The latest Guy Ritchie flick sees a return to form for the laddish director (after taking "time off" to put out 2 Sherlock Holmes joints, a misguided Man From U.N.C.LE. vehicle, a King Arthur re-imagining, and an Aladdin live-action film). This film is more along the lines of Snatch and Rock 'n Rolla (it has a similar narrative structure to the latter).
While not particularly new or fresh, the film unfolds as a wonderful thematic mash-up of gangsta, neo-noir, and whodunnit films.
Ritchie gives some crisp direction buffered by engaging dialogue. Add to that the fact that both the pacing and visual sleight of hand elements are quick and well honed; clever diversions and interesting plot twists abound.
The cast is brillaint and every actor is in top form. There is a delicious performance from Hugh Grant and a sublime turn from Colin Farrell.
And the soundtrack is pretty damn bueno, to boot.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Snatch; Layer Cake; Pulp Fiction; Gangster #1; Sexy Beast
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Wednesday, December 25, 2019
A Boy And His Dad [HONEY BOY Film Review]
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;
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 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
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
MOTHERLESS BROOKLYN [Film Review]
If it were a triangle, writer/director/actor Edward Norton’s interpretation of Jonathan Letham’s 1999 novel of the same name would certainly be of the scalene variety. While a cohesive whole, it’s a bit uneven and lopsided throughout its 144 minute running time.
Norton certainly has a great eye for composition and manages to elicit wonderful performances from all the actors involved. Yet for every spate of memorable moments there’s at least one that falters and seems out of place.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The story is a neo-noir centered around Lionel (portrayed by Norton), a neophyte detective who suffers from Tourettes. Yup, our protagonist is prone to yelling out swear words and nonsensical phrases at the most inappropriate of times. This, naturally, lends a quirky sheen to the overall plot, which is more or less a turgid murder mystery.
The other interesting aspect of the film is that the source material took place in the ‘90s, but Norton has staged his version in 1957 where race and affluence play a major role in the wheelings and dealings of New York City. The story is a labyrinthian swirl of underhanded politics and racial tension taking place on the cusp of a new decade. (FWIW, I read the novel back when it was first publishe din 1999, but I did not re-visit it prior to watching the film. I plan to re-read it shortly and then compare the differences).
In regards to the look of the the film, Norton proves to be rather skilled behind the camera, delivering deft action sequences like the taut opening concatenation which mixes engaging dialogue with a sinister meet and greet that ultimately ends in a terse car chase and dastardly gun violence. The tension he creates in this long introductory scene is fantastic. He re-manifests this same sense of energy and excitement later in the film with a wonderful altercation between our “hero” Lionel and a behemothian thug. The entire escapade takes place in the confines of a narrow apartment hallway and on a rusty fire escape. With these scenes Norton displays a knack for staging lean and mean action scenes. Norton also has a great eye in regards to the composition of scenes. Many shots in the film are beautifully staged as if they were meant to be still photos exhibited at a gallery. He also makes wonderfully creative use of reflections and shadows throughout the film.
When it comes to the acting, Norton has seriously stacked the decks in his favor. The entire film, especially the nuanced dialogue, comes alive thanks to the likes of Alec Baldwin, Bobby Cannavale, Ethan Suplee, Willem Dafoe, Michael K. Williams, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Fisher Stevens (when was the last time you recall seeing him in a film, right?), all of whom are supplemented by a host of amazing character actors. The aforementioned dialogue is sharp and witty causing you to dwell, with extra concentration, on every syllabel uttered. In fact much of the time it feels as if Norton has given all the best lines to his co-stars, in addition to coaxing undeniably great performances from them.
For all his excellent composition of scenes and keen knack for eliciting top notch performances from the cast, Norton himself often seems out of step with the proceedings. There are several scenes which just feel stilted and awkward. These often involve Norton and another actor interacting face to face and they ttend to be shot from the side in profile. While his fellow actor is often delivering an impassioned stream of dialogue, Norton himself looks uninterested, dare I say bored. Yet when Norton is the only one on screen he shines. It’s almost as if he focused all of his attention into nabbing great performances from his co-stars, but forgot to afford himself the same favor.
