Johnny Simmons

Happy Father's Day everyone!

The last day to enter Your Best Shot is June 24th!

Made in Dagenham reminds me most of movies like The Women or Stage Door - not because it’s a slice of classic life, but because in its wide foray of females I almost don’t want to single out any one of them as best in show. Almost. I’m both surprised and heartened that despite picking up zero awards’ tractions Rosamund Pike was being so constantly fêted as a potential spoiler in the supporting actress race way back when. To say that the role is paper thin might be a little too harsh. The thing is, the role manages to be paper thin and hopelessly predictable at the same time but Rosamund sells it. She’s always so good opposite fellow actresses (perfect opposite Keira and Carey) and truth be told – one of my favourite moments of the film is the throwaway moment in the car when Lisa and Rita both band together to bring down a chauvinistic teacher at their sons’ school. It reads as a bit insular that this “small” act is indicative of their female bravery...but whatever.

Not that Sally isn’t good herself, I was no big fan of her in Happy-Go-Lucky but she’s so charismatic here constantly besting the material she’s given. She’s sort of brilliant opposite everyone in her sedateness, in contrast to Miranda who finds her brilliance by being explosive. My appreciation for Miranda flip-flops. She seems to be having too much fun playing Barbara that sometimes you can just see her being over-the-top for its very own sake. She knows when to rein it in, though. What Barbara does for the cause is no small feat, and that moment where she has her way with her boorish assistants is brilliant.

Blue Valentine is a film that’s explicit in its lack of specificity as it examines the ennui that comes with marriage. You may often hear divorced couples citing “irreconcilable differences” as the reason for the disintegration of their marriage. As far as grounds for divorce goes, it’s probably the vaguest and it’s from this same state of general ambiguity that Cianfrance roots the dissolution of the marriage in Blue Valentine on. Dean and Cindy are in a failing marriage and neither of them seem able to discern why. It depends on an atmosphere shrouded by the story that’s redolent of the twitchy awkwardness of Greenberg or the meandering apathy of Somewhere. Blue Valentine is uncomfortable and even gauche because that’s the situation that our protagonists are in and in that way Blue Valentine depends as much on its actors as much as it serves them up an almost impossible task.

I’ve never been a particularly big fan of Michelle Williams, since her Dawson’s Creek days she’s always had the tendency to personify the characters she plays with a harshness that seems unnecessarily harsh and in watching her play Cindy in the present it would seem as if she’s doing the same – she’s not, though. It’s a difficult task playing a character then and now when the “then” is so recent and the way that we go to the “now” are so vague. Williams tasks the task and delivers with aplomb, though, allowing the same potentially cute features of the younger Cindy to stagnate and become the tics that divide us from completely surrendering to her when she ages. It sound too easy – too easy – especially when you think of the cavalier manner that Gosling must play Dean in. To be honest, Cianfrance seems to intent on playing him up as a villain too often. Still, Gosling uses his natural intensity to create Dean as a bit of surprising entity. I find it impossible not to choose him in the battle of the spouses – not because his Dean is more sympathetic, but because he’s playing with his heart on his sleeves (as he should) something that doesn’t necessarily make him a better but marks how much he yields to his characters faults, fearlessly. It’s not really Williams fault that I can’t love her wholly.

I can’t love Blue Valentine wholly either, and it’s not because it’s a downer. Whereas I can accept the dwindling nature of Somewhere as indicative of Coppola’s overall point Blue Valentine makes its point but Cianfrance seems more interested in establishing how depressing the marriage has become and the flashback scenes work not because of a palpable interest in that portion of the narrative (as far as I can discern) but because Williams and Gosling are such troopers. Ultimately, Cianfrance succeeds because he at least shows some legitimate interest in his characters but at times there’s too stringent a feeling of dawdling which makes sense in the present day portions of the film, but robs the flashbacks of any chance to suggest a different alternative to the relationship. And if the relationship was so obviously doomed, I can’t help but wonder what the point of it all was.

        

Both Frankie & Alice, and Night Catches Us examine race relations in the seventies – one more overtly than the other. They both had the unfortunate fate of being released and getting lukewarm reception from audiences (although Frankie & Alice is only now expanding in theatres).

           

Geoffrey Sax directs Frankie & Alice without palpable interest for the time period, in fact Sax seems least interested in any extraneous bit of his characters opting to single insularly put his focus on Berry – which ends up being a decision that works for him. Halle Berry has never ranked among my favourite actors but I am elated to see her returning to the good work that I know she’s capable. 

