Johnny Simmons

The entirety of Conviction depends on us believing that Betty Anne Waters is so devoted to her brother that she spend her life studying to get him out of prison. In theory, it seems like something any sibling would do, but it’s a special sort of devotion and though Sam Rockwell’s charisma suggests that he’s the type of rebel that people want to help I hate that Goldwyn does a disservice to his story by providing us with a stronger clarification for that arc. The occasional flashbacks touching on them as children don’t suffice, although I give him (grudging) credit for it. And, it’s not that he errs in not devoting enough time to it – it’s just one of the (many) ways that Conviction doesn’t sell itself as a cinematic entity. Compare that relationship to Becca and Izzy in Rabbit Hole. That relationship isn’t at the forefront of the film, but in two short scenes Lindsay-Abaire and Mitchell give us the strengths and weaknesses in that liaison – of course, buoyed by the good work being done by Blanchard and Kidman (more on Tammy). Filial love is probably a disingenuous title for this article, though I’d intimate that in any sort of rapport between siblings could be traced back to filial love – let’s examine 2010’s crop.

One of the singular deficiencies in Animal Kingdom, which I’m even wary of calling an actual deficiency, is the relationship that J’s mother had with her siblings and mother. “Mum kept me away from her family” is striking in its vagueness, and Janine’s bit on why they stopped talking is obviously a smokescreen for something else – but what? I often found myself thinking what sort of a relationship she had with her brothers. It’s a bit difficult to extrapolate anything close to love among the three brothers. Craig, in his sincerity, grieves for Baz – but Baz isn’t a brother. And in that subdued scene where Darren and Pope prepare for the funeral the dejectedness seems less about grief for Craig and more of a general discontent with their lives. Aaron Johnson’s Graham – the eponymous Greatest of his film – dies and leaves a grieving family, and a wayward brother, and I feel a bit awful for not even mentioning Johnny Simmons as a semi-finalist for his work here. He’s still an actor learning the ways, but it’s interesting watching the way he decides to show grief for his brother.

        

Thandie Newton is all sorts of fabulous in For Colored Girls, and there’s an arc where she sees her sister (Tessa Thompson) heading down the same path as she did. Newton has always had a natural prickliness in her performances and that makes her work even more striking here as she responds not with sympathy but with a laugh at a key moment in the narrative. It’s the sort of bottling of emotions that defines most of the women in For Colored Girls, but Newton’s Tangie is especially dangerous because these emotions burst out at the strangest points. In a way, that way in which she cares for her sister by not caring is indicative of Dicky and Micky in The Fighter. I keep getting the urge to give The Fighter a new and more interesting title (The Family, Brothers) and the second one especially would suffice here. It’s not incidental that the very first image of the film is Dicky and Micky together, since it’s that relationship that functions as an impetus for every other plotpoint in the film. And by omission you could probably say the same of the sisterly rapport between Anne-Marie Duff and Kristin Scott Thomas in Nowhere Boy. It’s difficult to deny that the two women are golden opposite each other, and it’s wrong to hope they had more scenes to do so – it’s not their story. But Mimi’s attitude towards Julia (and by extension John) is a significant arc of the story.

           

One of my favourite running arcs in Scott Pilgrim vs the World is those phone calls Stacey makes to Scott in his lowest points. I still don’t buy Stacy as Scott’s little sister – but the chemistry between Kendrick and Cera sell what should be an example of a terrible sibling relationship, but in actuality is not really. And, I sort of don’t want to say that Bertie and Edward have an awful relationship in The King’s Speech though that significant moment at Edward’s party where Pearce so wonderfully imitates his stutter is almost horrific – not because of its teasing way, but because it’s so glibly done – as if it’s the usual way to treat Bertie (wish that arc could have been examined more). And then I think of The Kids Are All Right. Hutcherson and Wasikowska are so obviously on the same wavelength – another example of how brilliant this cast is. It’s difficult for me not to call them my favourite sibling relationship of the year even though they have few actual scenes together – those moments when they’ll catch each others’ eye across the table for a slight roll of the eyes underscores – perfectly, and promptly – that tenuous thing called filial love.