There are also a few scenes that are just too long and, well, awkward. One such scene features Norton and Mbatha-Raw dancing at a jazz club; it’s just too slow and dull, mostly due to wonky pacing and a feeling of detachment. There are a few other scenes like this sprinkled throughout the film which could have either been shortened or left out entirely. To this end the film could easily have been edited down by 15-to-20-minutes and still not lost any of its allure or punch.
Another incongruity which pops up is that while most of the actors appear dressed for the period, Lionel’s fashion sense seems odd; his hairstyle appears way too modern for the era and his sartorial choices often look out-of-step with those around him. Perhaps this was a conscious decision to separate him from the rest of those around him, painting the character as a true outsider. If that was the case, fine, but it didn’t really work for me. Keeping in line with this ill-matchedness is the inclusion of a Thom Yorke song in the score. That it’s prominently featured only further heightens its discordance in regards to the overall look and feel of the film. (FWIW, I caught an NPR interview with Norton where he discussed the song and how he liked that it created this rift in the feel of the film. Sure, it’s undoubtedly a great song on its own, but it just doesn’t fit the mood, time period, or vibe of the film and ultimately serves to disrupt the flow of the film. But that’s just my humble opinion...and I dig Radiohead and Yorke’s solo work, too). The rest of the score, however, is fantastic. A cool, mid-tempo expanse of jazz crafted by Daniel Pemberton, it burbles and swoons underneath the scenes creating a smoky vibe throughout; one that really compliments the overall ambiance of the film.
Sure, at times the unevenness of the film makes for a sometimes frustrating--but never ever dull--experience. Yet when all is said and done, the strength of the supporting cast along with some expertly staged and filmed action sequences, artfully composed scenes, and a bevy of crisp and rich dialogue make this an adaptation seriously worth a watch.
Rating: 3.5 (out of 5)
RIYL: Road to Perdition; History of Violence;
Norton certainly has a great eye for composition and manages to elicit wonderful performances from all the actors involved. Yet for every spate of memorable moments there’s at least one that falters and seems out of place.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The story is a neo-noir centered around Lionel (portrayed by Norton), a neophyte detective who suffers from Tourettes. Yup, our protagonist is prone to yelling out swear words and nonsensical phrases at the most inappropriate of times. This, naturally, lends a quirky sheen to the overall plot, which is more or less a turgid murder mystery.
The other interesting aspect of the film is that the source material took place in the ‘90s, but Norton has staged his version in 1957 where race and affluence play a major role in the wheelings and dealings of New York City. The story is a labyrinthian swirl of underhanded politics and racial tension taking place on the cusp of a new decade. (FWIW, I read the novel back when it was first publishe din 1999, but I did not re-visit it prior to watching the film. I plan to re-read it shortly and then compare the differences).
In regards to the look of the the film, Norton proves to be rather skilled behind the camera, delivering deft action sequences like the taut opening concatenation which mixes engaging dialogue with a sinister meet and greet that ultimately ends in a terse car chase and dastardly gun violence. The tension he creates in this long introductory scene is fantastic. He re-manifests this same sense of energy and excitement later in the film with a wonderful altercation between our “hero” Lionel and a behemothian thug. The entire escapade takes place in the confines of a narrow apartment hallway and on a rusty fire escape. With these scenes Norton displays a knack for staging lean and mean action scenes. Norton also has a great eye in regards to the composition of scenes. Many shots in the film are beautifully staged as if they were meant to be still photos exhibited at a gallery. He also makes wonderfully creative use of reflections and shadows throughout the film.
When it comes to the acting, Norton has seriously stacked the decks in his favor. The entire film, especially the nuanced dialogue, comes alive thanks to the likes of Alec Baldwin, Bobby Cannavale, Ethan Suplee, Willem Dafoe, Michael K. Williams, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Fisher Stevens (when was the last time you recall seeing him in a film, right?), all of whom are supplemented by a host of amazing character actors. The aforementioned dialogue is sharp and witty causing you to dwell, with extra concentration, on every syllabel uttered. In fact much of the time it feels as if Norton has given all the best lines to his co-stars, in addition to coaxing undeniably great performances from them.
