trysts on the beach with Santiago compartmentalized. “I’m not that way,” he insists with a barely convincing air of macho indignation, when Santiago breaches the subject of total and open commitment (denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, as the saying goes). Mercado is a subtle actor; the look on his face as he stalks away from his lover after the spat conveys both the conflict in his heart and the inner turmoil he is suffering from .

As the birth of his child approaches, Miguel gets jumpy. After Santiago “accidentally” runs into Mariela in the public market and offers to buy her a good luck candle for her baby after striking up a friendly chat, Miguel forbids him from further contact with his family. Santiago acquiesces, and the lovers cool their heels for a while. Imagine Miguel’s surprise when, after the birth of his new son, he is awakened in the middle of the night and discovers a distraught Santiago sitting on his kitchen floor. Miguel frantically attempts to shoo Santiago out without awakening his wife; it doesn’t work.

Miguel then has an even bigger surprise when Mariela asks him who he is talking to, even though Santiago is sitting between them . “Your face is white,” his wife says (as if he has seen a you-know-what). Santiago has a new secret, which drives the remainder of the film.

The director and his cinematographer (Mauricio Vidal) utilize the inherent beauty of the tropical South American coastline to good effect (it’s interesting to note that Cabo Blanco, where the most of the principal photography was done, was also where some location footage for the 1958 version of The Old Man and the Sea was shot).

The three leads are quite engaging. The film won the audience award at the 2010 Sundance Festival-not surprising considering the emotional wallop in the film’s denouement. While it is essentially a tale informed by magical realism, it earns its points delving into one of life’s biggest mysteries-the complexity of the human heart.

Art world, Drama, Mystery

Yes, darling…but is it art? – Certified Copy ****

August 4, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 16, 2011)

Love is like two dreamers dreaming, the exact same dream

Just another Technicolor romance on the screen

-from “Nightmoves” by Michael Franks

In the introduction to his playful 1974 rumination on art forgery, F for Fake, director Orson Welles looks straight into the camera and says, “This is a promise. For the next hour, everything you hear from us is absolutely true, and based on solid fact.” Trouble is, the film runs 85 minutes (think about that for a moment). I couldn’t help but flash on that, when somewhere around the halfway mark of Certified Copy, the latest film from Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami, I had to ask myself: “Now…steady. Is he having a laugh?”

Initially embarking in the direction of Before Sunset/Two for the Road, before taking an abrupt turn into Last Year at Marienbad/Track 29 territories, Kiarostami’s film begins innocently enough. Elle (Juliette Binoche) is a French ex-pat living in Tuscany. A single mom, Elle supports herself and her pre-teen son by running a small art gallery. One day, she attends a lecture by a British art critic named James Miller (William Shimell). He’s promoting his latest book, which deals with art forgery, and the age-old conundrum: If it is perceived as “art” in the eye of the beholder, does it matter if it’s “real”?

Elle, who splits before the lecture ends, seems less fascinated by what the author has to say than she is by the man himself; although she blushes and vehemently denies as such when her precocious son teases her afterwards about her apparent crush. Doing her best not to come off like a groupie, Elle introduces herself to James, and after he lets on that he has no particular plans until he has to catch his train that night, offers to take him on a tour of the countryside.

Hey-it’s Tuscany, right? And as we’ve learned from watching countless romantic movies set in the Tuscan countryside, what’s not to love about those sunny, pastoral vistas that inspired the likes of Michelangelo, daVinci, Donatello and Botticelli? This is not lost on the director or his DP Luca Bigazzi (Il Divo, Bread and Tulips) who allow us plenty of time and space to soak in the lovely views while Elle and James prattle on about love, life, art, meow-meow, etc.

Just when you’re being lulled into thinking this is going to be one of those brainy, talky, yet pleasantly diverting romantic romps where you and your date can amuse yourselves by placing bets on “will they or won’t they-that is, if they can both shut up long enough to get down to business sometime before the credits roll” propositions, Kiarostami throws you a curve ball.

When a café proprietress mistakes James for Elle’s husband, marveling at how he seems to be treating his wife as if he is courting her for the first time, she decides to play along. While James is at the gent’s, Elle romances an entire back story on the spot, telling the woman that this is their 15^th anniversary, and that they have decided to revisit the town where they spent their honeymoon.

When James returns, he seems to intuit Elle’s Kabuki, and slides into character, picking up Elle’s narrative right on cue. Even after they leave the café, they don’t “break character”. Or is it Kabuki? Have they actually been married for 15 years-and all that blushing first date stuff was just a role-playing game? Perhaps this is an attempt to spruce up a tired relationship? Or is James a figment of Elle’s imagination…or vice versa? I’m not telling.

