Saturday, March 9, 2024

Dolling too hard


I have been and likely always will be a Coen Brothers fan. One of my all-time favorite films is Miller's Crossing, which is a paean to the glories of noir like no other. Many critics felt that it went too far in that respect, in that it became almost a self-parody of itself and the genre as a whole. I've watched it at least a dozen times and would watch it again almost any time, especially if someone else was there and would be willing to hear me extoll its virtues while watching. I feel similarly about many of their other productions (The Big Lebowski, Fargo, No Country for Old Men, Barton Fink, O Brother Where Art Thou?, True Grit; on and on.) So when I discovered that Ethan Coen was directing a new feature that he had written with his wife, Tricia Cooke, I was instantly interested. The previews made it look even better. But the sad truth is that Drive-Away Dolls could be accused of a similar phenomenon that is leveled at Miller's Crossing: trying too hard. In the case of the latter, the assertion is that the film is TTH to be noir. My assessment of the former is that it's trying too hard to be a Coen Brothers film.


The premise is that of two women who are part of Philadelphia's lesbian community in 1999, deciding to pull up roots and change their address to Florida and, in the process, driving off with a MacGuffin in the trunk of their rental car that a pair of henchmen for a Philly crime lord are in pursuit of. Wacky hijinks ensue. Now, there's nothing wrong with that premise, in general, if the writing and the performances can back it up. It's a bit thinner than other films of the Coens' oeuvre (the complexity of Burn After Reading's plot makes it seem like a Platonic poem in comparison) but, fine. Let's just roll with it. But the problem should be obvious, in that the writing is just that step below in the same manner as the plot and there are no performances that really serve to carry it in the manner of Coen Bros. films past, although it's fair to say that Margaret Qualley comes close. But most of the film is about she, as Jamie, and Geraldine Viswanathan as Marian getting into quite predictable situations and finding not very innovative ways to get out of them. The general consensus among our group when we left the theater was that it was "cute" and that's probably about as high as you can reach in being complimentary.


Don't get me wrong. It's not a bad film. It's just not a great one like the vast majority of Coen output has tended to be. The only film that I've seen that didn't have both brothers involved was Joel's version of the tragedy of Macbeth, which I thought was excellent and this was Ethan's first solo outing that I'd been able to catch. He also did a documentary about Jerry Lee Lewis that was moderately well-received and that's about what can be said about this film. It's OK. It's quite funny in spots, but with none of the endlessly-quotable dialogue that is famous from their dual efforts. It attempts to be as bizarre as something like The Big Lebowski in moments, but never really crosses that border that would make the unbelievable believable. Instead, it depends on basic shock value, primarily around the MacGuffin which is there seemingly to serve as an excuse to get Pedro Pascal into the film for all of three minutes of screen time. Similarly, Matt Damon is also on the cast list and does well in the very brief time that he's offered, but both his and Pascal's appearances smack of them "wanting to do a Coen" in the same way it used to be a quest among SAG members to "do a Woody" (i.e. be part of a Woody Allen film in some way.) Their inclusion is name recognition and little more than that, which is not what you'd normally expect a Coen production to be involved in.


Again, Qualley does really well as the rambunctious side of the odd couple; determined to show Viswanathan that desiring and enjoying sex isn't taboo, even if segments of society at that time (25 years ago-!) and still (sigh...) declare it to be so. The film spares no efforts to show that, yes, sex is actually a good time, no matter the genders (or toys) involved and I appreciated their being that up front about the topic and the action. It's not really present for titillation (although it borders on it, at times) but instead seems to be present to normalize the idea, which is fine. It just would've been far more interesting if such an idea had been released in a film in 1999, rather than 25 years later(!) where much of the audience is ready to shrug their shoulders at the supposed novelty of it all. On top of that mundanity, the inclusion of multiple scene breaks that seemed to present a presumed acid trip that had little to do with our lead characters or the people pursuing them was a really odd inclusion. Again, it seemed to be trying too hard to be "weird" in Coen Bros. fashion, similar to The Dude's bowling vision, but not nearly as funny, interesting, or relevant to the film. Instead, they're just interludes seemingly shot through a multicolor lava lamp (which would've been relevant to and interesting in 1969, but not 30 years later) that just left the audience wondering what they were until finally getting the answer to at least whom was showing up in them at the end of the film, but not really understanding why they were ever present in the first place.

So, yeah. Is it worth seeing? If you're sitting at home one afternoon and bored, sure. But making an excursion out to the theater and paying for seats? Not really. I'd like to see more of Qualley in the future (she has another comedy coming up by the same writing/directing duo ("Honey Don't!")) but, at this point, I'd really like to see Joel doing more with Ethan to see if they still have that magic.

