Something tells me that Gabriele Muccino’s “Seven Pounds” is primed to be one of the more divisive films of 2008. Some audiences will see it as a refined parable about sacrifice and what it means to be alive, while others will dismiss it as nothing more than an emotionally scheming tearjerker that tacks on the cheese with reckless abandon. I can’t say who’s correct, because I myself found Will Smith’s latest to contain elements of each camp’s critique and don’t think it would be fair to rail on someone for over-analyzing a movie that’s really not all that complicated to begin with.
Sure, it’s syrupy, awkward, histrionic, and borderline impractical, but I reveled in every maple-loving minute of it. Smith turns in some of the most exquisite acting of his career as suicidal IRS agent Ben Thomas and proves yet again why he might be the only actor in Hollywood capable of (pardon the pun) willing a film to box office success. He displays the ideal amount of restraint in a role that could’ve been too off-putting for its own good, so the first twenty minutes were all I needed to buy into the unexplained melancholy with which he carries himself. No film of this nature would be complete without the ravishing presence of a female lead and when Rosario Dawson comes into the picture, things instantly become engaging on a level I surely didn’t see coming.
Her chemistry with Smith rivals that of any on-screen couple this year and she’s infinitely irresistible as a woman in need of a heart transplant as well as a degree of unabated normalcy she hasn’t experienced in quite some time. Since no one appears to be discussing awards potential, her performance will most likely remain criminally underappreciated as the season goes on, which to me, is a crying shame for an actress who never gives anything but her best regardless of a film’s overall quality. I bought into their relationship every step of the way even though I had to keep reminding myself that predictability isn’t always a negative pothole for a story to fall into. Astute viewers should be able to figure out where this one is headed from the get-go, but the journey is what counts in the end, so I say go and enjoy an endearing tale that’s exactly what people are looking for during the holiday season.
- *** out of 4
The central issue I had with Bryan Singer’s semi-thriller “Valkryie” is that every time I started to get caught up in the peril of high treason, I was instantly reminded that I was watching Tom Cruise lead a film about the attempted assassination of Adolf Hitler in which nearly everyone speaks English. I’m sorry, but I find it difficult to believe that Das Fuhrer himself would’ve spoken anything but German during a closed-door strategy session and feel the purpose of the project would’ve been better served through a subtitled format. Everything about it seemed rather ordinary for a WWII film, so if you go in expecting wall-to-wall combat, you’ll leave feeling unfulfilled in many respects.
As Col. Claus von Stauffenberg, Cruise is as tolerable as he needs to be and, at times, brings some of that intrepid star power fans know and love to a character that simply doesn’t translate well to the big screen. All Scientological ramblings aside, I was rooting for Cruise to prove people wrong and cement his ability to peddle quality material through his own production company. He’s terrific in “Jerry Maguire” and astonishing in “Born on the Fourth of July,” but has allowed the calamity of his personal life to overtake his reputation as an outstanding master of the craft. While not his best work, the slow-mounting tension of Christopher McQuarrie’s script should be enough to hold an audience’s attention for throughout its brisk running time.
Tom Wilkinson steals the film as Gen. Friedrich Fromm and Terence Stamp is very good as Ludwig Beck, but it ultimately feels like a bunch of regal Englishmen offering their own occasionally riveting interpretation of how the plotting came about. With the exception of a bomb going off and the eventual executions, the action is held to a minimum in favor of secret meetings and family interactions that don’t really pack the expressive punch necessary to pick up the slack. I don’t know about you, but I expected a lot better.
- ** 1/2 out of 4
In a world where American Idol shamelessly dilutes what’s left of the American music industry and Jerry Springer delivers “white trash” hi-jinx to the masses, it’s difficult to imagine a scenario in which a network wouldn’t pay top dollar for something that just oozes with tabloid sensitivity. Yet in 1977, British talk-show host David Frost approached every major news outlet in the country looking to expose the origins of the Watergate scandal and was essentially hung out to dry with little or no explanation. The forte of Ron Howard’s masterful “Frost/Nixon” is that it takes you deep inside one man’s struggle for credibility and how he literally banked his entire livelihood on the notion that former president Richard M. Nixon would give people the apology they always knew they deserved.
