Johnny Simmons

Today’s the birthday of Meryl Streep, insert description of her laurels here – yada yada ya. I’m not the biggest fan of Meryl, which most of you know but I go absolutely crazy for her work in The Hours. With the exception of her excellent voicework in The Fantastic Mr. Fox it’s my favourite performance of hers which was done in my lifetime. It was on TV the other day and I only caught the last forty minutes but it’s still beautiful to watch. Officially, my favourite portion is Virginia’s but really each part of the trio is excellent. Sure, Meryl is a chameleon and what not but she has one of the warmest off-screen dispositions I’ve seen and one of the reasons I love her Clarissa Vaughn so much is the warmth she brings to the character. Next to Dillane’s Leonard (an often underrated triumph) she’s probably the only character who’s not completely broken. It remains as one of the most exasperating Oscar snubs for me. I love this thinking shot. (It's so ironic because she's so organic and non-technical here.)

Happy birthday, Meryl. I may dislike you on principal for breaking Katharine Hepburn’s nomination thrice over, but Clarissa eviscerates any bad feelings. What's your favourite Meryl from 1990-2011?

Part of my ongoing Birthday Marathon (four days to go until D-Day. And my birthday is on D-Day.)
   
After I finished my poetry course this semester I gave my lecturer a copy of Bright Star. Keats was one of the 19th century poets we were studying so I considered it apt. Bright Star, after multiple viewings, still leaves me entrance and I’d wager that it’s not just because of the excellent cinematography. Cinema might be my biggest love, but literature was my first. So, even if it doesn’t retain primary residence in my heart anymore it does have irrevocable tenancy. This is why I’m so fond of films where the two coalesce.

ours, Even though Bright Star is hardly Keats’ story – not exclusively, at least, Campion still manages to retain that saturation of bliss that I’ve come to think of when I remember the Romantic era. It reminds me of that other gem on a literary figure – Shakespeare in Love.It’s odd, like Bright Star there are moments when Shakespeare in Love seems more fascinated by its heroine that the great man behind her (or in front of her?). Fanny and Viola both get the juiciest bits of the film and both films end with them taking a walk of solitude. Abbie might not have gotten an Oscar nomination (she and the film were egregiously absent from the awards that year) but her performance like tends to endure much more than Whishaw’s in the same way that almost everyone seems top have forgotten how brilliant Fiennes was. Unfortunately.

         

I love The Hours and I think that the triage of women dole out some of their finest performances but like any film which has the narratives divvied up, I can’t help but pick a favourite and it’s Virginia’s portion which I find most appealing. You’d think that something like writing a novel would make for a tedious viewing experience but Stephen Daldry (shamefully underrated, despite those three Oscar nods) some keen visionary concepts on making it work.

        

I’m willing to bet that any assiduous director could make a fine piece on some literary stalwarts. (Just as there are some which are less than exemplary.) I’m not certain as to the precise shortcoming of Becoming Jane but it’s an incredibly turgid experience. I’m almost certain that any target audience of such a film would be a literary fanatic and Becoming Jane seems to have forgotten that (which is a shame, because Austen seems like a capital woman). Even though it’s hardly an impeccable cinematic entity the honesty with which Richard Eyre approaches the life of Iris Murdoch makes for an earnest (if occasionally docile) tale. And he manages to churn out three excellent performances. So, kudos there.

        

Whatever became of that F. Scott Fitzgerald movie? I could probably put forth a host of literary folk I’d like to get their cinematic treatment, beginning with Tennessee Williams. What say you?

So, 2011 is here and I still have outstanding posts from 2010. So just because I just have to complete the list I’ll give it now, even though it’s dreadfully overdue. I gave you fifteen runners up a couple of months ago – tear jerking moments of the aughts. Here are the final ten. Sometimes it’s difficult to pinpoint the actual cause of tears shed vicariously for cinematic creations, but these ten are most salient.