It’s difficult to separate the film’s somewhat generic plot from the multiple incarnations of people with dissociative identity disorder. It’s a theme that ostensibly suggests mugging for the camera (and by extension) awards’ bait. But, Berry approaches the role with a striking amount of integrity ignoring – on the most obvious of levels at least – the potential for gimmickries that lies in the film. The fact that one of her multiple personalities is a racist ends up developing as a plot-point not played for the obvious shock potential one would expect. Even, Berry, in her occasional tendency to overdo employs a restraint here and plays well opposite Stellan Skarsgård. The two get the most signficant screen time, but Chandra Wilson and Phylicia Rashad offer up poignant supporting turns suggesting that they both deserve more recognition on the big screen. There comes a moment towards the end when the film becomes a bit too interested in being histrionic, but Vanessa Morgan (as a young Frankie) is surprisingly good in her part delivering on the emotional resonance along with Berry.

         

And, yet, though Night Catches Us exists with the very taut racial tension of the era Tanya Hamilton (writer and director) never takes it too far. There’s an admirable dormancy to the atmosphere that works in evoking that sort of unrest after great activity and in the midst of all this dissonance Marcus (Mackie) returns to his old neighbourhood where he may or may not have caused the death of his brother by ratting him out to the police. 

 

Hamilton avoids the usual tricks, like making that issue a major plotpoint. Instead, she has Mackie and Washington playing opposite each other to great results. Hamilton is interested in studying her characters – each of them, an she almost always goes for the sedate instead of the jarring which works for her. The race relations are almost aside to the main arc of the broken characters trying to rebuild their lives, and though her sedateness could be mistaken for reticent she deserves praise either way.

Openings set the tone of the film; that much is obvious. Sometimes directors are able to use an effective opening and keep up the film in the same register – sometimes after a brilliant opening the rest of the film fails. A good film doesn’t need to have a good opening, gun to my head some the best openings of all time would be The Philadelphia Story – Cary and Kate’s silent spousal abuse. Last year my favourite opening was from Tony Gilroy’s very underrated comedy-thriller Duplicity which still thrills me whenever I think about the fun smartness of Duplicity (something that was lacking this year in film – no In the Loop, no Fantastic Mr. Fox). We had some great openings this year, and although none strike me as rich as Gilroy’s –they were quite brilliant in their own rite.

(Click on photos for reviews.)

In actuality I can’t say that in terms of necessity the opening really establishes anything, but it’s still gorgeous to watch. Perhaps, if I think closely the same preposterous sort of extraneousness that pervades the film begins here with this arresting but strange number. It works well in the context that turns Nina into a bit of a soothsayer, because she knows she’s going to be destroyed even before she really does know. It’s that sort of bizarreness that defines the film, throughout.

Vincent D’onforio’s cameo is a nice asset here, and this opening scene is one of Ethan’s finest. It’s the encapsulation of an antihero who’s side we can’t help but be on even when we know we shouldn’t. In a way, it sort of establishes one of the faults with Fuqua’s latest because he’s so very much intent on shocking us – but it works here, because in a few moments he establishes the desperation of (one of) our protagonists.

Functionality aside, it’s the most beautiful opening of the year – it uses its dialogue as effectively as The Social Network, the cuts to the dancing are as beautiful as in Black Swan and the use of music is as striking as in The Deathly Hallows. But, it’s not just extraneous beauty – it’s making a point, too; it’s probably the sole portion where the stage conceits translate brilliantly to film. Yes, the film does dip in quality afterwards, but that doesn’t make it any less lovely.

        

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows directed by David Yates with Daniel Radcliffe,Emma Watson, Rupert Grint, Alan Rickman, Helena Bonham Carter

The film never reaches the quiet profundity of the opening again, which is a shame because that opening really is lovely. It’s one of the few times where creative team actually decides to do something original instead of adapting the book meticulously (to a fault). The score, the cinematography, and just the tired looks of the characters – it all just works, and in just a few short takes establishes the current situation.

At its best social network sites are about communication, and it’s not incidental that communication is a significant facet of The Social Network. Sorkin’s dialogue emerges as the obvious reason for this opening working, but there’s also much that’s not being said that’s being conveyed through the actors. I don’t find Mara as flawless as her biggest fans but she creates Erica not only in the context of Mark, but as someone both impressed and exasperated by his tics, so that we see the breakup coming before it does. (And of course the editing is flawless.

