Imagine a hyper-real documentary crossed with a fractured fairy tale where the subject matter is the effects of wayward fathering on impressionable youth. That’s Honey Boy in a nutshell and it’s heavy.
Director Alma Har’el, working from a script by Shia LaBeouf, manages to blur the lines between reality and embellished memories just enough to give our tale of dominance and submission some startling visual oomph. The end result is ostensibly LaBeouf’s origin story, albeit delivered in layered flashbacks which waver between dreamlike austerity and nightmarish indulgence.
Based on LaBeouf’s tumultuous relationship with his addict father, the film unfolds in a manner meant to mimic PTSD. In the opening frames we are introduced to our twenty-something “hero” Otis (i.e. LaBeouf’s alter-ego) as he wrestles with rehab and his own inner demons. These sequences are interspersed with Otis’ memories of his childhood. This back and forth storytelling lends the entire film a subdued shellshocked vibe, one that is more often than not jarring. The unhinged aura is further aided by lots of quasi-surreal imagery which floats between the scenes, ultimately intermingling with some serious bouts of intense drama focused on abuse, co-dependency, and skewered expressions of love and affection.
Much of the weight of Honey Boy comes from LaBeouf himself, who delivers a powerhouse performance as the domineering James Lort, a husk of a man living off the residuals of his son’s budding television career (an obvious allusion to LaBeouf’s salad days with Disney). To say that LaBeouf is smoldering in the role of his failed clown father is an understatement.
While there is no question that this is LaBeouf’s vehicle, he is surrounded by a solid cast, including some great young(er) actors. Otis is portrayed at two stages of his life: the younger version rendered by Noah Jupe--perhaps the brightest child actor to hit screens this year other than Roman Griffin Davis from Jojo Rabbit--while Lucas Hedges gives a captivating display as the older Otis, letting loose with unhinged unpredictability. The scenes between Jupe and LaBeouf are bristling with intensity and levels of uncomfortable drama; many of these scenes, in which James manipulates his young son, are harrowing and emotionally turbulent. And scenes between the older Otis and his addiction counselors are fantastic, yielding some of the sharpest moments of dialogue, not to mention gripping emotion. At one point Otis mentions that everything his dad told him while growing up was a compendium of things other people had said, alluding to the fact that his father never had an original idea of his own. I am not sure if this was intentional or perhaps I am reading too much into this passage, but it felt rather ironic given LaBeouf’s past real world tussles with plagiarism (his double-bouts with Daniel Clowes, to be precise).
Speaking of the dialogue, LaBeouf displays a keen ear and a sharp tongue for phrasing and audible nuance; words flow from the actors’ mouths like fine wine one minute then shift into melodramatic meltdown the next. Large chunks of the verbiage dwell in the realm of chaotic humor and these bits are expertly buffered by equal amounts of staggering seriousness. There were so many memorable moments uttered throughout the film that I had a hard time keeping track of them all.
Sure, the acting is certainly the core of the film, not to mention the rich visual flair, and captivating dialogue, but it is all augmented by some fantastic sound design as well as Alex Somers’ score, which percolates between sobriety and whimsy, often being both genuine and aloof simultaneously. Its fluctuating sonic dichotomy adheres to the story perfectly and helps create a deeper immersiveness throughout the film.
As with Pedro Almodovar’s recent Pain and Glory, this is yet another highly stylized memoir delivered by a somewhat unreliable--and in this case mentally fucked-up-- protagonist. And like that film, this one also chooses to dip its feet into meta territory with the end result being a captivating story about addiction, love, and repentance.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Pain and Glory; The Florida Project; The Mid ‘90s;
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Vote for Pedro [PAIN AND GLORY Film Review]
[*note: this film is in.Spanish with English subtitles.]
Truth be told, I’ve never given Pedro Almodovar his just dues. I have seen at least six of his films over the past 35 years and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every one of them. Yet, invariably, when a new Almodovar film is announced, my initial reaction usually resides in the “Meh” response category. I have no fucking idea why this is. I mean dude is a great filmmaker; an auteur in possession of a keen visual sense and his way with dialogue borders on the fantastic. When Almodovar’s latest endeavor popped up at a theater near me I figured “What the heck?” I am super glad I didn’t give two or even three hecks because the film is immensely enjoyable, not only visually and thematically, but also oratorically.
But I digress. Pain And Glory unravels like a memoir delivered by a slightly unreliable, yet insanely charismatic protagonist Salvador Mallo (Antonio Banderas) who may or may not be the writer/director himself. The whole glorious mess is additionally dressed up in wonderfully droll melodramatic tones heightened with just the right amounts of robust satire and meta fiction.
