Reviews are written, for the most part, about films seen before their official release date, i.e., in some sort of free screening, and posted the day before (on a Thursday before a Friday release, et cetera). Reviews are all spoiler-free and can be read prior to seeing the film. Pieces written before this journal's creation are dated and posted as originally written to show improvement and growth of style over time (hopefully).

“Oh, that I might have my request, that God would grant what I hope for, that God would be willing to crush me, to let loose his hand and cut me off!” Everyone, apparently, has their limit. The oft-quoted tale of Job tells the story of a devout man who loses everything for no discernible reason and struggles with his fate as a result. A Serious Man, the Coen Brothers' 14th directorial outing, must be said to be an updated version of the parable, with the addition of the brothers' trademark bizarre, dark humor and confident distance from the audience—as ever, we don't quite get everything, and we're not meant to. The film tells the story of a simple, good-natured and (relatively) serious man whose life begins unraveling bit by bit, and his confusion and desperation as he tries to make sense of it all and find answers in the only places he knows. It's devoid of any sentimentality and may seem flat-out mean to some viewers—the titular man is a genuinely good person who cannot seem to catch a break, and there does not appear to be any hope in sight—but the story is told skillfully and acted beautifully, and if you can make peace with the apparent futility of it all, it's a thoroughly original and entertaining story.

Larry Gopnick (Michael Stuhlbarg) is a mathematics professor in a sublimely mundane Midwestern suburb in 1967. He is married to a distant, severe woman (newcomer Sari Lennick), has two thoroughly unpleasant children (Aaron Wolff and Jessica McManus) and is dealing with a ne'er-do-well of a brother (Richard Kind) who is crashing indefinitely on his couch. He is easygoing, respectful, genuine and patient. He is also Jewish, and much of his life is centered around his faith, as is the movie itself, and the questions that plague all religious individuals soon become the conflict of the story. Larry's life starts to fall apart right away: his wife wants a divorce, his tenure may be in jeopardy, he is being bizarrely blackmailed by a determined student and he is facing great financial strain. Everyone in his life recommends that he talk to a rabbi, and he takes this to heart, but even this doesn't work out for him: the rabbis he truly wishes to see are always strangely unavailable, and the ones he does track down have circular, non-specific, symbolic answers for him. Acquaintances assure him that his faith will get him through, citing the “well of tradition” available to him as one of God's chosen people, but he soon starts to feel as though he has been chosen for nothing but trouble. (Or tsuris, as he says; the script tends to throw in Yiddish terms without bothering to spell them out for an audience who may or may not be familiar—the brothers' films always seem to be only vaguely concerned with the existence of the viewers; no easy answers are ever given. Occasionally, it's annoyingly pretentious, but most of the time it's intelligent and adroit.)

Indeed, the film itself makes a number of unusual choices that, in less talented hands, would go badly awry: virtually none of the actors are big (or even medium) names; it is a risk to have a likable and sympathetic protagonist whom no one has seen before, but Stuhlbarg proves himself to be an excellent choice. He plays Larry's slowly mounting agony and sincere desire to find guidance and do the right things in perfect befuddled balance, and his expressive face displays his ranging emotions and, most importantly, can pull off a hilarious expression of astonishment or bewilderment without seeming cartoonish. (The film's humor is predictably dark and wonderfully embarrassing—this movie will be studied for years to come when film students get to the “awkward silences” part of their syllabus.) Fred Melamed, primarily a stage and voice actor, steals his few scenes as an all-too-familiar friend of the family who pontificates artistically and lovingly about life and its tribulations as he actively helps to ruin Larry's life. The film is also not afraid to have genuinely unlikable, unredeemed characters—both of Larry's children are bratty and self-centered, not noticing their father's frustration in the slightest and treating their family life and traditions with disdain. Non-Jewish people are referred to as “goy” or, individually, “the goy”—not nastily, just somewhat dismissively, especially in one freakishly funny anecdote about a dental patient. From the very start, it is clear that the Coen brothers (who also wrote the film) are fully and comfortably aware of the idea that it is acceptable to mock the majority and not the minority, and they play with this idea with great relish. Characters are exaggerated without being unnecessarily stereotypical, and the Jewish faith is analyzed, questioned and used for comedy—but not in a way that is at all anti-Semitic; rather, in a way that questions and mocks all religion, and the way the grand, metaphorical answers one gets from it are not really answers at all, but further questions. Larry seems to seek answers in his profession as well, but soon realizes that even math is not as definite as he thought: his job is in danger for ridiculous, unfounded reasons, and a quick visual gag with the “uncertainty principle” shows just how unsure everything in life can really be. You want Larry to stop being so courteous and start being proactive in his own life and stop putting up with all the crap he's being handed (and given the Coen brothers' knack for sudden and gratuitous violence, you're also nervous about what someone pushed to the limit can do), but at the same time, you want him to hold onto his faith and be one of a small number of people who can handle crisis and pointless agita with grace.

There are a few areas in which the audience wants and is denied answers just as much as Larry: a bizarre opening scene seems to suggest a theme of strength of religious belief and the presence of some sort of idea of curses, but it is never quite linked with the main plot in any direct way. The supernatural drifts in and out of the movie later on, but the dream-fake out can really only be used once in a movie before it just feels like cheating, and there are several of them within the film. And the end, not unlike No Country For Old Men, is firmly non-committal and interpretive, which can be seen as highly frustrating, since the character of Larry seems so deserving of a neat, satisfactory conclusion to his problems. But it's the Coen brothers: as discussed, their films are entirely about telling the story, imperfect as it always is; they are not intended to tease and appease the audience's whims. They do not require you to laugh with them for them to be funny. There is a breezy, aloof, self-possessed nature to the film that will alienate some viewers, but at least it comes through with an smart, original, funny story. Perhaps it's better to avoid a simple, trite ending (like the absurdity of Job simply getting new kids along with the return of his land and wealth), as life does not work out that way, and the film's main point is the folly of human nature and the innate imperfection of life, despite what we may choose to tell ourselves through our religions.

Grade: B/B+
Release date: October 2, 2009

“RomZomCom” is not going to find its way into the OED any time soon, but it does have a related Wikipedia entry. It stands, of course, for “Romantic Zombie Comedy,” which most likely seems like a rather spectacular oxymoron to many. However, the fact remains that the zombie film genre has, over the years, branched out beyond the limits of horror and has merged with several other movie categories, including comedy. Zombieland, directed by relative newcomer Ruben Fleischer, settles comfortably into the “Romantic Zombie Comedy” genre, and also manages to be a buddy comedy, a road movie and a dysfunctional family story all at once. By balancing humor, heart and action and rationing the technicalities, it comes off as an wry, energetic riot that mocks both itself and the genre and cheerfully invites the audience in to do the same.

Despite being promoted as an outrageous, over-the-top comedy, it is rather minimalist in many of its details—when we meet our hero, played by Jesse Eisenberg, he doesn't bother sharing his name, he simply sums up the zombie problem that's plaguing the land at the moment (“Mad cow became mad people became mad zombies”) and starts outlining his personal set of rules for surviving, which becomes a running theme throughout the movie. In the first hint of irony and fourth-wall-breaking, as he says the rules, the words reveal themselves on the side of buildings or hanging in the air as he sprints past them, avoiding various undeads (cardio, he explains, is an essential part of survival, because these zombies, unfortunately, are fast). It's never quite explained if they're actually animated dead bodies, as most 'traditional' zombie canon dictates, or simply “infected” humans, as seen in 28 Days Later, but it doesn't matter. When our nameless hero meets up with another survivor (Woody Harrelson), they decide to travel together and agree to refer to one another only by their eventual destinations: Columbus and Tallahassee, respectively. The buddy comedy portion of the program thus ensues, with nervously chivalrous Columbus contrasting the brash cowboy who prides himself on his most impressive zombie kills. (“Kill of the Week” is another running joke, with Columbus voice-overing his picks for most artful techniques of disposing of zombies—another amusingly meta plot device, since they come across almost no other living humans and he reports the incidents as though he's read about them on Twitter.) Soon, of course, the romance needs to come into play, and so they meet Wichita (Emma Stone of Superbad) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin), tough sisters who have developed their own wily methods of survival. Despite a somewhat unfriendly introduction, the four join forces and ramble around the country, eventually ending up at an amusement park (playing, of course, on the idea of “Zombieland”). They bond, argue, separate, reunite and, naturally, kill lots of zombies. Not a whole lot else happens, nor is the end tied up neatly with a solution to the zombie problem or a resolving of their individual personal stories, but it works: too many action/sci-fi/otherwise supernatural stories get bogged down in the technicalities, as do tales with an unlikely hodgepodge of different characters with their own histories. Somehow, it does manage to be outrageous and over-the-top, and yet has a firm grasp on the concept of “less is more.”

The sublimely complementary performances drive the film, starting out with the lovable Eisenberg, who has been accused of borrowing Michael Cera's awkward nice guy schtick to the extreme. And while it's true that they're noticeably similar, with their their quiet demeanors, rambling phrasing and oddly polite use of profanity, it seems to be more of a movement of the nice guy finishing first after all—ever since Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 10 Things I Hate About You, it seems that the Duckies and Brian Johnsons of the movie universe are actually getting to be the heroes. Columbus manages to slaughter zombies with skill while remaining endearingly vulnerable, and his romance with the fiery Wichita plays out as sweetly awkwardly as expected. Harrelson brings to mind a significantly toned-down Mickey Knox as he fearlessly and adroitly knocks off the undead, all while scouring the country for, of all things, an elusive Twinkie. Abigail Breslin proves she can handle something beyond cute little-kid roles, and she and Stone make a strong pair and bring a sweet familial bond to the group that soon envelops them all as they soon realize that all they have is each other, and that's actually not so bad. There is actually a slight air of sadness within their makeshift family—there is, after all, something of a downside to most of the world's population being wiped out—and there are a few somber scenes that reflect their losses (startlingly, it is Harrelson who brings the most emotional resonance to the story). But after that, it's right back to bantering and merry killings.