Saturday, February 24, 2024

A very mixed bag and the best for last (and not nominated): 2024 Oscar-nominated animation shorts

The easiest answer for why this review took four days to get around to writing while the other two were both done the next day is because I was fairly underwhelmed by this year's offering in the Animated section (and, admittedly, I was writing other things, too), with one real exception that didn't even get nominated. So, yeah... But, I recall saying the same thing last year, so perhaps my standards (former comic writer; animation fan) are just higher in this category than others.


One of those that I really appreciated, thankfully, was the first: Our Uniform. It's a simple survey of the clothing requirements for girls and young women in Iranian society, which director, Yegane Moghaddam, animates atop images of various fabrics so that there's a real texture to the film, almost literally. There's a disclaimer at the front about how she's not criticizing the wearing of hijab but the gently mocking tone throughout ("... while other people can wear what they want...") is evident. The inside joke is that the choice of clothing can both conceal and reveal the motivations of the wearer and the state requiring such to be worn because, after all, men don't have those restrictions in the Islamic Republic. These are the obstacles that you have to (ahem) skirt in order to get your message across in a repressive society and I think Moghaddam delivered on her intent, with a smart and creative execution of the medium, as well.


The next selection was Pachyderme, a more standard animated approach (drawn and CGI) about a young girl in the south of France who's trying to translate the trauma she's experiencing at the hands of her grandfather who dotes on her but also takes advantage of her (healing her fishhook-wounded finger with the "healing kiss", for example.) Director Stéphanie Clément did a good job of creating an eerie atmosphere with what should have been bright summers at grandma and grandpa's house by restraining the color palette and keeping everything a bit misty, not only to emphasize the distance of the memories and the girl's attempt to suppress them, but also to demonstrate the unease that she felt while staying there. It just felt to me that she and writer Marc Rius kind of missed the target, in that the broad strokes of the story could easily be misinterpreted as simply childhood fascination with the wood knots in the ceiling. I think in their attempt to be indirect, again to emphasize that distance (natural or self-imposed) from these memories and to not come right out and state the abuse she was suffering, they lost the thread a bit. Visually, there was nothing particularly noteworthy, either.


Letter to a Pig, on the other hand, stepped it up a notch in terms of translating distant memories of trauma. The story is about an elderly man in a classroom reading the letter he wrote to a pig who helped to conceal his presence in a farmhouse where SS soldiers were looking for him during World War II. While most of the students are unimpressed, one young girl begins envisioning a train of twisted variations on identity and memories. This film was "deeper" than the other two, in that it was longer and, thus, had more time for its scenes and moments to settle and play into other meanings of the trauma of being less than human, but perhaps just as empathetic as the animal who enabled the storyteller's escape. I appreciated the animation style, as it kept largely to black-and-white to emphasize the tension of the story and the fine line work of the artists, but also dropped in spots of color to provide texture so that the viewer didn't become detached from the black-and-white world. There's certainly an argument to be made that the topic is becoming a bit worn with age, but given the current political circumstances with the fascists in the US and events like what the Israeli state is doing to Gaza, I think the message may be more resonant than ever.


While the first three entries approached with subtle meanings (at least at first), the fourth entry, Ninety-Five Senses, didn't seem to have any particular meaning in mind at all when it opened. It was Tim Blake Nelson voicing a man who delivers an ode to the value of the five senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. Abruptly, we learn that he is delivering this ode from a prison cell, where he is about to be executed for the unintentional murder of a family that might not have occurred had he possessed one of the senses in question. It is, in part, a tour through the regrets of this man as he understands that less emotional choices might not have led him here, but also a pointed question at the nature of capital punishment for the execution of an impaired individual who acted without particular intent but will pay for it as if he did (the fact that the overall atmosphere is from the Southern US is, doubtlessly, no accident.) Visually, it was one of the best of the night, as the film veers through six different animation styles as he describes each one of the senses and then finishes with his current circumstances. I especially appreciated the pen-and-ink technique as he watched/remembered the flames engulfing the house.


Unfortunately, the last entry we saw among the nominated films was less impressive. War is Over!, Inspired by the Music of John and Yoko hits the high mark in terms of technical ability for the animation, with the 3-D CGI presenting the action in great detail and impact. And the story- of two soldiers on opposing sides in World War I playing chess against each other via carrier pigeon until an attack is ordered -is certainly something that any sane person can agree with and appreciate. But, overall, the production felt trite and was a marked contrast to the far more subtle storytelling of all of the other nominated films. It had serious money and star power behind it (akin to the dreadful Hallmark card of last year) and that seems to be what is supposed to carry it to success; along with the trite and obvious message that most voters will instantly be able to understand and applaud for. Unlike last year's winner, it's not a bad film. It just doesn't do much other than provide some really nice visuals and, again, deliver a message that most sane people should be able to agree with. There's nothing new or really inspiring here, on top of the insistence at looking at 50-year-old pop music as still the highest calling in modern culture.

