Her

Her

2013

Director: Spike Jonze

Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Scarlett Johansson, Amy Adams

Upon checking Spike Jonze’s filmography, I somewhat shamefully realized that the only other feature film of his I’ve seen is Being John Malkovich.  Now I rather love Being John Malkovich, but the heaviest criticism I lay before it is that it’s a rather cold film.  Don’t get me wrong, sometimes there’s nothing wrong with cold films (*cough*Stanley Kubrick*cough*), but Being John Malkovich THINKS it has a heart when in reality, any heart that’s there is pretty darn small.  In the near-fifteen years between Malkovich and Her, I am astonished at how much heart Jonze has managed to grow into.  Because Her is a film absolutely overflowing with heart, for acres and acres, miles and miles.  The last thing anyone would call this film is “cold.”

Theodore Twombly (Phoenix) – what a great character name – works as a personalized letter writer for a company in the not-too-distant future.  He sees an ad for a new operating system with artificial intelligence that tailors itself for your own personal life and, on a whim, he purchases it.  Upon installing it, the OS announces its name is Samantha (Johansson), and Theodore realizes that this artificial intelligence is the real deal.  He and Samantha quickly become very close, developing a deep emotional bond that soon turns into a romantic relationship.  This isn’t an anomaly; Theodore’s close friend Amy (Adams) installed the same OS and became best friends with hers.  Theodore and Samantha go through all the normal relationship ups and downs, but can a relationship with an OS really stand the test of time?

Like his typical work, there are lots of little futuristic twists and oddities and quirks in Her, but unlike Being John Malkovich where the oddities ARE the film, the oddities in Her are ancillary.  Strip away the fact that Samantha is artificial intelligence, and what you really have in Her is a relationship film.  That’s what it is, pure and simple.  Theodore is broken and damaged following a divorce from a woman he deeply loved, and with Samantha, he finds the courage to open up to someone new.  He goes through all the various explorations of this, to hesitating and pulling back when things get really serious, to pain when he thinks that he is being left once more, to getting a bit too petty over silly things.  Samantha isn’t perfect, either; she is overzealous on occasion, she needs a bit of coddling every now and then, and as she grows as a “person,” (OK, as an AI OS) she changes and wonders about the relationship just as much as Theodore.  This, to me, is what makes Her so utterly brilliant.  Jonze takes something that, on first whisper, sounds utterly absurd, and makes you, as an audience, invest every last emotion you have into this relationship.  The relationship is real and honest and flawed and beautiful, and so help me if it didn’t reduce me to tears on more than one occasion.  I wouldn’t hesitate for a second putting Her up along with some of the great cinematic romances of all time, not least of all because the brutal honesty with which it is portrayed is far more palatable to me than most silly fairytale romcom “romances.”  (and infinitely more enjoyable than Jack and Rose.)

When I’ve mentioned Her in conversation with my real life friends and acquaintances, most of them responded with some variation of “that movie sounds so weird, he falls in love with his COMPUTER wtf?”  One of the things I loved about the movie, though, is that Jonze removes pretty much every negative connotation about “falling in love with your computer” in his near-future world.  Theodore hesitatingly starts telling people that his girlfriend is an OS and no one bats an eye.  “Cool, bring her along!” they say.  There is no stigma about “dating your OS” in Her, and while that’s quirky, it’s also brilliant.  It’s part of Jonze’s MO to get you to buy into the concept, so he removes the barriers.  In fact, the one character in the film (other than Theodore himself) who shudders at the idea of Theodore dating Samantha is Theodore’s ex-wife, and frankly, don’t we expect that?  Wouldn’t we automatically anticipate our exes to be judgmental of the new people in our lives? 

Apart from the pure shot of emotion that Her serves up on a glorious platter, I adored the production design.  The film is set in the future, but it’s a recognizable future.  This isn’t a sterile, silver-clad, no-collar jumpsuit sort of future.  This is a “in ten years’ time” sort of future.  A “this is where we’re on track to turn into sooner than you think” sort of future.  Twombly’s job – writing personalized letters for people who are too busy to write themselves – is an interesting extrapolation of our current culture.  Theodore lives in Los Angeles, and the film was shot there, but carefully.  Additional scenes were shot in Shanghai, and the blending of current LA with a feeling of foreign oddity (signs are not hidden, so occasionally there is a neon sign in Chinese in the background) makes the city seem recognizable and completely strange, all at once.  There is a softness to the future in Her that is reflected in the architecture, all curves and pods and clean without feeling sterile.  The softness nicely underscores the heart of the film, the focus on the strong connection between these two people (because really, Samantha has the heart of a person). 

