Disobedience (2018)

The latest film from director Sebastian Lelio, Disobedience offers much promise, but fails ultimately to deliver in many ways. 

 Ronit (Rachel Weisz) returns to her hometown of London after learning of the death of her father, Rav Krushka, a prominent rabbi. She stays at the home of her old friend and mentee of her father's, Dovid (Alessandro Nivola), and his wife, her old friend, Esti (Rachel McAdams). When they were much younger, Ronit, Esti, and Dovid were apparently very close, and the film gradually reveals that Ronit and Esti were once lovers. For a reason that is never revealed, Ronit left London for New York ostensibly to pursue a career as a photographer, but there was evidently some calamitous event that precipitated this decision. Eventually, as the film meanders into the second act, Ronit and Esti's former passion blossoms, leading them into a brief affair and a tumultuous climax - or, at least it builds to a climax. As to whether there is any true pathos, I'm afraid the film misses the promise of its second act. 

The film opens with Rav Krushka giving a sermon in a synagogue in which he discusses the importance of a relationship between a man and a woman. He collapses just as he starts getting more passionate about heterosexual relationships, signaling his imminent demise. During this prologue, I was intrigued by the introduction of the many prominent themes of the film, namely sexuality, homophobia, and Judaism. The fact that he dies while expressing these views so passionately is a metaphor for the archaic nature of such beliefs. Perhaps a bit heavy-handed, the scene does set the tone effectively for the "disobedient" behavior we're about to enjoy. After this prologue, though, the film slows considerably to the point where there is little reason to want to pay attention. 

The color palette is rather gloomy throughout the entire film, focusing on black, brown, and grey - no color. I suppose this choice was to underscore the gloominess of the situation, but I found it hard on the eyes. It's difficult not to compare this ashen palette with the glorious photography of Call Me By Your Name, which is without question one of the most beautifully shot films of the past twenty years. Yet, Disobedience's drab colors only reinforce the drabness of the story and characters. 

The only character who felt like an actual person and for whom I had at least a mild interest was Esti, played admirably by Rachel McAdams. Truly caught between two worlds, Esti is an Orthodox Jew married to a rabbi who has forced herself to deny her true sexuality and personality. Her pain felt palpable, and I empathized with her. 

Ronit, however, was about as fascinating as watching water boil. Her character did little besides whine, smoke, and attempt to look cool by adopting an aloof smugness. She doesn't really do anything, and I never found her motivations believable, much less clear. The daughter of a rabbi who has abandoned her religion is an appealing trope, but not executed well here at all. 

Equally dull is Dovid, whom the writers clearly could not decide whether to portray as a hapless goody-two-shoes or a complete dirt bag who forced a woman to marry him. Unevenly written, he's also flat-out boring. His decision in the final sequence, which I won't reveal, makes little sense given his actions up to that point of the film. 

There is one long, long, long sex sequence in the middle of the film in which Ronit and Esti finally fulfill their passion. It was perhaps the most graphic sex scene I have ever seen: it actually shows mutual masturbation, cunnilingus, and snowballing. Yes, snowballing. The "dribbling," let's just call it, kept going and going and going. I could hear people recoiling in the theater; as for me, let's just say I didn't touch my Coke for the rest of the movie. 

I'm all for sex in a movie (I'm a Ken Russell fan, for crying out loud), but this was too pornographic. It actually surpassed the infamous peach scene in Call Me By Your Name. I see no reason to depict fluids in a movie, especially so realistically. Besides grossing me out, it actually annihilated what I believe was the true intention for the sequence: to depict a beautiful moment between two women who love each other deeply and have been forced apart because of culture. I'm paraphrasing, but the late, great Australian author Colleen McCollough had a simple rule for writing sex: if you want to make it romantic, focus on the emotion; if you want to make a horror scene, focus on body functions to the most clinical detail. Although she was referring to literature, this same principle can be applied to film. The sex in Brokeback Mountain is sexy because we can't see every biological detail of Jake Gyllenhaal's and Heath Ledger's bodies; instead, we feel the palpable tension and attraction the men share. Disobedience has almost no passion, but leaves absolutely nothing physical to the imagination (and I mean nothing). 

The film briefly picks up in the second act when Esti is caught kissing Ronit and her life seems to spiral out of control. One old bitty tattle-tales to Esti's school where she teaches young Jewish girls, and her job appears to be in jeopardy. Her husband (and Ronit's old buddy) learns of the affair, too. For a moment, the film picks up some momentum as the conflicts explode. The film does not sustain this momentum, though, and instead piddles out into a didactic and even more boring third act. 