And then the screen lit up with a bold, white title: "HIGHLY COMMENDABLE." This is the Academy's version of "honorable mention", which very rarely appears and is usually only for one short that didn't quite make the cut. This year, we got two.


The first was I'm Hip, where a self-assured cat (mildly reminiscent of Top Cat) sings and dances to Dave Frishberg's song of the same name, assuring everyone watching that he's the coolest guy in town. It's fairly amusing and hearkens back to the Hanna-Barbera era of animation (with erupting symbols (!!!) for emotion and characters able to survive any kind of fall or impact), but it left me wondering just what made it "highly commendable", since there was nothing particularly visually impressive about the techniques involved and it's not a story so much as a music video. It was a direct contrast to the heavier aspects of most of the nominated films, but that still shouldn't justify its inclusion. I liked it, but was left kind of mystified that it was part of the ensemble at all.


In contrast, there were no questions after Wild Summon as it was, for me, easily the best offering of the night and, of course, wasn't even nominated. It's a depiction of the lifespan of a female salmon, emerging from an egg, traveling down the river while avoiding predators (but still getting tagged by researchers) and venturing into the open ocean, only to have to make the return trip all the way back to her spawning point when the biological trigger is tripped. The salmon are represented as broad-mouthed women in wetsuits, complete with diving masks, and changing color based on their life stage. There's no deeper meaning to it, other than some references to industrial pollution hindering their life cycle, but it was still a fascinating story and the best visual presentation of the evening. This film easily could have replaced three of the five nominated pictures and would be my preference to win if it had.

As it is, my vote would probably go to Ninety-Five Senses, but I'm afraid that the deep, deep desire for Boomer music in the form of John and Yoko will probably carry the day. Meh. 

Monday, February 19, 2024

Tragedy, before and after, with a dose of whimsy: 2024 Oscar-nominated Live Action shorts

The next category, which we actually saw first, was Live Action. As noted earlier, in general, this was the better overall collection of films which, IIRC, is similar to last year.


The After- The film tells the story of a businessman who sees both his wife and child murdered in front of him and how he lives in the aftermath (hence, the title.) First off, it's a great performance by David Oyelowo, whom I'm most familiar with from Star Wars: Rebels of all things, as the voice of Agent Kallus. He's been in small parts in a number of films I've seen, but now that I've seen this performance, I think I'm going to seek out some of his starring work. But his performance was the strongest part of the film, as the scenario to enact the plot was bordering on the hard-to-believe (the UK, having sane gun laws, doesn't have nearly the ease with which a double murder could occur in the US, as we are just days away from that most American of events: a mass shooting at a Super Bowl parade.) After that, the story simply shows Dayo (Oyelowo) living life as a rideshare driver and listening to his clients get on with the various travails of their lives that don't even approach the anguish that he's experienced and don't provide him any progress toward dealing with his grief until his last job, which then initiates a breakthrough... which they then completely spoil by switching the subtle score to a pop song that's somehow supposed to embody this man's grief. It utterly ruined the moment for me and took away all the energy that Oyelowo's work had generated. This was my least favorite of the set, but still worth the time to see.


Red, White and Blue- In immediate contrast, this was easily the best of the night for me. Written and directed by Nazrin Choudhury, it's a very timely episode about a single mother in Arkansas searching for an abortion provider and having to find money and time to travel to Missouri to find one. Like The Barber of Little Rock (also in Arkansas, appropriately enough), it's a great rendition of the economic realities that many people in this country face and whom have their lives affected by the callous decisions of others working in the name of ardent ideology and social control which have far-reaching effects that they either don't know, don't care about or are, of course, the point. Brittany Snow is excellent as Rachel and the film demonstrates not just the emotional anguish and economic desperation that she endures, but also the often demeaning circumstances by which she's surviving the "American Dream." It's an evident political statement, as well, not least when Rachel makes it to a clinic without an appointment and says that she's traveled all the way from Arkansas and the nurse at the front desk waves a hand at the crowded waiting room and says: "You and all the rest of them from THAT state." There are, as always, a multiplicity of two Americas; one set defined by money, another by race, and yet another by political boundaries between the 21st century states and those still dominated by 19th-century thought (and misogyny, which is even worse than the 21st century version.) This was the most effective dramatic punch of the night and one that will probably last the longest with many viewers.


Knight of Fortune- Continuing the theme of tragedy, this film is about a recent widower, Karl (a brilliant Leif Andrée) having to confront the viewing of his wife in the local morgue. While there, Karl encounters Torben (the also excellent Jens Jørn Spottag), another widower who asks Karl for help with his own efforts of viewing and through his grief who ends up leading him on a much more involved experience than Karl expected. Along the way, they're frequently in the company of the mortuary porter (Jesper Lohmann) whom, although he says he's seen it all, probably hasn't seen much like this. Despite the overall theme of tragedy, there are enough lighthearted moments throughout the story that it's almost impossible to come away from the film without feeling like you've experienced something genuinely uplifting. There's wonderful attention to detail, as well, in things like the fact that Andrée is a Swedish actor and so speaks Swedish, while Spottag is Danish and, thus, speaks that language and they have to take a moment to assure each other that they're saying the same appropriate things in these trying circumstances. It's obviously much more relevant if you know those languages and live in those countries, but this is a Danish film. Andrée's face when they have a close encounter with another family in a viewing room is something I'm going to remember for a long time. Wonderfully acted and a great short story, this was my second favorite of the evening.