Potentially Heavy Spoilers ahead: Be Warned

The more I see Brokeback Mountain the less I like it, Michelle Williams is still the only thing I find egregiously poor about it – and it’s still a fine film, just not one I’d go crazy over. I’m never even that convinced of the brilliance that is Heath Ledger’s performance in it (I’d probably pick Jake for best in show); well until the last few moments, that is. The older his character grows the better grip Ledger seems to have on himand that line at the end of the film is just a brilliant line reading. It’s sort of an encapsulation of all the things about the film and Heath makes it work brilliantly. Depressingly.

The entire closing monologue of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a well handled tearjerker. I’d say it’s prosaic, and I wouldn’t mean it as insult. It’s a bit like a role-call of sorts and seeing all the persons who’ve played a role in Benjamin’s life makes me teary eyed for some reason. And, of course, it’s that final line for Daisy that’s the cinch. Fincher’s epic, of sorts, will continue to be polarising but I’ll continue to be a big fan of it.

I’ll be honest, sometimes Bright Star is just a lesson in poetic sadness. It’s that much more brilliant because it’s moving even when it’s just being glib about it. The final scene that Ben and Abbie share together comes to mind immediately. The two have had a fairytale romance of sorts (unconsummated) and both know that he’s going to die in Italy. They lie on the bed, their bodies making a heart, and talk about the future that will never happen. I deliberately avoid romances like these, but I don’t what it is that makes Jane Campion’s tale so brilliant – it’s a “you had to be there” experience”. It’s easily the saddest part of the film for me…a relationship heading nowhere, and fast.

Is there anything more of a killer in 19th century literature than consumption? It’s weird – we already know Satine is dying but Baz distracts us with the elephant medley so that Satine’s death manages to still be surprising and even more ridiculously depressing

I singled out Clarissa Vaughn as my favourite Streep performance of the past decade. She has many moments of brilliance – a number of them opposite Ed Harris; but it’s a solitary scene opposite Jeff Daniels that fits the bill here. The two are reminiscing about their mutual friend and Clarissa gets too caught up in the pass, it’s an odd moment – and probably difficult to pull off. She moves from lucid to snivelling in almost a split second. Her line reading of “Don’t come any closer” is a favourite of mine. I’ve said it before, I don’t always love Streep but when she impresses me it’s brilliant.

I don’t know if it’s just me, but for some reason Fernando Mereilles’ 2005 tour de force (says me) The Constant Gardener doesn’t seem to get the appreciation it deserves. It’s impeccably helmed by Mereilles and despite occasional snatches of incongruity the brilliant performances of Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz make up for it. The Constant Gardener is many things in one – a love story, a thriller, an espionage tale...on and on. In the final moments of the film we may have realised the “whodunit” of the entire thing but there’s no closure until the ghost of Tessa shows up to lead Justin away. It sounds so very schmaltzy but there’s some honest and wonderful about it. Weisz and Fiennes really work excellently together and that (imagined) reunion is just a fine bit of emotion, well played.

Why is the end of Atonement so sad? I can’t say; it just is. Unfulfilled dreams are always depressing, and Vanessa Redgrave is all kinds of brilliant (but that’s a given). She only needs a few moments to make me gloomy, and with the camera on her alone for so much of that monologue she delivers completely. Bring on the waterworks.

We see a number of deaths in The Lord of the Rings series, but it’s the first (main) one that I find the most striking. Sean Bean’s Boromir is unfortunately forgotten, but he’s excellent. He has the tough task of playing the anti-Aragorn character and his final moments are probably the most moving part of the first film. It’s when he tells Aragorn, “I would have followed you, my captain” that’s the cinch though. Mortensen’s facial response is golden.

Revolutionary Road would definitely easily make it on any list of most depressing films of the aughts, well ever to be honest. Depressing, though it is (really, this was one of the most emotionally draining films of the aughts for me), I still can’t help admiring it. It’s a tug-of-war as to who comes out on top – Kate or Leo. They both do excellent work and Kate’s final scenes already make you a little tearful, but as far as tear jerking goes it’s all Leo. When he finds out about April death’s it’s the film’s most harrowing moment (and that’s saying a lot). It all culminates in him running (and crying), from the hospital, from April from the mistakes. It’s a nice bit of direction from Mendes and it’s a brilliant moment for Leo.

