In Spite of Myself

Take a look at this man.

He so fine.

Hunk o’clock, amirite? Second to Paul Newman, Christopher Plummer has aged fantastically well.

Like a fine wine.

As you might imagine, I’ve been a fan of this guy ever since Captain Von Trapp et al graced my screen back when I was in the single-digits age range. The Sound of Music is my favorite movie of all time, and so, naturally, I’ve been wanting to learn more about its stars. When I heard C.Plum had finally written a memoir, I located it at Powell’s Books (PDXWHATUP) after months of searching. And after more months of reading, I can say this: Sometimes it’s best not to learn more about your idols.

I don’t mean that in the worst way, necessarily. I learned a lot from this book. Christopher Plummer has led a fascinating life, and I’m glad to know more about it. It’s just that by “fascinating,” I mean privileged, charmed, and unrelatable. While I did appreciate his constant self-deprecatory remarks, they didn’t mask his ego. It’s huge; always has been, always will be. He spends a good deal of the book semi-apologizing for being a pompous ass, and another good deal of it describing how much fun it was to be said pompous ass. His writing style is thorough, but flowery and exhausting; many exclamation points, many Kipling and Shakespeare pull-quotes, many flourishes of French phrasing, many superlative descriptions, particularly of women and alcohol and food. Calling his existence “rich” would be like saying… the sun is bright.

While he was waxing poetic on his many sexual, theatrical, and culinary exploits, it was easy to see how erudite he had become over the years, but difficult to see how he had actually done it. Born into a well-off family, he had all the educational opportunities a kid could wish for, but it was unclear if he even attended college. I suppose I could look it up on Wikipedia right now, but I kind of want to make this point instead. Shouldn’t a memoir fill its audience in on details like this? And speaking of details, the way he met all three of his wives was sort of unclear, too. It was like they appeared suddenly, and then he was sleeping with them, and then they were married, and then they were divorced (well, except for Elaine, his current wife of 42 years, not bad, eh!). All one big gelatinous phase of uncertainty and partying and fun. It still doesn’t even seem like he’s settled down.

So, while I don’t necessarily covet his life of excess and luxury, I did unearth some admirable qualities of his embedded in the book. All those details of his personal life? They convey a certain honesty that you just don’t find with famous folks his age. A great many of them try to preserve their dignity by hiding their past transgressions, but Plummer was very up-front about how he cheated on his first two wives, how he wasn’t that great a father to Amanda Plummer (a.k.a. Honey Bunny and Rose, her two best roles as far as I’m concerned), and how he spent a lot of money on useless things. And all of those lavish descriptions and name-drops of the most beautiful actresses in Hollywood? Unnecessary, yes, but it’s refreshing how genuinely appreciative he is of his peers, and sweet that he’s so in awe of Hollywood even though he’s a part of it. He’s never been one for Los Angeles, another plus, and sort of observes it from suburban New England (or even Old England), which gives him a fresh perspective all the time.

He’s made some interesting (kind word) choices in the last several years, and by that I mean I haven’t watched most of his recent films, but I was elated when he won the Oscar for Beginners. In Spite of Myself doesn’t span that far, but knowing that he reached this triumphant milestone so late in life, I kind of wish it had. Maybe he’ll write a sequel, and I’ll slog through all the adjectives anyway because I still love him. He is Captain Von Trapp.

2012
05/12
CATEGORY
books
TAGS




Write comment

Breaking Bad, Season 2

Sometimes I think I should rename this blog “behind the times” or “finally jumping on the bandwagon” or “late to the party” or some other cliche phrase to indicate that I typically don’t watch things that everyone likes until they’re off the air, or whatever. But then I remember that Chris Hardwick hasn’t seen The Wire, and I feel much better about myself.