Invincible- Based on a true story, Invincible presents the circumstances of Marc-Antoine Bernier (Léokim Beaumier-Lépine), a teenager with some prominent mental health issues in a youth detention center in Canada. Allowed weekend furloughs with his somewhat distant parents, the intense young man finds even the rather loose constraints of the center (can wear their own clothing, are taken to outside recreation like swimming pools, etc.) so confining that he continually acts out and brings the hand of the administration down upon himself.. This yearning for a greater freedom than even outside life can provide becomes most evident when an instructor reads aloud the poem that he's written in class. I've felt that urge for something different that's indefinable and just beyond one's grasp and the frustration that it brings with it, so this character resonated with me quite a bit. The fact that his parents mirrored mine in their almost complete indifference to the unique identity that is their son until he does something wrong also struck me as quite familiar. The film continues with the overall theme of the night and is a solid entry for the trophy, even if overshadowed by some of the others. I'd be interested to see more of Beaumier-Lépine's work.


The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar- The final entry is the one that had both the blockbuster writer and director (Wes Anderson) and the equally prominent cast (Benedict Cumberbatch, Ben Kingsley, Ralph Fiennes, Dev Patel, among others.) As I mentioned a few months back, this immediately struck me as another collection of actors "dying to be in a Wes Anderson", so here was their opportunity. It's also the second time that Anderson has adapted a Roald Dahl work (Fantastic Mr. Fox), although this story was even more suited to Anderson's usual approach than the previous. As I'm an Anderson fan, you'd think this would have been my favorite, but like I mentioned those few months ago, I'm to the point where what I'm seeing from him no longer seems original and this was no different. I think it ran too long for what it was trying to do and, although it was funny in his usual whimsical style, also felt rather repetitive by the end. I really appreciated Patel's narration of much of the story and his constant breaking of the fourth wall to demonstrate that narration ("What other ways? [looks at audience], I said.") The production values were the highest of the set, by far, because it had the most money and star power behind it, so it seems like it's a heavyweight in a lightweight competition and, as much as I enjoyed it, it still didn't have the impact that RWB and Knight had for me.

My assumption is that the trophy goes to Henry Sugar because of that star power and production value, but I still think Red, White and Blue was the best of a very good lot. We'll finish off tomorrow with Animation.

Music, books, living and building: 2024 Oscar-nominated documentary shorts

It's Oscar short season and we ended up seeing two categories in one day again. The second was Documentary, but that's the one I'm going to cover first because Live Action, collectively, was the better category this year.


Nâi Nai and Wài Pó- This was director Sean Wang's film about his paternal and maternal grandmothers, who live together to support each other, as their respective husbands had passed years ago. It's a very simple presentation about how they go about their daily lives; morning exercise and then activities of various sorts, like gardening or a day for dancing to music. It was quite funny and very cute seeing the two of them dress up in a variety of costumes which they freely admitted was because their grandson was there with a camera. It was also remarkably insightful on their polar opposite views on life, where Wài Pó, who is 83 said she felt like she was still 20, while Nâi Nai who is 94, said she felt like she was 100 years old. That perspective included their thoughts on the future, where the latter said that she would be fine with just another year or two of life, while the former bemoaned the fact that she had to die at some point when she clearly felt there was so much living to do. That extended to their activities, in which Wài Pó took the lead on thinking about trying new things, while Nâi Nai was content to flip through photo albums and phone numbers, reminiscing about the friends she'd lost and the good times she'd had with them. It was a great encapsulation of both elderly life and life, in general.


The Barber of Little Rock- This was the story of Arlo Washington, a Little Rock, AR entrepreneur who chose to follow the path of his mother, whose life was cut short at 31, and devote his life to work toward building and supporting his community. To that end, he started a barber college and used the money from that to begin People's Trust, a Community Development Financial Institution (CDFI; a non-profit bank), which provides micro and small loans to people in personal need or to begin businesses in the "south of the highway" section of Little Rock. It's a great depiction of life that much of (White) America never sees and almost immediately had me kicking myself for not still being involved in progressive politics, as these were the people and scenarios that I saw all the time when I was and whom still really need help. Arlo is an incredibly forward and positive thinker and the genuine emotion that frequently overwhelmed his clients when they finally found someone who would not only help them but actually listen to them was quite telling. I saw that frequently in my previous activity and it's a measure of both how much people in the "wealthiest nation in the world" still need help (especially if they're not White) and the humanity of those who make it their purpose to help them and, as Arlo frequently states, to grow the community as a whole. This was my second favorite among the offerings.