The biggest tearjerker of the decade for me wasn’t even any singular moment of sadness – it was just the culmination of hours upon hours of epic fantasy. I was never a big fan of Frodo (Tolkien’s Frodo or Jackson’s) but the final moments of the film as he makes his way away from the Shire as Sam makes his way back works well in its simplicity. But it’s when Annie Lennox’s “Into the West” comes on that the sadness really sinks in. I’m not sure if it’s sadness per se but it’s something akin – okay, maybe it was exhaustion. Still, it’s definitely the biggest reason for waterworks this past decade, for me.

                 

The first film that came to my mind which possibly gives it away to some of you, but there it goes (and no if you guess I’m not telling you; yet). I didn’t want to post about it just yet though. So I racked my brains…lies actually, three other films jump out at me. What makes us tearful? Death does, departure does, and inertia does. It makes me lose some significant “cool” points but I shed a tear for each.

I understand that we only get a day in the lives of each character, and only so much can happen in a day, but it’s depressing how even though so much seems to happen nothing really changes. Or instead, it’s strange how the more things change, the more…they don’t. Clarissa probably moves the furthest, but even that is volatile. Laura Brown’s life has been wrought with regrets; Richard’s life was (for him) a disaster, and Virginia Woolf’s life is enough of an exercise in ennui and sadness that even the world’s biggest cynic could be moved.

The Remains of the Day, ironically being the last of the successful films from Merchant Ivory, has an ending so bleak it can’t NOT make me just a little teary eyed. Stevens reunion with the former head-maid should be more momentous, she knows it. He’s too set in his ways to reciprocate, too set in his ways to be anything but to stoic (albeit polite) man he was raised as. When Emma Thompson tearfully waves goodbye to him…who can blame her?

I can never hear Bernstein / Sondheim’s “Somewhere” with getting depressed (but I’m a masochist, so I keep on listening). I’ll keep on saying that I think Richard Beymer is remarkable in West Side Story, as is Natalie Wood (of course). It makes me sadder than Romeo & Juliet because at least they were down with their deaths (well, a little). I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that he dies with a song, or maybe it’s Natalie’s rant afterwards (what a monologue!). Whatever it is, it makes me want to cry. Yes indeed, yes indeed. (and they killed Russ Tamblyn? Who the hell does that?)

Screenplays are different from the actual films they precipitate. Quite often the screenplay ends up being my favourite of a film. It all begins with the screenplay really – here are the ones that I remember most clearly from the last decade.

Runners Up: (Alpha): Big Fish* – adapted (2003); Bright Star* – original (2009); Brokeback Mountain – adapted (2005); The Constant Gardener – adapted (2005); Corpse Bride* – original (2005); The Fantastic Mr. Fox – adapted (2009); In the Loop – adapted (2009); Little Miss Sunshine  – original (2006); Mean Girls* – adapted (2004); (2009); The Others* – original (2001)

       

Richie Cusack: “So you like that farm life? Milking cows and shit?”
Tom Stall: “I don't have a farm.”
Richie Cusack: [chuckling] “No? Fogarty thought you lived on some kind of farm. Said you could smell pig. How that old fart would know what a pig smells like, I don't know, but that's what he said.”

Visceral is not a word I find myself using often, but it’s the one that comes to mind immediately when I think of A History of Violence. It approaches an issue – a character with two sensibilities – in a manner that’s unorthodox and also quite sanguine. Its aim is not to shock, at least not unwarrantedly. In approaching the concept with such smoothness Tom Stall becomes a symbol for any man.

     

Billy: “When she returns, she gently wakes up Harry. Harry says, "What? I'm alone." She says, "Alone? You got two other women in bed with you ." So, get this. Harry says, Come on , doll . You gonna believe what you see or what I tell you?”

Marshall is not credited, though a significant amount of the idea emanates from him. Still, Condon does excellent here. He doesn’t get overwhelmed by Ebb and Kander’s standards and forget to make sure they’re resting on a dependable set of words. He raises the standard ensuring that the every scene exists as it should and the spoken scenes succeed as much as the musical ones.

