Johnny Simmons

I have a strange relationship with Vanessa Redgrave. Though I like her between films I remember her talent with more of a slight detachment than any passionate love (still, Katharine H. did single her out as the greatest of her generation). It is such that every time I see her on screen I fall in love with her again. Case in point: Letters to Juliet.

For some reason, when Letters to Juliet ended, I found myself suppressing all the trite, bland and uninspired bits and focusing only on the lovely bits. This was odd, because there was more of the former than of the latter. The world that Letters To Juliet creates for itself is so maddening (and silly) at times that I can’t help but be annoyed with it. This is odd, because the film is so innocent and even saccharine throughout that such that such thoughts seem almost offensive. The best way to put it: Letters to the Juliet is a ridiculously sweet bonbon bookended (at the beginning and the end) by cinematic conventions that are sadly quite uninspired.

  

Sophie goes to Italy with her boyfriend, played by Gael Garcia Bernal. The two are on odd couple on paper as much as on screen (the role was originally Hugh Dancy's). We know from the instant we see him chattering effusively that this relationship is not meant to be (this is not a spoiler, folks). Of course, his only fault is not being Sophie's destined lover – or maybe it’s loving food more than her, either way he’s not “the one”. In Italy Sophie happens the alleged house of Juliet Capulet. Hundreds of love struck women from across the globe paste letters on the wall that are answered by “Juliet’s Secretary” who offer romantic advice. By happenstance, a letter that is fifty year old arrives in heroines hand and she responds. Here the conceits only grow. Not only is the Claire, woman, alive but she is surprisingly living at the same address for fifty years. She arrives in toe with her grandson (could this be “the one”) and because of Sophie’s letter decides to search for a man she had give up on for fifty years. More contrivances arrive, Claire allows herself to traverse through Italy looking for this man, which is something Vanessa manages to make plausible.

Letters to the Juliet biggest fault is going for the money and not for the heart; as far as I can see really. I can imagine that Amanda Seyfried will sell more tickets than Vanessa Redgrave on a movie poster, but the arc concerning the luminous Ms. Redgrave is more fulfilling even though it’s not exactly fresh. There is no overstatement when I say that Ms. Redgrave is possibly one of the ten most talented thespians alive and her ability to breathe life into even the most contrived of cinematic clichés makes her even more worthy to me. Then there’s the fact that she shares a certain amount of time with Franco Nero the father of one of her three children that makes me a little too emotionally invested in the film.

As the third act looms, though, and Vanessa leaves the story (momentarily) all my feelings of appreciation are gone. Not because Amanda Seyfried is not talented (she is), but she’s not talented enough to carry a film on her shoulders alone. We know she and her boyfriend will part, amicably because he’s not an officious boor (just wrong for her). certain plot machinations will make for a few mistakes then an absolute union with the man of her dreams, yada yada ya.

   

It is a sweet movie in its way, but not good enough; and I find Chris Egan's performance so insufferably boorish (and that accent, oi!). I was seduced by Ms. Redgrave, but Letters to Juliet is not as good as she pretends it is. But, god bless her, the woman is a treasure to the screen, she can sell any thing.

Letters to Juliet: C

Ms. Redgrave in Letters to Juliet: B+

Ms. Redgrave’s Talent: Priceless

The countdown continues as we near the top, I feel slightly bad that so many films have repeat entries. Then again, I can't blame myself because they're that good.

“Forgive me, Mr. Claus. I'm afraid I've made a terrible mess of your holiday. ”

Though I wouldn’t swear that The Nightmare Before Christmas is unparalleled excellence, it is a thoroughly enjoyable film and Sarandon’s protagonist is a significant portion of that. He is funny and endearing, yet maintaining his oddball status.

         

“Don't leave me! Don't leave me! I'll die without you! ”

Teri Hatch…loved her in Lois & Clark, liked her on Desperate Housewives until she turned into the hot mess that is now Susan. She’s not given credit (we don’t really get to see her stretch her legs), but her incarnation of Coraline’s mother and the Other Mother (a.k.a The Beldam) was a brilliant take on a potentially stereotypical villain. Coraline was my favourite animated film last year, and though Fanning’s work as the eponymous heroine was on point it was Hatcher’s layered and terrifying work that stuck with me for weeks after.

“But you're treating them like equals. They're sheep, they're inferior. ”

I’m sorry I couldn’t get a spot for Babe, but consider this a tribute to all the actors there. Babe is just too sweet for words, and Margolyes no-nonsense Fly is an excellent surrogate mother to the orphan pig. She’s stern, but not unloving and she does so well weighing her dedication to her husband against her that of her husband.

        

“Please, there's been a mistake. I'm not dead. ”

At the moment people seem less than enthused about Depp and Burton, no point in dredging up that argument – but I do love Depp’s work as the reticent would-be groom of the eponymous corpse. It’s voicework that’s sometimes forgotten (very subtle) but I think it’s excellent, nonetheless.