Island in Between- This was S. Leo Chiang's story about Kinmen, the small island right off the coast of mainland China which is a territory of the Republic of China (aka Taiwan.) As such, it was both the initial target of the People's Republic of China intentions to reclaim the territory it regards as its own and a heavily-militarized outpost that the Taiwanese regard as the first line of defense against the Red Menace. Chiang, who is originally from Kinmen, spent many years in the US, and is now a resident of Taipei, spends some time regaling us with the history of the island and the ardent propaganda against the looming enemy and how Kinmen was intended to be the launching point for the retaking of the mainland for the Chinese people and the destruction of the vile communists. Given that relations between the two nations have much improved since the 1950s, no one really thinks about that much anymore and, honestly, the film kind of reflects that neglect. It was a pretty rote depiction of the situation then and the tepid situation now and this was, by far, the least interesting of the nominated films.


The ABCs of Book Banning- This film, directed by Sheila Nevins, the head of MTV Documentary films, is obviously extremely timely. The most notable thing about it to me was that MTV still exists in any way, shape or form. I say that largely because I knew everything that was depicted here. Every time they put up another book cover that was promptly crossed with a glaring red "BANNED", "RESTRICTED", or "CHALLENGED", all I did was nod my head and think: "Yeah, I knew that already." I was clearly not the target audience. I also wondered why the font and format of those glaring red titles changed two-thirds of the way through the film. However, the real upside of the show was the collection of interviews with 7-10-year-olds who are the students of the schools where these books are being banned. To a person, all of them reacted with confusion and dismay at the idea that these stories and this information was being denied to them, especially when they learned exactly what these books were about. For example, And Tango Makes Three, a book about a penguin chick with two fathers (a situation that did happen at the Bronx Zoo and does happen in the wild) has been banned or challenged in multiple districts because it draws attention to the idea of same sex marriage; an appalling thought for the ignorant and/or religiously fanatical among society. The children presented with this book and others usually responded with "Why would they ban a book that just tells the story of people being who they are?" That, of course, is an extremely modern attitude which should give most hope for the future and the film overall does that. It just wasn't particularly new to me so, while I liked it, it's definitely a story I've heard before.


The Last Repair Shop- Right up front, this was my favorite documentary of the evening. That was because not only was it about music, but also because I didn't even know this program existed and was happily surprised that it did, especially in the environs of Los Angeles which, like many big cities, seemed like it had begun to phase out cultural activities for public school students. The program is one in which musical instruments are provided to those students and repaired for them when they inevitably encounter the problems that all crafted devices do. If it had just been about the repair shop for instruments, it wouldn't have been as interesting as it was because they also delved into the rather interesting characters who operate the shop and their backgrounds which led them to becoming experts in the repair and maintenance of brass, strings, woodwinds, and pianos. They include a single mother immigrant from Mexico, a man who came out in the early stages of the Gay Power movement in San Francisco, a former fiddle player for the Bodie Mountain Express, and an Armenian refugee from Azerbaijan. All of their stories are interesting and provide context for how they ended up assisting the musical dreams of children across the spectrum of LA existence. Needless to say, the story (ahem) sang to me and, for once, I think my favorite is also the clear favorite for the Oscar this year.

Next up is Live Action.

Thursday, January 25, 2024

American Truth


There are moments when various forms of media feel like they're speaking directly to you. The characters react the way that you'd react and the storyline follows something that's, to one degree or another, intimately familiar to you. That was the reaction that I had when watching American Fiction. It's not just that the main character Thelonious "Monk" Ellison (an excellent Jeffrey Wright) is a writer who can't seem to find his audience (been there, my whole life) or that the material that's produced around him seems like it's just serving the base interests of the public [waves hand in general direction of world] or that he thinks he knows better about what's actually worthwhile (ahem.) It's also that those perspectives make him feel separated from much of the world at large. That's an instinct that I've worked hard to curb in the last 15 years of my life, having recognized that you can't tell people what to like, so I think I'm a bit more social and a bit less judgmental than Monk is as presented in this story. But, man, did that story sing to me.


Monk is a novelist and instructor at a small college in California who objects to the success of the fiction written by African-Americans and lauded by White reviewers and publishers as emblematic of the "Black experience." To Monk, the Black experience is the American experience and he finds no value in feeding the preconceptions of the White audience, whether sympathetic or otherwise, with material like a competitor's "We's Lives in the Ghetto." Monk is in what is often referred to as "literary fiction" (which, y'know, excludes any of that petty "genre" stuff) but his work is so elevated that it ends up getting classified as Afro-American studies in local bookstores. When he gets encouraged to take a leave of absence and go visit his dysfunctional family (which he largely detests and avoids) in Boston, he begins running headlong into those antisocial tendencies and begins to discover the people he dismisses as beneath him as having intelligent opinions and perspectives of their own which inform their own "Black experience" that happens to be quite different from his.