Don’t worry, these are not spoilers. Because the director isn’t “telling” either (sly devil). I don’t even think he knows what’s going on with these two. You know what I think? I think that he wants us to think. I know-life throws enough curve balls at us every day. You’ve got enough to think about; why spend ten bucks on a movie that’s going to make your brain hurt even more? Because while you’re pondering, you have an impossibly attractive couple to ogle.

Not to mention Binoche’s amazing performance; there’s pure poetry in every glance, every gesture. Shimell (an opera singer by trade), is impressive as well in his first notable movie role. Then again, maybe this film isn’t so much about “thinking”, as it is about “perceiving”. Because if it’s true that a “film” is merely (if I may quote Mr. Welles again) “a ribbon of dreams”-then Certified Copy, like any true work of art, is simply what you perceive it to be-nothing more, nothing less.

Conspiracy a-go-go, Drama, On Politics

Ambition’s debt is paid: The Ides of March **1/2

August 2, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on October 8, 2011)

In the decidedly theatrical opener of George Clooney’s latest directorial effort, The Ides of March, a well-attired young man with a lean and hungry look emerges from backstage shadows, steps up to a podium and begins to address an empty hall. After muttering some standard-issue mike check gibberish, he begins to recite snippets of what sounds like some tried-and-true, audience-rousing political campaign rhetoric.

His tone becomes so assured and impassioned, you find yourself wondering if he is the one running for office. He’s not, actually. But he is playing to win. He’s a hotshot campaign advisor named Stephen Myers (Ryan Gosling), a Ninja spin doctor (or, “Spinja” if you like) who also possesses something relatively rare in the cynical and duplicitous profession he has chosen to work in. He actually believes in the candidate he is working to put into office.

That candidate is Governor Mike Morris (Clooney), making a first-time bid for the presidency. The charismatic and straight-talking Morris is in a fierce fight to win the Ohio primary, which should cinch him as the Dem’s nominee. Stephen isn’t the only weapon in his arsenal; his campaign manager is Paul Zara (Philip Seymour Hoffman) a seasoned veteran with an impressive track record. In the pecking order, Stephen answers to Paul. The one thing that Paul values above all is loyalty, and he makes no bones about it.

That is why Stephen is torn when approached by Paul’s competition, Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti) who manages the rival campaign. After the obligatory “You should be working for the winning team, kid” pitch, Tom gives Stephen a “hot tip” that his camp has been assured a key endorsement from a senator (Jeffrey Wright) which will give Tom’s guy the win. Why is he telling Stephen this? Is it a trick? Then again, it’s nice to be wooed. In the meantime, Stephen does some wooing of his own, with an intern (Evan Rachael Wood). You would think that this sharp young man would know the pitfalls of office romance. This leads a huge pitfall…one that could sink the campaign.

I suppose that is the message of this film (politics is all awash in the wooing). The art of seduction and the art of politicking are one and the same; not exactly a new revelation (a narrative that goes back at least as far as, I don’t know, Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar). The politician is seduced by power. However, the politician first must seduce the voter. A pleasing narrative is spun and polished, promises are made, sweet nothings whispered in the ear, and the voter caves.

But once your candidate is ensconced in their shiny new office, well…about that diamond ring? It turns out to be cubic zirconium. Then it’s all about the complacency, the lying, the psychodramas, and the traumas. While a lot of folks do end up getting ‘screwed’, it is not necessarily in the most desirable and fun way. But I digress.

If you would indulge me my prurient analogy a wee bit more, Clooney’s film, while competently made and well-acted, could have used a little Viagra (or something). The TV ad campaign spins it as a political thriller, but while it involves politics, and does feature some intrigue, it’s not really that thrilling. I would classify as more of a political potboiler, simmering on medium high all of the way through.

The screenplay is by-the-numbers (Clooney co-adapted from Beau Willimon’s play, Farragut North with Willimon and Grant Heslov). Clooney is believable as presidential material (duh), Gosling continues to impress with his chameleon skills, and there are fine moments with Marisa Tomei (as well as Hoffman and Giamatti), but if you assemble this much potentially explosive talent, don’t just give ‘em caps and a hammer to play with. That’s free campaign advice.