       

“Well aren't you just the sweetest space toy I ever did meet! ”

Cusack always was the best thing about the Toy Story franchise, for me. Always a brilliant character actress, her take on the spirited cowgirl in the series was a thing of delight. She knew just how to get on our nerves without being overbearing.

     

“I thought I told you to come down to dinner!”

This is one that’s often forgotten. Beneath the animalistic growl Benson is doing excellent work portraying emotions in the Beast that are bubbling below the surface. His petulance, his nervousness, his ferocity – it’s all done as much through the animation as through the voicework making him just as interesting and as rounded a character as Belle.

     

“Why don't skeletons play music in church? Because they got no organs.”

James & the Giant Peach features one of the strongest animated ensembles, and Dreyfuss' corny centipede is a big part of that.

      

“Correction: I *know* your father..”

The Lion King is such an excellent film, when it’s time for laughs talk often turns to Timon and Pumba (admittedly good), but for me it’s always Guillaume’s hilarious Rafiki that does all the heavy lifting. He pops in and out (and in again) for a few short moments, but his voicework takes the film to another level. He is simultaneously annoying, perverse, wise and exasperating. Yes, we know these are animals, but we fee like we know this strange monkey.

    

As The Muses (Calliope, Terpsichore, Clio, Melpomene and Thalia

“…And that’s the Gospel Truth.”

I debated whether or not to single them out, but it didn’t make sense. The Muses are all part of the same entity. Voice by a quintet of Broadway voices they’re responsible for the narration of this underrated piece. From Ryan’s spunky soul sister to White's sophisticated headliner they all work in tandem to create some of the most entertaining Disney characters.

“You're speechless, I see. A fine quality in a wife.”

It’s probably difficult to craft a villain unlike anything we’ve seen, and all Disney villains do have that sombre voice in common. But Freeman does his own things with Jafar. He's slimy and he's almost offensive, but he sure is fun to watch.

      

Only two more rounds left? Do you have particular fondness for any of these?

I saw both these releases over a month ago, and I couldn't muster up a credible review for either. So with 99 words a piece, here goes.

     

Two months ago I said I liked Jennifer Lopez, Jose asked me why and it took me weeks to find an answer. I’m drawn to her personality. Yet, for someone emanating so much charisma Lopez has a bewildering propensity to choose the most frivolous films. The Back-Up Plan is an unfortunately rote exercise that borders on pointless. Certainly, most romantic comedies are about the journey – not the destination – but The Back-Up Plan fails on both counts – we know where it will end, and the journey there is pedestrian throughout. Lopez is still charming…but the film and characters? Less so.

The Clash of the Titans features three actors (Postlewaite, Fiennes, Neeson) who were deserving of accolades for their acting 1993; they’re not doing their best work here. Despite all its attempts (and its mere 90 minutes running time), The Clash of the Titans is often oddly boring. Though well intentioned, it joins the ranks of other inoffensive and pointless derivatives of Greek Mythology with nothing new or special to see. Although I’m uncertain if Sam Worthington is headed to great things in the future, he is at least charming enough to make us interested (barely) throughout the film’s narrative.

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.

     

Drunkards – we hate them in real life, but we love them on the screen. One of the many riddles that I cannot answer for you. It’s strange, whether the drunk is a bit of comedic relief, an affable protagonist or a dastardly villain it’s always nice seeing an actor ham it up for our entertainment on the big screen. Making this list was actually difficult, there were a number of notable drunks to sift through (I considered dividing it between males and females) – but in the end, I believe these five are the most notable.

        

This isn’t a biopic on overcoming drunkenness, but Joaquin does an excellent job of delving into that territory. I love that morning after where he and all the boys are drunk and Reese’s June turn up. He’s an incorrigible drunk, but he’s also an affable drunk – except when he’s fainting on stage and all. But, I suppose we must take the good with the bad.

     

If Blanche depended on the kindness of any stranger, his name was Jack Daniels. Like many drunks she often tried to hide it, but after her horrid birthday party all bets are off. It’s not so much funny as it is frighteningly unnerving.

      

Oh how I love Joan Allen, how I loathe Kevin Costner (but not here). Terry is an ultimate drunk, she drinks alone – which is a bit unnerving, until she gets Denny as a drinking buddy. But she can drink him under the table, anywhere. It could be at dinner, at her daughter’s graduation, just after her husband has “deserted” her – she’ll keep drinking with that same pensive look on her face. That’s what we call dedication.

    

Sometimes I forget he’s a drunk and just presume he’s crazy. Perhaps, it’s a bit of both. He’s exaggerated, he’s histrionic and he’s a lot of fun to watch. For shame, Disney, what kind of licentiousness are you promoting? I love it.

        

Who didn’t see this coming? It seems I may have to disqualify them; they’re topping too many lists (here, here). I can’t be the only one afraid to pick up a liquor glass after this watching these two having “fun and games”. Just look at the consequences of a nightcap. (Shudders)

  

Honourable Mention to Karen Walker, she’d suck the alcohol from a deodorant stick – if that’s not drunken dedication, I don’t know what is.