This film is anchored by a fantastic performance from Banderas as an aging film director coming to terms with his own physical and creative mortality (for those who care about such things, Banderas won "Best Actor" at Cannes this year). Backing Banderas is a stellar supporting cast which includes Penelope Cruz as well as a bunch of other Spanish and Argentine actors I probably should know but had never heard of prior. They are all great and even come close to upstaging Banderas on occasion (to wit, Asier Etxeandia is beyond stellar in his role as Alberto Crespo, a dragon chasing has-been actor).
The first act bristles with biting humor and quasi-absurdist moments before dipping into the second act which more often than not feels a bit maudlin and reliant on tele novella-inspired melodrama. Then the third act comes back and turns everything on its collective head with an ending that is so perfectly meta poignant (or poignantly meta?) that it’s not only emotionally stunning, but also changes the whole meaning of the entire film in one swift swoop. In fact, this may be one of the best endings I've seen in a film in a long, long time; it changes your entire view of what you have been watching the whole time.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
While the acting is undeniably the focal point of the film, it is expertly augmented by Almodovar's sharp use of color in every damn shot. On some levels it reminds me of how Italian director Dario Argento expertly employed color in his seminal ‘70s films, except where Argento used a vivid palette to create an unnerving sense of terror, Almodovar uses rich hues to create feelings of warmth and comfort mixed with just a tinge of surreality and sadness; everything in Almodovar’s world is bright and happy, but also somewhat cartoonish, highly introspective, and even bittersweet at the same time.
Coupled with the visual complexity is a wonderfully understated score by Alberto Iglesias (BTW, he won "Best Soundtrack" at Cannes this year...). There are repeated refrains which run throughout the film helping to create an overwhelming sense of familiarity and repetition that greatly adds to the storytelling. The score is never overpowering, though, but rather adds subtle sonic nuance to the proceedings.
But back to the story. The whole film is a loose recollection of the protagonist’s memories, ranging from the opening moments of the film which give us a joyous flashback scene of Cruz (who portrays the young version of Mallo’s mother) and a passel of Spanish worker women washing sheets and clothing in a river. As they shake out the linens and drape them over bushes to dry they begin singing and dancing. It is the only moment in the film that is not subtitled, so non-Spanish speaking audiences will have no idea what the song says, but its tone is one of joy and carefreeness; it’s a hyper real moment that sets the poignant tone which percolates throughout the rest of the film.
Other scenes with Cruz are equally enrapturing, from a night spent in a train station to a familial relocation to a small village where they eventually end up living in a cave. As for Banderas, he manages to convey age with grace and humor, sporting a wildly unkempt hairstyle, a heavily salted beard, and walking about stiffly (his character suffers from numerous physical maladies).
I know I already mentioned the ending of the film, but damn if it doesn’t warrant a repeat. It comes out of left field and turns the film from being an exercise in self reflection into a sublimely self referential slice of irony; it literally changes the interpretation of every scene that occurred prior. Sure, you could call it a twist, but it’s more than that. It’s a slyly emotional bait and switch that delivers a subdued wallop of simultaneous joy and sadness. Whatever you wish to call it, it is one of the coolest endings ever committed to film. I smiled and cried simultaneously.
While on the surface Pain and Glory seems to be chronicling the loves and losses incurred by a celebrity, ultimately, the film is about addictions, whether they be chemical, emotional, physical, or mental. It is all delivered in a package that is richly rendered, gloriously nostalgic, and emotionally immersive. That it all ends up having a uniquely personal manner is the icing on the San Marcos Cake. I suggest you ask for a really big slice. And don’t forget to lick the plate.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL:
Truth be told, I’ve never given Pedro Almodovar his just dues. I have seen at least six of his films over the past 35 years and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed every one of them. Yet, invariably, when a new Almodovar film is announced, my initial reaction usually resides in the “Meh” response category. I have no fucking idea why this is. I mean dude is a great filmmaker; an auteur in possession of a keen visual sense and his way with dialogue borders on the fantastic. When Almodovar’s latest endeavor popped up at a theater near me I figured “What the heck?” I am super glad I didn’t give two or even three hecks because the film is immensely enjoyable, not only visually and thematically, but also oratorically.