Con Game, Drama, School Days, Troubled Teens

Bad teacher: Cracks **1/2

August 2, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on June 25, 2011)

Whilst perusing the press kit synopsis of Jordan (daughter of Ridley) Scott’s directorial debut, Cracks, I confess I got my feathers ruffled over the fact that it trumpeted “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie meets Lord of the Flies!” Ahem, I thought to myself, that’s my job to come up with clever “(blank) meets (blank)” references. How dare you usurp the mighty film critic, I continued raging, like the petulant man-child that I am. So I defiantly dredged up my own mashups: Picnic at Hanging Rock meets The Children’s Hour! Heavenly Creatures meets The Fallen Idol! You want esoteric? Try The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea meets Death in Venice…top that one, bee-YATCHes!!

I digress. As you may have gleaned, Scott’s film is the latest entry in a time-honored film genre: The Boarding School Drama. Set in the 1930s, with Irish locations standing in for an English coastal island, this particular institution is an elite girl’s school. As we’ve learned from watching such tales, there’s a caste system, with a ruling clique at the top of the pyramid. This one is led by a haughty young miss named Di (Juno Temple), who publicly admonishes her peeps for such high crimes as insufficiently buttering her toast for her at breakfast; after which she magnanimously assuages the humiliated underling with a tough love caveat: “We must set the standard for the others.”

However, there is a cosmology from upon high to which Di defers for “the standard” and guidance, which is handed down by the Unconventional Yet Inspirational Teacher of the piece. She is the enigmatically named Miss G (Eva Green). Di and her hand-picked inner circle share a mutual admiration society with the free-spirited Miss G, who captivates her charges with affected worldly poise and romanticized tales of wanderlust.

She has also chosen them for her exclusive “diving team”, appointing Di as the captain. In return, Miss G gets to bask in adulation and feed (in somewhat vampiric fashion) off of their youthful exuberance. “What is the most important thing in life?” she challenges them, firing them up for dive practice “Desire!” (more on that in a sec).

Everything goes swimmingly for Miss G. and her frolicking water nymphs until the arrival of a new girl throws a Spaniard in the works. Her name is Fiamma (Maria Valverde), and she hails from an aristocratic Spanish family. The headmistress puts the new girl under Miss G’s tutelage, instructing her to make Fiamma feel welcome, but with no special deference. Di wastes little time making Fiamma feel “welcome” by informing her in no uncertain terms that she is “allowed” but five personal decorative objects on her nightstand.

There is no tantrum, no tears (the kind of reaction that bullies really hate). In fact, Fiamma vibes a sophistication and maturity beyond the ken of the other girls; and when she recognizes one of Miss G’s “personal” anecdotes to be rote memorization from a published work, it is clear that the group dynamic is about to change. The divine Miss G, it would seem, has feet of clay-but don’t think that she will readily give up her stature.

The director co-adapted her screenplay with Ben Court and Caroline Ip from a novel by Shelia Kohler. I have not read the source book, but the author’s website reveals that one of her recurring themes is to dissect “…the reasons for violence within intimate relationships, in particular, the abuse of power and privilege.”

I can see that in the film; particularly through the character of Miss G.. Green is edgy and effective in the role, particularly in the way she keeps the psycho-sexual Sapphic undercurrents roiling below the surface, poised to explode at any moment (Blanche Dubois as a life coach). This is a promising debut for Scott; if her direction falters, it’s in the film’s pacing; this feels akin to a Masterpiece Theater presentation. Still, I would recommend it for the performances and absorbing story…so you could say I’m willing to grade it on a curve.

Drama, Drug Culture, Male Bonding

St. Elmo’s pyre: I Melt With You (no stars)

August 2, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 17, 2011)

Time-he flexes like a whore

Falls wanking to the floor

His trick is you and me, boy

-David Bowie

It had to happen. Hey, it happens to all of us, if we live long enough. Remember the Brat Pack? It is currently their turn. Molly Ringwald could very well be having one as we speak. James Spader? I’m sure he’s had his, by now. Charlie Sheen? No question there. Oh yeah, I think you know what I’m talking about…the Midlife Meltdown. And, in all sincerity, I do hope that the rest of Generation X is weathering that storm with considerably more élan than the four not-so-gracefully aging protagonists at the heart of Mark Pellington’s navel-gazing, plug and play Sundance-y whingefest, I Melt With You.

Co-produced by Brat Pack chairman Rob Lowe and sporting a (mostly) 80s soundtrack that could have been hand-picked by John Hughes in Heaven, the film bears more than a passing resemblance to Blake Edwards’ S.O.B. (sans the laughs) and teeters precipitously between a Janovian therapy session, an AA meeting and an acting contest. Ready to play? Excellent. First, let’s meet our contestants.

Say hello to Jonathan (Lowe). He’s a self-loathing doctor, divorced father of one and a firm believer in getting high on your own supply. Please welcome Richard (Thomas Jane). He is a self-loathing English teacher, a failed writer (is that redundant?) and a lady-killer with a deep fear of commitment, who still parties like he’s 18.