So, Breaking Bad. My various trusted television sources were right–this show most definitely gets better with time. The first season left me very underwhelmed, much in the same way that Parks and Recreation‘s first did, too. Both shows only got a few episodes to make a go of it, and while you could tell there was something special there, none of the characters seemed particularly compelling. Sort of shells of interesting people played by very talented actors. But both shows got second-season pickups, and never looked back. Breaking Bad is clearly a TV powerhouse, but it does its thing without any pretension whatsoever. It’s weird, too, because its network, AMC, houses the most pretentious show(s) on TV: Mad Men and The Walking Dead, which I admit I watch, but my very use of the word “admit” shows that there’s a little embarrassment there. The shows aren’t quite as mind-blowing as everyone makes them out to be, whereas Breaking Bad is tride and true, un-glamourous, un-trendy, exactly the way TV ought to be. It’s entertaining, it makes you think, it gives you a taste of something you might not otherwise experience.

One thing I really like about Breaking Bad, which I think became very apparent this season, is how unapologetic it is. Unlike many other “quality” shows running right now, Breaking Bad doesn’t try to justify its characters’ bad behaviour or teach its audience something really deep about humanity. Or maybe it does, but the lessons aren’t saccharine or obvious. They’re there, I suppose, embedded deep in the hearts of the characters, but you don’t necessarily have to learn anything from them. You can just enjoy the show for what it is.

Bryan Cranston is incredible; this can be gleaned from his Emmy three-peat, but I want to say it anyway because he’s such an underdog in Hollywood. He’s such a normal-looking dude, one that you’d think could never play anything other than an accountant or, say, a goofy dad (Phil Dunphy would be NOTHING without Hal), yet Cranston completely transforms into Walter White the second you see him on the small screen. He’s terrifying and sympathetic, and all of the other adjectives that have probably been used to describe him. He becomes this real, conflicted, heartbreaking person, the embodiment of a tragic hero, and while I can’t necessarily say that I want him to come out on top (because I know he won’t anyway), I find it fascinating to watch him try.

It’s sort of interesting how this show presents so many characters in so many tough situations, and yet for me it’s hard to give them my full support. I think Walter gets most of it, by virtue of his impossible drug-cancer-baby predicament, but the rest of the characters give “gleaning sympathy” the old college try, and very valiantly so. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing; it just means I have less emotional investment in the show (and more, I don’t know, plotline investment? story investment? who cares). RJ Mitte is adorable, but he’s got these eyes that suggest something so hurt all the time, which make him magnetic whenever he’s onscreen. Anna Gunn is so strong and so cardboard at the same time, the beautiful, work-ethical mom with something dark that I suspect we’ll find out about as the show progresses. Her sister, her bro-in-law, Bob Odenkirk, Giancarlo Esposito… I could go on about how awesome they are, but the only person who can hold a candle to Cranston is, of course, Aaron Paul. I love him under any circumstance on this show, even when Jesse is being a total dickbag. Paul is so real, too, which is why they’re such a mesmerizing duo, with this bizarre non-chemistry that sucks you in to their fucked up not-so-little world. I was sad for Jesse when Jane (the chameleonic Krysten Ritter) drugged herself dead, but it’ll only make him a more fascinating character, and it’ll only give me another reason to watch Season 3.

2012
05/06
CATEGORY
television
TAGS






Write comment

Precious: Based on the Novel “Push” By Sapphire

It pleases me greatly to type out that entire title. This movie has been talked about endlessly since it first came out in 2009, as both a “breakout” (HATE THAT WORD SO MUCH) role for Gabourey Sidibe and a perpetual punchline for, whatever, everything, and yet I only got around to watching it a few days ago. At least I feel that much close to attaining pop culture enlightenment now. (And I also know that Mariah Carey is capable of improving upon this.)