From the very beginning, the characters felt genuine, which is always a key aspect of any film to me. If I'm watching roles that feel like they were solely aimed to push the message, rather than be real people who incidentally drove the theme of the film, I'm generally going to feel cheated (see: Don't Look Up and Leave the World Behind as pristine examples.) Even the side characters that are clearly there to be foils for Monk feel like they have the reactions of real people that are wholly believable (White angst and guilt, artificial salesmanship, etc.) Lorraine (Myra Lucretia Taylor), Monk's mother's housekeeper, is one of his grounding points in the general goodness of humanity. Despite all of the "family melodrama" (as Monk refers to it) surrounding his circumstances in Boston, when she decides to get married, it's a sign that life keeps proceeding, no matter how much you may think the world revolves around you and your problems. Those problems include his mother, Agnes (Leslie Uggams), losing her awareness of the surrounding world, but never quite losing awareness of what makes her children, especially Monk, special.


Part of that specialness is Wright, who is perfectly cast in the role. I can't think of another actor who could have presented the frustration, weariness, and biting intelligence of the character better than he did. It's appropriate that Percival Everett, who wrote the book Erasure, that the film is based upon chose the last name "Ellison" for the main character and his family based on other people that also bore that name: Harlan Ellison, famously caustic SF writer and essayist; Ralph Ellison, who wrote about social issues faced by Black people in America; and Sheila Ellison, who writes about parenting and familial relationships. All of those elements inhabit this character and the circumstances he's forced to confront and Wright excels at presenting a typically human reaction to them, while still driven by who and what the character is. He's nicely counterbalanced by his sister, Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), his brother Cliff (Sterling K. Brown), and the neighbor across the street, Coraline (Erika Alexander); all of whom present different perspectives on those circumstances, but also on their approach in trying to connect with Monk who, as with many driven people, often instinctively distrusts their attempts to do so (um... yeah.) There's a great moment when Agnes, fading in and out of awareness, mentions that she thinks the reason Monk is so miserable most of the time is that "Geniuses are lonely because they can't connect with the rest of us." I'm not going to be so arrogant as to label myself a "genius", but I've certainly felt that distance where most people just don't seem to see what I do.


Also, I absolutely loved the way they handled the ending. The alternate approaches not only mirror the difficulty of the writing process, but also showed just how people will often react to the conclusion of a story they're being told and whether they'll feel that it's appropriate (Hollywood happy ending!) or closer to reality (the final choice, which had me doubled over in laughter) or simply indeterminate; a lot like life ends up. That difference in perspective suffuses the film, especially in one key exchange between Monk and that rival, successful writer, Sintara Golden (Issa Rae.) When he bemoans the fact that the public and publishers "... aren't acknowledging our potential!", Sintara replies that "Potential is what people see when what's in front of them isn't good enough." It's a salient point about perspective, but it doesn't apply to this film, as it's more than good enough. It's the best thing I've seen this (Oscar) year.

Saturday, December 23, 2023

Directionless apocalypse



I love post-apocalypse stories. When I first started reading Harlan Ellison, one of my favorites of his work was A Boy and his Dog, which is set in America, post-nuclear disaster. One of my favorite films at a young age was John Carpenter's Escape from New York. When I first started running RPGs, my favorite setting was Gamma World. It's safe to say that I'm a child of the Cold War. So, when I heard that there was a film on Netflix that was really popular and that fit those themes, I was definitely interested. Unfortunately, that film was Leave the World Behind and it was a failure on so many levels that it's just about arcing toward the sublime.


Every science fiction premise needs some level of suspension of disbelief. You have to be willing to accept the conditions that make up the world in question, whether it be the talking plants and fusion rifles of Gamma World or the island of Manhattan as maximum security prison of Escape from New York. The basic premise of Leave is that a cyberattack has crippled the power grid of the eastern seaboard of the US and all of the problems that ensue following that, including many that have little to do with a fairly believable scenario like that one, like sonic weapons transmitted over the entirety of Long Island and herds of deer trying to send a signal about this impending doom that's approaching. I mean, those things could be part of our suspension, as well, if they weren't from a different level of sci-fi than simply Con Ed in New York being hacked. But that's where you wonder how this script might have benefitted from a firmer hand that kept it going in a coherent direction, rather than the scattershot approach that later takes hold of it and squeezes hard enough that all of its elements get splattered in random directions, to the denigration of cast and audience.