           

Blue Valentine, which I’m yet to review, offers up what is probably the most stagnant portrayal of marriages that’s potentially off-putting in its desire to capture that tedium that marriage sometime reaches. I can’t decide if it’s my favourite portrayal of marital bliss (or lack thereof) this year since it has the advantage of focusing resolutely on the marital relations between the lead characters. Chloe pretends that it’s interested in examining the stagnancy of marriage but that’s just really a smokescreen for Egoyan’s agenda (not that I’m really sure what those are). This year wasn’t one full of romance – or of marriage, expect in incidental bits. We could probably add Rabbit Hole and The Kids Are All Right to Blue Valentine as two that deal significantly with it – though it’s not the main arc in either. I still think it’ difficult to pinpoint a single theme for The Kids Are All Right, since sperm donation seems especially vague and unsatisfactory – and that moment where Jules confronts her family to give her semi-soliloquy of sorts (Julianne’s strongest moment) functions as a major plot point for the film. Rabbit Hole is about dealing with grief, but like its potentially precise tagline (the only way out is through) the only way to assess Becca and Howie’s reaction to their son’s death is to examine marriage.

In The Greatest something similar occurs. When Susan and Sarandon take in the woman that’s carrying their dead son’s child – Pierce’s Allen reaches out to her getting some sort of closure, something that Susan’s Grace is lacking. The Greatest is an imperfect flick but it has its moments and though the two seem like a very odd couple, The Greatest is more obvious (not necessarily a bad thing) in examining how grief pulls a family apart. Unlike, Rabbit Hole, they don’t start the story eight months after the death. Brosnan was no stranger to tenuous marriages this year, though, playing opposite Olivia Williams in The Ghost Writer. I’d say he was better opposite Sarandon even The Ghost Writer is a better film. The marriage between Adam and Ruth is very incidental in The Ghost Writer, and Polanski doesn’t seem interested in it for its own sake – just for plot purposes, which – to an extent – is how Cobb and Mal’s relationship emerges in Inception. True, Marion Cotillard’s wonderful actressing is responsible for creating an emotional centre of sorts for Inception, its methodical way is sorely lacking in that department. I’m not fond of Leo here, though he soars most in his scenes opposite Marion – but as interesting as the arc is, it’s still Nolan’s most unconvincing.

That potentially unconvincing marriage makes me think of the King & Queen in The King’s Speech. I’m still fascinated by that arc in the film, even if Bonham Carter’s Queen Mother and her inclinations are poorly addressed. More than Rush’s admittedly good work, the film has its strongest grasp on me in two scenes – Bertie’s disastrous first meeting with that kooky voice coach, and that story he tells his daughters with the Queen silent in the background. Helena’s face has always been an enigma, but it’s even more exasperating here because she’s not playing an ostensibly mysterious character. I’d love to see Hooper (or maybe, Seidler) revisit this marriage since I’d be more invested in that relationship – though The King’s Marriage doesn’t have much of a ring to it. A bit like Eat Pray Love – Julia does all three beautifully, and her general charisma is invaluable, but my favourite portion of the film is neither eating, praying nor loving. I’m still overly fond of that New York chapter, and though I’ve been remiss in mentioning him Billy Crudup is intriguing opposite Roberts. Instead of Gilbert’s somewhat selfserving trip around the world, I’d not have minded a simple deconstruction of that marriage relationship. As little love as I have for Hofencer’s Please Give, though, I’ll laud it for the relationship between Platt and Keener which is handled so sensitively that I’m surprised at how insincere how everything around it seems. Maybe it only seems good in perspective. 

Patricia Clarkson played two wives this year, and the marriages seemed incidental in both. It’s difficult to deny the awesomeness of her and Stanley Tucci in Easy A, but Cairo Time is a puzzle – it’s perhaps the flipside to Blue Valentine. Juliette seems to be experiencing a bit of tedium in her marriage, though even that seems like too active of a word. That gentle placidity is one of the smartest things about Cairo Time, how it just all floats around, not aimless but not assertively. And more than Blue Valentine’s almost shocking teidum Juliette's dissonance in Cairo (most of the time without her husband) is probably the strongest example of a marriage gone stale, but not a bad marriage.

         

Marriage is hard, and it’s even harder making them work cinematically. Which married couples stood out last 2010 for you?

One of my favourite blogging traditions of this season is StinkyLulu’s supporting actress blog-a-thon. I can’t profess as unmitigated a love for the category as our venerable host, but time and time again it’s the supporting women who offer up surprising gems that, of course, go unnoticed. One of the terrible things about being deprived of sleep and overly busy, though, is missing out on events like these which meant I took some time to compile a post, or even decide on a performance to feature. My decision to choose Blanchard wasn’t rooted in a desire to go against the grain, the fact is I was mulling over the idea of Dianne Wiest in just because she’s so brilliant and then it occurred to me that the mainstay of StinkyLulu’s feature was celebrating those supporting actors forever on the sidelines – but still doing excellent work – which made Tammy Blanchard’s Izzie an obvious one to write on.