Gabourey Sidibe really is a treasure in this movie. I think most of her naivete and rawness and magnetism can be attributed to the fact that this was the first thing she acted in, ever, in her life, so she had been completely untouched by Hollywood and all of its impurities. But there is something about her that I can’t place that makes her the only person who could have possibly played Precious. She inhabits a dark world with an ironic light, and even as I was laughing at the fleeting moments of humor in the movie, I didn’t feel so bad about it because it seemed like Precious (and Gabby) wanted her audience to enjoy itself. The dream sequences, in which Precious imagines a life of fame and fortune, are this welcome, tension-free relief from a situation that can’t even be described accurately in the English language. An attempt: Precious is 16 and pregnant and HIV+ with her second child by her father. Her mother is among the worst of the humans. Mo’Nique, who played this mother, dug up some serious shit for the role. By now, we all know that she won the Oscar and deserved it and all that, but if you haven’t seen the movie yet, it really is worth watching just to experience that level of acting. After all, Mo’Nique is a comedian. Now, I know comedians are inherently dark people, but this performance is a completely different level of pitch-black dark. It’s unreal, and haunting, and it makes you glad to be living the life you’re living, which is to say, not the life of Precious or Mary.

Paula Patton, as Precious’ teacher Ms. Rain, also deserves some credit for lifting the spirit of this movie. She’s a complicated beacon of hope for Precious, and she teaches Precious to make her life something worthwhile. It’s because of her classroom of misfits that Precious finds family outside of her own home. But the movie belongs to the leading ladies, though I can’t say that term is really applicable here because Precious is a tragedy, and leading ladies always come out on top. The movie ends on a positive note, but the story doesn’t. Watch it anyway.

2012
04/22
CATEGORY
films
TAGS




Write comment

Friends With Kids

Here is my underlying comment about this movie: I love Adam Scott.

And here is my underlying question: Why can’t Jennifer Westfeldt do more things?

Regarding the comment, Scott totally steals this movie, which is hard to do alongside Westfeldt, Jon Hamm, Maya Rudolph, Kristen Wiig, and Chris O’Dowd. He’s got such a nice-guy demeanor about him, though perhaps that comes from his roles on Party Down and Parks and Recreation, but he pulls off the Barney Stinson-esque vibe quite well in this movie, and with even more depth. (No disrespect to NPH; Stinson is legendary in his own comical right.)

I thought I was going to love this movie, and I totally did, albiet for completely different reasons than I was expecting. I heard about it awhile ago, and thought that Scott and Westfeldt would be the only people in their group of friends not to have a kid, but as it turns out, they make a go of it, too. I love the super-progressive and probably unrealistic notion of two friends having a kid together, because as idealistic as it sounds, it actually makes more sense than a lot of the situations that we see on the big screen and in real life. The message that kids ruin marriage is a hard pill to swallow for, like, everyone, but it’s often true. This movie takes that message and shoves it down our throats, except it’s totally fine going down because the characters (and the actors that play them) are undeniably lovable.

In fact, the only thing I didn’t like about this movie was how [spoiler alert] Jules (Westfeldt) and Jason (Scott) actually got together in the end. It was a little too Hollywood-y for me. And that last line, “Fuck the shit out of me!”? I know it was supposed to be charming, because Jules and Jason are best friends who understand each other and all that, but it sort of struck a weird chord with me. I would have found it far more interesting if Jason had stayed with Mary-Jane (Megan Fox, who I found myself liking a whole lot) and Jules had stayed with Kurt (Edward Burns, yum). A true modern arrangement.

All that considered, I think Scott and Westfeldt had great, natural chemistry, and the other couples in the movie were paired off well, too. The four other supporting actors are all basically known for their comedic work (yes, even The Hamm), so to see them all playing something new and decidedly less funny was refreshing and impressive. Kristen Wiig, especially, had a thoughtful little turn as Hamm’s increasingly-depressed wife, and seeing him as an increasingly-misogynistic asshole was also something to watch.

Regarding the question I posed above, I’d really love to see Westfeldt act and write and direct more. (Sidebar: How is this woman 41? She’s in incredible shape. It’s ridiculous.) In general, I feel like she sort of undersells herself, being the lady of superstar Jon Hamm and all. But I really do appreciate her simple, straightforward voice in this movie–she told a story that a lot of people might not be comfortable telling, and she made it funny and sweet. When’s the next film with all of these fantastic people coming out, eh?