And god help me, I loved the sets and costume designs.  Everything is flushed in reds, oranges, yellows, and creams.  Nearly every scene has some swath of the red-orange hue that is the film’s trademark, a color which yet again feels warm and soft and rife with emotion.  All the characters are dressed as the natural progression of today’s hipster designs.  There are high waisted wool and cotton pants, oversized cardigans, and leather shoes.  Because we see Theodore the most we begin to assume that this is his personal aesthetic, but when we do occasionally see other human characters, they are dressed nearly identically.  It’s a great prediction of what we might be wearing in ten years; no denim, few belts, but still the same type of silhouette.

Her is a wonderful little futuristic sci-fi romance.  What an odd combination, but because Jonze focuses first and foremost on the “romance” part of that description, the film has an emotional anchor that positively bleeds with truth.  This is Jonze injecting his typical quirkiness in a smart way, around the edges of a story that we can all relate too. 

Even if it is “guy falls in love with his computer” movie.

Arbitrary Rating: 9.5/10. Exactly the sort of movie I love.

12 Years a Slave

12 Years a Slave

2013

Director: Steve McQueen

Starring: Chiwetel Ejiofor, Michael Fassbender, Lupita Nyong’o

There is something very un-Hollywood about Steve McQueen, and god bless for that. In the hands of a typical director, 12 Years a Slave would be precisely the sort of film that I would feel morally obligated to see, appeasing a deep seated sense of American guilt. It would feel like something I had to see, vegetables that accompany my dinner, something rather difficult to swallow yet somehow knowing that it is quote-good for me-unquote. But Steve McQueen is not a typical director, and what could have been a massively heavy handed and overtly melodramatic tale of slavery in the South is instead quiet, even subtle (rarely a word used to describe slavery-slash-Civil War films), but not for a moment lacking the power and anger the subject matter demands.

Based on a true story, Solomon Northup (Ejiofor) is a free black man living in Saratoga, New York, in the early 1840s.  He has a wife and two children and a very well-to-do life; that is, until he is kidnapped and sold into slavery in the American South and given the new name of Platt.  Passed around from slave auctioneer to foresting plantation to sugar plantation to a particularly brutal cotton plantation run by the brutal Master Epps (Fassbender), he learns that in order to survive, he must keep his head down and his mouth shut.  Were word to come to his new masters that he can read and write, he would certainly be killed. 

And although I often try not to discuss the ending of a film when I review it, I *will* be mentioning a bit more about the plot than normal, so fair spoiler warning.

The only other film of McQueen’s that I've seen is Shame, and that was a rare film that earned a "perfect" score of ten out of ten on its first go around. I tend not to give films perfect scores after a first viewing; perfect scores are for films that have cultivated a place in my heart, films that I have cherished for a long time. It's not that I don't think new films are good, it's more recognizing the importance of longevity. Shame, on the other hand, demanded I throw that system out the window, so resounding was its power. I mention this because it’s an exception I rarely make, and McQueen, with that film, earned my respect and then some.

I was not entirely interested in seeing 12 Years a Slave originally (even despite the immense ovary-exploding draws of Benedict Cumberbatch and Michael Fassbender combined) because of aforementioned sense of "chore." Powerful, undoubtedly, but chore nonetheless. Then I saw that McQueen directed it. And then I was much more interested.

I could not reconcile in my head how a director whose only work I had seen had been a small scale character study, a work that was all about the emotionally damaged lives of two broken people, a film shot with a devotion to long, uncomfortably quiet takes, could take on a period piece about slavery.

And indeed, McQueen delivers as atypical a piece on American slavery as I could possibly imagine.  What McQueen does in this film is essentially remove any sort of trope or expectation I associate with "slavery film," while still making a film about slavery.  It’s not at all the heavy-handed morality play with swells in plot and soundtrack that are as predictable as dammit.  Thank god. And just like Shame, there are long, unbroken takes. Many dialogue sequences are shot in one take, interrupting infrequently, somehow allowing the characters to finish their thoughts. There are a myriad of slow, lingering shots of trees, of swampland, of the sky. The most memorable moment was a quiet close up on Ejiofor towards the end of the film. He speaks no words, simply turns his face towards the camera. The shot is easily thirty seconds long. Does it further the plot in an obvious way? Not in the slightest. But it's a hugely important shot, angry in its quiet, and reminding us that Solomon's life is not at peace, that everything is wrong, that although Solomon has "learned" how to survive, although we have not heard him mention his wife and children since the opening of the film, he has not for a second forgotten them. We don't need an expository scene of Solomon explaining how much he misses his former life, not when an infinitely more lyrical close up will do the trick.