They're all genuinely likable, nice people—and they go around killing things with ruthless skill and enjoyment. In most other stories, this wouldn't work; they would either have to do it with grim displeasure or be likable only in the anti-hero sense, but that is not the case. It seems that zombies are the answer to the dichotomy of violence in the media: we are inundated with images of glamorized violence and the message seems to be that it's the cool thing to do. However, once the enjoyment is taken just a step too far (perhaps, into the real world), then it becomes very seriously unacceptable and insulting to the value of human life. Zombies, however, need to be killed to protect the innocent; they look and seem human, but they are not, and nothing can be done to save them. The characters need feel no guilt in killing them, and the audience need not feel guilty for enjoying watching it. Somehow, the film seems to be aware of this loophole—in one scene, the foursome gleefully trash a store full of knickknacks to let off steam. They're being destructive, but what does that matter in a world that's already ravaged? The self-awareness makes it all the more enjoyable; it's aware of its own campiness and embraces it.

The comedy of the film lies not in just the increasingly creative zombie-kills, but in the sharp dialogue: there are several pop culture references that are so of-the-moment that they might be taken from this week's US Weekly (including comments about social networking websites and a certain bewigged teen sensation), and a mid-movie as-himself cameo by a legendary comedy favorite will surely be the most memorable part of the story for many viewers; instead of feeling pointless, as it might in another story, it just feels wonderfully, enjoyably absurd, especially the way in which the scene concludes. The film overall has a bawdy confidence: it's not traditional, but it's consistent and aware of its own quirkiness. The audience is invited to comer along with it or not, as long as they're willing to accept the zesty insanity all the way through. As Tallahassee so poetically puts it, “nut up or shut up.”

Grade: A-
Release date: October 2, 2009

The genre of female friendship appears to be in its heyday in movies and TV. Gone are the days when the women were merely wives and secretaries to the main characters; now the ideas of women's lives, careers and relationships are at the forefront. “Sex and the City” must be mentioned as an essential part of the growth of the presence of women's voices—despite the fact that the show largely revolved around the women's relationships with men, at the heart of the show was the connection between the four of them; within nearly every single episode, they were seen to make time for one another and the way they interacted was primarily what made the show relatable. In Whip It, Drew Barrymore's directorial debut about a misfit Texan teenager who secretly becomes a roller derby rock star, the bonds between mother and daughter, between best friends, and between teammates are all explored in layered, authentic ways—the sensitivity shown to the way women love and interact is the most profound part of this slightly superficial but entirely enjoyable story.

Ellen Page, still riding the wave of her Oscar-nominated turn in Juno, is once again endearingly sharp-but-awkward as Bliss Cavendar, who is pushed into an array of pageants by her prim, traditional (Marcia Gay Harden). It's not hard to see why any teenager would want to escape the stiflingly small town of Bodeen, but she is never really seen to openly object to her mother's wishes. She rebels in her own small ways, but still goes through with it every time, despite her mother's observation that the events do not seem to fit Bliss' “moral standards.” Bliss names Amelia Earhart as a role model and seems to need a strong female to look up to, and it is not until she impulsively goes to a roller derby game with her best friend Pash (Alia Shawkat) that she seems to find what she is looking for. After that, it's not long until she's secretly buying her own pair of skates and lying to her parents about an SAT prep course (not to mention lying about her age to be allowed on the team, the Hurl Scouts). It's never quite explained how she got to be a roller-skating prodigy—where in all her history of pageantry and perfect Miss-Congeniality smiles did she become the fastest skater on the block?—but at least the film doesn't waste time unnecessarily before getting to the action. Roller derby is not, of course, the most common theme of sports-related films, but their coach, Razor (the other-other Wilson brother, Andrew) helpfully explains the rules to the newcomers and the audience as well, using a whiteboard to break down the fairly simple rules of the game. And while thrilling, the sport is depicted as challenging and brutal, not just sexy and glamorous.

The film does, somewhat disappointingly, borrow nearly all of the standard sports-movie clichés at one point or another: the out-of-nowhere prowess of the main character, the obnoxious, threatening opponent (Juliette Lewis, zany as ever), the final-game date conflict, the neck-and-neck scores as the clock runs down. With the talent of the actors and the uniqueness of the sport in question, it's a shame to go a typical route with the details. It's the relationships that make it—the women of the team, led by Maggie Mayhem (Kristen Wiig), take on Bliss as a little sister, and their affection for one another is clear; their team has a rather poor score record, but they don't seem to mind losing, the just enjoy playing and being together (although winning is, of course, better). Since the story revolves around the friendship of athletic women, some viewers will undoubtedly assume lesbianism is a factor, but it's not, really—a few jokes are made and innuendos given, but the women don't care. They're close because they care about each other, not to titillate men or to be scandalous for the sake of it. The women themselves are engaging and interesting; unfortunately, none of them aside from Maggie get to be developed, not even Barrymore's renegade Smashley Simpson. Bliss' relationship with Pash is given a lot of time, though, and when Bliss breaks one of the cardinal roles of the Girl Code because of a guy (Landon Pigg), it has meaningful emotional consequences. And Harden, as Bliss' mother, avoids caricature by expressing genuine concern for her daughter and telling her that she is both intelligent and attractive, but erring when she focuses too much on society's approval of her lifestyle. The men in the story are important, but firmly secondary: Bliss learns something about love with musician Oliver, Razor struggles with his authority over and his affection for his team, and Bliss' well-meaning father (Daniel Stern), learns more about who his wife and daughter truly are and how he should treat them as a result of their conflict. In the end, the difference between understanding something and accepting it is subtly defined, and while Bliss and her family don't necessarily see eye-to-eye, the characters change as a result of their confrontations; it is not one-directional, it is about parents and children understanding one another.

Despite some narrational missteps, the movie is highly exciting to watch: the camera deftly follows the women as they zip around the track, smashing into each other with abandon and pumping up the crowd. It also contains one of the most creative and beautifully-shot love scenes in recent memory, proving that Barrymore has picked up plenty of artistic and innovative tips in her many years in the business. The soundtrack boasts a number of energetic, indie-rock numbers; while the idea of the quirky outsider liking indie music has been overdone somewhat recently (Garden State, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, and of course Juno), it's still enjoyable and sets a fun, youthful tone. As debut films go, it's not particularly deep or revolutionary, but strong performances, a savvy awareness of female interaction and terrific action make it a thoroughly good time.

Grade: B+
Release date: October 2, 2009

The idea of the little person trying to do the right thing and take down the evil corporation has been visited in movies before, to be sure—Erin Brockovich, Silkwood, The Insider and any number of adaptations of John Grisham novels have had a strong, unflinching protagonist who perseveres in the name of justice and honesty. Rarely, however, have these films been comedies, and even more rarely have they had such a bumbling/brilliant, Quixotic/scheming, endearing/annoying leading man as Matt Damon's Mark Whitacre in Steven Soderbergh's slick caper The Informant!, based on the true story as documented by Kurt Eichenwald in the 2000 book of the same title (sans exclamation point. The punctuation alone should be a hint to the kind of zany caper in store). Whitacre, a biochemist-turned-businessman, tells the FBI that his food-processing company, Archer Daniels Midland (ADM) is involved in an international price-fixing scheme, admitting his own participation but assuring the Bureau that he wants nothing more than to help them bring an end to these financial shenanigans. “Things are going on that I don't approve of,” he says, when asked why he would blow the whistle on a company that pays him six figures. And for a while, we believe him. He honestly seems to want to do the right thing. He's a devoted family man and genuinely cares for his friends. Part Inspector Clouseau, part Michael Scott, part Monk, he enjoys the excitement of being a government spy and genuinely believes himself to be good pals with the agents working on his case (Scott Bakula and Joel McHale), and eagerly compares himself, in his chatterbox voiceovers, to Michael Crighton characters and to Tom Cruise in The Firm. He's a bit too much of an eager beaver, and much of the comedy in the first third of the film, revolves around the Bureau's dry bewilderment at his gung-ho attitude and delight at being included in such high-level espionage. (McHale, of E!'s “The Soup,” in particular, is charmingly droll, his quizzically arched eyebrow saying all that needs to be said of Whitacre's dorky enthusiasm.)

Despite the vast amount of money exchanging hands and the extremely high stakes of the case, the FBI overall is portrayed in a decidedly unglamorous fashion, showing all the legal loopholes and difficulties with catching the bad guys in the act, and the technical complications in even the seemingly-simplest of strategies, like wearing a wire (Whitacre develops a habit of narrating his actions, as if he's doing a radio play.) The whole process also takes several years, unlike the neat 40-minute wrap-ups on TV shows. When looking at the real way that these things go down, it's hard to understand why anyone would be so genuinely zealous about toiling with the government by deceiving his own co-workers and possibly destroying his own career—and soon, Whitacre starts to wonder why too. The film takes a surprising turn around the halfway mark, exploring the pressure that goes along with involvement in an undercover operation, especially on an individual who is already somewhat less than ordinary. We know he's an odd guy from the start; he's fond of peppering his voiceover monologue with random trivia (“how does a polar bear know his nose is black?” he wonders) and confidence analyses of his own ability (“My hands are probably my favorite part of myself”). At first it's amusing that he's enjoying himself so much, but soon it becomes clear that he has his own motivations, and can't resist indulging his own ego and his own curiosity, which soon snowballs into a serious problem. Damon plays him as both compulsively deceptive and naively genuine, like a blustering version of Leonardo DiCaprio's well-meaning trickster in Catch Me If You Can. He's childish in his whims, and yet endearingly believable when he tries to prevent anything bad from happening to the 'friends' that he's worked for three years to take down. Morally, he's impossible to pin down. He preserves a strong, loving relationship with his wife (a sincere Melanie Lynsky) and she stands by him through it all, but sometimes you wish she would stand up to him. He's a thoroughly original character and played masterfully, but it's somewhat disappointing to have a lovably inept hero become someone who can't be trusted, even by the audience.