I hate being told what to think when watching a movie, and the final monologue Esti has when she asks her husband for her freedom was so on-the-nose politically that I found it underwhelming. Real people's speech is messy and imperfect; Esti's monologue is so perfect that it feels like it came straight out of a play written by an undergraduate women's studies major. I love me some girl power, but this speech was just silly and felt completely out of character. 

That being said, I appreciate what Lelio was trying to accomplish both in the final monologue and with the film itself, even if it bored me to tears. It's important to note how rare it is to see mainstream A-listers like Weisz and McAdams starring in a Jewish lesbian romance, and for that I give the movie a little more credit than it probably deserves. 

But only a little.

Grade: C-

Black Panther (2018)

Last night, I finally participated in American pop culture and watched Black Panther. Despite the talent involved and the box office records, the film itself is rather lackluster and ultimately underwhelming. 

I want to preface this review with two admissions: 1. I know almost nothing about the Black Panther comic books and 2. I loathe Marvel films. In fact, many of my complaints actually apply to the entire Marvel franchise, so bear with me. 

Truly, the most important aspect of this film is that African American children finally have a superhero. It is absurd to the point of obscene that it has taken Hollywood this long to produce a superhero movie with a predominately black cast and black heroes. Yet, finally Black Panther is here. I have been touched by all of the images on the Internet of young black children doing the Wakanda Forever pose, and I am glad this source of inspiration exists. Chadwick Boseman (representing SOUTH CAROLINA!) is well cast as the titular character, T'Challa, and and the supporting actors, particularly the women, were equally well-suited to their roles. In fact, one of the thrills of watching this film is its terrific principle black cast: Boseman, Michael B. Jordan, Lupita Nyong'o, Angela Bassett, Forest Whitaker, Sterling K. Brown, Danai Gurira, Daniel Kaluuya, and more. The only main white actors are Andy Serkis (who was almost impossible to understand through his manly grumbling) and Martin Freeman. Seeing so much talent involved was exciting, and I hope that Hollywood realizes people want to see more casts like this. 

The problems with this film, however, are far beyond the issues of casting. Ryan Coogler is one of my favorite emerging directors, but it was clear that Disney was in complete control and smothered whatever creativity he wanted to bring to the film. The greed that has infected Disney, while in addition to being an abomination of everything Walt Disney stood for, is also their greatest liability. It's as if there is a checklist of elements each Marvel film is required to include--a formula, if you will--and this formula truly tainted what could have been an interesting and impactful film. 

There were a few sequences in which Coogler clearly was allowed to infuse the film with his own style, but those sequences are fleeting at best. The action sequences in Marvel films are usually filmed before a director has even been hired, and it shows in this movie. I felt profound disappointment in the action after seeing what Coogler achieved in Creed, which had some of the best boxing choreography in the entire Rocky franchise. Here, the action is messy and almost impossible to see. The CGI looks spongy and hurried, as if one is watching a cheap video game. 

One aspect I wholeheartedly condemn is how grossly sanitized the production is, both regarding the violence and the sex. 

This film is incredibly violent: people shot in the head, impaled with spears and swords, stabbings, throats cut, bombs--you name it. Yet, there is not one drop of blood. I realize the movie was made with children in mind, but to portray violence as bloodless--as clean--is not only dishonest, but a dangerous message for children (and adults). It shows that violence is passive, without consequences, and even fun. I've come to view Marvel films in general as methods of indoctrination, all of them aiming to teach children that violence is the ultimate clean fun. As Chris Pine pointed out, the concept of an infinity war is disturbing and sadly much in line with our country's current values. Considering the target audience is kids who either are too young to remember 9/11 or weren't born yet, this portrayal of violence and war should give us all pause. 

The sexuality in Black Panther was even more sanitized--to the point where it was non-existent. Curiously, there are a number of sequences in which we see T'Challa and Killmonger (yes, that is the villain's name in another example of subtlety) shirtless, which made me think about the portrayal of black bodies in American film. Hollywood almost never portrays black people as sexual, and at first I found Black Panther's depiction of Chadwick Boseman and Michael B. Jordan as sex symbols to be refreshing. Yet, there is nothing sexual about their characters. I wasn't even aware that Lupita Nyong'o's character was the girlfriend until late in the movie--not because of subtlety, but because of this prudish, sanitized portrayal of sex and desire. There isn't even any sexual tension. Am I arguing for explicit sex scenes in a children's movie? Of course not. As with "clean" violence, though, this clean sex is not at all honest. Let's face it: most children's movies have some kind of sexual chemistry--even 101 Dalmatians. But to portray sexual tension as something that is too prurient for children while bombings, shootings, stabbings, and hand-to-hand combat are not is yet another creepy form of indoctrination: get kids comfortable with clean violence and sexless sex. What could possibly go wrong?