Michael Sheen and Frank Langella dive into their characters without hesitation and immerse themselves in a high energy battle of wits that neither of them can afford to lose. Langella owns every inch of this film as "Tricky Dick" and presents him as a bitter, conniving dignitary who eventually fell victim to his own narcissistic desire to control everything in sight. He’s what Sade would call a “smooth operator” due to his ability to weave in and out of questioning and the way he plays Frost like a pinball machine during the early stages is truly a thrill to watch. Expect a great deal of acclaim to be sent Langella’s way over the next few months for this stellar embodiment of a fallen American original.
Sheen, on the other hand, injects Frost with the slightest hint of haughtiness and cheery exultation at first, but when the pressure is on, he’s more than capable of turning on the jets and matching Langella note for note. We’re rooting for him all the way and the final day of the interview makes for some of the most on-the-edge-of-your-seat filmmaking I’ve seen all year.
Under the first-class direction of Howard, they’re able to recreate a stunning piece of television history in triumphant fashion and almost portray the ex-president in a sympathetic light people will have to see to believe. As far as the order of events is concerned, does it really matter? Every part of this film feels authentic and if you can get your audience to fully believe in what they’re seeing, I’d say you’ve already far surpassed many films on the market today.
- **** out 4
"Milk" - Sean Penn has become the chameleonic actor of our time and turns in another phenomenal performance as San Francisco politician Harvey Milk. It's not the best of the year, but it should take on a deeper meaning in the wake of California's Proposition 8.
- *** 1/2 out of 4
"Quantum of Solace" - Bourne. Jason Bourne. Oh, I'm sorry. For a minute there I thought that Mark Forster's ponderous revenge project was actually the fourth installment of Robert Ludlum's amnesiac spy thriller. I kind of wish it was, because that way the darkness and complete lack of affection for anything would've been right at home.
- ** out of 4
"Zack and Miri Make a Porno" - Hysterical, raunchy, over-the-top, and still sweet to the core. Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks are perfectly cast as two goof-offs who resort to porn to pay the bills and in today's financially strapped times, it might not be that off-base.
- *** out of 4
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Changeling and Gran Torino
Clint Eastwood’s overlong period piece “Changeling” is anchored by a resolutely eloquent performance from Angelina Jolie that just reeks of Academy appeal to the point that expectations have become a little too hot to handle. She pours her heart and soul into the role of Christine Collins, a telephone operator whose son goes missing in 1928 Los Angeles, but what does she get in return? The film has so many staggering scenarios taking place at once yet refuses to commit to any of them long enough to make a real statement. Is the child found really her son and, if so, where was he all that time? Also, if he’s not her son, who is the boy that was returned to her and why did the ham-fisted pen pushers at the LAPD think that she wouldn’t recognize her own flesh and blood?
Sure, these questions are answered to some degree, but something still didn’t sit well with me by the time film came to a close. Without spoiling too much, I’ll simply point out that this apparently true story takes a wicked left turn after the first hour and becomes something much more grim and sepulchral than previously expected. In reality, we’re given three interesting films all piled into one ambitiously dense project that is terrific at times, but rather pedestrian at others. The first involves a grieving mother forced to endure hellish treatment just to get her son home safely, the second is a murky courtroom exposé on widespread corruption in the Los Angeles Police Department, and the third is a subdued tale of how far some people are willing to fall in the name of justice. Individually, they may take on deeper sensibilities, but together they get bogged down by too many questionable alterations in tone.
On the bright side, Jolie and John Malkovich as a fiery pastor are stellar throughout and Eastwood’s ability to turn J. Michael Straczynski’s intriguing script into a compelling amalgam of utter chaos in 1930’s L.A. is reason enough to withstand the sections that fall short of greatness.
- *** out of 4
If “Gran Torino” is indeed Clint Eastwood’s swan song to the acting community, I’d say that he certainly went out with the kind of rugged explosiveness we’ve come to expect from the Hollywood legend. As bigoted Korean War veteran Walt Kowalski, he creates a gruff, weathered old iconoclast who guzzles beer on his porch and doesn’t take kindly to those who think he’s too old to engage in any form of manual labor. He’s the product of a do-it-yourself generation raised on consumption and optimism yet his experiences in combat have left him deeply embittered about the tenuous deterioration of the society around him. Think Harry Callahan on Medicare, because when health concerns arise, the thrill of the fight is simply too lucid to waste time in a doctor’s office waiting for test results.