2012
04/15
CATEGORY
films
TAGS








Write comment

AMC, I’m watching you

I don’t mean that in a creepy way. I mean it in a literal way. It’s been an AMC kind of month for me, what with the end of Season 2 of The Walking Dead, the beginning of Season 5 of Mad Men, and my concurrent decision to stream Season 2 of Breaking Bad on Netflix Instant. (I’ve got two episodes left, in case you were wondering.) This network is keeping me thoroughly entertained (minus The Killing and Rubicon, which I and no one really care about), so I felt compelled to write about it. Normally (and more recently), I keep reviews of current shows confined to an occasional 140 characters, but I felt compelled to expand a bit on this AMC topic, as it’s been running my entertainment life for several weeks now. Let’s start with the undead, which left me a little unsettled.

The Walking Dead intrigues me enough that I’ll keep watching until they cancel it, which won’t be for awhile because it’s generally pretty fucking cool. There are gross zombies and exciting standoffs and it’s a fun, apocalyptic romp. But what the hell happened to the show I legitimately fell for last season? It’s a soap opera without the soap, because no one has showered in a really long time. Over the course of this second season, the characters began communicating too much and too intensely with all of this absurd, melodramatic, shitty dialogue. Granted, I can’t admit to knowing what I’d say were I in their situation, but I certainly wouldn’t be speaking straight out of a Hallmark Channel original movie. They all went from smart to insane to… plain inconsistent.

Look, I get the insane thing. Under the fascinating, terrifying circumstances of a zombie apocalypse, shit would get beyond real. No one would have any mental capacity to fully handle the situation. But one minute, these characters are kicking ass, and the next, they’re making idiotic decisions. Take Laurie, for example. Maybe it’s baby hormones or something, but she is behaving like a prize idiot. She runs around all hysterical, constantly screaming for Rick and Carl, crashing a car in order to find them when at most other times she proclaims her utmost faith in her husband’s decision-making. And then in the finale, when she got all offended that Rick offed Shane? Come on. Naivete will get you nowhere when the world’s coming to an end.

Rick, a.k.a. President of the Rickocracy, is just an asshole, which actually makes me miss Shane more now that he’s gone. He’s completely screwed up his ghostly kid, Carl (a.k.a. “Sure Shot,” a nickname given to him by my clever boss), who alternately acts younger and older than his actual age, which I assume is about 10. Carl misbehaves regularly, and even at his tender age is responsible for at least two deaths. Rick just goes along with this, of course, because he’s got bigger fish to fry, like ruling the universe or something. I hate them both now.

Herschel had been preaching about being a man of God, dying on his farm, staying sober, yada yada yada, but obviously the group of jerk misfits had an effect on his staunch morals. He’s now a member of the pack, he’s let an Asian Man into his daughter’s life (I won’t even get into that one), and he’s stepped up his badassery game. Too bad I hate him too.

I pretty much hate all of the characters now, because none of them are believable anymore. Andrea was ambiguously abandoned in the last episode, and I was just starting to like her again. And Darryl, the prick hick, save Sophia’s whiny mom instead of Andrea, so that sucks. The only likable person at the end of the season is the Token Black Guy. Sad that I don’t know his name, but it’s true. I hope he gets more than the occasional punch line or heavy lifting scene next season. I need a break from this… but there will come a time next year when I’ll want to know about that grim reaper with the two armless zombie slaves, and the show will come back to answer my question. I hope.

Mad Men really did show up at the perfect time. It had been gone too long, and then it came back with this unprecedented surge of free advertising for itself. I dislike showrunner Matthew Weiner, but he sure knows how to make his shit meta. The entertainment magazines have been FILLED with Mad Men hype, without any screeners to speak of, and he didn’t have to do a damn thing to prompt it except be his arrogant self and push back the start date half a year.

