Archive for December, 2011

SHAME (Steve McQueen, 2011)

Steve McQueen’s Shame, the portrait of a New York sex addict, fits squarely into the category of missed opportunity: despite a myriad of strong attributes, it’s an incredibly shallow depiction of a seriously fascinating topic. First, the pluses: Michael Fassbender is dazzling as Brandon, the sex-starved protagonist whose isolated existence is thrown into a tizzy when his similarly fucked-up-but-in-a-different-way sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) shows up at his door with nowhere else to go. Suddenly, Brandon’s day-to-day routine is entirely disrupted. He can’t have sexual video chats on his laptop because Sissy’s fucking his boss in his bedroom. He can’t masturbate without the risk of his sister walking in on him. For all effective purposes, he can’t be anymore, and like a heroin addict separated from his needle, he begins to spiral out of control. All this sounds much more gripping than it actually is, though. McQueen is a very talented director, and that comes through in his visual choices—New York City pulsates with nervous energy through his lens, as it should, and several long takes are hypnotic—and the soundtrack is fantastic. But the writing barely scratches the surface of what should have been a terrific subject. Despite Fassbender’s best efforts, Brandon just isn’t that interesting of a character; he’s simply a man with an addiction. Two terrific sequences with a beautiful co-worker whom he attempts to emotionally engage with—and subsequently can’t perform sexually—hint at what could have been, but we’re mostly given what we’d expect to see from someone with Brandon’s disorder: compulsive behavior regardless of venue, a foray into the homosexual world. It’s the equivalent of seeing a drunkard sneak a shot of tequila in a back room. Would large swaths of critics be impressed with a standard depiction of an alcoholic or chain smoker? We’re also teased with a childhood cause for Brandon and Sissy’s emotional disorders—sexual molestation, perhaps?—but it’s never appropriately explored, and doesn’t achieve anything lingering so far in the background. Fassbender and McQueen’s skillset keep Shame from being a waste of time, but its bland presentation of a dark, intense condition prevents it from being something special.

57/100

CARNAGE (Roman Polanski, 2011)

Embattled filmmaker Roman Polanski has always been drawn to the dark sides of humanity, so it’s no surprise he’d be drawn to the play “Carnage,” a Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf-esque chamber drama. Polanski’s take on Carnage rarely leaves the Brooklyn home of Michael (John C. Reilly) and Penelope (Jodie Foster) Longstreet, a warm-and-fuzzy-on-the-outside couple whose son Ethan just came out of emergency dental surgery. Why? Because Zachary, the son of Alan (Christoph Waltz) and Nancy (Kate Winslet) Cowan, sent him there during a playground squabble with a stick to the face. What begins as a cordial discussion about how to resolve the matter like adults quickly dissolves into chaos, with the Cowans seemingly unable to leave the apartment in Exterminating Angel fashion. Carnage runs the gamut of alienating character traits. There’s the compulsive Crackberry addict Alan, a big shot lawyer working on a prescription drug case, excusing himself every five minutes to take a call. The fiercely liberal Penelope—a non-fiction writer with an affection for impoverished countries—alternates vigorously espousing left-wing positions with seeming to project them to make herself feel better about who she is. Michael starts off as a submissive husband type before cracking open the aged whiskey and letting his disgust with Penelope and the world—and frustration with his kvetchy, sick mother—out into the open. And Nancy? Between periods of political correctness and emotional eruptions, she vomits all over a prized book.

There’s no question that each of these characters has a certain level of caricature to them, but Waltz (who took home an Oscar for Inglourious Basterds in 2010), Winslet, and Reilly are so good that it’s not a major hindrance. Foster’s performance, on the other hand, seems forced at times. It’s not really a natural role for her, and while she gets an A for effort, that’s not enough to keep her from being the clear weak link among the quartet. Similarly, the spilling out of pent-up frustration from within a tightly-protected image isn’t a unique subject mater, but Polanski keeps things brisk (Carnage is only 79 minutes long), and there’s enough wit and humor in the screenplay to mostly make up for its limitations. Some might dismiss Carnage as overly snarky and pseudo-intellectual, and if we’re hoping for Polanski to recapture his ambitious, daring form of the 60′s and 70′s, there’s some validity to the film’s shortcomings. But the execution is strong enough to match any reasonable expectations, and Carnage is worth seeing for the acting and hamster (trust me) alone.

67/100

A BETTER LIFE (Chris Weitz, 2011)

Talk about a schmaltzy way to take on the explosive topic of immigration. Like Tom McCarthy’s vastly superior The Visitor, A Better Life attempts to put a human face on the immigration debate by zeroing in on a good person—here, Carlos, played by Demian Bichir—who simply wants a chance at the American dream. In A Better Life, Carlos dreams of starting a gardening business: if it succeeds, he’ll be able to give his son Luis (Jose Julian) the opportunities he had to cross the border for, with the added bonus of hopefully keeping Luis away from the omnipresent East L.A. gangs. Unfortunately, things begin to go awry from early on after Carlos takes a loan from a family member to jumpstart his vision, and his pride and nobility keep him from being able to turn them around without dire consequences. The ingredients are there for a decent film, but there’s not a hint of nuance to be found: director Chris Weitz, who co-wrote the charming About a Boy (2002) with his brother Paul, is clearly the inferior talent. Each sequence plays out in mind-numbingly cliched fashion: father-son lectures, chin-up resilience—especially the final shot—and a stern message about the heartless anti-immigration movement are depicted in an infuriatingly shallow manner. Such an important topic deserves a bit of delicacy, not a made-for-Lifetime approach. If not for some decent acting—particularly from the soulful Bichir, whose eyes alone portray the pain of his situation—A Better Life would be a truly worthless picture.