The story unfolds in deliberate pieces, with complications in the assorted cases and plots building on top of one another. In a way it seems like an old-fashioned caper, with absurd setbacks making everything more insane, but at the same time, there are only so many times you can surprise an audience with a twist. The film goes perhaps slightly too far in its attempts to pull the rug out from under us; it's easy to lose track of the actual facts of the story at times. The technical aspects prevent the film from taking itself too seriously, however—the font of the assorted title cards has an impish sixties-ish look, and is always in some sort of psychedelic bright color. The score, brilliantly rendered by Marvin Hamlisch, calls to mind a campy, old-school cop show, with its screwball country fiddle and smooth-jazz melodies—it sounds like a cross between The Pink Panther and Smokey and the Bandit, and all together, it shows just what sort of wacky, dramatic world Whitacre's living in. It's clever to give viewers a protagonist at whom they think they can laugh and also support, only to have him fool everyone and go in another direction, and it's fun to assign the bad-guy role to a huge conglomerate (which are, after all, so easy to loathe) and then partially undo it by raising the question of which kinds of deception are worse. At times it's overwrought, but for the most part, it's a smart, engaging caper, taking well-worn concepts and characters and adding dark comedy and moral grays, skipping the stiff-lipped closing lessons of previous whistle-blower stories and letting the audience decide just what makes someone worthy of sympathy.

Grade: B
Release date: September 18, 2009

[Note: quotes/comments from director come from Q&A at 9/11/09 screening at NYU's Cantor Film Center]

A romantic/drama/comedy movie containing the stories of the lives of many different Parisians, starring Juliette Binoche—if the synopsis of Cédric Klapisch's Paris sounds familiar, it's because at a glance, it is remarkably similar to 2006's Paris, je t'aime. Je t'aime, of course, is a collection of short films, whereas Paris is a hyperlink film—many stories interwoven into one, as seen in Babel, Crash, The Air I Breathe, 21 Grams, Magnolia, Traffic and many others, just in the last ten years. Despite the critical acclaim given to many of those films, the fact remains that the style is becoming distinctly overused. And a plot centering on and celebrating the city of Paris, while perhaps used less frequently, also seems like it could be far too easy and stray quickly into cliché. However, Klapisch, who also wrote the screenplay, chooses to focus on some of the more intimate aspects of the city, allowing the viewer to look from within rather than from the outside in, and this, coupled with strong performances and a sharp sense of humor, results in a reasonably strong and accessible story of not just Paris, but Parisians and their lives.

Klapisch, who hails from a town seven kilometers outside of Paris, stated at a recent screening of the film that he wanted to include stories revolving around elements of daily Parisian life, elements that are not part of the stereotypical glitzy portrait of the city, but those that seem quite commonplace. Multiple scenes take place, therefore, at an outdoor market, where Élise (Binoche) does her shopping and develops a gentle flirtation with a vendor. Another plotline involves the high-strung matron of a bakery who sells pastry and, yes, baguettes to several of the other characters with obsessive care. Élise's brother, Pierre (Romain Duris) suffers from a debiliating heart condition and spends his days watching the city outside his high-rise window, watching as the lives of his neighbors unfold, highlighting the way those in the city are connected, and yet not, as a distance still remains between them. Relationships are revealed in pieces; the way the stories relate to one another is not spelled out in an overt fashion, and sometimes they don't even seem to connect at all. Klapisch cited Robert Altman's Short Cuts (1993) as inspiration, saying that he wanted to avoid the “obvious[ness]” of films like Crash, where the characters meet and affect one another in direct, suspenseful ways—while it's nice to not have things spelled out for the viewer, at times the film feels disconnected in a distracting way as the audience works to figure out how things fit in, only to eventually realize that they simply don't. Several late scenes involving a handful of party girls touring a meat-packing plant feel out of place and random, only serving to contrast other scenes involving the main characters as they cut back and forth. The film seems to hover somewhere between having multiple separate stories taking place in the same city and having one central story with various angles and points of view, and at times it's simply muddled.

The film does appear to have a sense of humor about itself, though. Another story involves a discontented professor (Fabrice Luchini) who is also working on a documentary about the city, and it feels vaguely and cleverly satirical as he travels to various iconic Parisian landmarks and struggles to deliver the bland narration as he begins to suffer from ennui and a solid midlife crisis. He handles this by flirting with one of his students (Mélanie Laurent, most recently seen getting bloody revenge in Inglourious Basterds) in a most unconventional way that seems to suggest a conflict between the young and the old in Paris; the way it is both a classically old and beautiful city, and also a hip, fashionable center of style and youth. His examination of his life affects his brother, who faces impending fatherhood: a sudden dream sequence highlights the way in which normalcy is a myth and society's expectations are unreasonable, and while the themes are clever, the scene feels wildly out of place, style-wise, using unnatural digital imagery and dramatic color to heighten the unreality.

Another story takes place, interestingly, largely outside the city of Paris, as a man from Cameroon attempts to get into the city by any means necessary. Klapisch explained that those outside France often are unaware of the immigration struggles between Africa and France, comparing it to relations between Mexico and the United States. What might have been the most interesting and original storyline is, unfortunately, left too vague and unexplained, and too much time elapses between scenes from the story, with the result that by the time the plot is revisited, the viewer has lost focus and cannot remember how he fits into the story overall. As Paris is considered to be a city of glamour, culture and wealth, it would have been worthwhile to spend more time on the story of someone coming from somewhere very different and trying to get to the city (and why), but a lack of elaboration leaves those scenes feeling underdone and unfinished.

The performances, however, are strong across the board—Binoche is as lovely and honest as ever, managing three kids, a difficult job and a sick brother with quiet, growing strength. She and Duris work well together and have a believable sibling cameraderie; “they interact more than they act,” the director explained. Luchini is equal parts heartbreaking and hilarious (see the “Land of 1,000 Dances” scene) as he pursues a love affair with a disinterested young woman, believing that it will save him from his uncertainty and unhappiness. The film is about the people, not the city, and at times, it is affecting and genuine in a way often prevented by the crowded, quickly-shifting nature of hyperlink films. Tighter editing and focus might have helped it achieve higher levels of honesty and relatability—as it is, it catches the eye, but it never shines.

Grade: B-
Release date: September 18, 2009 [limited]

[Written 7/14/09; published in the Chestnut Hill Local 7/23/09]

The sixth chapter in the Harry Potter film series is perhaps the most highly anticipated installment so far due to elements both creative and technical—the film was, as all Potter fans know and highly resent, delayed from last November to this summer in order to ensure the studio a summer blockbuster to match 2008's The Dark Knight. And, of course, as all fans and many non-fans alike already know, the film contains the most emotional and resonant on-screen character death so far. Needless to say, expectations from moviegoers are exceptionally high, and fortunately, the film is the smartest and most mature of the series so far. Unlike its predecessors, the film attempts to appeal to both fans of the book series and non-fans alike, making it a genuinely good film, not just a well-done adaptation. Details that would be missed by those who have not read the books are filled in with succinct dialogue, and minor points for the costume-wearing, midnight-party crowd only are generously sprinkled throughout the film. For once, the filmmakers seem to be fans of the series, which is a welcome change, and important allusions to the previous stories are made, along with—most essentially—foreshadowing for the final two films, parts one and two of the seventh book.

In keeping with the first five movies, the film does admittedly attempt to cover too much ground at times, giving the pacing a rushed feel in the first act, but at least it isn't action scene after kinetic action scene; a logical amount of time is given to character development and plot build-up. And the relationships between characters are most definitely at the heart of the story: the film was touted by the creators as being, in part, a teen-romance comedy, and the style works reasonably well. Most of the humor is found in Ron's (Grint) giddy and shallow hookup with Lavender Brown (Jessie Cave), a fellow Gryffindor who fawns over her Quidditch sometimes-champion, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he continues to quietly pine for his brainy pal, Hermione (Watson). The affection between Harry and his best friend's younger sister, Ginny (Bonnie Wright), on the other hand, is allowed to simmer gently with lingering glances and unspoken chemistry, building upon from the friendship established in the previous films. Where the books opt for intimations and tacit narrative parallels, however, the movie tends to explain outright, and it sometimes feels a bit too easy, the way the characters are able to articulate what is going on while still lacking the emotional maturity to handle the feelings in question.

However, the romance is really the secondary plot of the film; the most important relationship is the one between Harry and his headmaster, Dumbledore. Their scholarly rapport is finally given enough time to blossom into a more familial bond; the enigmatic professor wishes to give Harry the tools, both physical and mental, that he needs to eventually defeat his nemesis, Voldemort, and the film manages to capture the emotional side of their attachment. The two actors work better together than they have in any film so far, and their scenes together are sincere as they work together towards a common goal. Several of their private lessons from the book are omitted in the film, but this is perhaps a wise choice, as it leaves the audience wanting more of their time together instead of tiring of the long expository scenes, and are therefore even more affected by the end result of their efforts together.

The film delivers a wide range of emotions as it progresses from comedy to tragedy, and most of the actors are required to go even further than before, with satisfying results. Grint, as Ron, is allowed to show his talent for humor, getting to be the source of comedy, rather than simply the butt of the jokes, as happened too frequently in the earlier films. As Hermione deals with conflicting new feelings heartbreak, Watson, while still the weakest actor of the three, shows the most genuine emotion seen from her so far; for once she is not simply reciting the lines, but feeling them. And Radcliffe, who tends to give his best performances when working off other strong actors (including Gary Oldman and Ralph Fiennes) brings an added level of maturity and ease to Harry as he begins to understand the path ahead of him and the responsibilities he must fulfill. He, too, shows a flair for comedy, most notably in a scene where, bolstered by a swallow of lucky potion, he takes action and cleverly wheedles an important truth out of a reluctant professor (Jim Broadbent). Another side of Harry's schoolboy enemy, Draco Malfoy (Tom Felton) is seen as he struggles with his own responsibilities and his own identity, resulting in a surprisingly moving performance from the formerly one-note bully. And Michael Gambon, who received sharp criticism from fans for his harsh, fiery interpretation of the quirky, even-tempered Dumbledore in previous films, is much more effective here, capturing the character's quiet strength, dry wit and, by the film's end, tragically honest and imperfect humanity. And like the actor, the emotion of the film never goes too over-the-top; the calamitous ending of the film is delivered with gentle, noble sorrow, somewhat toned down from the frantic terror of the book, and it helps create the appropriate sense of heavy loss.