For all his excellent composition of scenes and keen knack for eliciting top notch performances from the cast, Norton himself often seems out of step with the proceedings. There are several scenes which just feel stilted and awkward. These often involve Norton and another actor interacting face to face and they ttend to be shot from the side in profile. While his fellow actor is often delivering an impassioned stream of dialogue, Norton himself looks uninterested, dare I say bored. Yet when Norton is the only one on screen he shines. It’s almost as if he focused all of his attention into nabbing great performances from his co-stars, but forgot to afford himself the same favor.
There are also a few scenes that are just too long and, well, awkward. One such scene features Norton and Mbatha-Raw dancing at a jazz club; it’s just too slow and dull, mostly due to wonky pacing and a feeling of detachment. There are a few other scenes like this sprinkled throughout the film which could have either been shortened or left out entirely. To this end the film could easily have been edited down by 15-to-20-minutes and still not lost any of its allure or punch.
Another incongruity which pops up is that while most of the actors appear dressed for the period, Lionel’s fashion sense seems odd; his hairstyle appears way too modern for the era and his sartorial choices often look out-of-step with those around him. Perhaps this was a conscious decision to separate him from the rest of those around him, painting the character as a true outsider. If that was the case, fine, but it didn’t really work for me. Keeping in line with this ill-matchedness is the inclusion of a Thom Yorke song in the score. That it’s prominently featured only further heightens its discordance in regards to the overall look and feel of the film. (FWIW, I caught an NPR interview with Norton where he discussed the song and how he liked that it created this rift in the feel of the film. Sure, it’s undoubtedly a great song on its own, but it just doesn’t fit the mood, time period, or vibe of the film and ultimately serves to disrupt the flow of the film. But that’s just my humble opinion...and I dig Radiohead and Yorke’s solo work, too). The rest of the score, however, is fantastic. A cool, mid-tempo expanse of jazz crafted by Daniel Pemberton, it burbles and swoons underneath the scenes creating a smoky vibe throughout; one that really compliments the overall ambiance of the film.
Sure, at times the unevenness of the film makes for a sometimes frustrating--but never ever dull--experience. Yet when all is said and done, the strength of the supporting cast along with some expertly staged and filmed action sequences, artfully composed scenes, and a bevy of crisp and rich dialogue make this an adaptation seriously worth a watch.
Rating: 3.5 (out of 5)
RIYL: Road to Perdition; History of Violence;
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
KNIVES OUT [Film Review]
Utterly predictable in parts, yet oh so deliciously entertaining. In fact, this film is beyond wickedly engaging, so much so that one can almost forgive writer/director Rian Johnson for only sparingly releasing the red herrings instead of tossing out a whole bucket. I lieu of fake fish, Johnson’s modus operandi is to wow the audience with serious bouts of intricate dialogue, lottsa warped humor, and a protagonist who is akin to Columbo, that is if he had been less schlubby and disheveled and more aloof Southern beau.
First things first. This is a murder mystery. And guess what? I picked out the culprit within the initial moments of the first act. That said, I must admit when the reveal came at the end of the film I was immediately disappointed because my guess had been correct and I felt momentarily cheated. I mean how could the villain have been so freaking obvious? But that feeling was fleeting. It was quickly replaced with one of vindication: I had solved the case! Okay, perhaps I didn’t guess all the particulars that our intrepid gumshoe Benoit Blanc--James Bond hisownself, Daniel Craig, judiciously playing up his hidden droll side--mapped out, but I had been right in surmising who had committed the crime.
The reveal isn’t the icing on the cake, though, as Johnson’s finale is littered with killer callbacks galore. While the next-to-penultimate callback is also predictable, it’s no less satisfying when it’s revealed, thus allowing you to revel in your super sleuthdom (provided you figured it out, that is!). Ditto for the penultimate callback, which was clever, but also foreseeable a mile away. Yet the final callback was sublimely subtle. For those who like to solve puzzles, let’s just say that Johnson heavily favors foreshadowing; so keep your eyes and ears peeled, my friends!