                                

Blanchard, probably most noted for her excellent work as Judy Garland in ABC docudrama Life With Judy Garland: Me & My Shadows, plays Kidman’s somewhat wayward younger sister. I’m still generally flummoxed at the tepid response to Rabbit Hole (my review). Sure, the critics have responded positively but the film has, thus far, made a mere $500,00 at the box-office and other than Kidman’s admittedly stellar work is being virtually ignored by every single awards’ body. David Lindsay-Abaire’s script doesn’t thrive on being especially rote, even though Izzie ostensibly exists as the ying to Becca’s Yang. She’s not really that wayward, even if her first introduction to us is after a bar fight. It’s not the fight that’s important, though, it’s watching the relationship between Becca and Izzie being set up right there. 

All through their conversation it’s not so much that she’s baiting her sister, but Izzie is already used to this and I just love the little moments where the slightest of tics enunciate that. Rabbit Hole moves along gradually and Lindsay-Abaire doesn’t come out immediately and tell us that the main duo is a grieving couple, but the clues are there and not in a thriller-esque way....but in the sort of way we’re given an idea – but not explicitly told. That moment the next morning when Becca finds out that Izzie’s pregnant works a bit like the aforementioned scene. Izzie is deliberately playing her role as the relaxed sibling, but she’s feeling out Becca’s response all along. True, the writing is of special importance, but Blanchard’s interpretation is just as engaging. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Becca asks, and you get the feeling that she really didn’t want to know which makes Blanchard’s response of “Why’d you think?” so important. It’s one of our first “clues” and I love how it rolls off her tongue – when the movie ends and we have all the pieces it’s makes sense that her response is so glib.

    

Blanchard’s realisation of the role is essential to the tone which Mitchell creates. She can’t act over Nicole – this is her story – and her arc isn’t as easily definable as Wiest’s Nat. She’s a sort of observer, who just so happens to be participating and her intense eyes are an asset. In the same way that you can discern Becca constantly scoping out those around her, you can see Izzie constantly scoping out Becca. For all its deliberateness, Lindsay-Abaire’s script is notable for leaving so much room for thought and it’s as if Blanchard knows that whatever Izzie says – although ostensibly leisurely – is more than just incidental as far as Becca’s concerned. She’s immediately freaked out at the idea of having her child-to-be in her dead nephew’s clothes, and from just watching her eyes dart you know she’s thinking of a way to establish this sensitively. Moreover, it’s the single moment in the film where I realise that it’s not just Becca and Howie who’ve lost someone – Nat and Izzie have lost a relative too. Blanchard’s voice cracks ever-so-slightly as she says how weird it would be seeing her son running around in Danny’s clothes. She knows her sister well enough to know that even though she says she’s fine. When Becca leaves she glances in her direction and her expression there speaks volumes. It’s her lot as a supporting player, and perhaps that is Izzie’s lot as the daughter of a scene-stealer and the sister of a reticent control-freak. The sort of family who get into an argument at your birthday birthday, you have to watch closely to note just how annoyed she is with the situation.

I’m in the process of reviewing 2010 in film with special focus at the moment on Forgotten Characters. Few seem to have remembered her – and Blanchard would make an ideal candidate (regular readers can consider this as Episode Four in 2010 Forgotten Characters). What I love most about Rabbit Hole, though, is the feeling that there’s still another movie going on after the credits roll and I do wonder what will become of Izzie and Auggie. Blanchard has been relegated to middling TV fare but she’s consistently done better than the role deserves (case in point: an undervalued in We Were the Mulvaney’s). Her Izzy here is a plot point, but that doesn’t prevent her from making an impression on me. And really, we wouldn’t be able to appreciate the eccentricities of Becca if we couldn’t value them against her sister. And in that way, Blanchard’s work is more than just interesting – it’s an essential to Rabbit Hole.