The effects are, as always, stunning to behold—the much-loved sport of Quidditch is back, having sat out the fourth and fifth films, adding a bit of cheery excitement to the early parts of the film. The climactic action scene is simply breathtaking as Harry and Dumbledore battle a lakeful of terrifying Gollum-like creatures (known in the books as Inferi; reanimated corpses) in an underground cave by the sea. Light and dark are used liberally and well: a cozy night scene is rent apart by the arrival of enemies and the tragic immolation of a beloved home. Later, in contrast, Harry is nearly dragged into the lake's shadowy depths before being rescued by a roaring ring of fire, there used a symbol of the power of good. The visuals reflect the plot's usage of good and evil and the way one can disguise itself as the other, a clever move in light of the film's shocking end, where one character reveals more than one surprising identity. A scene very nearly the end, a wordless tribute to a fallen hero, uses a beautiful and affecting visual of a thousand lit wandtips, saying volumes where dialogue would feel inadequate and continuing the 'less is more' theme that surfaces multiple times through the film.

Overall, the film balances exuberance and subtlety well, avoiding melodrama and opting for genuine emotion, both positive and negative. The actors overall are given more to work with and give purer performances than ever before, now that their characters are truly becoming fully-fledged, three-dimensional individuals. The plot is smartly balanced, capturing the complex blend of the fun, frivolous nature of adolescence and the more serious, difficult elements of early adulthood that make it such a tumultuous time for Muggles and wizards alike. It stands on its own as a strong film, but also fits seamlessly into the series, recalling past plots and paving the way for the future concepts, showing the way the actors, plots and films overall have matured and strengthened as the great series heads for its final act.

Grade: B+/A-

[Written 6/36/09; published in the Philadelphia Inquirer 7/2/09]

I was born in 1988, and before I knew what music was, I knew Michael's work. I have loved his music for my entire life, and I have never believed he was guilty the crimes of which he was accused. It's not hard at all to believe that someone who had been abused and exploited by the adults in his life would seek the friendship of children, who are more loving and less judgmental. And similarly, it's not unexpected that someone who was mocked for his looks by his jealous siblings would have issues with self-image. If anything, he is guilty only of putting too much faith in the media, who lauded him as a child and cruelly derided him as an adult, and who are now turning around and singing his praises now that he is gone. The hypocrisy is extremely maddening, and one can only hope the press will have enough grace to shelve their opinions about the unconventional aspects of his life and focus on his enormous contributions to the art world in the wake of his death.

[Written 7/2/09]

Much of the press surrounding Michael Mann's Public Enemies, the story of the birth of the FBI and the hunt for bank robber John Dillinger in the early 1930s, claims that the story is particularly timely during this period of economic trouble, and that audiences will be drawn to the story of one man who boldly took what he felt was owed him by the banks and the government. This is perhaps giving the average moviegoer too much credit, however, and it is rather more likely that the main draws of the film will be the presence of box-office kings Johnny Depp and Christian Bale and the great number of shoot-outs and car chases. Mann's career in recent years has seen a number of largely forgettable, high-octane action films (Miami Vice, Collateral), and at first glance, his most recent outing might appear to be nothing more than an attempt to juice up the gangster films of the past for a new audience. However, the film has a mature confidence that takes it beyond the level of an average action movie—the shoot-outs and car chases complement the story; they are not the story itself.

The film makes many bold technical choices, starting from the very beginning, which eschews any opening titles and offers a brief expository title card before diving straight into a jailbreak scene. Depp's Dillinger is not introduced with any sort of dramatic cinematography or with any explanatory dialogue; the viewer is simply thrown into the story. And the style of the film only increases the viewer's sense of active presence with the plot: in a uncommon move, the entire movie is filmed with a hand-held camera. This is often disorienting and jarring, especially when shots are framed behind someone's ear or through a smudged window, but the style is consistent, and feels like a conscious, intelligent choice, rather than an attempt at added movement for movement's sake. Furthermore, the film is not lit in a typical style, with the main characters illuminated clearly and the background more obscure. Instead, the scenes are lit by the lamps, streetlights and, on occasion, moonlight within the setting, and nothing more. The scenes are therefore often dim or strangely tinted, but it helps add to the realism of the film. Simply put, it is a movie that does not try to look like a movie. The tight shots on characters' faces and the quick shots following their movements make it feel almost documentary-like at times (which is an interesting choice in this age of "reality" TV). As such, the actors control the plot and the emotion; the camera appears to be there simply to follow them around, rather than to dictate the overall feel of the film. Some may find the style off-putting, but it is exemplary of the assured, cohesive nature of the work.

The plot itself also strives to stay true to history, for the most part, and keeps the action scenes few and far between to keep the tension and to remain a historical biopic, rather than a mindless shoot-'em-up. However, at times this causes the plot to lose momentum and become slightly uneven, leaving the audience somewhat lost within the story structure. Fortunately, however, the true story is both exciting and interesting enough to provide a good number of both cerebral and kinetic scenes; the FBI's methods are explored to a sensible degree, and the action scenes are nicely balanced with the love story between Dillinger and Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard), along with the other interpersonal relationships. The film uses humor sparsely but well, mostly relying on Dillinger's dry wit and irresistible charm; in one memorable scene, the prosecutor unconsciously puts his arm around the prisoner for a photo op, much to the chagrin of the other arresting officials. Unlike other, similar cat-and-mouse crime films, like 2007's American Gangster, neither the humor nor the tension rest on the fact that the 'good guys' are a step behind the more talented 'bad guys;' both the hunter and the hunted are competent and, as the film progresses, equally dangerous.

In a film containing such notorious characters as J. Edgar Hoover and John Dillinger, one might expect that one or two performances will overshadow the rest. However, the film surprises yet again and instead offers several balanced, under-the-top depictions from all of the lead actors. Depp, borrowing a light twangy accent from his own bootlegger grandfather, presents Dillinger as a suave, cocky charmer and a talented thief, but avoids caricature with various nuances, such as Dillinger's protectiveness of Billie and his preference for planning his heists carefully; he comments that is is a bad idea to work with anyone desperate, as it will jeopardize the plan and call unnecessary attention to the scheme. He doesn't attempt to make the man seem sweet and tragically misunderstood; he roughs up bank managers and shoots back at his pursuers with at least as much force as they unload upon him, but the fact remains that he is not the hardened, vicious criminal that the FBI claims that he is. While his actions are larger than life, he remains a decidedly normal person, memorably summarizing his fondnesses as "baseball, movies, good clothes, fast cars, whiskey and [Billie]." He robs banks because he can, believing that he will be caught only when he is careless enough to deserve it, and while his overconfidence is clearly his fatal flaw, he remains highly likable in his everyman-ness, easily relatable in both his desire for greatness and the commonness of his true nature. Depp provides Dillinger with both easygoing charisma and dark intensity in equal measure, racking up yet another impressive performance on his already remarkable resume.

Bale, while given far less to work with, is solid in his portrayal of the repressed, determined Special Agent Melvin Purvis, who quickly comes to take Dillinger's lawlessness and multiple escapes as a personal insult, hunting him down with increased ferocity and, at times, becoming as reckless as Dillinger himself in his pursuit. His character goes largely undeveloped, but in a way, it makes sense; his entire life is his job, and he loses himself in his fierce desire for justice. His ruthlessness does appear to make him more effective at his job, but Bale manages to subtly show the way that the price of 'justice' is, eventually, far higher than he expected or is prepared to pay. Marion Cotillard, last seen positively setting the screen on fire in her Oscar-winning performance in La Vie En Rose, is more delicate and subdued here, bringing out a gentler side of Dillinger and providing him with the true human connection he seems to lack. Their relationship barely has time to blossom before his actions overtake their lives, but there's something sweetly innocent about their union; they dream of running away together with their newfound wealth and dancing all night on a South American beach, and it's clear that they both really believe, or at least hope, that it is possible. Depp and Cotillard have a tender chemistry, saying more with their lingering glances than their dialogue, and most of the emotional resonance lies with them, although the film shrewdly avoids of the overwrought scenes of romantic cliché. The minor performances are strong across the board, most especially Billy Crudup (Watchmen) as the terse, merciless J. Edgar Hoover, compared to a bulldog in reality for both his appearance and nature, who is unpleasant without being cartoonish, and Stephen Graham (Snatch) as the infamous "Baby-Face" Nelson, a maniacal loose cannon who contrasts Dillinger's slick efficiency with his off-the-wall theatrics and violence. The story seems to be the most important part, and the actors are there to support it, not the other way around.

Ultimately, the film is an intriguing blend of past and present; the costumes (by Colleen Atwood), sets and dialogue are firmly '30s, but the themes and camera style give it a more modern feel. Elliot Goldenthal (Frida) provides a haunting, understated score, punctuated with a mixture of old Billie Holiday classics and newer blues pieces from Otis Taylor (most prominently the driving, catchy "Ten Million Slaves," as heard in the film's trailer). The specific story is taken from Bryan Burrough's 2004 non-fiction work of the same title, a clever, fast-paced, detail-laden book that spends nearly 600 pages detailing the birth of “the modern FBI...in six hundred days.” This, perhaps, is the cause of the film's strengths as well as its weaknesses—its attention to detail and desire to tell the whole story rather than just skipping to the exciting parts makes for an intelligent, plot-driven drama, but at the same time, it causes some areas of uneven pacing and storytelling. Despite its attempt to be thorough, there simply is not enough time in a feature-length film to tell every bit of a complex real-life story, and some areas, such as the background of the history of the government before the creation of the FBI (which would help to show the significance and the impact of its creation), the relationships between Dillinger and his associates and the way in which Dillinger became Public Enemy #1, are conspicuous in their absence. Despite these narrative missteps, the whole thing is smartly underdone, saving its excitement for the right moments and then settling back into reasonably sophisticated storytelling. The ending is not preachy or heavy-handed, and it is up to the viewer to interpret the message and decide on its intention and its current cultural significance.