While not possessing nearly enough twists and turns for my taste (but the ones that it does deliver are swell), the film succeeds by giving the audience everything they could possibly need to solve the case on their own, both in terms of visual and audible cues. Yet it’s the latter that Johnson uses to great effect to divert your attention. Hints are dropped with regularity, but they are mixed in with such flights of verbal fancy that its easy to get lost in the witty wordplay.
The sight gags are equally plentiful and hit with punch and verve. The rampant visual jokes range from a game of fetch with the guard dogs to a frumpy mink shrouded grandmother to a running gag involving projectile vomiting. They not only provide some deft humor, but additionally serve to draw your attention away from the more serious matters at hand.
In terms of the cast, I’m not gonna lie: at first I thought I would be distracted by the presence of both Captain America (Chris Evans) and 007 (Craig). Heck, the gentleman next to me loudly whispered to his companion “See, I told you that was Captain America” the first time Evans graced the screen. That both men were able to break free of their franchise shackles and create wholly different characters is a testament to their acting chops. The rest of the cast is equally up to the task. From Ana de Armas, a bona fide chameleon of an actor (I have found her damn near unrecognizable in every film I’ve seen her in), who deceptively plays her role like a mouse caught in a Landcruiser’s high beams to the “comeback kid” Don Johnson (his recent string of low-key roles in off-kilter films like this has been stellar). Christopher Plummer serves up a rich and captivating performance as the domineering patriarch of the film. A few folks, though, were underutilized: Lakeith Stanfield, while all deadpan grace, could have been used to better effect. Ditto for Jaeden Lieberher and Michael Shannon. And Laurie Strode, erm Jamie Lee Curtis, seems like A-list window dressing. Then again that’s always the problem with a large ensemble cast; some folks get more screen time than others. In the end, even those who could (and should) have had more frames to their name deliver memorable performances.
But when all is said and done the real star here is the dialogue, which is snappier than the wet towel that douche-bag of a bully used to crack on your bare ass in the showers after gym class. You’re gonna have to stay on your toes to catch every morsel uttered by the stellar cast.
So, yeah, if you’ve watched your share of Murder, She Wrote or read enough Christie and Queen there’s a good chance you may potentially see the final reveal coming from afar. But the journey to the confession of the killer is a rambunctiously good one . Then again, on the off-chance that you might not see any of it coming, not only the journey will be memorable, but also the arrival at the final destination will be exciting and illuminating to say the least.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Drag Me To Hell; Clue; Sleuth (the original with Michael Caine and Laurence Olivier); Mousetrap
First things first. This is a murder mystery. And guess what? I picked out the culprit within the initial moments of the first act. That said, I must admit when the reveal came at the end of the film I was immediately disappointed because my guess had been correct and I felt momentarily cheated. I mean how could the villain have been so freaking obvious? But that feeling was fleeting. It was quickly replaced with one of vindication: I had solved the case! Okay, perhaps I didn’t guess all the particulars that our intrepid gumshoe Benoit Blanc--James Bond hisownself, Daniel Craig, judiciously playing up his hidden droll side--mapped out, but I had been right in surmising who had committed the crime.
The reveal isn’t the icing on the cake, though, as Johnson’s finale is littered with killer callbacks galore. While the next-to-penultimate callback is also predictable, it’s no less satisfying when it’s revealed, thus allowing you to revel in your super sleuthdom (provided you figured it out, that is!). Ditto for the penultimate callback, which was clever, but also foreseeable a mile away. Yet the final callback was sublimely subtle. For those who like to solve puzzles, let’s just say that Johnson heavily favors foreshadowing; so keep your eyes and ears peeled, my friends!
While not possessing nearly enough twists and turns for my taste (but the ones that it does deliver are swell), the film succeeds by giving the audience everything they could possibly need to solve the case on their own, both in terms of visual and audible cues. Yet it’s the latter that Johnson uses to great effect to divert your attention. Hints are dropped with regularity, but they are mixed in with such flights of verbal fancy that its easy to get lost in the witty wordplay.