          

FINALIST: From the first moments of screen time I sort of fall in love with Scott Pilgrim vs the World.We’re immediately thrust into the madness of that mysterious place – Ontario, Canada; and it’s just so damned eclectic and arresting you can’t help but be charmed.

SEMI-FINALISTS: The American opens so subtly and even when that key surprise moment happens it’s still going along placidly. It’s the sort of minimalist approach that makes it laudable – even if I don’t love it; that long sequence that opens The King’s Speech seems a bit extraneous, but it’s one of those little things that I appreciate about what Hooper does with the story – never going where you’d expect to him to; Scorsese does some things that seem unlike his usual fare in Shutter Island and that opening is so obvious – but considering what comes after you have to think that that might be his point.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Get Low; Rabbit Hole; Somewhere; The Town

Sitting down to review The King’s Speech is a chore in itself – and I’ve been putting it off for such days. It’s difficult to separate the film from the currently (somewhat vague) antagonism that’s surrounding it in the face of its recent PGA win and Oscar nominations and, more so when I think about how long I’ve been waiting to see it. Hooper, often interested in touching on big names in history, turns to King George VI for his latest monarch’s relationship with his speech therapist – the Australian Lionel Logue. As Lionel and Bertie continue through the slog of familial issues and their effects on speech the King is faced with alternating pressures on the home front, a caring – if vaguely detached wife, a seemingly disappointed father and a caddish brother. The King’s Speech is a film that’s unconventional in its conventionality. True, the tale has little to suggest that it’s anything daring or brash but screenwriter David Seidler decides to root the film in a placidness where plotpoints develop not in the usual cinematic spurts but expand sedately – even lethargically – easing along, bit by bit.

It’s an approach that’s necessary because Hooper and company are interested in assessing Bertie not in relation to anyone else but in relation to himself, which renders The King’s Speech extraneous political affairs well, umm, extraneous. It sets itself up as a psychiatric drama, because you’d more likely have reason to measure this against The Prince of Tides (the middle portion at least) where a pleasant doctor aids someone with a troubled past than The Madness of King George an ostensibly similar story of a monarch at odds with himself and those around him. There’s no evidence to suggest that Hooper IS interested in making a prototypical monarch piece but his vision reeks of being indistinctly insular at portions at times because the staunchness with which the focus appears on Bertie and Logue gives the film a feeling of limitedness. Sort of like a dance with two players, but a host of superfluous – if diverting – participants meandering around; reminding me a bit of O. Russell and his occasional inclination to forget that The Fighter should be an ensemble drama.

It’s not that Hooper’s vision is dissonant in discerning what his film is about, but the supporting players around are on their own interesting enough to demand pertinent bits of storyline that their sorely lacking. One of the scene that plays out best in the film has George’s wife (a very serene Helena Bonham Carter) having a chat with Mr. Logue – Rush’s first appearance on screen. This meeting suggests things in both parties that you think would be addressed, but aren’t. Bonham Carter plays with just the right winsome air where she’s the standard Queen with just a tinge of snob about her (tea at the Logue’s) that’s not off-putting but part of her attraction. As interested as she is in ridding Bertie of his issues she’s not exactly driven by devotion, it’s an arc – their entire relationship – that seems especially perplexing when you’d expect his marriage to play as important a role in his speech as his family history. Measure that against Pearce’s cavalier older brother (probably the best work I’ve seen from him) who’s the right amount of cheeky and sanctimonious – without ever being despicable. Firth thrives against them both, so it seems a bit of a disservice to the narrative to have emotional peaks of the story develop behind closed doors – even if the metaphor there is amusing.

And, it’s not to say that the story that we’re actually given is poor – because the alacrity of the screenplay is one of the most charming things about the film. It avoids the most simplistic of traps by stopping the narrative just before George (with Elizabeth) experience seismic popularity. It’s a sort of representation of what Hooper and his company does best – he’s always able to prevent over-saturation. There’s something a bit too on-the-nose about the adage “less is more” but Hooper knows it well. He knows when to cut scenes and moreover when to END the story because as much as The King’s Speech has potential to tell us more it also has obvious potential to be overwrought which The King’s Speech avoids – it’s too classy for that. The thing is, it’s that sort of classiness that wafts over you after perusal, and though I’m not especially prone to the more obvious but sometimes Hooper’s penchant for subtlety descends into innocuousness. And, yes, in the end the payoff works because of – and not in spite of – that opting for a conclusion that’s enduring in its smoothness that I can appreciate for being so well done. It's a bit like Hooper was internalising the DESIDERATA and it's famous advice, go placidly amidst the noise and haste and it does do placid beautifully. It's not a discredit to the film that's it's more interested in the introspective than the extrospective, and yes it errs when it comes to examining those around Bertie. Sure, I'll admit I wanted better, but that's not really a judgement on the film itself - what was served up was perfectly fine, circumscribed on occasion  - but laudable.