First off, if a cyberattack did take down enough of society to cause chaos, how (and why) is it that this one section of Long Island was spared? Was it because they didn't want to try to shoot all of the nighttime scenes by candlelight? Or so they could still have a functioning coffee maker in the house so that you'd know people would last two days instead of becoming instantly homicidal? I mean, part of the basis of most adventure stories is that the circumstances in front of us are just slightly different so that our heroes have a chance to do heroic stuff. So, fine. Our characters have power where all of New York City, visible across the river, does not. But then we discover that it may be beyond just power grids, in that satellite networks are down, so that planes and ships no longer have functioning navigation systems. But, of course, they still have functioning engines and ways to turn them off or keep them running, so why are ships beaching and planes crashing? And why is the latter only happening 18 hours after the initial shutdown when one of our heroes is walking on the beach? Said hero, G. H. Scott (Mahershala Ali) is an investment banker with high enough contacts to know one of the Illuminati who has offhandedly warned him that this disaster is coming. Scott, of course, dismisses the idea of the cabal that rules the world but also repeatedly reinforces the idea that such a thing exists. So, which is it? If writer/director Sam Esmail was trying to avoid the historical racist implications of that theory, he wasn't doing such a great job of it. Instead, he veers right into hitting us over the head with the overt racism of Amanda Sandford (Julia Roberts) when confronted with Scott and his daughter, Ruth (Myha'la) returning to their home which the Sandfords have rented. I mean, yes, the problem of inherent racism drives a large portion of American cultural relations and politics, so you don't really have to be that heavy-handed with said message. Amanda is borderline shrewish when conveying her distrust of the Black people in the house (their house, which she clearly doesn't believe because, you know, they're Black...) with her children.

Yeah, I can't believe how dumb this is, either.

But then we have all of the other more obvious story points that simply don't mesh with our aforementioned suspension. Why does Archie's (Charlie Evans) lyme disease take hold overnight and become worse than any version of that disease ever seen? If it is even just lyme disease, why do they think that a couple pills from local survivalist neighbor, Danny (Kevin Bacon), will solve his problem? Why do the local deer seem intent on gathering around just their house and not others? Why do flamingos show up in a Long Island swimming pool? Are these the surrealist components that are supposed to make us as confused as the characters? Why do Amanda and G. H., completely at odds over the situation and their respective identities, suddenly fall into each others' arms and consider cheating on their partners with each other in the space of 48 hours? Why would a man as wealthy as G. H. ever play ball at the local YMCA? There are so many little things detached from reality here that it's difficult to believe that one person wrote it and, if that is the case, whether that person has been outside their home to interact with actual humans anytime in the past few years. Is Esmail an isolationist/survivalist? Even the seeming in-jokes are off key. We see a trashed house with a sign of the previous owners hanging loose that says the home was owned by The Huxleys. If that's supposed to be a reference to Aldous Huxley, I'd have to ask why, given that this is a disaster film. Huxley is best known among his fiction works for Brave New World; a society under total control, not one that is falling apart. Archie walks around wearing an "OBEY" shirt from They Live, which is about the subtle control of society through subliminal advertising, not its collapse from a systemic breakdown.


All of this confusion and lack of direction is reinforced by the melodrama of both the cinematography and the score. The camera did repeated close-ups during dramatic moments, just in case we couldn't figure that out, and then wide pullbacks and spirals from above when action was happening. The score was the stereotypical orchestral crashing whenever a plot point was revealed or a realization was made by any of the characters; often multiple times in the same scene. The whole storytelling approach was amateurish, at best, and didn't convey the idea of a major production that would be carrying the heft of a film with the above listed stars, as well as Ethan Hawke. But, then, Hawke was almost insipid in his contrast to his abrasive wife, Amanda, who was presented in a thoroughly wooden performance by Roberts, which likely wasn't helped by the boilerplate dialogue she was given. Her first lines, when she wakes her husband to announce that they're taking a last-minute vacation and why are spoken like she's reading from a book of middle American homilies about modern society. And, of course, the worst thing about the whole presentation is that it reinforces the conspiracy theories that are rampant today, by suggesting that there may be some kernel of truth to them, if people would only pay attention. What those theories also carry are the racist overtones of anything similar to the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, which is kinda how this feels when you see the upper middle class White family having their vacation disrupted by all of the surrounding events (and Black people!)

It's just trash, beginning to end, and in no way worth your time or attention.

Friday, December 22, 2023

The difference between two stories we've seen before


I was looking forward to seeing Maestro, Bradley Cooper's latest film about the life of Leonard Bernstein. Larissa objected, thinking that she would find it too slow, as there's a lot to talk about in Bernstein's complicated life. Then we found out that it was a Netflix production, so we can watch it whenever, so that problem was solved. But we had already decided to see Fallen Leaves instead. The latter is a Finnish production about two average people leading fairly downtrodden lives who discover each other by chance and try to make contact, but keep stumbling over themselves, their lives, and other obstacles. It's a very simple story but it's effectively told and fairly entertaining. Indeed, it was done so well that it won the Jury Prize at Cannes this year, proving yet again that stories don't have to be complex, as long as they're well-written and well-acted and aren't predictable Hollywood boilerplate.