And over here we have the “responsible” member of our team, Ron (Jeremy Piven). He is a self-loathing Wall Streeter who is financially successful, has a wife and kids, and has been recently experiencing anxiety attacks about a pending federal investigation of his investment firm . Finally, say “hey” to Tim (Christian McKay). He is the “sensitive guy”. He is of indeterminate career path and sexual orientation, but the one thing we’re certain of…he’s self-loathing.

The four have been pals since they were teenagers, and have stalwartly adhered to the tradition of an annual get-together since college graduation back in the mid-80s. “Get-together” is actually more of an operative term here; not too long after all four have converged at their rented Northern California beach house, it becomes evident that “bromantic bacchanal” might be a more apt descriptive.

Our tipoff comes as soon as the doctor arrives, with an MD bag full of pharmaceutical goodies that would make Hunter Thompson break into a cold sweat. In fact, the guys dive into this heady cornucopia with such hasty and reckless abandon that you’re not sure if the inspiration here was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas…or Leaving Las Vegas. But you know, boys will be boys, right?

And the director proceeds to pound that point home again and again, whilst setting out to show the French what a montage is all about. Music cue! Here we are, totally wasted, slam dancing to the D.K.’s! New music cue! Here we are, still totally wasted the next morning, nude body surfing while the Clash sing (wait for it) “Charlie Don’t Surf”! New music cue! Let’s roll down the sand dunes in a whimsical fashion to the strains of Adam Ant!

But as anyone who has been on a bender can tell you (or anyone who can read the title cards that helpfully offer “Day 1”, “Day 2”, etc.), at some point, you’ve gotta start coming down. That’s when the confessionals start. That’s when the conversation turns from “Dude! Remember that time that we…?” to “God, my life is shit!” It’s OK though, because dude, my life is shit, too. Let’s hug. “I love you, man”. I love you too, man (sob).

After a (very) long hour of such antics, the story takes an abrupt 180. Because you know what “they” say: It’s all fun and games, until someone loses an eye. Well, no one literally loses an eye, but one of our heroes (I’m not going to say who) goes a little “funny” in the head. You know what I mean, Dmitri? Anyway, he goes a little “funny”, and so he goes and does a silly thing. I can’t tell you exactly what he does, because that would be a spoiler.

Let’s just say that his actions serve to stir up a Dark Secret from the Past (you’ve seen one of these in a flick before, right?) that involves all four of the friends. There’s something about a magic ring, and the end of the world, but I can say no more, bon ami.

About this “180” in the second half. It’s tricksy and false. It is such a preposterous turn of events as to stagger belief (even within the parameters of an artistic medium in which the suspension of disbelief by the viewer is expected), and it stops the film dead in its tracks. Alas, nothing can save the movie once it has turned down this path; not even the formidable power of Carla Gugino’s amazing bee-stung lips (she plays the local sheriff, if it matters to you).

I can’t fault the cast; they are all fine actors, generally speaking. It’s just that I can’t decide which is more heavy-handed; Pellington’s direction or Glen Porter’s screenplay (I imagine it sounded like someone building a shed as he was banging it out).

The sole thing that kept me going through the last act was the anticipation of hearing the jangly power pop strains of Modern English wafting through the air…and it never happened. No “Making love to you was never second best.”? No “hmm hmm hmm” sing-along?! Perhaps it would have been more apropos if Pellington had named his film after the Sex Pistols song he uses over both the opening and end credits:

“Pretty Vacant”.

Drama, Royal Intrigue, War

Lovelorn, non-smoking Huguenot seeks same: The Princess of Montpensier **1/2

August 1, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 14, 2011)

Oh, royal houses of Europe…how I adore you. My sexy Saxe-Coburgs, my beloved Bourbons, Bonapartes and Burgundys; my saucy Tudors, Windsors and Romanovs; and I want to give a shout-out to any of you sassy Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Gluksburgs who may be in da house tonight. How much I love and admire your pomp, your pageantry…and your colorful, endearingly filthy, ever-subservient peasantry. And your rich history-so rife with war, intrigue, and refreshingly unapologetic in-breeding (*sigh*).

For the purposes of this review, we zero in on the French duchies of Guise and Montpensier. In 1570s France, things aren’t going so well on the religious front. Catholics and Huguenots are slaughtering each other like cattle over New Testament bragging rights. This is the backdrop for The Princess of Montpensier, a well-acted and handsomely mounted (but curiously detached) bodice-ripping costume drama from Bertrand Tavernier (‘Round Midnight).