Gratuitous photo of Benedict Cumberbatch.  Because reasons.

What is also refreshing in 12 Years a Slave is, similar to above, not all characters are pure good or pure evil (a very typical approach when making slavery films and war films alike). There is Master Ford the plantation owner (played by a dreamy Benedict Cumberbatch) who is clearly compassionate but seems unwilling to stick his neck out too far. There is the hard plantation contractor who unexpectedly saves Solomon from a hanging, but then doesn't cut him down, leaving him tied and bound for hours. The white man who ultimately ventures to the south to reclaim Solomon's freedom is portrayed as shady.  Yes, there are a few ancillary characters who are allowed to be one-dimensional, but nearly anyone with more than two scenes is given an unexpected depth.

The performances are top-notch.  Nominated for three acting Oscars for Ejiofor, Fassbender, and Nyong’o as cotton plantation slave Patsey, everyone is strong.  Ejiofor carries the film with a heavy heart, Nyong’o shines playing a character full of strength and spirit who has been depressingly beaten down, but for my money, Fassbender steals every scene he’s in.  His Epps is insane in a way not often shown.  Clearly the film’s main antagonist, Epps is the “Evil Plantation Owner.”  What’s interesting is that Epps is mad, mad with brutality and sexual obsession, but only a little mad.  He’s a “believable” mad.  I can see how society would let someone like this exist, would let them get on with their lives, would even allow them to come to some prominence because they have money.  Fassbender is not off the deep end, but he’s about waist-deep and slowly wading his way over.  It’s a very good restrained evil genius.

One of the most interesting aspects of 12 Years a Slave is the theme of guilt, a theme also heavily examined in Shame. We watch Solomon make several choices in the film that are ugly choices but born of necessity. In an early instance, another black woman who has been kidnapped into slavery is sold, while her young children remain to be sold to different owners. Rather than fight to help the mother stay with her children, Solomon takes up a violin and starts playing a jaunty tune in an attempt to drown out the wails. It is this that Ejiofor portrays so painfully well, this sensation of being driven to horrible acts of compliance in order to not be killed and how it eats away at his soul. When the film hits its climax, where Solomon is finally rescued by his friends from the North, there is more of a focus on his abandonment of Patsey and the other slaves on Epps’ plantation rather than the joy or triumph at his wrong being righted.  Really, this is what makes this film so fascinating to me. There is no triumphant finale where Solomon cheerfully returns to his home. How can there be? What he has gone through has eaten at his very humanity, least of all because of the hard labor. Although the film certainly celebrates his ultimate return to freedom, it is utterly lacking in pomp. Indeed, Solomon asks for forgiveness upon his return. Forgiveness. The guilt at not always helping, at sometimes turning a blind eye, at abandoning the others on the plantation... Of course he is grateful for his newfound freedom, but this film recognizes that one man’s success is hardly a significant win for making real progress on the issue.

There is still a slight sense of “eating my vegetables” while watching 12 Years a Slave, but it is mostly kept at bay.  Smart directing choices by McQueen and standout performances from the cast turn what could have been a meat-fisted over-the-top guilt-fest melodrama into something far more potent, powerful, and inexplicably subtle.  I’m pleased that such a complex film is getting the level of attention being heaped on it during this current awards season.

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10

Musings on Mandela, Philomena, American Hustle, and Nebraska.

I’ve been struck with the unusual-for-me desire to get my butt to the cinemas to enjoy the pickings for 2013.  In these, the first three days of 2014, I’ve done two double-headers at my favorite cinema that shows current releases.  And, because I’m still me, I can’t simply “watch” these movies, I have to also think about and analyze them.  But four 1000-word-plus reviews is a bit too daunting, especially when my blogging skillz are a bit rusty.  So I figured I’d do a briefer review of these four flicks.

Up first:

Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom

2013

Director: Justin Chadwick

Starring: Idris Elba, Naomie Harris

The utterly inevitable movie of Nelson Mandela’s life hits the big screen with brilliant casting being the best thing going for it.  As my students are wont to say, not gonna lie, the only reason I went to see it was Elba.  Idris Elba as anything is automatically worth it; the man is a force of nature, and him as Mandela seemed too good to pass up. 

The film follows a mostly straightforward biographical movie outline, starting with voiceover reminiscences to golden memories of youth, then plunging us almost immediately into young man Mandela’s difficulties and following, in a linear fashion, through the imprisonment we all knew was coming, as well as the release and election.  We also follow the life of Mandela’s second wife Winnie (Harris), who stands by her man while he’s in prison by continuing to lead the revolution movement, even to the point of becoming militant.  Director Chadwick makes an effort to humanize the mythic Mandela, showing him as a red-blooded young man who was a hound dog with the ladies and not exactly husband of the year to his first wife.