I often feel out of the loop when it comes to certain fads, films or actors but few make me more perplexed than Hathaway, whose appeal I’m constantly try to extrapolate. So, it’s not surprising that I entered Love & Other Drugs with a sense of trepidation a bit disconcerted about a potentially schmaltzy love fest with her. Something about Love & Other Drugs just sort of ticked me off from the inception. From a very pop-ish opening sequence to the token dinner with the quirky (but brilliant) family where our protagonist is (but of course) the black seep of the family just plays a bit too on the nose, making me want to get up and slap Edward Zwick. Jamie is a typical manwhore who takes up the glamorous (insert sarcasm) job of selling prescription drugs and who happens to fall for a woman with early Parkinson’s – Maggie, and that’s essentially what Love & Other Drugs is about. The thing is, Jake is handling it all wonderfully – but that feeling of overcompensation is difficult to shake off – especially when Hathaway enters the film in typical eccentric fashion for an annoyingly cloying meet-cute, and then somewhere between that the film takes a turn for the better. Zwick is still trying too hard, the nudity which isn’t gratuitous but just screams “90s youth”.

Hathaway and Gyllenhaal are remarkable together, and even the writing – for some time at least – still overly precise but getting more hits than misses this time around. It’s not difficult to pinpoint what makes me interested in Hathaway’s work here. It’s not the best thing she’s done – even if I’m on the Rosemarie DeWitt bandwagon I’ll accede that she’s fine in Rachel Getting Married; but as Maggie I’m finally able to see what’s winsome about her without actor-ly tics or overemphasised movements. Even her previous comedic work I’m never willing to believe there’s anything (authentically) charming about her, but she really is just the sweetest thing here. Yes, she’s getting by on what seems to be just her natural charm but that’s precisely what works about the entire affair. It’s the sort of role that depends on someone with that sort of winsome air to – and Zwick’s lucky enough that the two work so well together. This makes me that much more annoyed with him when the film hits the seventy minute mark and turns into something dangerously close to a hot mess. Zwick decided to turn it into something dangerously close to a standard biopic as we watch the very noble Maggie push Jamie away because she's too wonderful to allow him the horror of caring for her in sickness. The fact that this is based on fact doesn't make him less culpable, it's the fact that Zwick approaches this so so little sincerity especially when the shift is such an about-face from his crazy antics earlier.

The only reason that the middle portion of Love & Other Drugs manages to work is because Zwick doesn’t seem too interested in making a grand statement about life, or preaching to when his entire technique questionable. However, it turns out that his overreaching arc is just an attempt to make a judgement on Jamie’s life. It was as if Zwick, with his palpable “youth-friendly” appeal just this side of hip was intent on making his Jamie that sort of slightly jerk-y cool guy that we’re forced to love, and it immediately reminded me of Boyle’s ADD direction in 127 Hours. Both directors want to have it both ways, we’re supposed to love this guy but concede that he’s offensive. In the battle of male leads, though, Zwick’s approaches prevails because he’s willing to prevent his flawed antihero as a flawed antihero, and even if he ends up glorifying him in the end that’s less a judgement on his direction and more a question for human psychology. But, as the film meanders to its end Love & Other Drugs becomes more and more cringe worthy, never quite descending to absolute terribleness but still ultimately off-putting. Although, I suppose my jadedness prevents me from deferring to the simplicity of it all, the fact that Zwick never decides what he wants hs film to be opting to jump around like a psycho irresolute novice - which he is not - is neither comforting nor original, though I think he thinks so - though I'll admit, there were times he had me more than a little interested, shame he couldn't keep it up.