The tale (adapted from Madame de La Fayette’s 17^th century short story by Jean Cosmos, Francois-Olivier Rosseau and the director) centers around a fetching young aristocrat named Marie de Mezrieres (Melanie Thierry). Marie has a breathless, Harlequin romance crush on dashing war hero Duke Henri de Guise (Gaspard Ulliel)-and the feeling’s mutual (if yet to be consummated).

Alas, there is a major roadblock straight up ahead for the two lovebirds. Marie’s ambitious father, the Marquis de Mezrieres (Phillipe Magnan) has struck a mutually beneficial backroom deal with the Duke de Montpensier (Michel Vuillermoz) to marry her off with the Duke’s son, the Prince of Montpensier (Gregoire Leprince-Ringuet)-who also happens to be the cousin of Marie’s beloved Henri (following all this so far?).

The Prince and his cousin have been friendly rivals since childhood; but now the hot-headed Henri is seething with resentment about the Prince’s pending marriage to Marie. However, since he shares his cousin’s soldierly sense of duty to wipe out the heretical usurpers, Henri puts Jealousy and Envy on the back burner and channels all that hostility into ministering their common cause (i.e. disemboweling Protestants on the battlefield).

In the meantime, Marie receives sage advice from her mother, the Marquise (Florence Thomassin) to essentially do the same; put the romantic stirrings for Henri aside and focus on her “duty” (i.e. happily submit and learn to love the Prince-like him or no). After an awkward, decidedly un-sexy wedding night, with parents and in-laws holding vigil just outside the doors of the boudoir and then studiously examining the soiled bed sheets immediately afterwards to confirm consummation, the two eventually develop a cautious affection for one another (the Prince more so than his wife).

Of course, Marie and Henri are still struggling with their smoldering desire to jump each other’s bones. Luckily, Marie soon finds a distraction-in the form of a middle-aged gentleman named Comte de Chabannes (Lambert Wilson), who is also the most interesting and complex character in the film. Chabannes, a seasoned soldier and an intellectual, is the Prince’s long-time friend and mentor, who not only schooled the younger man in the art of swordplay, but in the sciences, arts and letters as well.

Chabannes also happens to be a Huguenot-but has declared himself a political neutral in the current conflict, hanging up his scabbard in disgust after having had his fill of wanton killing in the name of God. Eager to groom his Princess for her debut before the Royal Court in Paris, the Prince arranges for Chabannes to tutor her while he is off to war. Before he knows it, the tutor finds himself falling in (unrequited) love with his student.

Tavernier’s effort strongly recalls two films-John Schlesinger’s Far From the Madding Crowd (1967) and Patrice Chereau’s Queen Margot (1994). The former, adapted from Thomas Hardy’s 1874 novel, is set in England, during the much later Victorian age, but features a heroine (portrayed by Julie Christie) who, like the Princess Marie, is headstrong, intelligent and beautiful, and likewise becomes a crazy-making object of desire for three men with disparate personalities (an arrogant young soldier, a wealthy, lovelorn middle-aged landowner and a poor farmer with a heart of gold).

The latter film is quite similar in theme to Tavernier’s on several levels; again featuring a strong female protagonist (Isabelle Adjani, as the sister of France’s King Charles IX) who is forced into an arranged marriage that separates her from her true love and plunges her into the midst of royal intrigue. Chereau’s film is also set against the backdrop of the Catholic-Huguenot wars (both films also re-enact the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre).

Unfortunately, The Princess of Montpensier lacks the spark and passion of the aforementioned films . Tavernier gets the period detail right, and his film is gorgeous to look at (thanks to DP Bruno de Keyzer), but something is missing. I don’t fault the cast; it’s the characters’ motivations that elude us. There’s detachment here; it’s like watching ornately carved pieces shuffled about on a chessboard. The film is not unlike Marie herself-an obscure object of desire at once enticingly beautiful and frustratingly unreachable.

Armageddon, Drama, On Politics, Thriller

Ah-CHOO! Oh, crap: Contagion ***1/2

July 30, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on September 17, 2011)

So you say you don’t have enough nightmarish fodder for those racing thoughts that keep you tossing and turning on sweat-soaked sheets every night…what with the economy, the Teabaggers, the pending demise of entitlement programs, the Teabaggers, the rising costs of healthcare, and the Teabaggers? Are you prone to health anxiety? Do you spend hours on wrongdiagnosis.com in a dogged search to confirm your worst fears that your hangnail is surely a symptom of some horrible wasting disease? And there’s no way in hell I can convince you the glass is half-full, not half-empty?