Elba does not disappoint as Mandela, filling the screen with rage, righteousness, and then powerful pacifism, and he is easily the strongest aspect of the film.  Harris is also very good as the sweet yet steely Winnie who must also weather great injustices in the family-lead fight to end apartheid.  But the performances are all I can truly recommend; the story feels too disconnected to my liking.  Years pass, peoples’ opinions fundamentally change, and we are given little to no reason for it.  The resolution of the film feels like a hasty mash-up, as if the director realized he had painted himself into a corner of racial warfare and had no idea how to get out.  Now granted, this was undoubtedly a similar situation to the feeling in South Africa at the time, but the 180 that this film pulls feels more than a little incongruous.

Worth it for the performances, but not a hearty recommendation from me.  I will add, for honesty’s sake, that biopics are really not my thing, not in the slightest, so I was predisposed to not being completely moved by this one to begin with.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

Philomena

2013

Director: Stephen Frears

Starring: Judi Dench, Steve Coogan

After my final statement about Mandela having a strike against it simply because it wasn’t my type of film, I will now own up and say that going in, I knew Philomena WAS my type of movie, and after seeing it, yes, most definitely, it’s my type of flick, for sure.  Objectively, though, I do believe Philomena is a stronger film (although, probably not as much stronger than Mandela as my rating will reflect).

Judi Dench plays the titular character, a silly, elderly lady who loves her salad buffets with toasty croutons, snacks on the road, and frivolous romance novels.  But Philomena’s secret of fifty years, that she gave birth to a baby boy when she was just sixteen years old at a Catholic nunnery in Ireland who was then later adopted against her will, is gnawing at her.  With the help of recently-unemployed big time journalist Martin Sixsmith (Coogan), who needs a human interest story to set him back on track, she goes about finally trying to track down her long lost son. 

Everyone knows that Judi Dench can act circles around pretty much anyone, but what’s unusual in her performance here is how utterly ordinary and regular Philomena is.  I’m used to Judi Dench playing either someone of great esteem (a la Shakespeare in Love) or someone with something unusual about them (a la Iris).  Philomena is neither.  Yes, you can certainly argue that having a long lost son is unusual, but after seeing the film, Philomena still feels ordinary.  She’s just a fussy, aging Irish Catholic woman who colors her hair and wears old lady clothes, and Dench does her proud, giving her grace and humanity and a full range of emotions alongside all her silliness.

Maybe more surprising than Dench playing such a regular character is the fact that Steve Coogan can play a straight man (in the comedic sense, not the sexual sense).  For everything that Philomena loves about ordinary, middle-class comforts, Martin is used to the finer things.  As a former international political journalist, Martin is an Oxford-educated, BMW-driving, boutique-restaurant-frequenting perfect foil to Philomena.  Watching her get on his nerves and under his skin is half the film, but it’s an enjoyable relationship to explore, as Dench is careful to never let Philomena get too silly, just as Coogan is careful to keep Martin from being too snobby or curmudgeonly. 

Because ultimately, silly caricatures aside, this film has tremendous depth of heart.  The story that is explored, about the long lost son, is done so with as few clichés as I’ve ever seen.  When you think you know where the story is headed, it throws you an enormous curveball, one that requires both lead actors to show us new aspects of their characters, or expand tremendously on ideals that have already been established.  It’s sweet and funny but never cloying, never overly sentimental. 

To reiterate, this is very much my kind of film.  The wry British sense of humor is on full display, it touches without manhandling you, and who knew Steve Coogan could hold his own against powerhouse Dench. 

Arbitrary Rating: 9/10.

American Hustle

2013

Director: David O. Russell

Starring: Christian Bale, Amy Adams, Bradley Cooper, Jennifer Lawrence

Perhaps the buzziest of the films I’ve seen recently, American Hustle is certainly riding a wave of good press and award nominations. Without necessarily meaning this as an insult, American Hustle is the type of film meant to appeal to Academy voters.  I won’t use the term Oscar-bait due to its negative connotations, but American Hustle feels exactly the sort of edgy, flashy, seriocomic film that the Academy can feel terrifically justified in nominating.  “Look how hep we are, we’re recognizing American Hustle!” they proclaim with glee.