I feel a bit bad for the way that Let Me In was inducted into the hall of 2010 films. It suffered backlash before it came out, simply because of its roots as a remake of a Swedish film. And, then, when it finally came it landed with a whimper. It’s not exactly new ground – a 12 year old girl, a vampire, befriends a young boy and that – right there – is Let Me In. Two things strike me about Let Me In from the get-go. It’s uninterested in exploiting the child actors – in the sense that, even though the film covers the usual dilemmas of childhood (uncertainty, bullying) it’s not interested in turning the children in precocious faux-adults or cutesy babes. That sort of characterisation is imperative to the tone that Reeves is creating. Let Me In is marked by a sort of trepidation that pervades over the entire film. It’s a technique that Reeves uses for an actual reason, for this feeling of gloom amplifies the terror in Owen’s world and becomes a beautiful symbol for how the simplest of terrors become augmented for the young.

Though there’s rarely a false move in the screenplay – meticulously written by Reeves Let Me In depends most on its direction and the performance of the two leads. I mentioned Kodi Smith-McPhee as a runner up when I was compiling my Supporting Actor shortlist for his work in The Road and he manages to instil Owen with a maturity that doesn’t make him any less of a child. Unlike the typical child performance it asks for him to convey emotions not through speech, but through facial expressions and he’s so on point in his reaction to the bullies in his school showing emotion that’s rarely found in young actors. Moretz is simultaneously not as precise in her expressions and too precise in her movements, and though she doesn’t match the emotional profundity of Smith-McPhee she does a fine job of balancing the difficult role on her shoulders. Unlike her previous roles her previous roles her Abbie is not notable for her adult actions via children, she manages to seamlessly merge the childish spontaneity of Abbie with a larger sense of perception that works. Watching the film, I couldn’t help but appreciate the performance not for the fact that they’re children – but because they are inherently good performances (shame neither of them won the prize at the Critics Choice Awards).

In its way Let Me In reminds me of the attempts Aronofsky is making with Black Swan – a horror film that depends not on the usual tricks but just on the smallest of cinematic techniques. The foreboding music (courtesy of Michael Giacchino’s excellent score), the long takes building up the tension it all works especially well and makes me interested in seeing what next Reeves has up his sleeves.

        

For all its fault there’s one thing about Steve Antin’s Burlesque that it would be stupid to deny it of – Antin approaches the story with so much conviction that even when his script is at its weakest (and there are those moments) his exactitude – no matter how misplaced – ensures that the narrative moves – or occasionally plods – forwards always certain of where it wants to go. True to form, the story’s simple – a small-town girl makes a move to L.A. with hopes of making it big, enter Cher’s Tess with her potentially defunct Burlesque club with an oily businessman breathing down her throat ready to buy her out. In that way, Burlesque is sort of like one of those pastiche musicals that an aspiring musical director would make – a story that’s stripped down to the bare essentials with random numbers throwing sometimes (but not always) moving the plot forward but always offering up a slab of pleasure – just like the club itself.

The shining light of Burlesque is the fact that Antin knows what he wants and he has a sensibility for putting on musical numbers that’s – at times – fascinating to watch. It’s a little bit of Chicago, a little bit of Cabaret with some Moulin Rouge and possibly Coyote Ugly and a little bit of Spice World - for good measure thrown in just for kicks. He is not especially interested in hiding the fact that he’s taking cues from past films – but that knack for evoking films that have come before doesn’t make his decisions any less judicious – which is a welcome surprise. Not that Burlesque ends up becoming a technical spectacle of any sort, but it’s sumptuously put on – especially those costumes which I’m glad have attracted some love from the guilds. The music is never as extraneous as you’d expect there, even if one or two numbers hang just a little there’s always something nice to take away from it (Alan Cummings, forever a trooper, I’m talking to you).

And, the performances – Christina is neither excellent nor terrible in her debut. Despite her intensity in song, she has a surprising knack for the lighter portions of the film which makes me wish that Burlesque had played up the humour a bit more. This is the girl who was hung up on teasing us from “What A Girl Wants” to “Dirrty”. Even though her offstage persona is tinged with just the right amount of playfulness she’s not fully able to reconcile that with her stage performances which are just too adult to be authentic for Ally (but she’s fun to watch – either way). Cher, in all her agelessness offers up her usually acerbic self and makes the most of Tess. She’s fun to watch and though she’s regaled to a mere two numbers – neither of which turns into a duet with Christina (FAIL) she’s wonderful especially opposite Tucci who’s delightful – as always. Burlesque is the type of child on the playground that you’d willingly mock just because it wears its heart on its sleeves and is soooooooo obvious in all that it does. But, it doesn’t really care – and really, the teasing would be injudicious. It’s imprudent to call it a horrible film, because other than script that (admittedly) meanders a little too much to its own detriment, critiquing a film does not begin and end with a script. Burlesque is fun and at times even funny, perhaps harmlessly so – but we can’t really expect each film that falls in our laps to land with a resounding reverberation – can we?
     