I did enjoy some of the side characters, the little sister especially. Yet, there is no character development. In fact, none of them even feel like real characters with flaws, quirks, or motives. To be fair, though, most comic book movies are like this, so this is (again) more of a critique of Marvel movies in general.

The one character I actually found interesting was the villain, Erik Killmonger. Michael B. Jordan is a fine actor, and his was actually the best performance in the movie. His character, ironically, has the purest motives, and he is the only one with sincere passion or any actual inner conflict. I did appreciate the film's brief comment on the differences between African and African American, and was impressed to see Coogler bringing the racial violence of Oakland in 1992 into the story. Yet, this was a missed opportunity. This movie is about as subtle as a sonic boom and as nuanced as a video game. I would have liked to see these themes developed more, as Coogler has demonstrated he can clearly do, but this is a Marvel film....

All in all, Black Panther felt like yet another cheeseburger on the Marvel McDonald's assembly line, which saddens me. I appreciated the things Disney allowed Coogler to do, but I wish he had been allowed to make his own movie without Marvel Studios and a deranged and greedy Mickey Mouse hyperventilating down his neck. 

Grade: B-

mother! (2017)

I don't like feeling deceived when I go to the theater. Considering how difficult it is to shell out almost $15 to see a film these days, one must choose carefully which movies she sees in the theater. For me, that has meant choosing films and (more importantly) filmmakers who are known for creating strong, original work. A fan of Black Swan and The Wrestler, I had considered Darren Aronofsky one of those people. I must rescind that assumption after seeing his most divisive movie yet, mother!. 

First, I want to shut down several myths surrounding this film. For one, this movie is not at all the violent, disturbing, pornograhic gorefest its reputation suggests. There is one scene, which I will discuss later, that is certainly disgusting and will outrage people, but that really is it. Frankly, the movie bored me to tears, but I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Second, this film is not at all original. Not even close. A pastiche of so many older, superior films, mother! is as derivative as it is dull. I truly hope Roman Polanski is collecting royalties from this film because it is such an egregiously blatant rip-off of Rosemary's Baby. The "plot," which feels too generous a word, has plenty of similarities (the deceptive husband who sells out his wife/baby, the meek woman, the pregnancy, the growing invasion of their home, etc.), but it is the attempt to out-do Polanski's metaphors and depth that irritated me the most. 

Third, mother! is not a horror movie. The trailer had the most tantalizing imagery I have seen in years, and I was hooked. The marketing team for mother! deserve a hefty paycheck because they sure convinced me to see this movie, but all on the basis of better editing in the trailer than in the actual movie. Everything from the trailer's atmosphere to the plot summary on countless websites, to say nothing of the divisive reputation, made mother! seem like The Devils (1971) of my generation. Yet, this was nothing more than creative re-imagining. 

So, what is mother! really about? Well, there is no story. mother! (with a lowercase "m" to punctuate the genius) is an extended metaphor for Christianity, God, and creation. No characters have names. In fact, there are no characters; there are only symbols. 

The film opens with Jennifer Lawrence on fire, her flesh searing and melting before our eyes. We then see Javier Bardem place a weirdly-shaped clear rock on display amid what is clearly the charred remains of a house. When he sets the rock in display, the house slowly returns to its pre-fire zenith, ending with a lump of ash in the burned bed transforming into Lawrence. I was already feeling echoes of Alfred Hitchcock's Rebecca in which we are invited to see Manderly's charred remains as the nameless narrator--a young woman married to an older, aloof man--begins the story of their marriage and the destruction of their home. So, the derivative aspects of mother! begin with the first images. Not the best way to begin a supposedly original film. 

I'm going to go out and spoil the characters and plot by giving my impression. Bardem is God (his name in the credits is "Him" with a capital "H"), Lawrence is Mary. Always wearing white and clearly virginal, Lawrence represents the Holy Virgin; she directly tells her husband, "You don't fuck me." His response is to start having sex with her. We don't really see any sex, though, and when she awakens she knows she is pregnant. 