There are few things more annoying than watching a film being praised for all the wrong reasons. More than that, it’s more exasperating how an unremarkable performance from a film can be praised while others remain in the background both literally and figurative. I suppose the fact that it wasn’t a big role accounts for its forgotten states, but I’m still especially fond of

I think we can all agree that Helena Bonham Carter was the best-in-show in Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland (reviewed here) and true, even those who’ve mistakenly (in my book) given support to Depp’s work in the film agree on that. What I wish they’d take time out to note is the fact that Crispin Clover’s second-in-command to the diabolical Red Queen easily emerges as the film’s most notable male performance. Bonham Carter has a terrifying screen presence that’s put to full use here and in all her tyranny Glover must be the diplomatic bridge between the Queen’s constant freak-outs and those she freaks out upon. Naturally, he himself has pent-up hatred for the Queen. Woolverton’s resolution to their relationship which only reinforces the poorness of the screenplay but watching Glover’s very slick Knave opposite Bonham Carter’s very fiery Queen is a treat. Because the Red Queen is so officious he ends up having to spend a great deal of time playing reactionary shots that he absolutely sells. There’s something a little creepy about him (put to excellent use in Charlie’s Angels), but he tempers the creepiness – and where the screenplay is doing nothing to help him out he creates the Knave as a very interesting anti-hero who you want to know more of.

                           

There’s that moment where Um, Alice in disguise is at the Red Queen’s lair – fine her castle – and there’s that confusion as to what her name is. Helena is just a treasure there, but it’s interesting watching Stayne’s face as he thinks he’s one-upped our Ladyship. Well, he has actually – but they haven’t realised it. It’s that sort of reactionary consistency – notice he’s always excessively glib when the Queen has her freak-outs to the point of disinterest – that manages to make Woolverton’s script not good, but better than abysmal. I hate and love that about-face moment where he tries to kill the Red Queen at the film’s end. I hate it because you sort of wish that their dysfunctional relationship could thrive, but it makes sense in a way and Glover does a good job of pulling it off. As he tells her, “It is far better to be feared than loved.” He’s just after the best meal ticket – and getting banished means he has no need for her anymore. Either way he’s a nice bit of fun in an ensemble that has some hits (Bonham Carter, Hathaway) and just as many misses (Depp, Wasikowska) and even though his seduction of Alice makes me shake my head it does spawn my favourite line of his – “I like you, Um. I like largeness.” Priceless.

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.

                           

It’s that time of year when the internet is virtually flooded with a slew of Best of Lists. I’m no year ready to turn the lights off on 2010. There are still a number of releases I’d like to see before I compile my personal picks, but now is as good a time as any to return my running feature Forgotten Characters, focusing specifically on the characters of 2010 in film. There’s a smorgasbord of picks to choose from, and this should probably carry me until the end of January which is about when I should start working on my year end awards. 

I decided I'd restart the feature with what's arguably the most talked about film of the year, Nolan's Inception - which I liked, in spots. I know a few expected Inception to be nominated for Ensemble Cast at the Screen Actors' Guild Awards, I didn't though. Of Nolan's features, it has the strongest cast but it's also the least inspired work he's gotten from an ensemble. Still, though Marion's Mal sort of steamrolled everyone around her there's another performance that I keep recalling - alone...

Everyone is playing a distinctive "type" in Inception (my review), and as the literal scene of the crime to be done Murphy must play Fischer in the register of the oft-forgotten, somewhat bitter son so I'm even more proud of Murphy for managing to turn in what's probably the most emotional arc of the entire film. He's lucky, because aside from the Cobb/Mal fiasco he's the only character who has an actual backstory, and to Nolan's credit as simplistic as it is it's never tawdry. What I appreciate even more, though, is how Murphy plays it - it's as Fischer is in his own film and he's just crossing paths with the Inception folks. Like that early scene with the toy windmill. It's the sort of emotional nuances you don't expect to see (and that you sort of wish was more prevalent in the film).

                                                      

It sort of makes me feel a tad more sympathetic towards him that we're essentially going through an entire film feeding him a lie, and though that emotional centerpiece is nowhere near as delicately developed as Mal's madness it makes me appreciate Cillian more. I'm often feeling out-of-the-loop when it comes to him; as if I should like him more - but I'm rarely given a palpable reason to. Not that he breaks new ground with Fischer in Inception, but it's the sort of well played characterisation that's always well appreciated especially when it's possible to play the entire thing in a one-note register that most wouldn't mind. So, that final scene where he brushes shoulders with Cobb in the airport I wonder just what happens to Robert afterwards....

                    

                

(All the FORGOTTEN)