I saw both of these quite some time ago and have been mustering up the will to review them. I feel a bit terrible, because – really – little is coming. But, I must, because duty calls or something like that.

   

On Conviction

It feels like lazy journalism to say that this seems like one of those low-rent films that would be on Lifetime, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Sure, Goldwyn tries to do some interesting things in trying to make us care about this filial pair but it’s all so terribly tepid and there’s a surprising lack of urgency in a film that should feel a little bit more profound. Rockwell sure is diverting, but even he ends up seeming eventually disinterested in it all. Swank tries, too, but she’s just not luminous enough to make this work.

And True Grit

There’s just something about the tone of True Grit that seems a bit pleased with itself, perhaps it’s the Western genre but it doesn’t really feel like a true Western. I’m not one for the genre, and sure being a western is more internal than external but it’s more striking as a straight coming of age drama than a traditional western which doesn’t make it a worse film but makes me wonder why we’re being built up for the appearance of Brolin’s Chaney which falls limp – and is wholly flat, easily a disservice to the fine attempts before.

                

As an aside, it’s weird how both Conviction and True Grit set their lead women up for glory – character-wise, and role-wise. The general cast end up bowing down to them both and they’re both given roles that we’re almost forced to appreciate on face value.

           

It’s probably evidence of how my mind hops about, but when 127 Hours ended the thing that I was thinking of was not Aaron’s plight but the injustice of the new rules for Best Original Song. If you’re an Oscar fanatic, you’d have known by now that in order to find nominees all original song contenders are played on a loop so voters can discern their context in the film. Ostensibly, the idea seems sound since it urges voters to ensure that songs aren’t extraneous – but am I the only one who thinks that such a decision encourages voters to vote for the best use of a song and not for the merit of the song itself? Case in point: Rahaman’s “If I Rise” in 127 Hours – I’ll withhold judgement on the song’s actual value but few can deny that the moment said song is played in 127 Hours all but demands that it emerges as a serious contender in the race. And it’s not that loathe Danny Boyle (I haven’t seen most of his early work) it’s the sort of obsequious attempts at being relevant and hip (incidentally, qualities that suffused Slumdog Millionaire) which prevents me from being altogether enthusiastic about 127 Hours.

It’s James Franco’s show and the third notable performance of his this year – the third character inspired by true events. First, the aspiring actor/lover of Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat Pray Love, second the revolutionary poet Alan Ginsberg in Howl and now Aaron Ralston in 127 Hours. The role reminded me of Nina Sayers in the much fêted Black Swan. Like in Portman in Black Swan, more so even, Franco is required to carry the film on his shoulders whilst experiencing intense suffering that makes him a sort of shoo-in for awards’ recognition. Excuse the cynicism, I wouldn’t posit that it’s impossible to appreciate either performances on their own merit but I’m constantly wondering if awards’ voters are voting for what they’re actually attracted to or if they’re enticed by the cinematic conceits that set up an actor in a role that almost demands they gain attention for. Franco’s natural winsome nature is his strongest tool here. Unlike Spencer Tracy in The Old Man & the Sea or even Tom Hanks in Cast Away he’s also buoyed by the narrative and the fact that the circumstances resulting in his isolation are more pressing.

Boyle overdoes it, though, with direction that’s so officious I often found myself questioning his decisions. I couldn’t help but think of Sofia Coppola’s Somewhere, which I’d screened the day before I saw 127 Hours. Basic differences aside, both films were similar in attempting to show the development (or lack thereof) of a protagonist who was in a state of physical stagnation. In Boyle’s defence I could presume that his intrusiveness is an attempt to emulate Aaron’s own sensibilities but the decision seems questionable and doesn’t always benefit the story. True, this tendency of his serves to emphasise the technicalities of the film – like the very agitated editing and cinematography and most notably the sound design, which is especially commendable. Yet, there’s the striking sense that overemphasising these technical aspects do little – if anything – to enhance Aaron’s plight, in what should be a character study, he vetoes any attempt at poignancy (although,  maybe, there isn't any poignancy in the character) and instead goes for a deliberate faux-sense of being current, I can almost hear the film tapping itself on the shoulder, Don't I look cool?. It’s not so much that there’s an excess of tonal shifts, but the potentially sedate story seems deliberately over stylised to make it unnecessarily jaunty which in the end seems subversive when the ending comes and he closes it all with a the grave realisation of life’s value and whatnot.

