Quote of the Day

I have decorum... I'm wearing a collared shirt!

-Ethan Smith

Film Review: 127 Hours

In 2003, Aron Ralston amputated his lower right arm after spending 127 hours trapped under a boulder, stranded while mountain climbing in Utah. Danny Boyle, the wily British director who recently took America, and the Oscars, by storm with the crowd-pleaser Slumdog Millionare, has developed Ralston's incredible true story as the source for his unconventional biopic, constructing as a nearly one-man show for actor James Franco, in his first truly star-making turn.

The story of 127 Hours is known by the audience going into the theater (Ralston's incredible tale of survival made national headlines; I vividly remember watching a new story about the ordeal), and Boyle moves briskly to set up the main stage for his action, zipping through Ralston's preparation for the clim and helping two girls her runs into (Kate Mara and Amber Tamblyn) on their own hike. When Ralston finally begins the 127 hours of confinement and frustration, the film takes off; it's an interesting construct, given that the action doesn't physically leave the small fissure Ralston is trapped in. Boyle employs his distinct directorial style to the picture, weaving in hallucinations and visions, creating a play between Ralston's reality and fiction that slowly deteriorates.

Boyle uses every trick in his book - gorgeous widescreen landscape shots, fisheye cameras, shifting perspective, montage, split screen, amplified color, sound manipulation. 127 Hours is a virtuoso performance for the director, a chance to reall play with his aesthetic; after the incredible success of Slumdog Millionaire, Boyle is given free reign on this unique follow-up. I personally don't care for some of Boyle's choices, which was my most problematic experience while watching the film; I respect Boyle's skills, but I'm decidedly not one of his fans. I think he created some truly astounding visual moments, but I often found the directorial choices to be burdensome and overdetermined. The visual tricks took me out of the tale, and often made me focus on what was going on with the camera rather than the man trapped in the canyon; I wish Boyle could have streamlined his vision a little bit, and let some of the most absurd moments breathe.

Regardless of Boyle's trappings, the film is a stage for James Franco and his incredible talents; if it weren't for Colin Firth's dynamo performance in The King's Speech, I'd be calling Franco my favorite for the Oscar come February. Franco fully embodies Ralston in a draining performance that shows an actor pushed to his limits. The entire film rests on Franco's shoulders. It's interesting that Boyle originally wanted Cillian Murphy as his lead. After seeing Franco in the role, pushing Ralston through his hallucinations to arrive at the gruesome climax, it's impossible to envision another actor embodying the human spirit of Ralston on screen.

Any problems I have with Boyle's direction is undone in the final 20 minutes; the finale is near-perfect cinema, and one of the most rewarding end notes this year. Boyle and Franco do not make the infamous amputation easy - it's gory, disturbing, and unsettling; there have been reports of people vomiting and passing out while in the theater (a woman in the show before mine was taken out by ambulance). It's a brutal sequence, but ultimately a beautiful and empowering one, taking the aesthetics of torture porn to new heights in the overriding determination of the human will to live. 127 Hours works so well because it ends as a triumphant tale about the human spirit, and about taking time to appreciate everything in life. If your heart isn't pounding, and if tears aren't pouring down your face, by the time the credits roll (Boyle does some wonderful soundtrack work to help that pull at the soul), you might need to ask yourself if you're alive at all. A-

Quote of the Day

I just think Prada should be shut down, and truly I think they hate Americans. I think they’re still angry at us for WWII.
-Joan Rivers, to New York Magazine

Film Review: Blue Valentine

Blue Valentine has been plagued by the hoopla over the MPAA's initial NC-17 rating; after an intense appeal process, the film (released in theaters December 29th) will be rated R, without any edits from the unrated cut that has been circling the festival circuit followed by heaps of praise. Every single lick of praise is well deserved for this small gem - Blue Valentine is one of my favorite films of the year (narrowly losing out to Aronofsky's masterpiece in Black Swan for the top spot), tapping into a deep emotional reserve that I've never quite seen splayed across the screen. Prepare for the onslaught of tears.