Michelle Pfeiffer (billed as "woman") and Ed Harris ("man") arrive at Bardem and Lawrence's house early in the film. As far as setting things in motion goes, they are basically supposed to be Adam and Eve. Their two sons show up, and one kills the other (oooh! Cain and Abel!), and the rest of the film becomes a pretentious "Find the metaphor!" pu-pu platter of Biblical symbolism. I won't go into each detail, mostly because that will become exhausting, but will suffice it to say that this film is not a film in the classic sense of the word. mother! is bloated extended metaphor that is expressed visually. There are no characters, there is no story, there is, in fact, not one note of music; mother! is only a string of symbols that grow increasingly bananas to represent...(wait for it!) civilization going baaaaaaaddddddd! And what happens when civilization gets baaaaaaaaaddddddd beyond redemption? Why, God sends his only begotten son to deliver us from evil. 

This brings me to the most divisive, cynical, and disgusting part of the movie. After Lawrence gives birth to their son, Bardem eventually gets the baby from her and presents it to the wild crowd outside their room. The crowd takes the baby and passes him over each other (kind of like passing around a person at a metal concert, which I don't think was an accidental metaphor). Lawrence runs to the front of the room screaming, and then we see the baby roasted and served on a table. Everyone has taken handfuls of the baby, and they are eating him ritualistically. 

The scene was disgusting for many reasons, especially the slurppy sound everyone made while they were eating the baby, but the literal depiction of Holy Eucharist was rather offensive. I completely understand people who hate this movie for that scene. For me personally, Aronofsky crossed a line this time in the most profane and narcissistic way. And here is where calling Rosemary's Baby superior feels like the understatement of the millennium. Rosemary's Baby may be full of witches and Satanic imagery, but there was a moral to the film; rather than belittling religion, Polanski is examining far more profound and interesting themes about gender and morality. mother!, on the other hand, is a masturbatory allegory that really has nothing to say.

And that is where my distaste comes in. I won't say the film offended me so much as it left me irritated and bored. The camera is only in three places: in front of Jennifer Lawrence's face, behind her head, or showing her point of view. It's a good-on-paper idea in that it sounds far more interesting than it is in practice. The action is difficult to see, and the film felt so dull because of it. At least one-third of the movie is just following Lawrence around. When you combine that with no music and very little sound, the film is at-best laborious to watch. It's boring and indulgent, and does not really reveal anything interesting or profound. 

As for the religious symbolism, I felt it said nothing. Beyond being a guessing game about what represents what, there really is nothing to mother!. There is certainly no story and there are no characters, so as a result there is no pathos. None at all. During the baby eating scene, I felt sick to my stomach, but not because I was worried for the baby or identified with Lawrence's character's feelings. I was simply grossed out. Considering this movie came from the man who gave us The Wrestler, one of the most moving films of the 2000s, I am appalled at the lazy self-indulgences taken in mother!. The symbolism is clever, I suppose, but it doesn't say anything. Unless the point of the movie is that God is a megalomaniac, I'm not sure what the point of this giant mess was. 

I will highlight one good thing about this movie, though: Michelle Pfeiffer. Hers was the performance that stood out the most to me. She was entertaining to watch, you really had no idea what she would say or do, and she was actually funny. I went into this film excited to see Michelle be evil, but she's only in a few scenes. I can't think of anything that represents how much Hollywood hurts itself with its own ageism than how underused Michelle Pfeiffer was in this movie. 

I do feel so torn about this movie, though, because, despite the trashiness of it, I was impressed Paramount green-lighted a movie this divisive. In a market flooded with comic book movies, "based on a true story" didactic nonsense, remakes, and franchises, it is refreshing to see something not playing into any of that commercialism. But did it have to be this lousy?

Grade: D

The Beguiled (2017)

The latest film from Sofia Coppola is an atmospheric remake of Thomas Cullinan's The Beguiled. Part costume drama, part horror film, part Southern Gothic, The Beguiled is a suspenseful, meditative film on the dangers and fragility of human passion. 

Set in a girls' school in rural Virginia in 1864, the story opens when one of the girls, Amy (Oona Lawrence), discovers a wounded Yankee soldier, John McBurney (Colin Farrell) in the woods. She brings him back to the school, where school mistress Miss Martha (Nicole Kidman) takes him in. The school has only five students and one teacher, Edwina (Kirsten Dunst). As his recovery progresses, sexual tensions and rivalries crescendo into a rather disturbing climax in the second act. The rest of the film is a straight-up horror movie, and perhaps the most finely done suspense I have experienced in a film for quite some time. 