32/100

WAR HORSE (Steven Spielberg, 2011)

I was fortunate enough to see the play “War Horse” at Lincoln Center over the summer. In the tradition of “The Lion King,” the production featured men and women carrying puppets around, relying on lighting and the grace of the actors to create emotion and drama. I admit to being skeptical that “War Horse” would be as successful using this style, given the seriousness of topic: it is, after all, a tale about a young man’s journey into war to find the horse that was taken from him. A recipe for sentimentality, certainly, but a seemingly strange fit for such dramatics. Against all odds, however, it works to perfection—my eyes were wet for half of the performance, and the set design, sound effects, and light shows always seemed to dart in at exactly the right moment to evoke emotion without ever feeling cheesy. It was one of the better shows I’ve seen, but not because of the story itself: there’s very little originality in that. Rather, it took a tried-and-true formula and executed it beautifully, with flair, spark and creativity aplenty completely obscuring multiple shallow characters.

Steven Spielberg’s cinematic version, on the other hand, is basically what we’ve come to expect when Spielberg tackles a topic like this, and the result is one of his weakest films . A seemingly bottomless budget and Spielberg’s technical skills as a Director allows for plenty of beautiful shots: the cinematography and colors are lovely. That’s about where the praise ends, though. At nearly two-and-a-half hours, War Horse is extremely bloated, with John Williams’ score seemingly chiming in during every single scene. The treacle is unyielding, and that’s basically a kiss of death for a picture that’s working off a script with such potential for hokey melodrama. From the opening shot to the closing sequence, War Horse hammers you over the head with sap. Holiday moviegoers in the mood for a feel-good pick-me-up should get what they’re looking for, but from a critical perspective, War Horse has little to offer beyond a string of pretty shots and some passable performances.

40/100

YOUNG ADULT (Jason Reitman, 2011)

I was a fan of Jason Reitman’s first two features: Thank You For Smoking (2005) and Juno (2007)—though both were critically acclaimed, particularly Juno, they experienced a good bit of backlash in the cinephile community, which dismissed Reitman as a smug, trite filmmaker without a trace of subtlety. Though I saw traces of this in both pictures, I found the writing and characters to be interesting enough to overcome it. With Up in the Air (2009), though, Reitman’s flaws began to feel more prevalent and less excusable. If anything, success seemed to have given him an air of entitlement: characters seemed formulaic, writing sloppy. Though Up in the Air also garnered a lot of praise in the mainstream, I found myself starting to shift away, even though I didn’t actively dislike the film. That feeling of excitement one gets when a favorite director has a new movie in the pipeline was definitely gone with Jason Reitman.

Now we have Young Adult, for which I had moderate (at best) expectations for. Alas, it’s easily the worst in his canon thusfar. If Up in the Air had a certain cavalier attitude in its direction, Young Adult is downright lazy. There’s absolutely nothing creative. Self-loathing, newly divorced former high school beauty and published writer trying to rekindle an old flame to give herself a sense of self-worth? Maybe there’s some potential there, but Mavis (a pretty good Charlize Theron) is written without a stroke of oomph. Mavis has all the traits that a screenwriting student might write in a homework assignment for the genre: she drinks too much, gorges on fast food, and generally wallows in her own misery, oblivious that others around her like Matt (Patton Oswalt of Big Fan) have it much, much worse.The supporting characters aren’t any better—they’re all one-note, including Matt, who has a mirroring “crutch” and propensity to live in the past in a cloud of excuses, and Buddy (Patrick Wilson), the aforementioned old flame who’s now happily married with an infant daughter, yet seems oblivious to Mavis’s master plan until it’s shoved down his throat.

From the beginning, any competent moviegoer can predict almost every plot development, including the predictable finale when Mavis, full of anger and frustration, reaches a breaking point, blows up…and then has the magical epiphany during a chat with Matt’s sister where it all clicks, and Young Adult ends with, yes, Mavis understanding that it’s time to let go of her youthful crushes and love of tequila shots, embrace what she has, and grow the fuck up.  In short, ditch the “young,” keep the “adult,” and the quality of life will dramatically improve. What a concept! All that keeps Young Adult from being a truly wretched picture is the acting, which isn’t award caliber or anything like that, but is mostly strong across the board, particular Theron in the lead role. Otherwise, the contrived Young Adult offers next to nothing: Reitman continues his downward spiral, and I continue to sympathize more and more with those who found him supremely irritating from the start.

37/100