Blue Valentine tells the tale of two lovers, Dean (Ryan Gosling) and Cindy (Michelle Williams). The story flits between the couple's dissolving marriage, centered around their daughter Frankie (the adorable Faith Wladyka, making a gorgeous feature debut that is absolutely heartbreaking), and the romantic kindling to their torrid relationship years earlier. One of the most astounding things about Blue Valentine is the emotionally punch behind such a seemingly slight structure; the narrative plays light and loose, but the way the film grabs you by the heart and never lets go is almost crippling. I have never seen a film this intense, or this real. I was wrecked by the time the credits rolled, so deeply affected I could barely move. It's a realism that's shattering and nearly revolutionary; watch who you see this film with, because the aftereffects are profound. This is the pinnacle of independent cinema, and a height that the industry should continually strive for.

The center of the film is focused on the couple's stay at a cheap "romance" motel, attempting to rekindle some sort of sexual chemistry that's been missing. The scenes in the motel are nearly embarrassing to watch, uncomfortable in the way that it feels like you're spying on a couple's most intimate, secret moments; it's a good thing that edits were not forced upon the studio to received an R rating, because deleting a single element would have diminished the spell this film casts. When things turn to the almost unbearable, director Derek Cianfrance flips to the giddy memories of true love, and the picture explodes in its tension between the two times.

Cinafrance crafts a rough, documentary aesthetic that works entirely with his seemingly invisible presence, and he pulls out impeccible performances from his two leads. The physical transformation between the two time periods is remarkable in and of itself, but the way both Gosling and Williams behave as coiled balls of energy is truly breathtaking. Both actors have fully inhabited their characters, and are completely devoted to their relationship at two distinctly different moments. Allegedly Gosling and Williams lived together before and during shooting, even participating in scripted conversations and fights. The performances carry an honesty that isn't usually seen in Hollywood; it's true naked abandon, and if both aren't awarded Oscar nominations, I will be livid. This is the best work the two have ever done.

The fact that the early NC-17 rating, and that the film is often said to be too "gory" in its depiction of a dying relationship, might hurt the chances of Oscar nominations for Blue Valentine makes me incredibly sad. If the (historically conservative) Academy can't recognize the bravest piece of cinema on screens this year, then something must change. Blue Valentine is gritty, raw, and honest with every frame. It's a pulsating depiction of love in all of its stages; it's not an easy film, but it's something that will touch everyone. The film is heartbreaking, but strangely uplifting. There is a unyielding heart beating firmly at the core of Blue Valentine; the film ends with an ellipses, not a period. It's not always perfect filmmaking, but the emotions at its core are undeniably perfect, almost impossibly rendered. Blue Valentine shows something truly beautiful, delicate and unflinching. A+

Quote of the Day

Alex, go buy some soda! People can't survive only on water. You need some soda on Christmas.

-Poppop

Quote of the Day

When I was pregnant with you, you know what my worst fear was? That you would come out with a cleft palate... Every expectant mother has an irrational fear!

-Mama Smith

Film Review: The Fighter

Mark Wahlberg has kept the story of "Irish" Micky Ward close to his heart, ushering the gritty biopic through Hollywood as his baby for years. Wahlberg should be proud of the real-life story that he's brought to the screen in its adherence to what actually occurred, a story that finds its strength from Ward's relationship with his brother and trainer, Dicky Eklund; however, while the film is centered on four absolutely electric performances, the film as a whole fails to assemble into a cohesive whole. Undermined by an unfocused tone, and sometimes taking the easy road cinematically, The Figher fails to become a boxing classic.

The world of boxing films is a steeped in history, with Raging Bull at the pinnacle, and The Fighter fails to rise above because it takes the easy shots to the finish; while something about boxing films is undeniably invigorating for me, it might be time for Hollywood to give the genre a little rest. The film starts out brilliantly, with Micky's boxing career as the backdrop for his dysfunctional family dynamic, especially zeroing in on his brother Dicky (Christian Bale), a crack-addled ex-boxer himself. However, about halfway through the film, after a startling reveal of how Dicky truly lives, the family drama fades underneath Micky's rise in the boxing world. It's an awkward shift, and a tighter control over the script could have done away with some of the boxing cliches that riddle the film's finale. There are scenes that transcend deal with Dicky's addiction, and the detrimental effects on the family and on Micky's potential as a boxer.