What makes this movie so effective is Sofia Coppola's focus on the unspoken. Film these days is so often incredibly dialogue-heavy, which actually runs counter to the very essence of film: it is first and foremost a visual medium. Coppola's style is edgy and distinct, and her storytelling is purely visual. The sexual tension in this film is almost suffocating, Coppola intensifying it with unexpected cuts and lingering shots on objects or imagery whose purpose feels at first opaque. Indeed, her style is actually very European in that she takes her time to tell a story--something that is undoubtedly not appreciated these days. The photography in general was gorgeous, the beautiful Southern landscapes contrasting with the mounting horror within the school. 

I found the way the story unfolds to be refreshing and engaging in equal measure. There is one scene, for instance, in which Miss Martha bathes John while he is unconscious. The length of the cuts--alternating from long and slow to quick and nervous--gave the scene an erotic feel, which only intensified the pulsing tension already present in the scene. There are so many moments like this, in which Coppola again and again mounts tensions and anxieties simply through her choices of shots. I am not overstating when I say this film had some of the finest pure cinematics I have seen in a movie in a long time. 

The acting was strong as well. I have admired Kirsten Dunst for her entire career, and she certainly does not disappoint here. She plays a probably virginal, repressed Southern lady well--even if her accent was not exactly the most authentic Southern accent I've ever heard. To be fair, though, no one used an authentic Southern accent, and I can't say it's too common to hear one performed well at all. I give the film a pass in that respect. 

The performance that stood out the most to me was Colin Farrell's. His character was an Irish immigrant, so he used his real accent. His character's motives felt ambiguous, and I enjoyed trying to guess when, if at all, his character was being sincere. You never really know, which only added to the film's already mounting tensions. 

My one complaint is that the film had almost no music. Relying solely on diegetic sound was actually effective in some scenes, but there were others that would have been so much stronger with the emotional pull of music. Again, though, movie music is at an all-time low. This is not at all Sofia Coppola's fault, but I do think there could have been some more thoughtful music. 

In all, The Beguiled is a well-made film that combines genres and basks in the ennui. There is an intelligence to Coppola's films, and she only gets better with each movie. I look forward to viewing this again long after I've had time to meditate over the disturbing and "beguiling" imagery I've just absorbed. 

Grade: A

Wonder Woman (2017)

This afternoon, I finally joined the rest of civilization and saw Wonder Woman at the theater. Although continuing to receive stellar reviews and ecstatic praise, the film left me wondering if these critics and viewers were not so hungry for a female-centric action film that they overlooked some glaring flaws and missed potential in this underwhelming addition to the DC canon. 

On the surface, Wonder Woman certainly delivers: female heroine, female director, feminist themes. Yet, the film ultimately left me cold and slightly bored. The first act and third act were the strongest points, but the second act was a colossal mess of such sweeping proportions that it damaged the rest of the film. Nevertheless, there were elements that deserve praise. 

For one, the film got the character right. Here I must confess to knowing very, very little about the Wonder Woman comics. My brother, however, who accompanied me to the film, was most knowledgeable and reassured me that the film was true to Wonder Woman's character. Considering how grotesquely the DC universe perverted Superman's character in the unwatchable Man of Steel, this faithfulness is definitely worthy of celebration. 

Indeed, the strongest part of the film was the introduction to Wonder Woman's world. The film opens like a tale of Greek mythology, which I found inviting and interesting. Diana (Wonder Woman) lives with her mother on an island inhabited only by women. As a result, the world she knows is completely devoid of war or violence. Again, I stress I have not read the comics, but I was struck by the film's perhaps purposeful reference to Charlotte Perkins Gilman's Herland with its focus on femininity as strength within a world only inhabited by women. The photography was beautiful, and the inclusion of Greek mythology (and classic literature!) was refreshing.

I enjoyed Gal Gadot's performance as Diana immensely. She brought a combined vulnerability and strength to the role, her brown eyes expressing many conflicting emotions within Diana. Her athleticism was impeccable as well. 

When Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) enters the world, the film does become more exciting. I have to say, Chris Pine's acting was excellent, and his performance was my favorite in this film. The man absolutely needs to do more comedy; he has a natural gift for humor, even in scenes that were not intended to be humorous. I also completely disagree with some self-important editorials claiming the movie did not need him. All superhero movies have a love interest and some kind of goofy sidekick character (or fool); Pine's Steve Trevor fulfills both. He brought energy to his part that kept the movie going, even when it took a turn for the worse. 

The second act, as stressed earlier, was hands-down the worst part of the film. Descending into horrible, cheese-ball jokes and plot turns that made absolutely no sense, the middle section of the film was boring, silly, and above all stupid. The secretary character was obnoxious and made no sense. If Steve is a spy and no one can know his identity, why does she loudly announce who he is and do, as she puts it, "everything for him"? This was even sillier than Money Penny in the Bond films. 