Overweight and balding Irving (Bale) is a con artist working out of New York who falls madly in love with Sydney (Adams), a beautiful creature who eagerly joins him in his cons.  The fact that Irving is already married to Rosalyn (Lawrence), a slightly crazy hausfrau, is a minor hiccup.  But when they are nabbed by an FBI agent (Cooper), they both agree to his terms of running a con to bring down some politicians in exchange for a reduced sentence.  But really, when politicians, the mob, the FBI, and con artists are all thrown into the mix, who’s conning who?

The style of American Hustle was probably my favorite part.  The late seventies, in all its glitzy, superficial glory, is on full display, and we have our fill of overdone hair, polyester shirts, and New Jersey accents.  Amy Adams is terrifically sexy in shirts and dresses that plunge to her navel, and Jeremy Renner as a Jersey politico happily prances around in pale blue tuxedos with frilly sleeves.  The film is dressed in golds and browns, giving the entire story an air of wistful nostalgia, as though our con artists are recounting their glory days.

The performances are, again, top notch.  Particularly delightful was Jennifer Lawrence as Rosalyn.  Unhinged yet manipulative all at the same time, Lawrence pulls it off and then some.  She’s definitely making a strong case for being up for the big prize for a second year in a row.

However, there’s something that never quite coalesces in American Hustle.  Like Mandela, the finale feels somehow inadequate to the tremendous build up it is given.  Is it about the con or is it about the drama of the characters at hand?  Frankly, the film waffles on this question, and ultimately, I felt there were unanswered issues on both of those sides.

I enjoyed American Hustle, but not absolutely.  It is a good film, a strong film, but it didn’t blow me away.

Arbitrary Rating: 8/10

Nebraska

2013

Director: Alexander Payne

Starring: Will Forte, Bruce Dern, June Squibb

Full disclosure: I am a slavering little Alexander Payne fangirl, due in no small part to the fact that I’ve now met him twice, have his autograph, and a picture with him.  I’ve even spoken to him about his filmmaking style.  I enjoyed his films before I met him, but now?  Now I’m a devotee for life.  Given that he only makes a film once every two to three years, it was an utter no brainer for me to see his latest.  Spoiler: I loved Nebraska.  But then, frankly, I was always going to love Nebraska.

David Grant (Forte) sells speaker systems and electronics in a strip mall in Billings, Montana.  His father Woody (Dern) is an alcoholic and not altogether with it retired auto mechanic.  When Woody gets one of those magazine promo letters proclaiming that he’s won one million dollars (provided his number matches and he buys some magazine subscriptions), all he sees is the one million dollars.  Convinced he just hit it big, he becomes obsessed with the idea of getting to Lincoln, Nebraska, to claim his winnings, and ultimately, a harassed David agrees to take him.  On the way, they stop in Hawthorne, Nebraska, the tiny near-ghost town where Woody grew up.  Woody visits with his old family and friends, all the while spreading the news about his apparent good luck.

There are so many things I adore about Alexander Payne, and this film has them all.  I was amused as the credits rolled at the end, because Nebraska was precisely what I expected it to be given what I know about Payne’s filmography.  I don’t think this is a bad thing; on the contrary, I think it means that Payne knows clearly who he is as a filmmaker and can deliver his message in a vivid and consistent manner.

I have decided that Alexander Payne is in love with the American working class, but he is also determined to show them as they are, not as they think they are or wish to be.  There is so much truth in Nebraska in this regard that the number one criticism I have seen leveled at the film is that Payne is mocking the small town folk of his film.  I could not disagree more.  There are some less-than-positive characters and moments in Nebraska, but nothing ever feels as though it is played for cheap laughs.  Instead, everything feels… real.  Painfully real, but thoroughly real.  I went to college in an area not unlike those shown in Nebraska, and I visited friends’ homes who lived close by whose families behaved precisely – and I do mean PRECISELY – like the family in Nebraska.  That’s why I don’t think there is any mocking meant here; I’ve seen these scenes before, I’ve seen these places before, just never on the big screen.

Furthermore, Payne himself is from Nebraska.  He shot his first feature Election (the film that made me a fangirl of his to begin with) in Nebraska, and when I’ve heard him speak, he always spoke lovingly of the area in which he grew up.  A year ago when I last saw him, he announced this film and I could hear how excited he was to make a film about his home.  I see affection, not mocking, in Nebraska, culminating in the gently poignant yet utterly devastating finale sequence.  There is so much love in the ending of the film that, while Payne undoubtedly calls out the less than savory characters in the story, showing them for the superficial assholes they ultimately become, he also knows there are heroes in his story, and they are glorious.  Mocking?  Not in the slightest.  Loving yet careful not to romanticize?  Absolutely.

