Well, here I am again. I was tempted to put aside my ongoing survey of the contemporary film scene to explain why Michael Collins is a piece of crap, but duty calls. Time won’t make it a better movie, and it will give the proprietor here something to look forward to.
The Assassination Of Richard Nixon Set during the Watergate era of the early 70s, this not only has the look of a film of that time, it also has the sensibility. It’s full of angst about the corruption and dishonesty supposedly eating at the heart of America. If you remember Save The Tiger or the many like it made then, you get the idea. Like most of those, the story here doesn’t really convincingly support its gloomy version of America and is more depressing than tragic. It does, however, provide a first rate acting showcase for Sean Penn, who is superb.
Lemony Snicket’s A Series Of Unfortunate Events There’s something about Jim Carrey that just annoys the hell out of me. I think he’s a good actor when playing a character, but when he’s doing his over the top comic schtick I get an irrepressible urge to throw popcorn. It’s too bad, since the sets and photography are amazing and some of the scenes (particularly those with the child actors alone or with Billy Connolly) work very well. The problem is Carrey stinks up the joint whenever he’s onscreen. This is based on a series of novels I haven’t read. And while I didn’t like the film, there are enough interesting things in it to make me think the books are worth checking out.
The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou
What I like most about Wes Anderson’s movies is that besides all the funny lines (“I’m getting sick of those dolphins”) and engaging performances, his quirky use of music, photography and dialogue creates a charming, slightly off kilter alternative universe which is somehow absorbing. Why is that guy singing Bowie songs in Portuguese? I don’t know, but it somehow fits. Never heard of a jaguar shark or most of the other improbable sea creatures on view here? That’s why you need adventurers like Steve Zissou! The other thing I like most about Anderson’s movies is they make me laugh a lot, like this one did. And I should also say something about Bill Murray, who has turned into one of America’s great actors, and is wonderful in this.
Maman Last Call An acerbic newspaper columnist in her late 30s gets pregnant, which leads to some mildly comic complications. One of the few things slightly different is that this time it’s the woman who’s anxious while the prospective father (well played by Montreal comic Patrick Huard) is all for it. And while the movie isn’t bad, there’s not much else to say about it. This has been much hyped locally because it’s based on an autobiographical novel by La Presse columnist Nathalie Petrowski, which (if this is a faithful adaptation) was clearly a love letter to herself. So if anybody out there wants to make a movie about what a cool guy I am, I’m open to offers . . .
Ma vie en Cinémascope Musical biography of Alys Robi, a Quebec singer who was popular in the 40s (and there are people who thought Bobby Darin was too obscure to be the subject of a movie!), starring local hottie Pascale Bussières. This could have been a good movie. Bussières is easy on the eyes and Robi’s songs are reasonably zippy. Unfortunately, the director is a total incompetent who hasn’t a clue about how to stage a production number and whose idea of exposition runs along the lines of “So Alys, you’re the first Quebecer to sell 100,000 records?” “Yes, that’s right.” I should also mention that Robi was lobotomized, which the film returns to constantly. I’m sort of hoping this doesn’t start a trend, since I can’t think of many musicals that could have been improved by recurring lobotomy scenes. This was a big hit locally (largely because of fondness for Robi, who still performs on the nostalgia circuit). On the whole, I’m glad Quebec is one of the few places in the world where local films can sometimes outdraw Hollywood blockbusters. I just wish the local films were better.
Meet The Fockers I missed Meet The Parents, so I figured I wouldn’t be able to follow the intricacies of the plot. My loss, I guess . . .
The Merchant Of Venice Actors love playing Shylock, since it more or less requires a hammy performance, which is why it still gets staged. These days, productions try to get around its inherent problems by claiming it’s not an anti-semitic play, but a critical portrait of an anti-semitic society. Which is bullshit, since Shylock loses half his fortune (as well as his original loan) and is forced to convert to Christianity, while the nasty anti-smites get his money, all get married and live happily ever after. So this production is the usual illogical mess, but Pacino is quite good (hamminess isn’t exactly a stretch for him). There are worse Shakespeare adaptations out there, but the best Merchant Of Venice on film remains the one from the 70s with Laurence Olivier. If you’re writing an essay or something, hunt that one down instead.