Believe it or not, his only outlet for discussion appears to be an over-zealous priest interested in counseling him following the death of his wife, which of course Walt wants no part of. It’s not until a Hmong family moves in next door that we see him display any emotion other than fanatical profanity, so the chance for redemption actually seems like a welcomed addition to the Kowalski exterior. When the son of the family becomes involved in gang activity, Walt decides to take him under his wing and, in a sense, make him more of a son than his real son ever was. Their relationship is hostile at first, but as the gang’s pressure intensifies, the mutual respect they have for one another transcends whatever racial prejudice Walt still maintains after all these years.
Now, it wouldn’t be a Clint Eastwood movie without a little high-wire intensity to boot and after the gang attacks the boy’s sister, the revenge theme takes on a whole new dimension. Walt unleashes the arsenal through a series of bloody confrontations that leave him in a difficult situation regarding how everything is going to play out in the end. Never has the phrase “Get Off My Lawn” been played to such menacing effect and in the hands Walt it becomes a statement of virile intimidation designed to let people know he mean’s business.
Since Eastwood also directed, the plot trajectory is anything but upbeat, so don’t expect a fairy tale where everyone sits around reminiscing about the good ol’ days. This is a serious examination of a guy trying to get one last chance at a good deed that will finally put him at peace with his torrid past. My only complaint would be that the supporting cast wasn’t quite up to the challenge, but to watch Eastwood do what he does for possibly the final time is all any diehard cinephile can ask for.
- *** ½ out of 4
Sure, these questions are answered to some degree, but something still didn’t sit well with me by the time film came to a close. Without spoiling too much, I’ll simply point out that this apparently true story takes a wicked left turn after the first hour and becomes something much more grim and sepulchral than previously expected. In reality, we’re given three interesting films all piled into one ambitiously dense project that is terrific at times, but rather pedestrian at others. The first involves a grieving mother forced to endure hellish treatment just to get her son home safely, the second is a murky courtroom exposé on widespread corruption in the Los Angeles Police Department, and the third is a subdued tale of how far some people are willing to fall in the name of justice. Individually, they may take on deeper sensibilities, but together they get bogged down by too many questionable alterations in tone.
On the bright side, Jolie and John Malkovich as a fiery pastor are stellar throughout and Eastwood’s ability to turn J. Michael Straczynski’s intriguing script into a compelling amalgam of utter chaos in 1930’s L.A. is reason enough to withstand the sections that fall short of greatness.
- *** out of 4
If “Gran Torino” is indeed Clint Eastwood’s swan song to the acting community, I’d say that he certainly went out with the kind of rugged explosiveness we’ve come to expect from the Hollywood legend. As bigoted Korean War veteran Walt Kowalski, he creates a gruff, weathered old iconoclast who guzzles beer on his porch and doesn’t take kindly to those who think he’s too old to engage in any form of manual labor. He’s the product of a do-it-yourself generation raised on consumption and optimism yet his experiences in combat have left him deeply embittered about the tenuous deterioration of the society around him. Think Harry Callahan on Medicare, because when health concerns arise, the thrill of the fight is simply too lucid to waste time in a doctor’s office waiting for test results.
Believe it or not, his only outlet for discussion appears to be an over-zealous priest interested in counseling him following the death of his wife, which of course Walt wants no part of. It’s not until a Hmong family moves in next door that we see him display any emotion other than fanatical profanity, so the chance for redemption actually seems like a welcomed addition to the Kowalski exterior. When the son of the family becomes involved in gang activity, Walt decides to take him under his wing and, in a sense, make him more of a son than his real son ever was. Their relationship is hostile at first, but as the gang’s pressure intensifies, the mutual respect they have for one another transcends whatever racial prejudice Walt still maintains after all these years.
Now, it wouldn’t be a Clint Eastwood movie without a little high-wire intensity to boot and after the gang attacks the boy’s sister, the revenge theme takes on a whole new dimension. Walt unleashes the arsenal through a series of bloody confrontations that leave him in a difficult situation regarding how everything is going to play out in the end. Never has the phrase “Get Off My Lawn” been played to such menacing effect and in the hands Walt it becomes a statement of virile intimidation designed to let people know he mean’s business.
Since Eastwood also directed, the plot trajectory is anything but upbeat, so don’t expect a fairy tale where everyone sits around reminiscing about the good ol’ days. This is a serious examination of a guy trying to get one last chance at a good deed that will finally put him at peace with his torrid past. My only complaint would be that the supporting cast wasn’t quite up to the challenge, but to watch Eastwood do what he does for possibly the final time is all any diehard cinephile can ask for.
- *** ½ out of 4
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