It really was good to see the sexist, racist, svelte gang back in action, and the icing on the cake was that Betty wasn’t even in the first episode! Sweet. I honestly didn’t miss her. I suspect it had to do with January Jones being knocked up in real life when this was shot, but whatever works. The season looks like it’s shaping up to be about how the independent heroes, like Don and Joan, get domesticated, and how they’re going to (attempt to) get their respective grooves back. The wrench in the monkey, however, is that they both appear happy with their settled-down-ness. Don has married Megan, whom I’m just going to refer to as Carly Simon from now on, and she sort of brushes past the bullshit and knows him, more than anyone probably thought she’d be capable of. It’s interesting, because he lived so secretly with his ladies up to this point, but Megan has an admirable power that makes him ignore this annoying trait about himself. She knows about Dick Whitman, she connects to his kids, she makes him smile, and she has ambition of her own. And Joan has a half-Roger baby on her hands, as well as a desperately housewivean mother. (See what I did there? Her mom was Martha Huber! And the new Bobby Draper is MJ Delfino! What the hell?) She assumes the motherly role more than we expected her to, but there are still so many things off about her life. I’m hoping we’ll find out what those things are as the season progresses.

I also hope we’ll find out more about the weird friendship between Megan and Peggy. I assume it has more to it than the fact that both of them have G’s in their names. I want Peggy to do something a little bigger with her life; she seems to be stagnant, even in this very progressive career of hers. I want to see the Pete-Trudy baby. I want Sally Draper to become a bratty teenager. I want Duck Phillips to come back so he can have an awkward meta scene with Joan’s mom. I want Roger Sterling to get all of the secretaries pregnant. And goddamnit, I want Sal Romano to come back. I still haven’t given up on him.

Mad Men will probably give me none of these things, because it is a deliciously unpredictable show, but I’ll forgive it because it’s beautiful. Jon Hamm heals all wounds. For the next twelve or so weeks, I’m on the mend.

Until I finish Breaking Bad, anyway. More on that later.

2012
03/28
CATEGORY
television
TAGS








Write comment

The Hour, Series 1

It pleases me greatly to write “Series 1″ above. Because that means there will be a Series 2. It’s true. Wikipedia said so.

The Hour was even better than I expected it to be. The perfect amount of television, a very British 6-episodes-of-55-minutes-ish season, beautiful costumes, intriguing drama, tangled love, mysterious murder, meticulous sets, clean dialogue, witty banter… practically perfect in every way, as far as I’m concerned.

It’s probably easiest to describe this show as the British version of Mad Men, though that’s selling it very short. The Hour has a similar grainy, smoky feel to it, to be sure, as well as incredibly posh style and admirable attention to period detail. But watching The Hour made me realize how short Mad Men falls very often. First of all, despite its “abbreviated” season–by American standards, 13 episodes is short and sweet–Mad Men is a very slow show. Nothing really happens until the season finale. The Hour, on the other hand, moves at just the right pace throughout its six episodes. Each is action-packed without feeling rushed, a balance that’s rare and difficult to strike. And while Mad Men flourishes in ambiguity and silence, it sometimes drowns in it, too. Characters reflect and ponder and dwell too much on that show, leaving viewers frustrated and hanging in the Sterling Cooper balance. Maybe it’s because they’re all in advertising, so they speak in code. All I know is that I prefer the direct, puzzle-free speech of the journalist characters on The Hour. They say what they feel, they solve problems actively, and they vocalize conflicts. I think it makes for much more exciting television.

And furthermore, the characters all seem like more complex, more deeply layered hybrids of Mad Men‘s cast of selfish pricks. That may be an unfair comparison, too, but it’s one worth mentioning. Series creator Abi Morgan has done something truly special with these characters–they’re real and rich and confused, but they’re very easy to root for because of all of those things. They’re good people and even better at their jobs, which isn’t often portrayed consistently on television. Bel Rowley (Romola Garai) has Joan’s sexual confidence and Peggy’s sexless ambition, except over the course of the six episodes, we learn more about her personal moral struggles than we did for Joan or Peggy during the first two seasons of Mad Men. Plus, Garai plays Bel so likably and sympathetically; I wish Bel, the producer of the news program The Hour, were a real person so I could feel less awkward about idolizing her. Onto Hector Madden, played by the perpetually sexy Dominic West. He’s got the womanizing streak of Don Draper crossed with the entitled confidence of Roger Sterling, minus all the crippling, annoying health problems those two bring on themselves. Hector is the anchor of The Hour, sometimes aloof as a journalist but always confident as a leading man. West is so subtle and fragile in this role; Hector is torn between his new, rebellious life with this bunch of misfit journalists (and his affair with Bel), and his old, establishment life with his cookie-cutter wife Marnie (Ooma Castilla Chaplin, whose British accent was noticeably fake. Called it.), and West plays it gracefully. And then there’s Freddy Lyon. I didn’t think I could like anyone more than Dominic West, but Ben Whishaw pretty much steals the show with his performance. Freddy, the brilliant, scrappy journalist who’s not yet anchor material, is who basically ties everything together. He’s got Don’s talent and Pete’s blind ambition, but he’s so much more than either of them because he has passion. Between a long-standing friendship with and unrequited love for Bel, a rapidly-moving reporter’s mind, and an unfortunate, not-so-accidental involvement in a murder that eventually connects directly to the Suez canal story that The Hour works on throughout the series, he is crucial to every aspect of the show.