Grade: B+

[Posted 12/31/08]

All movies seen in 2008, from January 1 to December 31. All seen for the first time, beginning to end, no edits or commercials allowed.

KEY:
* = in the cinema
recommended
highly recommended
skip it
no strong opinion

( click for the list )

[Written 12/17/08]

Darren Aronofsky departs from his reality-bending thinkers for this gritty, poignant story of a former champion reaching the end of his career. Many are calling it Mickey Rourke's comeback, and it's somewhat bittersweet--the parallels between Rourke and his character, Randy "The Ram" Robinson, are lost on no one who knows anything of the actor's story, and it's as if this is the sad version of what his life might have become. The film keeps away from the standard format: he's not a self-destructive machine who powers forward until the bitter end without realizing what he's done to himself until it's too late. He knows perfectly well, but can't help himself. Wrestling is his greatest love, it's given him everything and taken everything away. Rourke plays him with a brutal honesty, making you love him and hate him at the same time, as he takes two steps forward and three back at a time as he attempts to fix things in his life when a health scare forces him to make changes. Randy is slightly reminiscent of Marv, Rourke's not-to-be-forgotten lovable tough guy in 2005's Sin City, but there's an odd gentleness to him as well. The neighborhood kids love him, and he seems to genuinely like them in return. He's friendly to fans and faithfully attends conventions and autograph signings, and even jokes around with customers when he is humiliatingly relegated to deli-counter duty at his supermarket job by his snide boss. People love him, but no one really knows him, and though he never quite puts it into words, it's clear that is lack of a real connection with another person is killing him. "The only place I get hurt is out there," he says, before stepping into the ring.

He tries to find salvation with Pam, a sensitive stripper (Marisa Tomei), who keeps Randy at arm's length because, it seems, she sees too much of herself in him, the two performers who will only last as long as their bodies will let them. She wants him to see her as more than a pole dancer, but can't let herself see him as anything more than a customer, despite their obvious connection. Tomei plays Pam as a complex, guarded person who can't decide whether she wants to mother him, love him or push him away. The two of them have a sweet sort of chemistry; they could probably help each other a great deal, but can't quite figure out how to see each other as simply people. The only other person in Randy's life is his college-aged daughter, Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood), who's torn between her fury at his absence from her life and her long-hidden affection for him. The scenes between the two of them are the most poignant in the film, especially his beach-side confession where, again, he admits that he knows he's been wrong and doesn't deserve forgiveness, but can only hope for love. His endearingly clueless attempts to win her affection with gifts ("it's got an 'S' on it") make it all the more tragic when it's clear that he means well, but doesn't know how to follow through with relationships.

The film also paints a fascinating portrait of the behind-the-scenes goings-on in the wrestling circuit: there is a startling but rather touching camaraderie between the fighters; they give each other bro-hugs, pep talks and compliments before and after beating the daylights out of each other with everything and anything they can get their hands on. In one scene, Randy and another wrestler go to a hardware store and joke around, playfully choosing different tools with which to mangle each other later, like a bizarre parody of kids in a toy store. One ghastly scene involves a staple gun and a sheet of glass (a guy in the audience memorably offers his prosthetic leg as an additional weapon). By the end, they're covered in blood, but there's nothing but affection between them because, as the viewer comes to realize, it's not about the wrestlers at all. "What matters is, they liked it," Randy tells another fighter.

He genuinely loves making audiences happy, no matter what the cost. There's something tragic about the way he destroys his body just to hear their cheers, and they egg him on, not knowing (or maybe not caring) what a real toll it's taking. He eagerly keeps up the image, pumping iron (with some pharmaceutical assistance), dyeing his hair his trademark blond, and getting regular tans. He has no identity aside from The Ram; he doesn't like being called by his legal name and relishes acknowledgment from fans, but burns with shame when someone recognizes him from the old days as he serves potato salad at his day job. He's stuck in a previous time--he uses roadside payphones, plays ancient Nintendo games with the neighborhood kids and still loves his '80s tunes (leading to a cute scene where he bonds with Pam over their love of classic metal tunes. "Nineties fuckin' sucked," they agree). He is trying to outrun time; a scene in which his face falls as he wordlessly gazes around at a signing at other aged wrestlers, broken down and unremembered, shows that he knows, deep down, that the end is coming for him, and all he can do is make his time count. He is, ultimately, frustrating and lovable, both a brute and a gentle soul. When his expressive eyes fill with tears as he voices his regrets, it's both Randy and Rourke speaking, and the audience feels every moment of it deeply.

Grade: B+

[Written 10/3/08]

It's being called this year's Juno, predictably, because it involves Michael Cera and young, quirky teens falling in love, but it's not quite a fair comparison. While they're both clever and have wonderful heart, Playlist stands on its own. It is rather hard to find anything at all to compare it to directly, because the writers took a few risks in pursuit of originality, the first being that the events and characters' motivations revolve around tracking down a beloved band in a cryptically-located late-night concert--but it's certainly not Fall Out Boy or the Jonas Brothers. The plot relies heavily on the concept of indie music and its assorted diehard fans (and takes for granted that viewers will know the definitions of "queercore" and "bait-and-switch [concerts]"). The idea could easily have fallen flat and the viewers might have found the device too inaccessible or pretentious, but the earnestness and humor brought by Cera and Kat Dennings (The 40-Year-Old Virgin) make everything work and make the entire thing charming in a refreshingly new way.

Cera, as the eponymous Nick, is at his awkward, lovable best here, communicating his love for his flighty, pixieish girlfriend Tris (Alexis Dziena) through mix-CDs (which, in a cutesy twist, are regularly rescued from the trash by an unknowing Norah, who finds them brilliant). It's hard to understand what Nick sees in his lady love, but anyone who has ever attended high school remembers the bizarre way in which teens come together in inexplicable pairings (and stay together despite obvious differences), and it manages to ring true. Dennings sidesteps the archetypal sullen non-conformist by portraying the intelligent Norah as just sarcastic enough and just conflicted enough--a subplot about her famous father emerges, and her habit of using her position to benefit herself and her desire not to seem spoiled or receive opportunities too easily round out her character satisfactorily. (Tris' backhanded insults about Norah's looks don't hold much water, though, but that's a common casualty in high-school movies--at least they didn't put her in glasses to emphasize her outsider-ness.)

The second daring move made by the filmmakers is the story's one-magical-night structure; it has been compared to Before Sunrise for the way it focuses on the blossoming of a relationship in the space of several hours. A few other plotlines run concurrently--aside from Nick and Norah's pursuit of their favorite group, Where's Fluffy?, they also attempt to get Norah's drunk friend (an entertaining Ari Graynor) safely home with Nick's cheery friends (Aaron Yoo and Rafi Gavron, both of whom are charmingly un-stereotypical as Nick's gay bandmates). At the same time, Norah attempts to evade her seedy semi-ex (Jay Baruchel, somehow as winning as a tough guy as he has been in his past awkward-doofus roles) whose affection for Norah becomes questionable as he attempts to promote his own music. Things get a bit jumbled at times, but the subplot about Norah's friend Caroline has a great deal of fun with the eternal question: what does one do when inebriated in late-night NYC? The possibilities are endless, of course, and it leads to all sorts of entertaining shenanigans, including a watch-if-you-dare scene in a train station bathroom and a random encounter in a drag club. At times the film almost becomes a love song to the city that never sleeps, revealing some of the more bizarre and fun corners of Manhattan and all the mischief one can get up to.

The main characters' flirtation is just sweet enough; they actually have things in common and maintain a quick-witted banter. They also call each other out on their strange choices of romantic partners, and the sparks between them are evident in the way they fight as well. (While the film doesn't rely on quaint dialogue as much as Juno does, viewers will undoubtedly be quoting "Let's dance, douchebag!" quite as much as anything about hamburger phones.) Their relationship reaches its high point at--where else?--a musical recording studio, and while their impulsive passion is endearing, one has to wonder if it's believable of the somewhat shy lovebirds--and an inconveniently-placed microphone offers odd potential for a plot point that never seems to go anywhere. Despite a few narrational missteps, the film overall is witty and lovable, giving a exhilarating picture of the New York music scene and putting forth teen characters who fight, love and jam while managing to stay true to life (and, what's more, not talk like they're 35, as so many of today's fictional teens will do). It has a good heart and good tunes--and mercifully, no one's eggo is preggo.

Grade: B+

[Written 9/18/08]

In Ghost Town, a recently deceased man enlists the help of a reluctant medium to help his widow avoid a terrible fate. If it sounds familiar, it should--half an hour in, you half-expect Frank (Greg Kinnear) to float a penny towards his lady love, Gwen (Téa Leoni) and start saying "ditto." However, the film has enough unique points to make it stand on its own--for one thing, the ghost in question isn't that much of a nice guy. He was cheating on his wife when he died, and now she's engaged to someone new. And the clairvoyant in question is a misanthropic dentist, Bertram Pincus (Ricky Gervais) who underwent a routine colonoscopy and died on the table for seven minutes. When he leaves the hospital, suddenly he's being chased by needy spirits who are thrilled that he can see him and have endless requests to complete their unfinished business. This is all in the trailer, of course, and the film takes a bit too long getting to the point, but fortunately the early scenes feature the always-brilliant Kristen Wiig as the surgeon who botched his procedure. The scenes with the two of them bantering are witty and effortless; it's always a good thing when two excellent comedians get to work off one another.

Director and writer David Koepp (Secret Window, Stir of Echoes) was reportedly afraid that Gervais, whose infamous turn as incompetent boss David Brent on the original "Office" series has earned him great esteem in Britain, might not be as well received by American audiences unused to his style of humor. If this turns out to be true, it'll be a shame--he is at his best here, with his dry, acerbic wit and awkward ramblings, believably going from hilarious-grouchy to sympathetic-grouchy with no trouble. Early on, the movie is something of a buddy comedy, as the too-slick Frank attempts to cajole the exasperated Pincus into breaking up his wife's new relationship, which he is reluctant to do when he realizes the new man in question (Billy Campbell) is actually a pretty good guy. They then decide to offer her a romantic alternative--namely, Pincus himself. A bizarre spin on Cyrano de Bergerac thus ensues, with Frank offering suggestions for wooing Gwen away from her do-gooder fiancé and Pincus botching it horrifically and genuinely starting to warm up to her at the same time. A bunch of standard talking-to-a-guy-no-one-else-can-see humor ensues as well, which is really only funny because of Gervais' delivery and Leoni's bewildered reactions--she's a bit more unreserved than we've seen her recently and takes rather well to comedy. Overall, it does, at least, manage to avoid too many typical romantic-comedy pitfalls by putting an unusual spin on things.