One sequence in particular that made my head hurt was when Steve takes Diana shopping. The entire sequence felt like a parody of Mr. Selfridge (which is a fine show). It reached a point where I almost expected Jeremy Piven to pop out and ask if they were enjoying his store. It was ridiculous and boring, and it added nothing to the story or characters. There were also a number of heavy-handed attempts at feminist commentary, such as having a group of men question why a woman was allowed in their meeting, but it felt forced and didactic. 

The third act was exciting, and I actually liked the group of side characters introduced as part of Steve's team. The actors each brought some humor to the film and enriched the character development (small as it was). I also appreciated the film's embracing traditionally feminine characteristics as sources of strength. Protecting loved ones, preventing violence, treasuring children and innocents, these were all values Diana embodied, which strengthened the film's sociopolitical content. 

The fight scenes were decent--nothing spectacular, but not so poorly cut that the action was impossible to watch. Each act has a major battle sequence, giving the film some symmetry. The first battle, however, which takes place on the island felt ridiculous on reflection: why would all of these soldiers who just discovered a beautiful paradise completely populated with beautiful women scantily clad in leather who are shooting arrows at them simply go along with it? Wouldn't they be at least some what surprised? It was silly, truly, but to be fair one can only take a movie about a godlike woman with a magical lasso only so seriously. By comic book movie standards, the battles were entertaining, but the music was the stuff elevators were made for. Dull, dull, dull. Again, however, to be fair, there are no strong movie scores any more, so Wonder Woman is hardly alone. 

The main letdown for me was the film absolutely did not earn one speck of its emotional content. When Antiope (Robin Wright) dies, the boring, sad music appears, but I felt nothing. Frankly, her death was predictable the instant her character appeared on screen. As readers probably know by now, my most hated character trope is "The Character Who Is Obviously There to Die." It's the worst. It's nothing more than a cheap attempt at provoking emotions, but there is nothing to warrant any emotion at all. I was extremely disappointed that the film went there. The romantic plot felt forced, perhaps even more so. I did not feel the heat at all between the two leads, and the conclusion to their relationship again left me feeling nothing. Frankly, for me the only comic book film with genuine pathos is Spiderman 2, starring Tobey Maguire. But that is for another review. 

Is Wonder Woman worth seeing? Absolutely. It's easily the best of the DC films so far, offering three clear acts with three well-done action sequences. The acting is solid, as is the direction. There is little fat on this film; there was not one bit of gratuitous action. In fact, the action was rather limited, considering the genre, which was refreshing. I enjoyed watching the film and appreciated it for what it was. That being said, this was definitely not the masterpiece the Internet has made it out to be, but it's still worth a view. 

Grade: B

American Beauty (1999)

I watched Sam Mendes's Oscar-winning film American Beauty for the first time, and rather than feeling the wait was worth it, I wish I had waited indefinitely. Of this self-indulgent morass of phony insight and at-best pedantic attempts at castigating the suburbs, there is little to admire. 

There is not really a plot, which is not a criticism. Countless exceptional films have no plots but shine because of their outstanding characters and story. American Beauty is not one of those films. 

The film revolves around bored man-child Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey) and his wife, phony real estate dealer Carolyn (Annette Bening). These two selfish, upper-middle class people have a large house in a nice neighborhood complete with white picket fences and a grumpy teenage daughter, Janie (Thora Birch). Their neighbors consist of a gay couple and a new family whose peeping-tom son and Nazi, homophobic-but-secretly-gay father fuel much of the tension. Lester becomes infatuated with Janie's friend Angela, who wants to be a model and exaggerates her sexual prowess. Angela and Lester have this strange flirtation going on for most of the movie, which comes to represent Lester's frustration with his life and his determination to quit living a fake life. 

What does his rebellion entail? Why, buying pot from the neighbor's son, having sex fantasies about his daughter's friend, and working out to look hot for the girl. He quits his job in a scene that was, I believe, intended to be dark but was actually comical. Kevin Spacey is a brilliant actor, but not even his immaculate talent could save this mess of a movie. Lester is completely unsympathetic, unlikable, and uninteresting. There is pretty much no reason to feel invested in his character. None. He comes pretty close to having sex with his daughter's friend, intentionally starts working at a fast food restaurant, complains nonstop, has no relationship with his daughter, and becomes a pothead. Granted, this kind of depravity has the potential to be interesting, but in the hands of Sam Mendes and Alan Ball, this degeneration feels phony. I found nothing realistic about Lester. There was nothing sympathetic about his decline, either. His decision to start acting like a dumbass does not at all feel like a rejection of false and greedy values; it feels like an emotional regression caused purely by that character's own idiocy, not the suburbs. 