Obviously, The Hour was directly influenced by Mad Men, as were a bunch of other crappy shows that have aired with about the ’50s and ’60s since Mad Men premiered in 2007. But The Hour is different because it’s actually good, and because it might be better than its inspiration. It’s not often that a show can combine so many disparate, standard elements of a television drama–history, murder, romance, workplace, social hierarchy, the list goes on–and pull off even half of them well. The Hour does it all flawlessly. Let’s just hope it doesn’t take nearly as long a hiatus as its New York counterpart.

2012
03/18
CATEGORY
television
TAGS





Write comment

Wasn’t I supposed to write something about the Oscars?

Yeah, I think so. Whoops. That’s what you do when you tend to like movies and stuff.

Except, wait. The Oscars totally sucked this year, not quite as much as last year but enough to merit me not actually feeling bad about writing about it until now, nearly three weeks later. What a waste of three hours.

Shit, I remember when I used to love watching the Oscars. It was all dreamy and exciting and the dresses were pretty and the suits were sharp and the movies were magical and the stars glowed, or at least they did to me. Not that all of those things aren’t true now. There are still gorgeous threads and great films and massive talents out there, it’s just that the stupid spectacle of the Oscars is completely irrelevant now. Some of the films nominated aren’t even worth anything to society; while The Artist was actually the most deserving Best Picture winner in awhile (save for The Hurt Locker, too), no one will be talking about War Horse in 50 years. It’s a complete crapshoot, and by crapshoot, I mean that if you’re Meryl Streep or a period piece, you will be nominated and you will clean up.

You’re probably expecting me to go off on some rant now about how Meryl Streep has won too much and about how Bridesmaids should have won more. Sike! Meryl Streep has only won 3 out of 17 times. That’s actually a horrible percentage, considering how fucking great she is. I think she deserves many more Oscars than she owns, but I don’t think The Iron Lady was necessarily her masterpiece. I’m sure it was good, but I didn’t see it; between it, J. Edgar, and My Week With Marilyn, this was definitely the year of the un-enticing biopic. I didn’t see The Help either, but it looked like it should have been Viola Davis’ moment.

Onto Bridesmaids. Yeah, I guess I was rooting for Annie Mumolo and Kristen Wiig to win for Best Original Screenplay, and yeah, I thought it was lame that Woody Allen didn’t even show up to claim his prize. But the fact that Other Groundlings, a.k.a. Jim Rash and Nat Faxon, won for Best Adapted Screenplay is pretty spectacular, too. Funny people are creepin’ in on Oscar, and it might be the only shot we have at making this thing relevant again. Because Billy Crystal certainly was not funny.

He’s so old. And plasticy. And hammy. I want to like him, and I did at one point, but he’s so far past his comedy expiration date that it’s just sad now. Jon Stewart would have made this whole situation way less painful, and the entire world knows it. Between the Oscars host and the Super Bowl halftime show, it appears that network television has absolutely no actual interest in its viewers.