Bubbeleh, have I got a movie for you.

Steven Soderbergh has taken the network narrative formula that drove Traffic, his 2000 Oscar winner about the ‘war’ on drugs, and used it to similar effect in Contagion, a cautionary tale envisioning socio-political upheaval in the wake of a killer pandemic (which epidemiological experts concur is not a matter of “if”, but of “when”).

In an opening montage (entitled “Day 2”), the camera tails the person we assume to be Patient Zero, an American businesswoman (Gwyneth Paltrow) returning from an overseas trip, as she kills time at a Chicago airport lounge. She appears to be developing a slight cold. Soderbergh’s camera begins to focus on benign items. A dish of peanuts. A door knob. Paltrow’s hand as she pays her tab. A creeping sense of dread arises. The scenario becomes more troubling when Soderbergh ominously cuts to a succession of individuals in Hong Kong, Tokyo and London who have all suddenly taken extremely ill.

Whatever they have, it works fast. By the time Paltrow is reunited with her kids and her husband (Matt Damon, as the Everyman of the piece), we’ve watched several of the overseas victims collapse and die horribly; in the meantime her sniffles and sore throat escalates to fever, weakness and ultimately a grand mal seizure. Within moments of her arrival at the ER, it’s Mystery Virus 1, Doctors 0. It’s only the beginning of the nightmare. An exponential increase in deaths quickly catches the attention of the authorities, which in turn saddles us with a bevy of new characters to keep track of.

There are the CDC investigators in the U.S. (Kate Winslet is in the field, while her boss Laurence Fishburne holds meddlesome politicos at bay) and Marion Cotillard as a doctor enlisted by the W.H.O. to look into Hong Kong as possible ground zero. There are the front line researchers doing the lab work to isolate the virus and develop a vaccine (Jennifer Ehle, Demetri Martin and Elliott Gould).

Even Homeland Security gets into the act; Breaking Bad star Bryan Cranston is a liaison who suggests possible terrorist scenarios (could this be a “weaponized” virus?). Jude Law portrays a popular activist blogger who claims there is an existing vaccine that works, but that the CDC is withholding distribution for nefarious reasons (something to do with Big Pharma; certainly feasible). Law is also the recipient of a zinger print journalists will be falling over each other to quote : “A blog isn’t writing. It’s graffiti with punctuation.”

There are many threads to keep track of; fortunately, Soderbergh brings all the ingredients to a gently rolling boil by the film’s denouement without overcooking the ham, as it were. By reining in his powerhouse cast, and working from a screenplay (by Scott Z. Burns) that eschews melodrama, Soderbergh keeps it real (if a tad clinical), resulting in an effective and thought-provoking ensemble piece (by contrast, Wolfgang Peterson’s star-studded, similarly-themed 1995 thriller Outbreak plays more like a live action cartoon).

In fact, I can’t help but wonder how many of the folks who flocked to theaters last weekend (and helped make Contagion #1 at the box office ) were disappointed by Soderbergh’s unadorned approach . Historically, Soderbergh tends to deliver either sure-fire populist ‘product’ (Out of Sight, Erin Brokovich, Oceans 11 and its sequels), or obscure experiments aimed squarely at the art house hipster crowd (Schizopolis, Full Frontal, Bubble). On occasion, he finds the sweet spot (Sex, Lies and Videotape, The Limey, Traffic, and now…Contagion).

Conceptually, Contagion is actually a closer cousin to The War Game, the 1965 film from director Peter Watkins that depicted, in a very stark and realistic manner, what might happen in a ‘typical’ medium-sized British city immediately following a nuclear strike. While the root cause of the respective civic crises in the two films differs, the resulting impact on the everyday populace is quite similar, and serves as a grim reminder that no matter how “civilized” we fancy ourselves to be, we are but one such catastrophic event away from complete societal breakdown.

Soderbergh’s film raises interesting questions, like, are we prepared for an event like this? If the virus is a new strain, how long would it take to develop a vaccine? How much longer to manufacture 300 million doses? Surely, not in time to save millions of lives. And speaking of piles of corpses, how do you dispose of them, with one eye on public safety? Who’s first in line to receive the first batch of vaccine? Who decides? And, outside of Soderbergh’s narrative), the CDC isn’t one of those government agencies currently targeted for budget cuts by our Republican and Teabagger buds in Congress…is it? I wish I could reassure fellow hypochondriacs with “It’s only a movie.” But the best I can do for now is: A gezunt Dir in Pupik!