Yet, his decline is portrayed as some sort of tragic product of the lowly, decrepit suburbs. In fact, the whole point of this movie is that the suburbs are evil and will destroy everything human about you and eventually kill you. The writer (Alan Ball) tried way, way, way too hard to make his dialogue "edgy" and his characters' problems "real," but what you really end up watching is a goofy film that is completely oblivious to its own goofiness. In trying to be so serious, Mendes and Ball instead created a film that feels like a parody of the anti-suburb film. 

The one thing to admire is the acting, and with such a stellar cast there is little question why. Despite being given little to work with, Annette Bening gives a strong performance as Carolyn; in fact, hers was the one character I wanted to know more about. She's selfish and phony - to say nothing of the fact that she's having an affair - but there seemed to be a lot of pain there. Annette Bening is a goddess among actresses, and I think the only reason why Carolyn seems to have any kind of internal life is because of Bening's acting ability. In the hands of a lesser actress, this character would have been even more unlikable because there is so little to work with. 

Chris Cooper has a prominent supporting role, but his character's motives and actions are so blatantly obvious and predictable from the moment he appears on screen that it feels too generous to call the conclusion anti-climactic. His character seemed to serve no other purpose than to allow Mendes and Ball to pat themselves on the backs for their (allegedly) powerful and provocative gender politics. However, much like Carolyn, Cooper's character - whose name we don't even learn - has no internal life and feels more like a caricature. He's just...there...to fulfill yet another check on this goofy list of imperatively included items in an already bloated film. 

The one character I had anything resembling sympathy for was the daughter, Janie, played by Thora Birch. She actually felt like a person (for the most part), and I did feel sorry for the kid. Her parents were the most shallow people alive. Her best friend was a mean girl and only used her to feel better about herself, as the neighbor-boyfriend (Wes Bently) points out. She was also the only character who seemed to have any emotional depth; her motivations were understandable, as were her reactions. 

American Beauty tries to be The Ice Storm (1997), Blue Velvet (1986), and Sunset Boulevard (1950) all at once, but this film doesn't even deserve to be in the same video store as these far, far superior films. It's a stupid movie, plain and simple, and perhaps the most trite, self-indulgent nonsense I have seen in a long time. It's going to take a while for me to get this awful taste out of my mouth. 

Grade: D

13 Reasons Why (2017)

I just finished watching Netflix's series 13 Reasons Why, and in a break with tradition I will review a television series. 

For those unfamiliar with the story, 13 Reasons Why, based on the YA novel by Jay Asher (2007), is the story of high school student Hannah Baker who has committed suicide. To explain her reasons for ending her life, Hannah has left behind 13 tapes describing events that led to her decision. Each tape is directed at one person who, from Hannah's perspective, pushed her toward ending her own life. Each of these people received a box containing the tapes, and these tapes were delivered strategically, all according to Hannah's design. 

I had heard of the series a few weeks ago after seeing an article entitled "13 Reasons Why Not," which claimed the series was dangerous and would lead to more teens committing suicide due to the series' (alleged) romanticization of the act. Now, I have never been one to believe that a work of art can influence behavior like that automatically. Whether it's people arguing violent movies lead to mass shootings or people arguing a show about teen suicide leads to more teen suicide is irrelevant. To me, one would not commit murder or suicide or anything else if one were not already emotionally disturbed in the first place. When I saw a friend had posted the article warning people not to watch the series and arguing Netflix had been irresponsible, I was intrigued. I finally began watching it Monday night after work and completed the series today. 

I cannot recall the last time a work of art--for this series is art--affected me emotionally to the extent 13 Reasons Why has. When I finished the final episode, I sat, frozen, in the same position for about ten minutes. I was unable to move. I just sat there, absorbing what I had just watched. 

First, I wholeheartedly denounce this idea that the show is promoting or romanticizing suicide. This claim that the show will make teens die is about as stupid and reactionary as the idea that watching a Quentin Tarantino movie will turn you into a psychotic killer. It's offensive to people with functioning minds, and it's essentially another form of censorship. For censoring anything "unpleasant" that features children is the real thing these people are after. I can't think of a more profound and aggressively ignorant interpretation of art. 