Apart from the simple characters who reek undoubtedly of truth, my favorite aspect of Payne’s work is his production design.  Or perhaps, lack of production design.  What I passionately adore about Payne is his devotion to filming on real locations, locations that haven’t been meticulously manicured.  He uses real houses, real motels, real bars, real chain restaurants, and his extras are real people.  When he does need to film on a set, more often than not, the set is modeled on an actual house or room.  There are knick knacks everywhere, dirty dishes in the sink, cracks in the driveway, leaves in the pool, and scratches on the linoleum.  It’s not that his films are dirty or dank; it’s that they’re fucking REAL.  The living room looks like a real living room, warts and all.  I’ve always noticed and responded to this in his films, and it’s what I had a chance to ask him last time I saw him.  When I mentioned this to him, that I loved that he uses real places, I remember so vividly that he smiled broadly, and responded with “I don’t understand why we need to prettify everything.”  Indeed.

While Payne plays the utter ordinariness of the world around his characters in most of the film as flat and banal, he also shoots the film occasionally with great beauty.  When the film reaches its emotional climax, suddenly the everyday locations around seem majestic.  Payne lingers on a shot of a wide open field, the sun breaking through a magnificent cloud formation.  Because truly, there is extraordinariness in the everyday.

Bruce Dern as Woody is brilliant in quietly showing us a sad old man desperately clinging to one last wish for glory.  Are we annoyed with Woody or do we pity Woody?  Well, both, sometimes at the same time.  As David discovers more about his father on this road trip, we see far more in the simple facial expressions than the curmudgeonly drunk we meet at the beginning.  Will Forte is easily an unusual casting choice, as he is known almost completely for broad comedic work, playing a caricature of a caricature.  Here, though, he carries off a decidedly downbeat performance, following in the footsteps of Jack Lemmon in The Apartment.  It’s not as brilliant a performance as Lemmon’s is, but I can see the influence, and I imagine Forte being inspired by Lemmon in this role. 

I knew what to expect from Nebraska, so when I found myself sobbing rather uncontrollably at the quiet finale of the film, I wasn’t surprised in the least.  I was happy, though; happy that Payne had delivered once again on a simple human story, relatable to the last, that kept me happily engaged throughout its entirety and then packed an inevitable punch at the end.

Arbitrary Rating: 9.5/10.  The only thing I can level against Nebraska is that the pacing isn’t always as tight as it could be, and it drags a bit in the middle.  But in terms of what I want from Alexander Payne, Payne proves that he knows how to deliver it in a mature and confident manner.  I also recognize that if Payne’s previous films haven’t floated your boat, you will undoubtedly find Nebraska incredibly grating.

Up next for Siobhan: eagerly looking forward to Her being released wider next weekend.  I might make an effort to see Inside Llewyn Davis as well.  Might try to catch Gravity when it comes to the second-run theater in town.  And of course, whenever The Grand Budapest Hotel finds its way to my local theaters, I’ll be there with bells on.  I’ll also be looking out for Blue is the Warmest Color playing any wider, and I’ve got my eyes peeled for whenever Walesa: Man of Hope plays around here.  Because I NEED to see that movie.

Frankly, it’s been rather lovely seeing some more current release films in theaters again.  I do love this time of year for current releases, when the theaters are full of films trying their hands at Oscar nominations, when small character-centric comedy dramas are the order of the day rather than big blow ‘em up action flicks. 

In terms of 1001 Movies, my job is… more under control now than it was in the fall.  I’m looking to recommit myself, in the non-sanatorium sort of way, to blogging and The Club. 

Oh, and in a personal plug, I’ll find out end of January/beginning of February if my proposal for presenting at a national conference this summer was accepted.  Personally, I think my workshop idea is pretty darn awesome, but still, wish me luck. 

OH, and my old laptop finally started crapping the bed in December, so this entire review is coming to you from my bright, shiny, brand new touch screen Asus laptop.  No optical drive, so it’s gorgeous and light and doesn’t overheat every hour and doesn’t need to be constantly plugged in (thus defeating the point of a laptop).  YAY CHRISTMAS YAY NEW TOYS!!!

OMG TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Basically, I found out about the existence of this:

I've written here about just how much I love Wajda's 1980 film Man of Iron, and although I haven't yet gotten around to reviewing its 1977 precursor Man of Marble, I guarantee you that I harbor similar sentiments towards it.  Both films feel dense and full of righteous indignation, and I'd be lying if I said I totally knew what was happening at every single moment, but both films are also immensely entertaining and positively riveting.  The more I think about them, the more I really, REALLY want to own them, I like them that much.  Or do I even say, I LOVE them that much?