Things do get a bit too precious, of course, as the film progresses and people begin to learn their lessons--there's actually a staring-sadly-out-the-rainy-window bit (although it's actually hail, "the most pointless form of precipitation") and a dangling-kitty motivation poster. Pincus, of course, starts helping the ghosts with their various last wishes, so to speak, and all the old cliches are there--the grandmother leaving a letter to her grown daughter, the accident victims reassuring their guilt-ridden living friends--at least Alan Ruck shows up briefly, although he's as underused as he was in The Happening this summer. It's nice, in a way, but it's been done too much and it just doesn't fit with the sharp wit of other scenes. (Not that all the humor is top-drawer: they do manage to fit in a number of genital jokes, but at least they're a little atypical--they're about a mummy.) A cutesy but cleverly unforced ending leave things slightly open-ended, and it doesn't really push too much of a lesson. Fans of Gervais might be a little disappointed to see him being a bit nicer than usual, but overall, Koepp needn't worry--the mixture of lightheartedness, sarcasm and heart makes for a reasonably entertaining story. (And no one gets dragged to hell by those stupid groaning tissue-paper guys.)

Grade: B-

[Written 9/16/08]

Make no mistake: this is not, as the TV spots claim, "Samuel L. Jackson as you've never seen him." This is Sam as you've seen him about nine hundred and twelve times--cocky, menacing and funny, with his unnerving, booming laugh and brilliantly-timed verbal smackdowns. (The man must have some kind of Guinness world record for eliciting the most applause and whoops from audiences over the years.) It's all right, though, because he's just so good at it.

And to be fair, this is an engaging character: the suggestively-named Abel Turner is an LAPD officer with 28 years of service and a widowed father of two, and he runs his home like he runs his city: with strict rules and no tolerance for misbehavior. He corrects people's grammar, doles out advice to fellow cops and neighbors and, when a young interracial couple, Chris and Lisa (Patrick Wilson and Kerry Washington) move in next door, doesn't hesitate to tell them exactly what he thinks. He doesn't want them there, and as Chris correctly surmises, race is a part of it--but it's not that simple. Turner is shown interacting cordially with an Asian neighbor, his Latino squad car partner and others; it is clear that he's not simply a racist. He's a control freak, and his intolerance is simply for anyone who seems to disobey him. He is shown strong-arming both white and black criminals and condescendingly telling them to clean up their acts; it is clear that he prides himself, too much, in the level of power his profession and his role as a father give him. But at the same time, he's childish--he does whatever he can to bait Chris and Lisa, damaging their home and offering snide comments about their lives at every opportunity. He loves being an authority figure and can't stand being told what to do himself. It is this combination of warped morality, self-righteousness and bravado that inflames the situation between himself and his neighbors and that makes him a decent (if somewhat unoriginal) antagonist.

Chris and Lisa, in the hands of weaker actors, would come off as dull and somewhat unlikable, but Wilson (Little Children) and Washington (The Last King of Scotland) have enough chemistry and skill to make their newly married couple believable. Early on, they're still in the fun, lusty stage of their relationship, but as the film progresses they encounter the issues that plague newlyweds: apprehension over having children, distance from their in-laws, trouble at work--not to mention their increasingly combative neighbor. Things become strained between them, of course, and the question becomes whether they will bond together and become closer as a result of their problems or if they will be driven apart by them. Again, it's nothing too groundbreaking, but the realistic tension between them helps to ground the film and give it backbone.

And the various issues of race are indeed addressed in a fairly direct way: Turner comments on Chris' fondness for rap music and bluntly asks if it's something he shares with his wife; one of their friends (Justin Chambers of "Grey's Anatomy," who in real life is married and has several children with a black woman) tactlessly compliments Chris on his choice of wife and says he's been trying to find himself a black girl; Turner's daughter seeks advice from Lisa on the matters of interracial dating and tells her of the reactions she's seen. The movie does a decent job of making it a plot point without focusing on it to an extreme degree--it becomes more about the characters' personalities and what they're willing to do more than their skin color.

The tension builds slowly as the film progresses, echoed by continuing reports of a spreading wildfire in the California hills by their homes, and things build to a head in the third act--unfortunately, the film goes too far in its dramatic turn and it goes from heated to overdone. We are given a dully cliched story from Turner's past that strongly suggests motivation for his actions, and he pulls another stunt to drive Chris and Lisa out, but this time it goes too far and gets beyond his control. While it's interesting to watch such a tightly-wound man realize he's losing his hold on things, things get too gimmicky and it stops being the character study that it was heading toward becoming and instead turns into a standard action-thriller with a predictably rowdy finale. (It's nice to see that Wilson can be physical, though, given his role in the wildly anticipated 2009 graphic-novel adaption Watchmen.) We see Turner building in his anger and his recklessness, but at the same time the thing that made the character three-dimensional was his sense of right and wrong, however skewed it might have been, and his actions late in the film don't seem to quite jive with the personality set up earlier; it's hard to believe he'd ally himself with certain characters, and it's harder to believe he would take the measures that he does when he has his kids to think about. Overall it's fairly entertaining, but one gets the distinct impression it could've flown a lot higher than it does and it's a bit of a disappointment to see it lose heart two-thirds of the way through and opt for an easy out.

Grade: C+

[Written 4/5/08]

Norah Jones makes her film debut in this simple, melancholy film about the ways in which people need one another. Resting the entire film upon a brand-new actress' shoulders is a risky move, but it pays off for the most part--Jones isn't dazzling, but she's satisfyingly convincing and manages to deliver her lines in a non-reading-off-the-page sort of way, like many fledgling film performers seem to (the bar, after all, is rather low for first-time singers-turned-actors). Her character, however, is somewhat frustrating: Elizabeth is astonishingly passive for a protagonist as she moves from place to place around the country, seemingly looking for something but behaving more as though she's waiting for something to happen to her or around her rather than actively making a change. She finds herself waitressing positions in diners and cafés in every city she travels to, thus emphasizing her subconscious preference for staying in the background, and goes by different forms of her name in each one (Lizzie, Betty, Beth). The only place in which she uses her full name is home in New York City, suggesting that perhaps these other places are only seeing a bit of her and she's not ready to commit to any of them, despite her restless ways.

Along the way she meets a handful of fairly stock characters--a downtrodden drunk of a cop and his fiery younger wife (Strathairn and Weisz), a flighty Southern gal with a fondness for gambling (Portman) and, of course, a shy, charming Brit (Law) to whom she feels continuously drawn over her year-long sojourn, sending him semi-cryptic postcards from around the States. None of them are particularly unique, but they're portrayed by such talented actors that all of them feel poignant; Straithairn and Weisz in particular each get emotional monologues, shot in long, simple takes, that give just enough insight into their lives to make them meaningful, but not enough to overshadow the others. Elizabeth seems to want to help all of them, and yet she stands by and watches (and sometimes, enables) as they engage in various self-destructive behaviors, and it seems as though she just doesn't know how to say 'no.' Leslie, Portman's flaky gambler, finally calls her on her habit of trusting implicitly and not looking closely enough at people she associates with, and though she doesn't say it, Elizabeth seems to take her words to heart. (Nitpick: Leslie clearly should have had long, lavishly painted fingernails, not Portman's sensibly trimmed ones. Points for her big charm bracelet, though, which is a nice little visual echo of Elizabeth's travels and the way she collects experiences and memories here and there.) Late in the film Elizabeth acknowledges that people often look for themselves in the reflections of others; a great deal of character development seems to fit into that one line. No one in the film makes any kind of radical change in the lives, but everyone learns something.

The film itself very frequently features a blurred, colorful slow-motion style that is apparently director Wong Kar-Wai's trademark; sometimes the drawn-out shots on characters' faces helps to highlight their emotions, but other times it feels overly dramatic and doesn't fit with the tone of the film. Most film viewers will associate it with impending danger, as it is commonly used that way in other films, so it rather throws off the flow of the plot and causes viewers to tense at inappropriate moments. Similarly, the use of overbright, colored lights in these shots gives it a glamorous feel that doesn't jive with the simplistic, emotion-driven storyline. It's better, though, to focus more on slow, wordless images than to focus on dialogue and have too much of it, so the incongruous visual style doesn't damage the film too much. For the most part, the film knows where it's going and delivers a somewhat open-ended conclusion that doesn't force one idea or another, it simply shows where the characters have gone in the space of 300-odd days, and where they could possibly go from there.

Grade: B/B-

[Written 3/28/08]

What might have been a shallow, one-note heist-lite story manages to be a passably solid thriller, thanks to some convincing acting and a sharp, clever visual style. Jim Sturgess as Ben Campbell at first channels Peter Parker as the hapless, brilliant awkward guy trying to fit his modest life together with his extravagant dreams, and soon finds himself absorbed into what seems like an easy answer to his problems, thanks to Spacey's ruthless efficient professor/ringleader (we are finally seeing some of the former energy and talent that he brought regularly back in his American Beauty days, and it's a relief) who draws him into the business of counting cards. From there, Ben is predictably swept away by the allure of it all; Sturgess manages to pull off the suave cockiness as well as the shyness, and his character's transformation, while unsurprising, is convincing. The dropping-his-common-friends/life-in-exchange-for-more-glamor also feels rather clichéd, but Sturgess pulls it off and it offers good motivation for his character's conflict. The other team members go somewhat undeveloped; the focus remains on Ben and his lukewarm romance with Kate Bosworth's Jill, the stock pretty-smart girl, and the subplot doesn't carry the weight that it's given. There's already enough tension elsewhere in the film--Laurence Fishburne, as the primary villain, is fairly direct in his malevolence; one has to wonder if it mightn't have been better to omit the personal back story and keep him mysterious; No Country For Old Men has taught Hollywood and viewers alike that its bad guys need not be overdeveloped or even explained, it's the lack of an understandable motivation that make them scary. His vendetta against the characters feels a bit too simple and possibly unnecessary, but it's not focused on and doesn't overwhelm the plot.