Biopic, Drama, Family Issues, Politics

Chalkhills and children: Oranges and Sunshine ***1/2

July 30, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on November 5, 2011)

It was often said that the “sun never sets on the British Empire”. While that may have been an accurate cartographic assessment, there was a time or two along the way when His Majesty’s Government had a total eclipse…of the heart. In February 2010, British PM Gordon Brown issued an official apology for one of these hiccups, a child migration policy implemented from the 19^th century through the late 1960s. It is estimated that more than 130,000 children were affected. According to a CNN article from last year, the group at the tail end of the practice is known as the “Forgotten Australians”, who were shipped off starting just after WW II:

The so-called “Forgotten Australians” were British children brought up by impoverished families or living in care homes who were shipped to Australia with the promise of a better life.

But many ended up in institutions and orphanages, suffering abuse and forced labor. They later told of being kept in brutal conditions, being physically abused and being forced to work on farms. Many were wrongly told they were orphans, with brothers and sisters separated at dock side and sent to different parts of the country.

This Dickensian scenario continued to flourish under the auspices of the British government until 1970, which was when the final “shipment” arrived (the Australian government has since apologized as well for its part in the three decade-long collusion; whether or not the various church and charity organizations involved at the grass roots level have admitted same is anyone’s guess). However, as some of these children might have recited at one time or another, “For every evil under the sun, there is a remedy or there is none.”

In this case, the remedy arrived in the person of British social worker Margaret Humphreys, who, beginning in the mid-1980s, nearly single-handedly brought this extended period of systemic social injustice to world-wide attention, as well as reuniting hundreds of the “forgotten” children (adults by then) with their surviving parents in England. Humphreys wrote a book about this journey, which has now been adapted into Oranges and Sunshine, directed by Jim Loach.

The story opens in 1986, in Nottingham. Initially, Margaret (Emily Watson) seems an unlikely candidate for facilitating family reunions; in the opening scene, she is in fact doing just the opposite-taking custody of an infant from its distraught mother, while the police stand by as dispassionate observers. Margaret keeps her professional cool, but her eyes telegraph a pained resignation to the fact that it is one of those necessary evils that real nitty-gritty social work entails.

One night, as she is leaving her office, Margaret is approached by an Australian woman who tells her she was born in Nottingham, but had been placed into government care as an infant and shipped off to an Australian children’s home. Although she had grown up under the impression that she was an orphan, the woman now has reason to believe that she may have been lied to all those years. She pleads with Margaret to help her find her family roots. Margaret reluctantly promises to investigate, if she can find the time.

However, after another woman (Lorraine Ashbourne) in one of her counseling groups recounts an unusual story about how she was reunited in adult life with a long-lost brother (Hugo Weaving) who had also apparently been sent off to Australia not long after the siblings had been put into government care, Margaret becomes intrigued to dig deeper. Before too long, she connects the dots and a disturbing historical pattern emerges.

This is the directorial debut for Loach (son of Ken), who seems to have inherited his father’s penchant for telling a straightforward story, informed by a righteous social conscience and populated by wholly believable flesh-and-blood characters. He doesn’t try to dazzle us with showy visuals; he’s wise enough to know that when you’ve got an intelligent script (Rona Munro adapted from Humphreys’ book, Empty Cradles) and a skilled ensemble, any extra bells and whistles would only serve to detract from the humanity at the core of the story. Watson never hits a false note; she doesn’t overplay Margaret as a saintly heroine, but rather as an ordinary person who made an extraordinary difference in the world.

While elements of the story are inherently inspiring, it also has a very sad and bittersweet undercurrent. After all, these people were not only essentially robbed of their childhoods, but denied foreknowledge of their true identity, the very essence of what defines each of us as a unique individual.

As Margaret herself says in frustration to one of the now-adult migrant children (an excellent David Denham): “Everybody always thinks there’s going to be this one big cathartic moment when all the wrongs are righted and all the wounds are healed…but it’s not going to happen. I can’t give you back what you’ve lost.” Neither can a film; but like Margaret actions themselves, it assures us that there is some true compassion left in this fucked-up world. And that’s a comforting thought.

Drama, Family Issues

Daze of Heaven: The Tree of Life ***

July 29, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on June 18, 2011)

Q: What did the Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor?

A: Make me one with everything.

Oh…wait-I’ve got another one! Q: What do you get when you cross The Great Santini with 2001: a Space Odyssey? A: Something resembling Terrence Malick’s new film, The Tree of Life. Clocking in at a butt-challenging 138 minutes, this existential opus is the most self-consciously non-commercial film to sneak into multiplexes since Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, N.Y. managed the feat 3 years ago.