Danny Boyle has a talent for the visceral – and he knows to keep the audience interested and whatever its flaws 127 Hours is rarely dull. It’s nowhere near a terrible film and instead reminds me of a film like The Town – vaguely engaging but rarely giving anything more than transient pleasure. I look at its coolness and think, Hmmm, that's interesting....what's for dinner?

            

It seems like a a weird parallel to make, but for the first third of Sofia Coppola's Somewhere- and sometime onward - I couldn't stop thinking about Rob Marshall's Nine. Earlier this week Joe Reid (of the hip and funny Low Resolution) tweeted that it's difficult to accuse a movie centring on aimlessness of aimlessness and it brought me back to Guido Contini's indecisiveness and Marshall's conceit of framing the entire film in that same interlude of vacillation of his protagonist. It's something that the critics didn't take too kindly to. And, although, the critical reaction to Somewhere hasn't been as irresolutely damning, it hasn't been particularly positive either; which is a pity. Like Nine, though the ostensible indolence of the protagonist seems to suggest a film with no point - and ultimately no merit - Coppola's Somewhere -- is a film created with aplomb and evidence that films need not have an overreaching "point" to be good.

Judging from how harsh my grade reactions to most films seem, you'd think that I expect a film to present me with much in order for me to appreciate it. But, I'm not in support of the idea that film - or any other artwork - should give us some seminal perspective on life and the issues we face in it. When it comes Somewhere it probably emerges as devoid of any significant "answers" to the big questions in life, but Somewhere is an ultimately internal exercise. Even though Jack's Hollywood problems seem to exist as an allegory for any random actor in Hollywood Coppola is least interested in Hollywood as a character and easy to discern that his profession - like a host of things he experiences - is just incidental. It's the sort of script that demands an actor who's a bit of an anomaly, someone able to externally establish things that should be internalised without making it ostentatious. One of the hooks that that didn't immediately jump out at me was the pair of strippers who come to dance for Jack. Dorff's expression is one of wanness that's jarring - not only because of the potential inappropriateness (considering the, situation) but because that's an expression he seems to have on his face *a lot*. You'd be wrong if you think that that's evidence of Dorff's limitations, though. It's an awareness of character that's striking and especially profound.

                    

Were it not for a somewhat injudicious move from the Foreign Press Association a few weeks ago, The Tourist would have managed to pass us by with nary a peep from outraged film enthusiasts about its awfulness. I’m not sure awful is the right accreditation to give it – it’s the sort of gloriously ineffectual thriller/comedy/action film that does little to add anything significant to the year in film, but doesn’t too much to destroy it either – not for me, at least. The film focuses on Elise, the sort of woman you’d expect to turn up in some film noir as she has experiences that don’t seem to be particularly linked by plot. Suffice to say, the plot isn’t the strongpoint of the venture – truth is, you’d be hardpressed to find any strongpoint. It all meanders on in that very humdrum that’s neither terrible nor excellent. It’s as such, though, that Jolie’s natural charisma manages to be one of the things I latch on to easily. 

For someone so obviously beautiful it’s strange that she hasn’t played a role playing up to her looks as much, and it’s not that The Tourist depends on her looks – but from the long opening of Elise sashaying down the streets of Paris – you can’t deny that it’s a help. I’m not averse to actors playing themselves, since playing one’s self isn’t necessarily easy, and Jolie seems to just be existing with the palpable sense that the entire spectacle is fairly ridiculous. If the point of the venture was to see which superstar could out-act the other without really acting Depp fails miserably because there’s absolutely nothing interesting about his characterisation – not that there’s anything decidedly interesting about Elise either, but Angelina is nothing if not demanding of your attention. I will say, though, that the film is at its strongest (remember, this on a curve) when the two are together – even if it’s Jolie doing the heavy lifting. So, even when we’re tossed back into the rote machinations of secrets to be revealed and the usual “surprises” it’s still interesting watching her not being phased by it at all...which makes it ironic that she makes the Razzie’s shortlist and Depp doesn’t. Truth be told, I wouldn’t campaign for either of them on a Worst of List because even in his blandness Depp isn’t as offensive as he was in Alice in Wonderland (one of the things that prevented from loving Burton’s spectacle, though I did have more appreciation for it than most). In the grand scheme of things there’s not much to see here – and though its blandness is a fault, I don't think there's that much to criticise. Moreover, considering the madness the Globes have embraced over the past few years I’m a bit nonplussed as to why people are so averse to this particular one. Ah well.