And then, TA DA!  HERE, SIOBHAN, THERE'S A BRAND SPANKING NEW ENTRY FROM WAJDA!  A VERY VERY BELATED THIRD EDITION!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Seriously, I'm stupidly excited about this.

It just shot right up to the top of my "Must See" list for Fall/Winter. 

I have NO IDEA when and if it will play in my city, but we have two very dependable indie film theaters; I trust in their ability to put Walesa, Man of Hope into my eyeballs.

Because really, I NEED TO SEE THIS MOVIE.

(I'll add as well that I find it impressive that I'm not the only one who enjoys Man of Marble and Man of Iron, despite their 2.5 hour running times and the fact that they are solely about a Polish political movement no one really talks and/or cares about in the US.  Just goes to show that good filmmaking is good filmmaking.)

Shame

Shame

2011

Director: Steve McQueen

Starring: Michael Fassbender, Carey Mulligan

2011 was THE breakout year for Michael Fassbender.  Rare is it to have such a tremendous burst into the collective Hollywood consciousness, but he managed to do it with the help of a comic book summer blockbuster, a costume drama (two, actually), and Shame, an intense, gritty indie film.  Shame already had a check or three in the plus column for me, as even before going in, I found Fassbender rather attractive and I knew him to be tremendously talented.  After watching Shame, I’ll say two things.  One: my crush has now only gotten bigger (and undoubtedly colored my reaction to the film, all things being fair) and two: I knew the man had talent, but I really had no idea how MUCH talent.

Brandon (Fassbender) is a New Yorker working in an unspecified and rather generic job where he earns good money so that he can pay for his nice apartment and fuel his sex addiction.  His boss is a douche bag, but also the closest thing he has to a friend, which isn’t saying much.  When his younger sister Sissy (Mulligan), a freewheeling singer who can’t quite seem to get a grip on her life, unexpectedly crashes at his flat, Brandon’s efforts to keep his controlled life in place begin to crumble.

  

I had certain expectations about Shame before I finally popped it into the DVD player, and they were due to two things.  One: this film is rated NC-17.  That means sexually explicit content (because you can have all the violence you want and that’s fine – show a penis in a non-comedic manner, and it’s NC-17).  Two: other reviews I had glanced at of Shame and the cover sleeve from Netflix, both of which reference Brandon’s sex addiction.  In my head, I thought this was going to be a movie where I would see far too many uncomfortable scenes of Michael Fassbender jerking off.  But Shame surprised me.  Yes, there is sex, yes, there is Michael Fassbender’s penis, and yes, there are a few scenes where Brandon is jerking off, but, as weird as this sounds, there wasn’t as much sex in it as I thought there would be. 

In other words, I was preparing myself for ugly rotten intense guilty angry sex in nearly every other scene, to the point where I figured it would be gratuitous.  What I got was one of the most intense character dramas I’ve seen in quite some time – and honestly, I felt none of the sex scenes were gratuitous in the least.  In fact, the rest of my review has NOTHING to do with the sex scenes at all.

This movie is all about Brandon.  This movie is all about Michael Fassbender.  The entire story is told from his perspective.  The camera only ever knows what Brandon knows, sees what Brandon sees.  We are locked completely and utterly in his head, and in a lesser film and in the hands of a lesser actor, that would be a rather boring place to be.  Not so in Shame.  Shame shines because Brandon is a fully formed character played with smart subtlety by a fantastic actor.

How brilliant do I think Fassbender is as Brandon?  Let me put it this way.  Fassbender takes a character who is a sex addict, who snorts cocaine, who has some obvious anger issues and a very ugly violent tendency – all in all, rather unlikeable traits – and makes me sympathize with him.  For all of Brandon’s deep flaws, Fassbender made me weep for him.  How?  It’s in the way he is too buttoned up, too controlling, too timid.  His boss, his “friend,” is quite opposite, as he openly hits on women (while maintaining a wife and kids, by the by) and talks comfortably with anyone he meets.  I can read Brandon’s jealousy and idol worship of his boss’ behavior, how he wishes so desperately he could be that loose and free.  In one heartbreaking tiny touch, his boss slightly tucks Brandon’s scarf back into the inside of his coat, as if to say to Brandon, “You can’t be looking mussed, now, can you.”  It’s the smallest of gestures, and it comes across as both affectionate and mocking, as if the boss knows that yes, Brandon would hate to have the scarf out of place, and isn’t that just rather ridiculous.  I can also read the disgust he has for his boss when said boss insists on hitting on all skirts, including Sissy, that cross his path.  Like so much in his life, Brandon both loves and hates his boss. 