On the technical side, the film being set in Vegas gives it an almost timeless feel; those scenes could come from 2008 or 1978, since the place has been that glitzy and decadent for ages. The soundtrack boasts a few too many current club hits, though, and they take away from the good old-fashioned heist feel and make it seem a bit more Step Up 2 the Streets than is strictly necessary. The camera work favors tight close-ups and it often helps to ratchet up the tension, but the super-close CGI work on the cards and the chips is a bit overused and makes the whole thing seem a bit too modern at times. Still, it paints an appropriately intoxicating vision of Vegas, clearly highlighting just what makes it so fun and addictive--and dangerous, as the characters show when they get in over their heads. At over two hours, the film just slightly too long for a PG-13 drama, but there's some nice continuity and a good bookend at the end of the film that makes everything feel just wrapped-up enough and not too rushed or forced. Overall, one can tell that some of the finer points of the original story were sheared off in order to keep the story more straightforward and accessible; it's not quite as brilliant as its characters are, but it's an entertaining ride.

Grade: B

[Written 3/4/08; published in Entertainment Weekly, issue #984, 3/28/07]



[full text]
Come now, EW, let's just admit it: the Oscars didn't do that well ratings-wise because 2007 was filled with smart, multi-layered, introspective films, and the average person would rather see Optimus Prime blow stuff up, so they're not about to tune in and watch the other stuff win. Everyone quoted the milkshake line, sure, but did half of those people actually get that movie? The fact of the matter is that most people prefer to just be entertained than be forced to think deeply about a film in order to understand it. The Spider-man 3-type movies will always do better than the No Country for Old Men or There Will Be Blood types, regardless of the enormous gap in quality. Let's applaud the Academy for actually awarding excellent films this time around and not just appeasing the fairly embarrassing tastes of the viewers. (To quote the great Dwight Schrute, we need a new plague.)

With fervent movie-geek sincerity,
Rose Esposito

[Written 2/27/08, published on NYU student life blog same day]

Film adaptations of Broadway musicals have become increasingly popular in Hollywood over the past few years, often taking home their share of Oscars, including Dreamgirls, The Phantom of the Opera and Chicago. However, when it came to Stephen Sondheim’s masterpiece Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, first staged in 1979, some of the powers that be in Hollywood were slightly concerned about creating a big-budget film version, and with good reason: the show contains mass murder and cannibalism, a ridiculously fast-paced, complex score (in classic Sondheim style), and the lead actors were not professional singers. In fact, Johnny Depp himself admits to never having sung a song all the way through before production on this film.

The gamble, however, paid off extraordinarily. Director Tim Burton’s latest work is one of his best ever, a lush, elegant tale that manages to both shock and amuse. Some critics raised eyebrows at the casting of his best friend and his girlfriend in the two lead roles, but both were approved by Sondheim himself and both prove themselves to be impressive singers, but more importantly, excellent actors. Helena Bonham Carter, last seen stealing the scene in 2007’s Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, makes the cheerfully amoral Mrs. Lovett an interesting, complex woman whose motivations are both surprising and believable. She clearly understands the character, and handles the subtler moments and more essential details with skill, making what could easily be a one-note, madcap character into a well-rounded, sympathetic leading lady. While the film’s main character is Depp’s vengeful barber, it is Mrs. Lovett who changes and develops throughout the film, and it is fascinating to watch her affections for the other characters and her own motivations come into conflict, building to breaking point by the end. Carter trained extensively with a voice coach for the part — unlike Depp, who preferred to meet with an old friend from his garage-band days and simply try it until it worked. And it does work — his Todd has a rough, gravelly tone that matches his haunted, almost spectral personality; many of the lines originally written for him were cut from the film when he and Burton decided to emulate silent horror films of the past (Depp cites 1935’s Mad Love with Peter Lorre as a primary inspiration) and express Todd’s trauma and anger over his false imprisonment and the loss of his daughter and wife more through his actions and expressions. Many fans recalled his affecting, near-mute performance in Edward Scissorhands, both because of the character’s dramatic look and his quiet nature (although as Burton points out, Edward was a kind-hearted and only driven to anger once, "whereas Sweeney’s just sort of angry all the time"), and his performance was largely applauded, earning his first Golden Globe and his third Oscar nomination. Depp and Carter play beautifully off of each other, both in their pitch-perfect harmonies in song and their characters’ personalities clashing, her oblivious effulgence often contrasting hilariously with his monotone brooding, most notably in the "By the Sea" sequence, in which she tells of her dreams of her future with a less-than-enthused Todd.

The supporting cast is every bit as strong as the leads — the eternally wonderful Alan Rickman is utterly wicked as the villainous Judge Turpin, terrorizing a lovestruck sailor (an angelic Jamie Campbell Bower) and lusting after his ward (Jayne Wisener) while plotting various evils with his beadle (a sly Timothy Spall). The focus is more on his past actions and he doesn’t get to do much other than be fantastically evil and cruel, but he’s wonderful at it and doesn’t overdo a moment. And he can sing, too — his mid-movie duet with Depp, "Pretty Women," is a memorable moment in the film. Sacha Baron Cohen, known to everyone who was awake during 2006 as Borat, hams it up wonderfully as rival barber Adolfo Pirelli, and then gets to show off some genuine acting talent when his character takes a more sinister turn. The cast’s youngest member, Ed Sanders, takes on the role of Toby, usually meant for an actor a few years older. He is thoroughly heartbreaking and endearing all the way through, managing to show off a prodigious singing talent and a clear understanding of the character’s complexities as well as his extremely tongue-twisting lyrics. Newcomers Bower and Wisener sing beautifully and look even better; much of their subplot and several of their songs from the original show are removed for time and to keep the focus on the two main characters. Their story does feel slightly unfinished at the end, but they still provide a nice parallel to Todd and Lovett’s demented 'romance' and lend a bit of sweetness to an overall dark film.

Dark, that is, but often comically so. These people are doing astonishingly wicked things all the way through, and yet they’re singing about it. Todd and Lovett waltz around their shop, singing about the various tastes people might have once they have been made into her pies ("Try the friar; fried, it’s drier"). Depp murders five customers in one scene and sings a lovely, mournful ballad about his daughter and how he misses her as he does so. In these scenes and others, the audience finds themselves laughing out of shock, and it works wonderfully — the audience is drawn into the absurd dark-comedy tone of the film by the actors’ charm and the cleverness of the lyrics. And just as they’ve decided that it’s all right to laugh and that they’re in for a twistedly amusing night, the film takes an alarming, yet inevitable, dark turn that is both cathartic and distressing. It’s a sucker-punch of an ending, but it completely fits and is handled with a kind of tragic elegance that Burton is known for.

The film is visually thrilling, the dark blues, blacks and grays contrasting vividly with the frequent spurts of bright red in a way that recalls another Burton horror-comedy, 1999’s Sleepy Hollow. The dismal streets of 1800s London are set against the dream-bright seaside landscape in Mrs. Lovett’s idyllic vision, and the colors are fairly breathtaking. (The film took home the Oscar for Art Direction on February 24th.) The costumes, by two-time Oscar winner and frequent Burton collaborator Colleen Atwood, have a lovely gothic edge to them and sport many loving details, like Todd’s razor-holster and their amusing bathing costumes. Preferring the authenticity of sets to green screen, Burton and production designers Dante Ferretti planned out a classic version of London, once again emulating black-and-white Hollywood films. The dark look of the film complements the tone, and encourages the mature-fairy-tale concept that the filmmakers were going for.

Fans of the musical may balk at the casting of non-singers and at the omission of several of the original show's numbers, but it must be recalled that stage shows and films are two wildly different animals—with a film, it is far more about the subtleties and quiet moments, since they have the advantage of close camera angles and various editing techniques. As a result, the film version is more of a character study of the people involved than a musical production, and with such a dramatic plot, it works very well to focus on the people within it than the way they tell the story. Sondheim expressed his preference for "actors who sing, not singers who act," and the end result is very effective. Viewers will leave both thinking about the story itself and singing the memorable songs — and possibly wanting to bake a pie or two themselves.

Grade: A

[Written 10/18/07, published on NYU student life blog]

There's no point in wasting time extolling the virtues of Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe; their résumés speak for themselves and 90% of theatergoers are probably just going to see the movie to see these two powerhouse actors face off. They both come through admirably and bring strong performances, taking two would-be stock characters and giving them depth. Washington's Frank Lucas is arguably the slightly more interesting character: he is ruthless, efficient leader (as made abundantly clear from the startling opening scene) -- he is smart and confident with a sharp eye for detail and a keen business sense. He doesn't think twice about the moral aspect of what he does, and yet he wants to do a good job with it; he is determined that the heroin that he handles should be 100% pure, and refuses to have anything else advertised under his 'label.' He means everything he says and always follows through; he keeps his family close and respects his mother; he pulls no punches and takes no bullshit. He's quick-tempered and wants everything around him to be as meticulous and smoothly-run as his own life, memorably barking at a servant cleaning blood off his alpaca throw rug ("you blot that shit!"). He's not Johnny Depp's good-hearted drug dealer from Blow, but he's not a heartless villain, either.

Crowe's Richie Roberts is the 'good guy' cop: he works to bring the bad guys down while working on his law degree, balancing an uncomfortable divorce with his fiery wife (Carla Gugino) with his various other romantic liaisons, and battling against disapproval from his fellow cops on his unorthodox style and the questionable company he keeps. Half an hour in, you realize you're rooting for Lucas, but not just because he's a BAMF. He's simply doing a better job of what he does. Roberts means well, but his technique is sloppier and he simply doesn't deserve to catch the bad guys -- for the first part of the film, anyway. Early on, he's a good cop, but he could be much better. He could be a lot more disciplined with his life and be even better than he is at what he does if he applied himself (a truth he is forced to face when his wife tells him so in court; it would have perhaps gone better unsaid and just remain a tacit theme throughout the film). As it progresses, Ritchie grows more as a character, developing his technique and sorting his way through the complicated, hidden underworld of the drug trafficking business, and the conclusion of the film feels justified and logical for both individuals.