But I digress. Pain And Glory unravels like a memoir delivered by a slightly unreliable, yet insanely charismatic protagonist Salvador Mallo (Antonio Banderas) who may or may not be the writer/director himself. The whole glorious mess is additionally dressed up in wonderfully droll melodramatic tones heightened with just the right amounts of robust satire and meta fiction.
This film is anchored by a fantastic performance from Banderas as an aging film director coming to terms with his own physical and creative mortality (for those who care about such things, Banderas won "Best Actor" at Cannes this year). Backing Banderas is a stellar supporting cast which includes Penelope Cruz as well as a bunch of other Spanish and Argentine actors I probably should know but had never heard of prior. They are all great and even come close to upstaging Banderas on occasion (to wit, Asier Etxeandia is beyond stellar in his role as Alberto Crespo, a dragon chasing has-been actor).
The first act bristles with biting humor and quasi-absurdist moments before dipping into the second act which more often than not feels a bit maudlin and reliant on tele novella-inspired melodrama. Then the third act comes back and turns everything on its collective head with an ending that is so perfectly meta poignant (or poignantly meta?) that it’s not only emotionally stunning, but also changes the whole meaning of the entire film in one swift swoop. In fact, this may be one of the best endings I've seen in a film in a long, long time; it changes your entire view of what you have been watching the whole time.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
While the acting is undeniably the focal point of the film, it is expertly augmented by Almodovar's sharp use of color in every damn shot. On some levels it reminds me of how Italian director Dario Argento expertly employed color in his seminal ‘70s films, except where Argento used a vivid palette to create an unnerving sense of terror, Almodovar uses rich hues to create feelings of warmth and comfort mixed with just a tinge of surreality and sadness; everything in Almodovar’s world is bright and happy, but also somewhat cartoonish, highly introspective, and even bittersweet at the same time.
Coupled with the visual complexity is a wonderfully understated score by Alberto Iglesias (BTW, he won "Best Soundtrack" at Cannes this year...). There are repeated refrains which run throughout the film helping to create an overwhelming sense of familiarity and repetition that greatly adds to the storytelling. The score is never overpowering, though, but rather adds subtle sonic nuance to the proceedings.
But back to the story. The whole film is a loose recollection of the protagonist’s memories, ranging from the opening moments of the film which give us a joyous flashback scene of Cruz (who portrays the young version of Mallo’s mother) and a passel of Spanish worker women washing sheets and clothing in a river. As they shake out the linens and drape them over bushes to dry they begin singing and dancing. It is the only moment in the film that is not subtitled, so non-Spanish speaking audiences will have no idea what the song says, but its tone is one of joy and carefreeness; it’s a hyper real moment that sets the poignant tone which percolates throughout the rest of the film.
Other scenes with Cruz are equally enrapturing, from a night spent in a train station to a familial relocation to a small village where they eventually end up living in a cave. As for Banderas, he manages to convey age with grace and humor, sporting a wildly unkempt hairstyle, a heavily salted beard, and walking about stiffly (his character suffers from numerous physical maladies).
I know I already mentioned the ending of the film, but damn if it doesn’t warrant a repeat. It comes out of left field and turns the film from being an exercise in self reflection into a sublimely self referential slice of irony; it literally changes the interpretation of every scene that occurred prior. Sure, you could call it a twist, but it’s more than that. It’s a slyly emotional bait and switch that delivers a subdued wallop of simultaneous joy and sadness. Whatever you wish to call it, it is one of the coolest endings ever committed to film. I smiled and cried simultaneously.
While on the surface Pain and Glory seems to be chronicling the loves and losses incurred by a celebrity, ultimately, the film is about addictions, whether they be chemical, emotional, physical, or mental. It is all delivered in a package that is richly rendered, gloriously nostalgic, and emotionally immersive. That it all ends up having a uniquely personal manner is the icing on the San Marcos Cake. I suggest you ask for a really big slice. And don’t forget to lick the plate.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL:
Saturday, December 7, 2019
Erin Go Brawl [THE IRISHMAN Film Review]
[*note: I drove 180 miles round trip to see this film in a small independent theater in Minden, NV. I am pretty certain that I wouldn't have been able to have streamed it in one fell swoop at home and feel that it definitely benefited from being seen on the Silver Screen. For all his bluster about "cinema", I am still questioning Scorsese's decision to work with NF and his absence in the discussions between NF and the major theater chains in regards to the theatrical distribution of the film. He had time to diss Marvel films, but couldn't rally to have his film more accessible on the Big screen?]
While perhaps not nearly as epic as The Godfather or Goodfellas or even Scarface, Martin Scorsese’s latest excursion into gangster cinema is still an engaging, slow boil historical yarn about the man who allegedly killed Jimmy Hoffa.