Ansa (Alms Pöysti), a grocery store worker and Holappa (Jussi Vatanen), a metal reclaimer, meet up at a bar on karaoke night, having been dragged there by their respective friends, Liisa (Nuppu Koivu) and Huotari (Janne Hyytiäinen.) There's a brief spark between them that they kind of grudgingly acknowledge and then make plans to meet again to see if it becomes a fire. Unfortunately, Holappa is a functioning alcoholic and Ansa isn't the surest person in social situations, so they end up missing each other in a variety of ways (mostly caused by Holappa.) The story doesn't get any more complicated than that, aside from the brief looks into Liisa and Huotari's perspective on life and relationships and the difficulties that our two leads have in remaining employed. It's basically a story about modern life and middle age. Of course, life in Helsinki is probably much different than it is in modern America, so there's not a lot of interaction with phones or the Interwebs or any of the other things that might suffuse wealthier societies and the process of people trying to hook up (My knowledge of modern Finnish culture and society is admittedly quite limited.) But the story doesn't really need all of that, either, since most of it is just an examination of how Ansa and Holappa are looking at life and whether they're willing to trust what it and each other are telling them.


There's a bit of a Coen Brothers air to the production overall, especially when it involves Huotari, who is easily the funniest character of the cast, as he tries to convince women, in general, and then Liisa in specific that, despite his gray hair, he's not actually that old and anyone who suggests that he is must be trying to pull a con. It's like Republican projection but far less sinister and far more amusing. But there's also some of the plaintiveness and resigned attitude that often pervades Coen stories, alongside the determination and willingness to keep forging ahead that is also a frequent feature of their characters. It also doesn't finish with a pat ending but leaves it open to question as to whether the relationship we've been trying to see established for the 81 minute runtime will actually be a positive one. That uncertainty, like everything else about this film, is just like life and can easily be understood and absorbed by an audience willing to see real people do real things.


That is, of course, a contrast to Maestro, which I started to watch last night. This is just the latest version of La La Land; a movie by Hollywood and for Hollywood that is solely concerned with Hollywood and the little tragedies within it that are only really relatable to those inhabiting it. In this case, the New York City musical scene stands in for Tinseltown. In the same way Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone tried to convey the horrible struggle of being an aspiring actor, Maestro takes us one step further and tries to convey the incredible anguish of being an enormously successful composer and conductor. Admittedly, Bernstein's life was more complicated by being a gay male in a period when such a thing, even among creative types, was far less acceptable than it is now and I think this is the angle that most occupied the thoughts of writer/director/star, Bradley Cooper. But the first hour of it plays out as a brief survey of how difficult Bernstein's life was on an emotional level when on every other conceivable level it clearly was not. This was not an aberrant personality like Oppenheimer trying to relate to the people around him. This was the extraordinarily popular and, again, successful Lenny Bernstein enjoying life with both his beard and the men he had on the side.


In contrast to Fallen Leaves, this film doesn't seem like life. It feels like a Hollywood depiction of life that few in the audience would ever be able to relate to. If the first hour had spent more time on the wider scope of Bernstein's life, instead of long shots on the faces of his male lovers feeling rejected when he marries Felicia Montealegre Cohn (Carey Mulligan), I might not have gotten so bored and disappointed that I turned it off. In some respects, that's a bit of improvement, since I could only make it through 15 minutes of La La Land before leaving the room. Obviously, there are a lot of ways to look at the lengthy life of an extraordinarily talented figure who had an enormous impact on 20th century music and continues to do so today (West Side Story was just remade by someone as notable as Steven Spielberg, as just one example.) But Cooper decided to take the overwrought approach that doesn't really explore the length and breadth of that impact, but instead decides to bring it all down to the emotional angle that plays up how trying Bernstein's personal life was. In a way, it's kind of like a very removed version of Fallen Leaves, but it simply has no way to make the personal connection that the latter film does because it's too preoccupied with the sense of its own tragedy. As someone who has tried to produce creative works for my entire life, I can tell you that I'd have given a lot for my life to have turned out as tragic as Bernstein's. (Obviously, I would've had to have had even a minor fraction of his talent.)


Maybe I'm wrong about the overall film, since I only made it through the first half, but I'm not sure that I'm willing to sacrifice the other hour of my far less interesting life to find out whether Cooper's vision changes. I'd rather see stuff about more relatable people. It's not that Bernstein wasn't presented as human, which is my frequent complaint about characters. He most certainly was. It's just that what he experienced is relatable to so few other humans that the message seems lost in its own attempted majesty. That's the difference between stories, even ones that we've seen a thousand times in various forms, that try to talk about life and those that imagine that their very removed life is somehow normal for the rest of us.