So why do I watch? I don’t even know anymore. I suppose there are still little moments of victory, like when Christopher Plummer won for Beginnings, or when Will Ferrell and Zach Galifianakis played cymbals in white tuxedos, or when Melissa McCarthy resurrected the leg scene from Bridesmaids, or when Jean Dudjardin became the Most Attractive French Person Ever when he won, or when Whitney Houston’s face came up in the In Memoriam compilation and I teared up. The movies are still magic, it’s just that celebrity isn’t anymore. The Oscars celebrate celebrity more than art. As long as we can separate the two, and accept the aging awards show for what it isn’t, we can still have fun at the movies. Just try to forget about how lame all the other stuff is.

2012
03/17
CATEGORY
films
thoughts
TAGS










Write comment

The Descendants

I have a question for the universe. How did George Clooney situate himself in you (the universe) so perfectly that he can do no wrong whatsoever? It’s a superhuman task, and as far as I know, Clooney is a real human. Or maybe he is not. I don’t know. But the man is magnificent.

Granted, his current choice of girlfriend is confusing, but I’ll let that slide. I’ll also give him a break for not being totally believable as a “regular guy” who lives in Hawaii. He, like Pitt and Roberts and Hanks, are officially Too Famous To Be Regular People Anymore. It happened a long time ago for Roberts, and Clooney not long after. Hanks hit the mark with that dumb movie, Charlie Wilson’s War (how Sorkin is attached to this, I’m not sure), which also starred Roberts as a blonde version of herself, and for Pitt, I think it happened with Moneyball, though I haven’t seen it yet. Granted, we’ve know who these people are for some time, but they’ve afforded themselves a certain amount of chameleonicity–yes, that’s a word, shut up–in many past roles.

Anyway, yeah. I found myself painfully aware of the fact that it was Clooney and not Matt King on the screen, though his Matt King was an interesting, pressured, somewhat held back man with a shit-ton of problems on his plate. I applaud the writers, Jim Rash (Dean!) and Nat Faxon, for writing such blunt, layered characters and letting very pretty people dig deep and discover them. Clooney is a beautiful man, of course, and I think he knows it, so he did his best to let his age really show and allow King’s unfortunate circumstances to wash over him. Therein lies the Oscar nod.

Onto Shailene Woodley, who was pleasant and refreshing as a… potty-mouthed brat. I suspect that her stint on The Secret Life of the American Teenager probably had a hand in her being able to fish out a post-adolescent’s emotional problems, but I also think she has a wonderful, varied career ahead of her. And Amara Miller! She’s from Pacific Grove! That’s near where I grew up! Props, young ‘un.

The story of The Descendants is an incredibly depressing one, and certainly one that I wouldn’t normally expect to be nominated for Best Picture. But I think it’s the subtlety and honesty with which each character is portrayed (and written) that drives it into the upper cinematic echelons. It wasn’t the best movie of the year, but it was the most surprising one I’ve seen thus far (save for J. Edgar, which surprised me with its suckiness). Of course, the Cloons didn’t help with the whole nomination thing, either.

I think my favorite scene was the final one, over which the credits played. I’m not going to tell you what it is, but I’ll just say that it made me tear up more than the entire movie, and when you boil it down, the entire movie was about a family coping with the wife and mother’s fatal boating accident.

PS, Rob Huebel! Judy Greer! Huzzah!

2012
02/29
CATEGORY
films
TAGS







Write comment

Hunger

Hunger is not a feel-good movie. It’s not a sweeping epic, a beautiful romance, or an action thriller. It’s a simple, depressing, dark portrayal of the hunger strikes that took place in Northern Ireland in the early 1980s. It will disgust you, it will fascinate you, it will pull you in, and it will leave you wanting more–not of the disturbing imagery, of course, but of Michael Fassbender, the film’s star.