There is a sequence in the film where we finally see Brandon unbutton himself, and it is unpleasant.  Much has been made of the threesome sex scene that ends the sequence, but for me, the most telling part of the scene is where Brandon hits on a girl in a bar while her boyfriend is just the other side of the room.  It’s how Brandon speaks to her – openly, aggressively, filthily – that is most shocking in this entire sequence of events, for this is not the Brandon I have seen thus far.  This is Brandon letting his addiction control him, the thing he’s been working so hard, exerting so much energy, to avoid doing.  He cannot contain it any longer, and it turns him into someone much uglier.  It’s his personality in this scene that retroactively helps me to understand why he puts so much energy into controlling his addiction.  He does not WANT to be this person – you can read the shame and hate underneath the surface as he relentlessly speaks to the girl in the bar – but he will become Mr. Hyde unless he controls himself.

So, then, why did Brandon unbutton himself?  Sissy.  As the film progresses, it becomes clear that Sissy is a trigger for Brandon.  She, like his boss, is open, expressive, easy, flighty, everything he is not.  There is deep affection there, but also a great deal of tension.  And after a crippling discussion where Brandon tells her she is a weight around his neck, that is when they both break – he in his way, she in hers.  Director McQueen hints, in no uncertain terms, of unresolved sexual tension between the siblings.  The first time we meet Sissy, she is naked in the shower, and after a dialogue exchange, the in-scene music proclaims “I Want Your Love.”  Later, when Sissy walks in on Brandon unexpectedly, he reacts badly, but not before giving us more than a bit of unbridled heat.  My read on the film, one I am certain I am not alone on, is that Brandon’s deep affection for his sister conflicts with his sex addiction, giving him feelings that he knows are inappropriate and can never be acted upon.  However, the longer Sissy stays with him, the more energy he has to exert to keep those appetites at bay, and the more he sees her, the more he hates both her and himself.

  

For the part of Sissy, Carey Mulligan turns in a very good performance.  She is honest and open, but she has less to do than Fassbender and did not, pardon the pun, blow me away the way Fassbender did.  Compared with the brutal three dimensionality of Brandon, Sissy is a bit more expected, a bit less surprising, a bit more two dimensional.  The absolutely lovely and poignant scene where she sings “New York, New York” is her shining moment, no doubt.  Chip from Tips from Chip mentioned in a comment that he could “read” Sissy’s storyline in advance, and I somewhat agree here, which is not to say it’s not an effective storyline, but it lacks the surprising nature of Brandon’s journey.  What amazes me about Fassbender’s Brandon is that he was constantly surprising me, and I really respond to that; Sissy was good, and an effective foil to Brandon, but her actions were more expected.

McQueen favors uncomfortably long takes with a mostly static camera that moves only as much as it has to.  Like Ozu, there are many scenes where characters enter and exit the space and the camera simply waits for them to appear and run their course.  The long takes are exquisite, and an excellent reminder that one can make an interesting, gripping film without cutting every five seconds.  Jean Luc Godard is quoted as saying “Every edit is a lie.”  McQueen takes this as a challenge, and counters with long takes that imbue verisimilitude to Shame.  The protracted shots mean awkward conversations full of fidgeting that allow me to see all of Brandon’s contrasting emotions.  McQueen doesn’t cut away from the somewhat embarrassing pauses in chit chat, which in turn makes the situation feel uncomfortably real.  It also utterly hypnotizes me, captures me in the scene, and I am locked in.  When you add in the fact that the film looks absolutely gorgeous, full of golds and greys and blues, I admire Shame not only for its fascinating characterization but also being a damn fine film to look at.

My heart breaks for Brandon.  It shatters into a million pieces.  How he’s far too compliant in the restaurant scene, simply agreeing to everything the waiter suggests, and then how he later becomes aggressively cruel to Sissy.  I love how, by the end of the film, I feel as though I was getting closer and closer to understanding Brandon, and yet he was still surprising me.  And honestly, the last thing I ever expected before seeing Shame was feeling this sense of sympathy for the main character.  The fact that the Academy didn’t even nominate Fassbender’s staggering performance here is utter crap (although I can “understand” it from the Academy-being-political-in-its-decisions vantage point and the film’s NC-17 rating) (still a crap decision, though).  Shame is precisely the sort of intense, small, character-driven drama that I just adore, and I now want to seek out more from Steve McQueen. 

Arbitrary Rating: 10/10.  And I don’t normally give a 10 to a film I just saw for the first time mere hours ago.  But Shame?  Crap.  It earned it.