This is also one of those films that critics pray for every night, because it gives them an opportunity to flex their writing instrument; especially those frustrated doctors of philosophy who don’t normally get the opportunity to roll out one-sheet friendly quotes like “lyrical tone poem” and “transcendent visual feast” while parsing Justin Bieber: Never Say Never or The Hangover Part II.

Then again, so few films are green lighted any more that demand contemplation of The Big Questions (you know-like “Mr.Natural! What does it all mean?”) I think neither critics nor audiences know how to react when we do stumble across one…especially when it can’t be summarized in 140 characters or less.

If there is a signature stamp by this enigmatic filmmaker (who has directed but five films over a 38-year period) it is that inevitable POV shot (or two) where the protagonist takes a moment of Zen to contemplate the Awesomeness of Nature. It could be an event as microcosmic as contemplating a caterpillar inching up a blade of grass, or as nebulous as a lingering gaze into a clear blue sky. More often than not, it is soon followed by another example of the Random Cruelty of Fate.

In this film, Malick not only revisits those themes, but he takes a stab at answering the ultimate question-about life, the universe and everything. But (you may wonder)-does he also tell us an interesting story? Well, sort of.

There are two distinct narratives. They both “branch” (if you will) from the racing thoughts of a brooding yuppie named Jack (Sean Penn, in a largely internalized performance). The primary narrative unfolds through a random series of episodic sense memories from Jack’s childhood, growing up in a small Texas town in the 50s with two younger brothers, a loving but strict father (Brad Pitt) and gentle-spirited mother (Jessica Chastain).

The second thread is less tactile and much more abstract-which is where The Big Questions come in. As Jack veers off memory lane to mull over the meaning of God and life itself, his musings are accompanied by a Laserium-worthy reenactment of the Big Bang (impressively handled by a special effects team that includes legendary Kubrick collaborator Douglas Trumbull), followed by a visual Cliff’s Notes take on the origins of life on Earth. And yes, as you’ve likely already heard…dinosaurs are involved.

Now, on paper, this may look like I Remember Mama meets Jurassic Park-but it’s not anything like that at all (I’ll give you a moment to purge the image of Irene Dunne being stalked by a velociraptor). The less said about the narrative, the better-because this is a movie that is not so much to be watched, as it is to be experienced.

I think it’s safe to say that The Tree of Life isn’t like anything else currently in theaters. Hell-anyone who claims to appreciate the art of cinema has a duty to watch Terrence Malick’s films. And don’t be intimidated by any 10,000 word reviews you may come across; if you find yourself scratching your head as credits roll, here’s what you do (hey, it worked for me):

First, if you’re worried about saving face with your date (or fellow moviegoers), be sure you’re caught nodding slowly to yourself while thoughtfully stroking your chin as the lights come up. If you can swing it, an enigmatic, knowing grin adds a nice touch. Next, you must “unlearn” what you have learned about traditional film narrative.

Now, you need to visualize The Tree of Life not so much as a “movie”, but rather as a dim sum cart full of interesting ideas and Deep Thoughts that Malick is bringing to the table. You can pick any of these items that strike your fancy and arrange them on your plate as you wish, in order to make a full meal. You are in control. What you take away from the table is up to you as well; there are no “right” or “wrong” interpretations in this kind of exercise.

Now, if you’re still not feeling “full”-no worries. Take a deep breath. Take a little walk around the block; maybe stop and contemplate the Awesomeness of Nature. Then, on your way home, stop and treat yourself to a nice hot dog. One with Everything.

Drama

Blu-ray reissue: 3 Women ****

July 27, 2015 Dennis Hartley Leave a comment

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on December 10, 2011)

3 Women – Criterion Collection Blu-ray

If Robert Altman’s haunting 1977 character study plays like a languid, sun-baked California fever dream…it’s because it was As the late director explains on the commentary track of Criterion’s 2011 Blu-ray reissue, the story literally appeared to him while he was sleeping. What ended up on the screen not only represents Altman’s best, but one of the best American art films of the 1970s.

The women are Millie (Shelly Duvall), a chatty physical therapist, considered a needy bore by everyone except her childlike roommate/co-worker Pinky (Sissy Spacek), who worships the ground she walks on, and enigmatic Willie (Janice Rule), a pregnant artist who paints anthropomorphic lizard figures on swimming pools. As the three personas slowly merge (bolstered by fearless performances from the three leads), there’s little doubt that Millie, Pinky and Willie hail from the land of Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

Criterion is uncharacteristically skimpy on extras this time out, but the Blu-ray does feature a gorgeous transfer (Altman’s most mesmerizing and beautifully shot film was made for HD).