        

Terry: “Where are we going?”
Sammy: “To pick up Rudy.”
Terry: “What, do you not even want me to come visit now?”
Sammy: “Of course I want you to visit, you idiot! I've been looking forward to seeing you from the moment I got your letter, I told everyone in town that you were coming home, I cleaned the whole fucking house just so it would look nice for you! I had no idea you were just broke again! I wish you'd just send me an invoice!”

A bitingly realistic and poignant look at filial love, it’s easy to forget and just see the excellent work being done by Ruffalo and Linney. Longergan crafts his screenplay with a surprising lack of pretentiousness, and even when we might hope for something a little more “movie-like” she’s careful to ensure that her characters are acting in keeping with the world he’s created for them.

Yussef: “I killed the American, I was the only one who shot at you. They did nothing... nothing. Kill me, but save my brother, he did nothing... nothing. Save my brother... he did nothing. ”

It’s simple to ignore because of Crash, which it’s mistakenly seen as a derivative of. It does tend to get a little bit too heavy-handed when delving into its symbolism but I forgive a few of its occasional missteps because in the greater realm of things I do treasure its ultimate result. The balancing between the three narratives is handled gracefully; and the message though obvious is not less profound for it.

Caroline: “On the good days, I feel like I get it, like it all makes sense. I can stay in the moment, I don't have to control everything in the future, and I believe everything is gonna work out fine. On the bad days I just want to grab the phone and start dialing numbers. I want to pull my hair and run through the streets screaming. But thanks to the people I've met in these rooms, like Margaret and Jim and Sarah, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna make it through today.” 

Another massive ensemble drama, Traffic depends significantly on its screenplay. It's riveting and it flies by, but it's also incredibly smart. Gaghan has an ear for dialogue, especially topical dialogue, and the script serves as an excellent appraisal of current affairs.

     

Erin: “I've been working, that is all I have been doing, what am I supposed to do check in with you every two seconds?” 
Brenda: “Yes, it's called accountability and...” 
Erin: “I'm not talking to you, bitch!”
Brenda: “Excuse me?” 
Erin: “Get out of my face!”

This is another one that’s often overlooked. Grant takes a concept that’s almost pedestrian – the hardworking heroine against the world – and creates a screenplay that’s uncluttered and not at all condescending. We forget at times that at the end of the day this film is ultimately a legal drama, because Grant is willing to touch on more than just a single issue in her script.

    

Helen: We should go shopping together one day, if you want.
Jenny: That would be nice. But South Ken, C'est beaucoup trop cher pour moi.
[Pause]
Helen: Sorry?
Jenny: I just said...It was too expensive for me.
Helen: No you didn't. You said something completely different.

Hornby has the admirable ability to push a host of ideas into a particularly short screenplay. Moreover, though it ostensibly focuses on something as singular as a girl’s “coming-of-age” each character, regardless of their relative importance, speaks words that are completely their own.

Chris: “The man who said "I'd rather be lucky than good" saw deeply into life. People are afraid to face how great a part of life is dependent on luck. It's scary to think so much is out of one's control. There are moments in a match when the ball hits the top of the net, and for a split second, it can either go forward or fall back. With a little luck, it goes forward, and you win. Or maybe it doesn't, and you lose.” 

On the surface it’s just Woody Allen’s perverse take on a classic tale, but underneath it’s a thoroughly original and almost subversive take on people in the world. It stings as much as it amuses and when you think it’s a trifle there’s always something deeper lurking below – if you’re willing to look closer.

      

Uncle Ed: “Are you trying to prove something to the family?”
Billy Costigan: “When you say "the family," who do mean exactly? You?”
Uncle Ed: “You always have to question everything, don't you?”
Billy Costigan: “Maybe it would have done you some good to have some *questions* from time to time, you know? Am I an asshole? Are my kids a mess? Is my wife a money-grubbing whore? I mean, those are questions, right? Have I ever been good to my dying sister or am I just now pretending to be?”

Monahan’s adaptation of the Asian drama is a beast of its own. Complete with little character idiosyncrasies that are all his Monahan’s piece is completely original – adaptation or not. The world he creates is probably fabricated but everything that occurs is rendered believable simply because of the sameness throughout the narrative.