David O. Russell's direction (Wahlberg's personal choice after Darren Aronofsky passed on the project to direct Black Swan) is decent, though some of his choices are unimaginative; some scenes stumble around with powerful handheld camera intensity, while others are sloppy and flat. More importantly, whoever cobbled together The Figher's soundtrack should never work on a Hollywood film again. The movie is littered with 80's rock tunes; while this is true to the period, the choices are overt, distracting, and ultimately ruin a number of wonderful shots with burdensome shlock and laughable idiocy. I cannot say enough horrible things about the musical choices for this film. They're that atrocious.

Any grit missing from the technical aspects of the film is made up in leaps and bounds by the knockout performances. Mark Wahlberg is the weakest of the bunch, simply because he has the most subdued role; playing Micky as a quiet, controlled ball of energy who lashes out in the ring, Wahlberg shows the pain Micky goes through for his family. Melissa Leo, as the family's matriarch Alice, is a true fireball - fierce, enigmatic, and utterly terrifying, a woman doing what she thinks is best for her children while lost in her own world. Amy Adams shows a break in her token doe-eyed ingenue role as Charlene Fleming, Micky's loyal girlfriend; she rocks a tough-girl personal and Boston accent with raw credibility. Both of these women are locks for Supporting Actress nominations, and one could possibly see victory.

Christian Bale steals the show as the gangly, wily Dicky Eklund. Losing 30 pounds to play the role, Bale is an absolute revelation, especially after spending so much time under the gruff voice of Batman. Bale plays Dicky with such undeniable force that it is impossible to look away, and the there is a definite hole left when he is not in a scene; Bale transforms himself into someone else, and the results are incredible. The Oscar is his to lose. Allegedly Brad Pitt and Matt Damon where approached for the role before Bale, but it's hard to imagine anyone else inhabiting the role, and Wahlberg should be lucky that Bale gave his everything to the meaty role.

The best sequence of the film is a scene between all four of these actors towards the end of the film at one of Micky's practices, each artist throwing their all into the fight for a struggling family to survive. It's unfortunate that the film can't always rise to the occasion, and that the film's final moments can't match the brutally honest first half. In a tale that's truly about the bond of a family, no matter what the circumstances, I wanted the film's last note pack a punch. Regardless, this is an acting showcase through and through, and possibly one of the best ensembles of the year; for that alone, it's worth taking in the story of Micky Ward. B

Quote of the Day

My lips taste of infidelity!

-Bobby Bowden, on his choice of chapstick flavor

Quote of the Day

The film is like a battlefield... Love, Hate, Action, Violence, Death... In one word, Emotion.

-Samuel Fuller, Pierrot le Fou

Quote of the Day

The biggest challenge for all actors is that you see yourself on a screen outside of your body, and have to reenter your body to look at the world through your own eyes instead of at yourself...
-Natalie Portman, to Vogue

Film Review: Black Swan

Darren Aronofsky, director of Requiem for a Dream, has been flying under the radar for some time now; while his films have been critically lauded (let's not mention The Fountain...) and are met with a passionate cult following, Aronofsky has yet to receive serious recognition along the award circuit. All of that is about to change with the virtuosic and daring Black Swan, Aronofsky's genre masterpiece that is this year's most thrilling trip to the theater. This is top-tier filmmaking, and narrowly beats out Social Network and Blue Valentine (my review for the latter film, including thoughts on the silly NC-17 drama, will be up soon) as my favorite film of 2010. It's flawed perfection, a type of imperfect filmmaking steeped in something vital that most films miss.

Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) is a seasoned ballerina, meticulously trained and living with her overbearing mother on the Upper West Side (Barbara Hershey, channeling Carrie's Piper Laurie in a role deserving of a Best Supporting Actress nomination). When ballet director Thomas (Vincent Cassel, chillingly) replaces aged prima ballerina Beth (a crazed Winona Ryder), Nina goes in for the role of the Swan Queen; however, Thomas is unsure of Nina's ability to play the sexual Black Swan in the ballet's dual role. As Nina becomes obsessed with the role, and with new soloist Lily (Mila Kunis, showing devious sexuality and playful spunk) as a potential rival, her perception on reality becomes maddeningly unhinged.

Calling Black Swan an emotional roller coaster, a true tour de force, is an absolute understatement. This film puts its audience through the wringer, squeezing out every last emotion. When the lights went up in my theater, I was sweating, with my heart pounding, my head reeling. It's like nothing else in movie theaters right now, as Aronofsky has blended a madcap selection of B-rate genre melodrama, absurd horror, tight psychological thriller, and art house character study. It's a bizarre mixture, and with a less skilled director the entire film would have been a laughable farce (many in my showing still found elements to be unintentionally hilarious; I was always too disturbed to see the humor in such moments). Instead, Aronofsky's gifted hands make the story intensely terrifying and wholly enthralling.

While the entire ensemble cast is solid, no amount of praise heaped on Natalie Portman would do her justice. Portman's portrayal of Nina is the singular performance of the year, and probably of Portman's career. Portman sheds every inhibition, and her passionate, high-wire performance lights the screen on fire; she's taut, nuanced, extreme, and unbridled. This is what an Oscar performance looks like. Beyond losing 20 pounds for the role and training extensively in ballet (she took ballet as a child, but quit in her teens), Portman transformed her physical presence, but also delivered a transformative moment in her career; any preconceived notions about Portman's talents have clearly been stripped away. You can't take your eyes away from her, as Portman has never looked for gorgeous, helpless, or terrifying. This is one of the few times where a movie star has made me completely forget that they are not wholly the character in the film. Portman is perfection, and deserves every award headed her way.

Aronofsky's visionary style gives the film a realistic grit, and yet still lets the film shine with radiant beauty and seduction, centered around a fetishized depiction of ballet. As a director, Aronofsky is not only a gifted storyteller, but also devotes himself fully to his aesthetic. Many go-for-broke visual motifs exist; I can see where some wouldn't buy into Aronofsky's methods, but I was eating up every crazed detail he threw before my eyes. Working with the swirling cameras of cinematographer Matthew Libatique, Aronofsky paints a frenzied picture of Nina's downward spiral into insanity. Clint Mansell, using motifs from Tchaikovsky's original Swan Lake score, crafts brilliantly unsettling and beautifully atmospheric music to match; Mansell not only breathes new life into the ballet's tunes that have permeated pop culture, but also adds new and haunting meaning to the lush music of Swan Lake. Pushing the boundary between reality and mad hallucinations, an endless onslaught of rich cinema is born.

Black Swan is a companion piece of sorts to Aronofsky's The Wrestler, both depicting the self-destruction of an artist-athlete. Here, Aronofsky raises the stakes, presenting Nina as a woman hellbent on finding true artistic perfection, a woman who will net nothing get in the way of her dreams. It's an obsessive, ugly portrait; cracking open Nina's psyche gives the gorgeous dance sequences a disturbing pall. With Black Swan, Aronofsky has found his own perfection. This is a new type of dance film, a piece that surpasses simply its genre. Black Swan gave me everything I could ever ask for. It's bravura, no-holds-barred, unmissable filmmaking on every level. This won't be everyone's cup of tea, but Aronofsky should be applauded for creating such a unique, challenging, and visceral experience. It's a bizarre tale, one that might be too dark and twisted for the Academy; however, this should be one of the biggest names come Oscar night. Black Swan will carry you away in its dark, dizzying fever-dream, grabbing you by the soul and not letting go until it has completed its exhausting journey. Just try not to let the film, or Portman's searing facial expressions, haunt you. A+