Fassbender is the hottie of the moment, or so I’ve been told by several dependable sources. In fact, a friend of mine went so far as to say that she’d been on a Fassbender bender for quite some time, consuming everything this guy has done in his career. After seeing this movie, I can understand why. It’s an interesting introduction to his body of work, and his body for that matter, since he shed a ton of weight for the role. In healthy form, he’s a beautiful man, reminiscent of Alexander Skarsgard on True Blood (in my eyes, anyway). But gradually, the role of Bobby Sands, Irish martyr, consumes him, and he stops just short of skeletal. It’s actually terrifying to watch someone waste away like that, knowing full well that it’s a movie. I don’t know how he managed to survive shooting the movie, let alone living his everyday life in that state. And he probably had decent access to other comforts; the thought of Sands actually going through this whole ordeal is almost unbearable, though it was a choice.

I did not study the hunger strikes in school, so this movie was basically the first I had heard of them. But I can say that it paints a stark, gritty portrait of them. Inmates were brutally beaten and regularly tortured, and they lived under the most crude of circumstances. One scene in particular portrayed Sands’ cellmate using his own shit to draw a portal-like hole on the wall of their cell. Or maybe it was Sands himself; with all the initial scraggly facial hair, it was hard to tell all the withering bodies apart.

The script was short; director Steve McQueen basically let the images speak for themselves, with the exception of this beautifully executed, simply filmed exchange between Sands and Father Dominic Moran, played by Liam Cunningham. The man of the cloth tried to convince Sands to abandon his plans for striking and inevitable death, but Sands had made his decision long before the conversation took place. It underscored the tragedy and the selfishness of the whole thing, and only made the subsequent scenes of Sands’ deterioration that much more unbearable–and enthralling.

Hunger isn’t for the faint of heart, but it’s an exercise in brutal cinema, and it’s a magnificent centerpiece to Fassbender’s resume, though I’m sure I’ll say that about other things he’s done once I see them. For the sake of entertainment, though, I just hope they’re slightly more uplifting.

2012
02/27
CATEGORY
films
TAGS



Write comment

High Fidelity

I was told I would love this movie for one reason: John Cusack. If you’re female, you should understand by now that the Cus (pronounced KYOOZ) has this all-or-nothing effect on women. And by “all-or-nothing,” I just mean “all,” because I haven’t yet met a woman who’s expressed outward dislike for a movie he’s starred in. So he’s got a pretty ridiculous track record, somehow by starring in a bunch of movies but never stretching his character too far from how we ladies all perceive him in our minds. It must be good to be the Cus.

I liked this movie. It was cute and indie and all of that. But I actually didn’t like it because of Cusack at all; in fact, I found his character, Rob, kind of annoying and empty. I didn’t understand how he managed to bed so many women, yet I understood perfectly well why he had been through so many breakups. Laura (Iben Hjejle; what is up with Cusack co-starring with women who never do anything big afterwards?), his main lady love, put it into pretty succinct terms when she said that she wanted to get her shit together and didn’t see it happening with him. Harsh but wise. I’m still confused as to how they ended up together at the end.

I don’t think I’d be going out on a limb in saying that this movie is about incredibly selfish people. Rob indulges himself in a really plateaued life, working in the record store and seducing women and occasionally DJ’ing. The women he dates aren’t particularly thrilling, either, though it was fun to see Catherine Zeta-Jones vamp it up a bit and Lili Taylor reunite with Cus on screen. I get that the “fidelity” in the title has a few layers to it, since Rob and Laura can’t shake their feelings for each other even after they explore relationships with other people, but I wasn’t ever rooting for them to get back together because they didn’t seem particularly thrilled to be together or apart.

The best parts of this movie, by far, are the scenes containing Jack Black. I had always found him kind of obnoxious, though I know that’s his forte, but he is perfect in this movie. Observe.

No one else can do physical comedy like this guy. I just wish there was slightly more of him, and less of the Cus breaking the fourth wall. Black’s character, Barry, is so funny that he could build a fifth wall made entirely of mixtapes.

High Fidelity is cute, but I prefer my Cusack without the bitterness and with a duster and a boombox. I am a lady, after all.

2012
02/12
CATEGORY
films
TAGS





Write comment

i am your media filter

This is where (a) I keep track of all the movies, TV series, comedy shows, books, albums, and concerts I consume and (b) you can use my pop culture consumption habits to your advantage.
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 756 other followers