Indeed, as the film goes on, the line between 'good' and 'bad' is blurred even more. It's not Training Day, setting the ruthless-yet-impressive criminal against the stalwart cop. Both men's lives are portrayed honestly, without either one trying to be more sympathetic than the other. Similarities even surface between the two -- they share a common enemy in Detective Trupo, a crooked cop (a malevolent Josh Brolin, who seems to be channeling early Michael Madsen these days, with this and his rabid performance in Planet Terror. It bodes well for his upcoming performance in November's highly anticipated No Country For Old Men). They both face bigotry; Roger Bart's considerable talent is somewhat wasted as a blustering police official who represents their society's disregard for both blacks and Jews in power. Both of them go on to prove themselves, however, working through the obstacles in their divergent paths and driving towards their goals. Eventually they're equals, and a large part of the suspense builds throughout the movie as the audience waits excitedly for them to face off. Their shared screen time is tantalizingly small, but their scenes are taut and as strong as anyone could have hoped for.

The storytelling is as ruthless as the characters within it -- the opening of the film drops you straight into the action and plows on solidly, never slowing down to allow you to catch up. The editing is somewhat choppy, jumping from shot to shot as if desperate to not waste a moment and to tell the story as steadily as possible. A few aspects seem rushed and slightly disconnected, like a few of Roberts' early associates and Lucas' courtship and marriage to Eva (newcomer Lymari Nadal), whose role as the beleaguered Latina wife was handled with more skill by Eva Mendes in We Own the Night. It's all based on a true story, of course, and to leave those parts out would seem lazy, but the filmmakers are so eager to get to the good parts that they rush some of the details.

Strong minor performances improve those shortened moments (and make it all the more disappointing how limited some of them are): Chiwetel Ejiofor brings his usual heart to his role as Lucas' over-eager brother, and Cuba Gooding Jr. finally (finally) crops up with a good performance in a strong film as Nicky Barnes, the flamboyant antithesis to Lucas' dignified manner. Ruby Dee, unsurprisingly, is totally convincing as Lucas' mother, who loves her son unrelentingly, despite revealing late in the film that she's very aware of his lifestyle and even giving this strong, threatening kingpin an admonishing slap as only a mother can do. ("Damn! Momma!" an audience member called approvingly.) The film remains true to the time, sporting an impressive soundtrack of '70s jams and painting a realistic portrait of New York City at the time, although neither aspect overtakes the film in a distracting way. It doesn't attempt to make the final scenes overly dramatic or shocking, it just follows the story and offers a solid, wordless, moderately impressive final shot that says it all. It's a confident, tough film that doesn't try to shock or manipulate the viewer. It just delivers the story, and in the true spirit of both Lucas and Roberts, you can take it or leave it as it's meant to be.

Grade: B

[Written 10/5/07]

Joaquin Phoenix brings a great, skittery performance as a good-hearted ne'er-do-well nightclub manager from a working-class cop family from New York; Mark Wahlberg as his brother relies on his usual combination of overworked hair and a grimace in this distant, more accessible but not-as-well-acted cousin of The Departed. It's a gloomy, tense character study with a reasonably well-formed plot around it, although the suspense is somewhat unevenly placed throughout the film. The characters are not meant to shock you, they're meant to be understood and sympathized with, and it works for the most part. This means, though, that the nervous anticipation about characterization that usually comes along with these films -- who's really a spy? Who's going to be brave and who's going to give in? -- is more or less gone, which leaves the viewer feeling somewhat taken aback. We know who these people are half an hour in, and while they're certainly not boring and static, part of the mystery is over a little too soon.

However, the technical side of things is so striking that it makes a statement by itself. Light and shadow are used expertly (Eva Mendes slinking down a hallway in a red bustier, the streetlights flashing over Joaquin's anguished face as they drive through the night, trying to escape the inevitable). There is an exceptional chase scene during a rainstorm; all the sounds and images are thus distorted, and it's one of the tensest action moments we've had all year. And the final action scene, in a smoke-filled field of reeds, is beautifully done and keeps you on edge until the final showdown -- the intensity of which is slowly dulled as you realize that revenge won't help the characters, and nothing can make right what has been wronged. The score by Wojciech Kilar (The Pianist) oddly combined with cheesy '80s dance music in the club scenes somehow works, adding the right tone to every scene and helping it transition from frivolity to violent confrontation. It's not a terribly unique or shocking story, but the characters drive it and give it heart and grit.

Grade: B

[Written 9/15/07]

Not since Love Story's opening line have we had a movie with such built-in spoilers as Into the Wild, which is based in Jon Krakauer's 1997 real-life story of Christopher McCandless (Emile Hirsch), an 1992 Emory graduate who donated his remaining $24,000 to Oxfam and headed off alone into the wilderness to experience life, heading ultimately for Alaska. The story is fairly well-known by now, and thus gave Sean Penn, who wrote, produced and directed the film, a difficult job: should the ending set the tone for the entire movie? Should it come as a surprise? He instead decides on something of a happy medium: someone unfamiliar with the book can't immediately guess how his journey will end, but it doesn't come as a shock out of nowhere, either. The film plays out almost like a personal documentary -- other characters are introduced and explored, but the only story and the only emotions we are really allowed to see are Chris'. His sister, a wistful Jena Malone, narrates throughout the film, updating the viewer on the experiences of the family that he left behind without a farewell or much of a second thought, but her voice is only heard occasionally and we don't really get to see his parents' (William Hurt and an excellent Marcia Gay Harden) confusion and pain except but from a distance. It's purposefully distant and almost cold, which is part of what makes Chris's characterization interesting: he is by no means an overtly cruel or unkind person, but he is portrayed has inherently human, flaws and all. He focuses on his goals, leaving behind what he feels he has to and making sacrifices.

Given the nature of his journey and the way it ends, it would have been easy for the filmmakers to romanticize his story and portray him as an innocent adventurer, untainted by the darker aspects of the world and seeking only for truth, but fortunately, it goes another way. Hirsch's charming portrayal wins the viewer over and one find themselves rooting for him, and yet still feeling taken aback by his bad decisions and the flaws in his plan. It's not a matter of a rich kid being dissatisfied with his comfortable life and selfishly rejecting the good things he has, although it seems that way from the outside. Gradual insights into his background and frequent spoken quotations of his favorite writers and philosophers explain to the reader that despite the risk, despite the recklessness of his choices, he is driven by something central within him and he can do nothing else. Essentially, the viewer goes through the movie mirroring Chris' emotions: you find yourself inflated by his idealism and intelligence and believe in what he's doing, but you feel things going slowly downhill, despite your hopes. His unflagging desire to reject the trivialities of so-called normal life are infectious, and it doesn't feel pedantic or exaggeratedly individualistic: he's doing what he's doing because he has to, not to make a point or impress anyone, or to tell the audience they should be doing the same. It's bold, startling filmmaking: it doesn't force you to feel one thing or the other about him; you just can't help yourself, and the ending comes down strongly as a result of the audience's investment.

Another unique factor is the way none of the performances aside from Hirsch's overtake one another -- the characters are memorable and strong, but each one is just another step in his journey, and not one of them affects him or the story more than the others. Each one reveals serves to show where some of his time was and embroider his personality, and then they are gone. Catherine Keener and Brian Dierker are "rubber tramps," hippie travelers who roam the country in an R.V. and show his desire for something like a traditional family, if only for a short time. Kristen Stewart appears briefly as a young singer staying in the park with them; she is the closest he comes to a romantic encounter, but the differences of their life experiences cause him to forgo any kind of relationship with her, providing the viewer with another interesting insight into his morals. (An affecting moment is their campside duet of "Angel From Montgomery," showing off their noticeable musical talents.) An unusually restrained Vince Vaughn is a grain elevator operator with whom Chris discovers a love of working on the land and with whom he shares a sharply funny drunken conversation about his motivation for wanting to leave the traditional world behind, and in which we see just a hint of Vaughn's trademark motor-mouthed enthusiasm ("Society, man!"). It seems to slyly poke fun at his borderline anarchist, bring-down-the-man idealism, providing an amusing foil to his general attitude throughout the film. Hal Halbrook is gathering whisperings of Oscar buzz even this early for his portrayal of Ron Franz, a lonely, haunted older man who learns just as much from Chris as Chris does from him. All of his experiences mean something, and yet he is not reluctant to leave them behind and continue on his solitary goal. They're all well-written and clearly have experiences of their own that could merit their own films, but they are in the film and in his life for only as long as they need to be.

The scenery, sweeping over the entire American landscape and focusing largely on the astonishing Alaskan terrain, is as strong of a factor in the film as the plot or the performances, and should be strongly noted; the beauty of it even helps fuel the viewer's understanding of what he desires to do. Eddie Vedder provides many of the songs on the soundtrack, leaving his trademark throaty, drunken mumble far behind and putting forth several guitar-driven, passionate on-the-road songs that bring the scenery-focused, dialogue-free scenes to a truly memorable level. Sean Penn's overall direction shows how deeply he cares about the story, although he moves around awkwardly between camera styles at some points (the style and lettering of the opening credits feels somehow incongruous with the film, and the decision to show some of his diary writings in script across the screen takes away from moments in which we could instead hear his voice, which might have proven more effective) and reveals his limited experience as a director. But the film has a kind of strength, even in the desperate, frightening moments, delicately weaving its tones and emotions together and leaving the viewer feeling somewhat stunned and overwhelmed at the end, not because of the power of one particular feeling, but because of the amount of things one is feeling all at once. It's surprising, funny, sad and smart, and refuses to leave viewers' mind for days. The film itself is as much of an adventure as the events within it.

Grade: B+/A-