The sight gags are equally plentiful and hit with punch and verve. The rampant visual jokes range from a game of fetch with the guard dogs to a frumpy mink shrouded grandmother to a running gag involving projectile vomiting. They not only provide some deft humor, but additionally serve to draw your attention away from the more serious matters at hand.
In terms of the cast, I’m not gonna lie: at first I thought I would be distracted by the presence of both Captain America (Chris Evans) and 007 (Craig). Heck, the gentleman next to me loudly whispered to his companion “See, I told you that was Captain America” the first time Evans graced the screen. That both men were able to break free of their franchise shackles and create wholly different characters is a testament to their acting chops. The rest of the cast is equally up to the task. From Ana de Armas, a bona fide chameleon of an actor (I have found her damn near unrecognizable in every film I’ve seen her in), who deceptively plays her role like a mouse caught in a Landcruiser’s high beams to the “comeback kid” Don Johnson (his recent string of low-key roles in off-kilter films like this has been stellar). Christopher Plummer serves up a rich and captivating performance as the domineering patriarch of the film. A few folks, though, were underutilized: Lakeith Stanfield, while all deadpan grace, could have been used to better effect. Ditto for Jaeden Lieberher and Michael Shannon. And Laurie Strode, erm Jamie Lee Curtis, seems like A-list window dressing. Then again that’s always the problem with a large ensemble cast; some folks get more screen time than others. In the end, even those who could (and should) have had more frames to their name deliver memorable performances.
But when all is said and done the real star here is the dialogue, which is snappier than the wet towel that douche-bag of a bully used to crack on your bare ass in the showers after gym class. You’re gonna have to stay on your toes to catch every morsel uttered by the stellar cast.
So, yeah, if you’ve watched your share of Murder, She Wrote or read enough Christie and Queen there’s a good chance you may potentially see the final reveal coming from afar. But the journey to the confession of the killer is a rambunctiously good one . Then again, on the off-chance that you might not see any of it coming, not only the journey will be memorable, but also the arrival at the final destination will be exciting and illuminating to say the least.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Drag Me To Hell; Clue; Sleuth (the original with Michael Caine and Laurence Olivier); Mousetrap
Monday, November 25, 2019
PARASITE [Film Review]
The metaphorical aspects of this film are like a well-baked baklava: they just keep flaking off and revealing yet another tasty layer underneath.
On the surface writer/director Bong Joon-ho’s latest cinematic endeavor is an intriguing, constantly shifting slow-burn which floats effortlessly between being a dark comedy, a light-hearted drama, biting social criticism, and an unnerving thriller. Yet it somehow manages to be deeper than the sum of its combined genres.
Things start out innocently enough, feeling like a South Korean take on a Coen Bros. familial comedy. We are initially introduced to a quirky and poor family scheming their way through life; “borrowing” wifi, taking menial odd jobs, and generally trying to get by doing the least amount of work possible. From these humble beginnings the film evolves into a twisted grand con which ultimately culminates in a battle of wits as our “heroic” grifters get grifted, the rich get punished, and everything just goes to shit. Things are escalated further when it all explodes in a blaze of emotion fueled raw violence.
Bong keeps the pacing taught, letting the story unravel with a precise smoothness that keeps the viewer’s attention riveted to the screen. But perhaps the most alluring aspect of it all is that the film twists and turns with a diverting sense of subtlety so that you never know if you are watching a turgid drama, a black comedy or something else. In fact the best thing about the film is the bubbling tension that Bong creates. There is a scene where the four central protagonists/antagonists are enjoying a meal together and getting drunk. On the surface it is the simplest of scenes, but the underlying tension will have you wringing your hands in anticipation of something drastic happening in the ensuing moments.