Make no mistake: 13 Reasons Why is raw. It's raw and ferocious and completely unapologetic and unflinching in its authenticity. I myself was bullied in high school, and I cannot begin to describe how severely I was ostracized and rejected in college--and even more so in graduate school. Watching this show made me revisit the diaries I kept in high school and college, and re-reading them made me weep. I wept for the pain hidden behind happy words in my high school diary. I wept for the utter darkness in my college diaries. I wept for the teenage girl who was in so much pain that she too understood Hannah Baker's decision. As hokey as it sounds, I wanted to go back in time and embrace my younger self. And I can tell you that this series nailed the emotions, duress, and self-loathing that haunt so many young people during their most formative and often most traumatizing years. 

The main character of the show is actually not Hannah, but a nerdy boy who had a crush on her: Clay Jenkins. The show alternates between the present and flashbacks, each episode focusing on one tape. We hear Hannah's voice over as Clay listens to the tapes, and we learn Hannah's story right alongside him. I thought the two lead actors, Dylan Minnette (Clay) and Katherine Langford (Hannah) were outstanding, but the supporting cast was just as great. 

The stories we learn about each teen were painful to watch, particularly one girl whose sexual assault becomes a focal point of the show. I was impressed with the show's subversion of the teen genre by making the characters three-dimensional. Time after time, we the audience are told to think one thing about the characters, only to have to question our rush to judgment when we learn what issues the kids each have. For the sake of avoiding spoilers, I won't elaborate, but suffice it to say that I felt unable to judge any of the characters (well, with one glaring exception). 

This show also owes a debt to David Lynch for its Twin Peaks-esque feel. Although the signature Lynchian quirkiness is nowhere to be found, the focus on the death of a young girl and the ways it rocks this nameless American small town are straight out of Lynch, as is 13 Reasons Why's exploration of the darkness beneath small town America's smiling facade. 

The lighting is brilliant: the flashbacks have a softer, glowing look, while the present scenes are shot in extremely harsh lighting--a metaphor, undoubtedly, for facing reality. 

13 Reasons Why also has a deeply philosophical look at physicality. What does it mean to love someone? How does love survive if the person, or more specifically the body of that person, does not? As the series progresses, there are so many scenes in which Clay, on his journey to understand how his secret love came to end her own life, travels to the places Hannah describes, and we see their bodies, often in clashing lighting, come so close to touching that the impossibility of it reinforces the depth of the tragedy. Clay will be observing the event Hannah describes and will be near to her--but he's only near to her in his imagination. His quest is fascinating in that he's trying to make right what he perceives to be his contribution to Hannah's death, but we as the audience know it's far more complicated than Clay allows. 

And it is this complexity that makes 13 Reasons Why such an important and profound work of art. I have never seen a show or movie that explored suicide with such rawness. The series is unflinching in its depiction of how suicide affects everyone, particularly Hannah's family. Yet, the show is also emphatic that your own actions can have (often) unintended consequences. At its heart, 13 Reasons Why is really about honesty and personal responsibility. Some have complained that the show puts the burden of suicide on others, but I feel that misses the point. The way the kids at the high school treated Hannah is disgusting and is something that happens all the time, every day. Yet, it's also clear that Hannah had no school activities, no clubs, no siblings, and no real friends. I think it's also important to note that we only get Hannah's story from her perspective. There are hints that she may have distorted some of the stories, one example being that she claims one boy threw away a note she wrote him, yet the boy actually saved the note and keeps it in his wallet. I actually appreciated the way the series dropped some hints that Hannah may have had some mental health issues, but kept the focus on how Hannah herself felt. I think people decrying the series have entirely missed that point: this show is about taking a suicidal girl's thoughts seriously because no one else did. The message, which I thought was clear as crystal, was that no one should wait until the child is dead to listen; listening is an active process and one that needs to become a mainstay both in education and in friendship. 

I also think Netflix has gone out of its way to handle this material delicately. The series has a TV-MA rating, which suggests no one under 17 should watch the series. The first episode also has an announcement appearing at the beginning that states the show will feature violent and disturbing material, and some subsequent episodes have similar warnings. There is also a website, 13reasonswhy.info, created specifically for viewers who are triggered by the images or story and need help. Honestly, I'm not sure what else people expect--other than outright censorship. 

There is so much I want to say about this series, but that would be impossible without spoiling the myriad revelations that become so central to the viewing experience. I'll end by saying that, although the material is disturbing, watching this show is imperative. I don't think every teen should watch it, at least not without an adult whom they trust. However, I think material like this can be a way to have serious conversations about suicide, death, and sexual violence that are so desperately needed. If you have a teen, especially a daughter, then I recommend watching it with her. If you don't, watch it for yourself; you may find, as I did, a sense of catharsis in seeing your own pain and experience put on screen with such unapologetic realism. 

Grade: A+