Osbourne: “And you're my wife's lover?”
Ted: [shaking his head] “No.”
Osbourne: “Then what are you doing here? [pause] I know you. You're the guy from the gym.”
Ted: “I'm not here representing HardBodies.”
Osbourne: “Oh, yes. I know very well what you represent. [pause] You represent the idiocy of today. ”

This remains as one of the most inventive comedies of the decade, and the script is one of the decade’s best. The entire thing is permeated with a glorious amount of irreverence that doesn’t stop the harsh truths in the screenplay from being seen. It’s the very fact that it doesn’t take itself too seriously though, not caring to sentimentalise any of its characters.

Robbie: “Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume. The one I had been planning on that evening walk. I can become again the man who once crossed the surrey park at dusk, in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. The story can resume. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.”

Not as piercing as his work on Dangerous Liaisons, but done with the same amount of astonishing brevity. Like any such adaptation the script is littered with bits of symbolism here and there, and it must have been a task creating a screenplay from McEwan’s impressive novel. He doesn’t quake at the challenge, though, and the story works well on its own.

       

I’ve not read Cunningham’s novel, though I’ve read extensive biographies on Woolf and Mrs. Dalloway. The screenplay exists seamlessly; there are three women but it is one story. Oddly, it never becomes too “talky”, the dialogue is never obtrusive. Instead everything flows together in beautiful subtlety.

Gina: “When are you going to grow up, Hank? We have a really good thing going, and you should just enjoy it. We have a really good time in bed. I don't ask for anything.”
Hank: “I love you. I want more.”
Gina: “So does Oliver Twist.” 

Masterson’s script is discordant, but that's the beauty of it. Such a tale could easily have become a message film, instea she turns it into a nuanced character study giving every character their pivotal moment – and ensuring that plot points that occur are readdressed. She refuses to conform to the norm creating a world that is completely hers.

     

Joel: “I can't see anything that I don't like about you.”
Clementine: “But you will! But you will. You know, you will think of things. And I'll get bored with you and feel trapped because that's what happens with me.”
Joel: “Okay.”
Clementine: [pauses] “Okay. ”

It’s an obvious choice, but deservedly so. It is a work that’s strikingly original even though the issues are ones we know all too well. Ostensibly it seems to be science fiction, but that solitary plot point is just that, and the issues addressed are done so with some of the most perceptive and smart comedic writing.

Sylvia: “Where's that wretched Mabel.”
Aunt Constance: “Has anyone checked her outfit? She's probably in black velvet with a feather in her hair.”
Lavinia: “She's in the morning room looking perfectly normal. Don't be such a snob aunt Constance.”
Aunt Constance: “Me? I haven't a snobish bone in my body.”

So subtle and yet so intense, addressing serious issues and yet so hilarious it’s a choice that comes easily – almost too easily. The ensemble drama gives the writer much ground to cover, and Fellowes does it with aplomb. He travels upstairs, downstairs and back again – but never tries too hard. Character development is vivid, but sometimes subtle we need to look (and listen) carefully…and just when you think you can put it in a box, he’s waiting to add something to new. Perfect.

     

Twelve originals and thirteen adaptations make up my twenty favourite screenplays. The ones with asterisks (seven) were, unfortunately, ignored by the Academy.

     

I think I can say I've done my duty in recapping the decade. I've done a number of entries dedicated to the decade in review. I'm sure there's some miscellaneous category, but if it comes to me I'll let you know. I think it's time for me to stop looking back before I turn into a pillar of salt, and I suppose that the logical conclusion is to sum it up with the best films of the decade. But, you know me - always atypical, so I'm not recapping film quality, but acting quality. What were the films this past decade with the best ensembles? It's a question that always triggers me thoughts (I did the same for the nineties). So with no explanations I list the 30 best film ensembles of the decade -with a few runners up. Let me remind you, this is not a list of the best films. It's a list of the ensembles that I think were best - the most collectively good performances, the best chemistry among actors, the most talented....