Ryan Gosling has a strange acting tic, he has a tendency to look especially tense when he’s acting. Maybe, maybe, this has to do with the fact that the characters he plays are always fittingly tense – but I always expect to see him turn up for the role with creases in his brow. It’s as such that even though I had no prior knowledge of the story behind All Good Things I wasn’t surprised when his bathetic youngster turned into an especially tense man. Incidentally, one of the problems I end up having with All Good Things is the fact that Gosling’s very stoic male becomes the protagonist of the film – a somewhat sensationalised account of a marriage gone wrong. All Good Things doesn’t cover new ground, and that in itself is not the issue – good cinema is not synonymous with ingenious filmmaking (though, the crossover is there). In fact one can discern a good movie fighting to come out of the stiltedness that Andrew Jarecki creates.

What annoys me the most about All Good Things is the pacing and writing. It’s so obvious how it’s done that the entire thing just screams “Lifetime movie”. Hinchey’s script seems more intent on shocking us with the “twist” than with actually letting the story unfold, so that halfway through when things take a turn for the worse what was initially a generally languid exercise becomes agitated and quickly paced. It’s an annoying intensity that’s exacerbated by Mychel Danna’s obnoxious score. I can’t remember the last time I felt the urge to get up and slap a composer for such terribly officious work. Still, All Good Things is saved from being irredeemable by a beautiful performance from Kirsten Dunst. Sure, everyone else is buzzing about that other child actress all grown-up this year and the role that Dunst’ is offered up is nowhere as eclectic – but it’s a lovely watching her do her utmost with a role that’s undercooked. Gosling freeness is nice to observe in the first half of the movie but his intensity is overwhelming in the latter half, and not in a necessarily good way. He’s nowhere near as intrusive as Frank Langella who seems to think he’s still on the set of Frost/Nixon. He’s already playing a stifling role and his delivery makes the film come off as even more claustrophobic.

You’d walk away from All Good Things hoping that Kirsten Dunst gets a good role, and fast. It’s difficult to hate the film when she’s around to inject some life into it, which makes it all the more dismal that she leaves before the final act goes anywhere.

Honestly, I don’t get the guilds. From the WGA consistently qualifying screenplays that didn’t follow their format to the SAG nominating films for Ensemble Cast and missing out on key actors. I was especially annoyed when An Education earned an Ensemble Nod and Cara Seymour and Olivia Williams failed to get mention, and this year they were at it again. I suppose, in theory, with legendary thespians around you’re bound to get forgotten but it’s a damn shame for

                       

One of the things that’s most obviously great about Cholodenko’s work in The Kids Are All Right is her ability to juggle the storylines of the main quintet without ever short-changing any of them – but it’s a sort of disservice to her and Blumberg when we think of only the main quintet they’re not the only characters in the film that exude authenticity. Tanya is Paul co-worker at the vineyard and his on-and-off again lover. And, true, in theory she’s essentially a sounding board for Paul to voice his insecurities, but I love how she’s not written narrowly as a flat character. Moreover, I love the little things DaCosta does with the performance. She has a winning charisma about her and I just love that early conversation where Paul is telling her that he can’t believe they used his stuff. She responds with: “Why not? I’d use it.” With this type of character who’s literally acting on the sidelines it’s important to get line-readings down, and DaCosta does it beautifully. It’s part of the charm of The Kids Are All Right that has you feeling you can reach out and touch all the characters.

                                          

Tanya is probably most noticeable by her Foxxy Cleopatra hair from the eighties, and I probably being a bit too anal when I wonder if that faux-eighties hear is redolent of the faux-African necklace she wears recalling some deeper meaning (probably just me). I love that scene, though, where that other worker comes in and Tanya is all mocking – “I thought you should have the first taste...of my pussy.” Another line-reading I’m always liable to remember, not that she’s only good with the readings, though. As Paul shifts into the lives of Jules and the children you kind of get that he and Tanya are heading nowhere. Like that first time he turns down their liaison, her face is just a little disappointed – but it doesn’t go on too long (kudos to the Jeffrey Werner’s excellent editing). And that final scene where they do part ways manages to have some semblance of profundity because we’ve actually come to care about DaCosta’s kooky sidekick. And the fact that the film is only 90 minutesa and still get that sort of a relationship with a palpably secondary character is something worthy applauding – not only Choldenko and Blumberg, but DaCosta too.