Million Dollar Baby
Clint Eastwood wasn’t always a great actor. He could always hold the screen, but when he started he was only effective in certain kinds of roles. As he’s gotten older and his face has gotten craggier and more interesting, he’s expanded his range and is now one of the most emotionally expressive actors working today. As a director, he was always hit and miss, with quite a few more misses than hits. But with Mystic River and this film, he’s clearly on a roll. Have any other directors reached their peak in their 70s? I can’t think of any. At any rate, this is a terrific film, a direct and emotional story of friendship and dignity which is beautifully directed and rarely hits a wrong note. I had a couple of minor quibbles with the plotting which occasionally becomes a little contrived (I’d go into details, but I don’t want to give away the story, which has a few unexpected turns), but they’re unimportant compared to the high overall quality.
The Motorcycle Diaries On the road with Che Guevara. Now that’s what I call high concept . . . The movie itself is good, but not great. I enjoyed the skirt chasing, the nicely photographed South American landscapes and traveling mishaps more than the overtly political stuff, which is too obvious.
National Treasure When I was a 9 or 10, I used to love Tom Swift novels. Tom was a teenager who invented neat devices to help him on his nifty adventures. Since he didn’t seem to have hormones (Tom never seemed to get laid, nor worry about it), he was less a teenager than a nine year old’s idea of what a teenager was. What’s this got to do with this movie? Well, this is a lot like a Tom Swift novel. There are all sorts of neato inventions, meanie villains, underground passages, treasure maps (with invisible ink, of course), clues in code that have to be deciphered, chases and lots of stuff that blows up. Times have changed a little, of course, so there’s also a beautiful girl, even if the mushy stuff is restricted to a decorous kiss near the end. The lead is unfortunately not a teenager, but it’s the next best thing, with Nicolas Cage doing his overgrown boy bit. Hardly a classic, but fun if approached in the right manner. It would have made more sense if the lead had been sixteen though.
Nouvelle-France Quebec version of a big budget, sweeping historical epic, complete with imported stars and plucky peasant romances. Oh well, I guess it provides employment.
Ocean’s Twelve I actually liked Ocean’s 11 (except for the scenes with Julia Roberts, of course), but name five good sequels and I might consider checking this one out.
The Phantom Of The Opera I like musicals, but first somebody has to convince me Andrew Lloyd Webber has ever written a decent song.
Ray The music is fabulous, as it should be, considering who the film’s about, and Jamie Foxx does an uncanny Ray Charles impersonation. The staging of some of the songs (particularly “What’d I Say” and “Hit The Road, Jack”) is kind of hokey, but not in an entirely bad way. Unfortunately, the stuff in between the musical numbers is pure soap opera, and not a very interesting one. Besides all the clichés, the editing is really weird, with characters disappearing without explanation and subplots built up only to go nowhere. At one point, the plot focuses on the increasing control of Ray’s affairs by a shifty character and . . . that’s it. Does he just keep managing Ray or is he fired or does he run off and join the circus? You won’t find out here. And of course the film is resolutely anti-drug, so it skirts the question of why almost all the music Ray Charles will be remembered for was produced when he was an addict. Was it a coincidence? What did Ray think about this? I only saw the film, so I can't tell you. The ending, which claims the proudest moment of his life was not connected with his family or his art, but being honoured by a bunch of white Georgian politicians he didn’t know ranks pretty high on my “what the hell?” meter too. Nice tunes though.
The Sea Inside
A tearjerker about a quadriplegic who spends years in a legal fight to allow him to legally get help to commit suicide isn’t usually the sort of thing that makes my pulse race in anticipation. Unless it’s well done, of course. And this is very well done. The film shrewdly mixes in a fair amount of humour with the drama and is lucky to have the gifted Javier Bardem in the lead. The deck is stacked, as it always is in this type of flick, but even when they’re beating you over the head you won’t feel like you’re being beaten out of the head, which is impressive.
Shabd I’ve recently become a fan of Bollywood movies and this one has two of India’s biggest stars. Unfortunately, it’s showing at the local cinema in Hindi with no subtitles. I guess the cinema owners have twigged to my being the only non-Indian in the audience even when there are English subtitles, which I was kind of hoping they wouldn’t notice. Anyway, even though it’s unlikely I’ll ever see this film, here’s an entirely gratuitous picture of Bollywood babe Aishwarya Rai:
This has turned out longer than expected. The lesson is, I suppose, to be careful who you ask to write about movies. Well, a picture of a beautiful woman seems as good a place as any to wind up part 2. I’ll finish up part 3 next week, which will probably include my thoughts on the new documentary Inside Deep Throat, which should give you something to chew on . . .