While the length of the film, it’s limited theatrical run, and the expensive digital technology used have all come under fire, those are mere side notes to the film itself, which is mostly a tour de force of acting and generally well-timed pacing.
The story alone should keep anyone on their toes as it bounces between eras without pause, testing one’s knowledge of American history, specifically in the periods between post-WWII and the ‘80s. It’s this hopscotch through time that elicited the use of computer enhanced trickery to make the core trio of actors--Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, Al Pacino--seem to change age at the drop of a dime. I understand Scorsese’s reasoning behind using the technology, as it allows the three actors to carry their rapport with one another throughout the film, thus never breaking the intense chemistry they have between them. Yet at the same time it’s also a bit disconcerting. While not necessarily dwelling in the Uncanny Valley, the film certainly finds itself stuck in an Uncanny Gully more often than not. I personally found the DeNiro de-aging to be the most distracting. It didn't look like they did much CG work on Pesci. And Pacino's digitization was slightly more naturalistic than DeNiro's. I am not 100% sure how much they digitally enhanced other actors as some of the work looked practical (the Fat Tony character and Bobby Cannavale's character, among other supporting players, appeared to be the result of make-up, but don’t quote me on that). Thankfully, the DeNiro de-aging more or less takes place in the first act and once your eyes adjust to the digitized anomalies you easily get lost in the serpentine story and the bravura acting.
The acting here is superb and the performances from the three leads is key to the success of the film. I have to admit that in the past 20 years both DeNiro and Pacino regularly seem to just be “themselves” onscreen these days; it’s as if they are playing the same character over and over again. Yet with this film I believed each of them in their respective roles. DeNiro appears a little less aggro than normal and Pacino, while still all bluster and bravado, seemed to be toning it all down a bit, as well. Pesci was pure gold, delivering a snarky, yet smooth demeanor that, quite honestly, completely eclipses his co-stars.
As for Marty’s hand in the game, at first his direction seems simple and understated, but you soon realize that he uses close-ups to great effect, keeps the shots tight, and lets the story unfold economically. It doesn’t hurt that the screenplay, for the most part, is taut and terse. Additionally, the pacing is wonderfully nuanced and manages to flow at just the right tempo. And it’s all wrapped in a great score by Robbie Robertson. In fact, the way Scorsese chose to use the music was really interesting; sometimes it’s blaring non-stop, other times it fades into the background.
The story more or less moves along at a good clip, creating a distinct sense of the time and place in a semi-linear fashion. There is, however, one standout segment involving “Crazy” Joe Gallo, which feels somewhat out of place. A friend of mine remarked that “Crazy Joe came in hot, right?” And he nailed it. The introduction of this character is abrupt, lacking any real exposition as to how he really fits into the story. And no sooner is he harriedly introduced [SPOILER ALERT!!!] than he’s killed off. In retrospect I understood that the entire film is meant to be Frank “The Irishman” Sheeran’s (portrayed by DeNiro) recollection of his life, so he is remembering things in a haphazard manner and may not be an entirely honest narrator, but this sequence in the film just didn’t feel fleshed out enough. Honestly, they could easily have left this bit out and the film would have probably flowed a little more evenly.
As I stated earlier, the real reason to watch this film is the acting, but also perhaps because of the fact that this might be the celluloid swan song in terms of seeing these actors and this director involved in a project together. Hell, according to lore both Scorsese and DeNiro had to literally twist Pesci's arm to come out of retirement to make the film.
As for the violence, it's pretty much what you would expect from an R-rated gangster flick. There's some gun play, some head stomping, and a wee bit of blood and splattered brains. But none of it is Tarantino level.
Oh, and what about the wopping 3-and-a-half hours (without an intermission)? When the credits rolled it didn’t seem as if I had just sat through 210 minutes of gangster machismo. Sure, Scorsese could easily have trimmed 30-minutes from the running time (the Joe Gallo section, imho), but he could just as easily have expanded the film by 30-minutes to flesh out some of the weaker elements and it still would have been watchable. All in all, The Irishman is an interesting expose about men who put their “jobs” before their families and behave badly, all in the name of brotherhood and a distinct sense of honor and obligation.
RATING: 3.5 (out of 5)
RIYL: Goodfellas; Casino; Che; Mesrine; The Godfather; Carlito’s Way; Scarface; State of Grace; The Krays
While perhaps not nearly as epic as The Godfather or Goodfellas or even Scarface, Martin Scorsese’s latest excursion into gangster cinema is still an engaging, slow boil historical yarn about the man who allegedly killed Jimmy Hoffa.