The whole thing might have come tumbling down like a lopsided house of cards if it weren’t for the top-notch cast, ranging from Korean film stalwart Song Kang-Ho who plays the father figure of the “parasites” on down to the ditzy rich matron portrayed by Cho Yeo-jeong. Choi Woo-shik as the deceptively meek young son in the fraudster family is fantastic, displaying a subtle mischievousness. And Park So-dam as his coy sister is beguiling to watch. Lee Jeon-eun and Hyae Jin Chang round at the core cast as tenacious and insanely hilarious matrons (Lee as a cloying housekeeper, Chang as the queen mother of the grifter clan).
While the bravura acting and escalating outlandishness of the story line are at the center of the film, there are other elements at play here. The cinematography, for one, adds considerable nuance to the proceedings; it is laced with a slick and vibrant sheen, one that lends just the right amount of off-kilter surrealism to the proceedings. Things appear normal on the surface, but there’s always a strange undercurrent rolling between the frames. And the score is used to expert effect, playing quietly underneath when called for and hitting all the proper dramatic and horrific notes when appropriate. It, as with the look of the film, adds dramatically to the overall effect.
To put it into the simplest of terms at its core this film paints the rich as vane and clueless and the poor as cunning and ruthless. But it also points out the folly of greed and entitlement regardless of class distinctions. And the metaphors, man, the metaphors! Abundant and glorious they be.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Mulholland Drive; Oldboy (the original Korean version);
On the surface writer/director Bong Joon-ho’s latest cinematic endeavor is an intriguing, constantly shifting slow-burn which floats effortlessly between being a dark comedy, a light-hearted drama, biting social criticism, and an unnerving thriller. Yet it somehow manages to be deeper than the sum of its combined genres.
Things start out innocently enough, feeling like a South Korean take on a Coen Bros. familial comedy. We are initially introduced to a quirky and poor family scheming their way through life; “borrowing” wifi, taking menial odd jobs, and generally trying to get by doing the least amount of work possible. From these humble beginnings the film evolves into a twisted grand con which ultimately culminates in a battle of wits as our “heroic” grifters get grifted, the rich get punished, and everything just goes to shit. Things are escalated further when it all explodes in a blaze of emotion fueled raw violence.
Bong keeps the pacing taught, letting the story unravel with a precise smoothness that keeps the viewer’s attention riveted to the screen. But perhaps the most alluring aspect of it all is that the film twists and turns with a diverting sense of subtlety so that you never know if you are watching a turgid drama, a black comedy or something else. In fact the best thing about the film is the bubbling tension that Bong creates. There is a scene where the four central protagonists/antagonists are enjoying a meal together and getting drunk. On the surface it is the simplest of scenes, but the underlying tension will have you wringing your hands in anticipation of something drastic happening in the ensuing moments.
The whole thing might have come tumbling down like a lopsided house of cards if it weren’t for the top-notch cast, ranging from Korean film stalwart Song Kang-Ho who plays the father figure of the “parasites” on down to the ditzy rich matron portrayed by Cho Yeo-jeong. Choi Woo-shik as the deceptively meek young son in the fraudster family is fantastic, displaying a subtle mischievousness. And Park So-dam as his coy sister is beguiling to watch. Lee Jeon-eun and Hyae Jin Chang round at the core cast as tenacious and insanely hilarious matrons (Lee as a cloying housekeeper, Chang as the queen mother of the grifter clan).
While the bravura acting and escalating outlandishness of the story line are at the center of the film, there are other elements at play here. The cinematography, for one, adds considerable nuance to the proceedings; it is laced with a slick and vibrant sheen, one that lends just the right amount of off-kilter surrealism to the proceedings. Things appear normal on the surface, but there’s always a strange undercurrent rolling between the frames. And the score is used to expert effect, playing quietly underneath when called for and hitting all the proper dramatic and horrific notes when appropriate. It, as with the look of the film, adds dramatically to the overall effect.
To put it into the simplest of terms at its core this film paints the rich as vane and clueless and the poor as cunning and ruthless. But it also points out the folly of greed and entitlement regardless of class distinctions. And the metaphors, man, the metaphors! Abundant and glorious they be.
Rating: 4 (out of 5)
RIYL: Mulholland Drive; Oldboy (the original Korean version);
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