          

Runners Up (alpha): The Constant Gardener, Closer, Dreamgirls, Erin Brockovich, In the Bedroom, In the Loop, King Kong, The Messenger, The Reader, Sweeney Todd

                      

           

             

When an acclaimed actor wins an Oscar there’s always rumblings that amount to backlash of some sort. Was it the right role? The thing is my next entry has had quite a decade. Even though Oscar has only recognised her twice she has given countless excellent performances this decade and sometimes her Oscar win is just a little too underrated, or maybe I’m just atypical. Because regardless of how many times I see her other excellent work I remain convinced that she won the Oscar for her best performance.

                

One thing I always think about when Nicole’s name is mentioned in The Hours is her dedication. Perhaps it wasn’t particularly peculiar, but I always admire the fact that she learnt to write with her right hand just to lend authenticity to her portrayal of Woolf. I’m a big fan of Woolf now, though at the time I first saw this film I didn’t know too much about her. In retrospect I wouldn’t think I’d like Nicole that much in The Hours. Her incarnation of Woolf has nothing of what I usually like about her. She’s never been an overly technical actor, and usually what draws me to her is the charm she radiates in her performances. That is absent here. Virginia Woolf is the sort of technical piece I’d expect that other Australian to excel at; perhaps that’s why I love Nicole’s work here so much.

Even though Virginia is the most important character she has the least screen-time and Nicole begins adding nuances to her character immediately. She must. There is the slightest of pauses as she comes downstairs and Leonard asks her if she’s eaten. Eyes averted she answers: yes. It’s a lie, but not a thoughtless one. It’s more than just the nose, I truly believe in Nicole’s transformation. Her voice is the key to the role – as we’ll see later. But she doesn’t underplay the physicality either. An early scene that always convinces me of her brilliance is her confrontation with Nelly, the maid. It’s easily forgotten, but I believe it to be – arguably – one of Virginia’s most important. With that cigarette in hand Virginia is both mistress and mouse. (pictured above) She doesn’t like to lose, but she’s just a bit hesitant of reprimanding the servants. The slight glare in her eyes as she tells her: “The 12:30 train will get you to London right after one. If you return on the 2:30 you can return to Richmond soon after three. Do I miscalculate Nelly?” Nicole is giving Virginia so many layers that it’s difficult to believe we’ve only just met this woman.

Clarissa has Louis and Laura has Kitty and Virginia’s visitor is her sister Vanessa Bell. Vanessa is the most important of the three visitors – she stays the longest. At first it seems Miranda’s excellent performance is overshadowing Virginia, but we realise that Nicole is just playing it wisely. Notice, for example, the glowering stare as Vanessa says “I would have invited you to our party, but I knew you wouldn’t come.” Nicole asks, her voice brittle as ever: “How could you know that?” The tension between the two sisters – juxtaposed with their appreciation for each other – is well played and Miranda and Nicole really do work well together. But Nicole works well with all, doesn’t she? The short conversation between her and Anjelica is well played, and the profundity in the words is neither lost nor exaggerated.

  

In a way, The Hours is the story of three women’s days as they spiral out of control, and we notice the agitation in Virginia early. Her desperate plea to Vanessa chills always “Nessa, tell me I’m better. I do seem better.” Then, the frantic kiss which – I believe – is more a plea for attention than anything else. As Vanessa goes back to her self professed boring world that not even Virginia can envy Nicole says it so sadly “But I do.” It’s all she wants really – to have that normalcy. The train station scene has become a given as to the archetypal scene for Nicole – and it is good. I’d like to mention, as an aside, that Stephen Dillane really shines with little here. It’s the moment uncharacteristic of the Virginia we’ve seen thus far but Nicole’s anxiety is palpable. “You cannot find piece by avoiding life.” She’s been given some of the most brilliant words of the last decade, and she doesn’t waste them. But it’s not an incidental success. Nicole makes Virginia into the excellent creation she is. It’s a performance I return to often just to see the brilliance of this woman, arguably the greatest all-rounder we’ve had this decade but it’s her Virginia Woolf that makes me return to this film like a boomerang.