While the length of the film, it’s limited theatrical run, and the expensive digital technology used have all come under fire, those are mere side notes to the film itself, which is mostly a tour de force of acting and generally well-timed pacing.
The story alone should keep anyone on their toes as it bounces between eras without pause, testing one’s knowledge of American history, specifically in the periods between post-WWII and the ‘80s. It’s this hopscotch through time that elicited the use of computer enhanced trickery to make the core trio of actors--Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, Al Pacino--seem to change age at the drop of a dime. I understand Scorsese’s reasoning behind using the technology, as it allows the three actors to carry their rapport with one another throughout the film, thus never breaking the intense chemistry they have between them. Yet at the same time it’s also a bit disconcerting. While not necessarily dwelling in the Uncanny Valley, the film certainly finds itself stuck in an Uncanny Gully more often than not. I personally found the DeNiro de-aging to be the most distracting. It didn't look like they did much CG work on Pesci. And Pacino's digitization was slightly more naturalistic than DeNiro's. I am not 100% sure how much they digitally enhanced other actors as some of the work looked practical (the Fat Tony character and Bobby Cannavale's character, among other supporting players, appeared to be the result of make-up, but don’t quote me on that). Thankfully, the DeNiro de-aging more or less takes place in the first act and once your eyes adjust to the digitized anomalies you easily get lost in the serpentine story and the bravura acting.
The acting here is superb and the performances from the three leads is key to the success of the film. I have to admit that in the past 20 years both DeNiro and Pacino regularly seem to just be “themselves” onscreen these days; it’s as if they are playing the same character over and over again. Yet with this film I believed each of them in their respective roles. DeNiro appears a little less aggro than normal and Pacino, while still all bluster and bravado, seemed to be toning it all down a bit, as well. Pesci was pure gold, delivering a snarky, yet smooth demeanor that, quite honestly, completely eclipses his co-stars.
As for Marty’s hand in the game, at first his direction seems simple and understated, but you soon realize that he uses close-ups to great effect, keeps the shots tight, and lets the story unfold economically. It doesn’t hurt that the screenplay, for the most part, is taut and terse. Additionally, the pacing is wonderfully nuanced and manages to flow at just the right tempo. And it’s all wrapped in a great score by Robbie Robertson. In fact, the way Scorsese chose to use the music was really interesting; sometimes it’s blaring non-stop, other times it fades into the background.
The story more or less moves along at a good clip, creating a distinct sense of the time and place in a semi-linear fashion. There is, however, one standout segment involving “Crazy” Joe Gallo, which feels somewhat out of place. A friend of mine remarked that “Crazy Joe came in hot, right?” And he nailed it. The introduction of this character is abrupt, lacking any real exposition as to how he really fits into the story. And no sooner is he harriedly introduced [SPOILER ALERT!!!] than he’s killed off. In retrospect I understood that the entire film is meant to be Frank “The Irishman” Sheeran’s (portrayed by DeNiro) recollection of his life, so he is remembering things in a haphazard manner and may not be an entirely honest narrator, but this sequence in the film just didn’t feel fleshed out enough. Honestly, they could easily have left this bit out and the film would have probably flowed a little more evenly.
As I stated earlier, the real reason to watch this film is the acting, but also perhaps because of the fact that this might be the celluloid swan song in terms of seeing these actors and this director involved in a project together. Hell, according to lore both Scorsese and DeNiro had to literally twist Pesci's arm to come out of retirement to make the film.
As for the violence, it's pretty much what you would expect from an R-rated gangster flick. There's some gun play, some head stomping, and a wee bit of blood and splattered brains. But none of it is Tarantino level.
Oh, and what about the wopping 3-and-a-half hours (without an intermission)? When the credits rolled it didn’t seem as if I had just sat through 210 minutes of gangster machismo. Sure, Scorsese could easily have trimmed 30-minutes from the running time (the Joe Gallo section, imho), but he could just as easily have expanded the film by 30-minutes to flesh out some of the weaker elements and it still would have been watchable. All in all, The Irishman is an interesting expose about men who put their “jobs” before their families and behave badly, all in the name of brotherhood and a distinct sense of honor and obligation.
RATING: 3.5 (out of 5)
RIYL: Goodfellas; Casino; Che; Mesrine; The Godfather; Carlito’s Way; Scarface; State of Grace; The Krays
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