The Intern (2015)

Starring Robert De Niro and Anne Hathaway, The Intern is the latest from writer/director Nancy Meyers. Known for her sharp and sly style of romantic comedies, Meyers's filmography is varied in terms of quality, but usually one can expect a good, fun ride. The Intern begins this way, but loses its impact in a third act that is drowning in cliches and loose ends. 

Ben Whittaker (De Niro) is a 70 year old retired widower living in New York. His son lives in San Francisco, so Ben rarely gets to see any of his surviving family. He is engaged in many "senior citizen" activities, like Tai Chi, in an attempt to be around people and feel relevant. Upon seeing an ad for a seniors internship program, Ben feels he has found something that could bring some happiness and much needed connection to his life. He soon becomes an intern at a new online fashion company started by Jules Ostin (Hathaway). The relationship is rocky at first, but they soon become confidants and best friends, Jules becoming the daughter Ben so desperately needs, and Ben the father figure Jules never had. 

The first hour of this movie is terrific. De Niro gives a moving performance as a man who is wise to the world and sees things in his young colleagues that they themselves are oblivious to. There are humorous moments--my favorite being when Ben gives the young guys dating advice. Truly, the first act is full of meaningful and moving testaments to the realities of aging and changing generations. One of the saddest scenes is when Ben goes to a funeral, and it is pretty much the main social event for him and his friends. This scene resonated with me after watching this same situation happen to my grandmother. I truly loved Ben's character and found him both so sad and so loving. De Niro gives an already terrific character some substance. (I mean, it is Robert freakin' De Niro....)

Jules shows Ben how to use Facebook.

Anne Hathaway is well cast as the ambitious Jules. She's a bit of a hot mess, always forgetting her schedule and in great need of someone to appreciate her success and hard work. I found Jules very relatable, especially in her main conflict: her husband, Matt, is a stay-at-home dad to their daughter; as a result, he feels like Jules is spending too much time with her company and has encouraged her to hire a CEO to take over her company, alleviating much of the stress she endures. The depiction of marriage felt very true until the third act, which I will get to soon. We see Jules coming home and trying to put her daughter to bed, only to fall asleep as the girl reads to her. She and Matt are usually out of sync about spending time together or having sex. In addition to this, Jules faces harsh scrutiny from fellow mothers, co-workers, and CEOs she interviews for being a working mother. Soon into his internship, Ben becomes her driver and observes much about her life--the most upsetting being his witnessing Matt meeting a girlfriend. Ben gives her advice and respects her in a way no one else in the film does--not even her parents. He encourages her to reject this CEO idea and take credit for her own success. It's a beautiful relationship and what is really at the heart of this film. 

Truly, The Intern is wrestling with a number of important and timely issues: aging, gender, generation gaps, traditions, the changing economy, and feminism, among many others. I enjoyed the first half and laughed heartily at some of the antics--ones that can only come from Nancy Meyers. I was moved deeply by Ben's compassion and his wisdom. All of that being said, though, this film has too many loose ends and just does not gel in the third act. 

Throughout this movie, I felt I was watching a first draft of a classic. There was so much potential here, considering the themes, conflicts, and talent involved. Yet, there are too many story lines introduced and not followed through. Rene Russo plays Ben's love interest, but she's only in the film for maybe ten minutes. Jules's mother is cruel to her, and Jules has a rocky relationship with her parents; yet, we only hear two conversations between Jules and her mother on the phone. We don't even see the mother, let alone learn what lies beneath this conflict. All we do know is Jules's parents are sleep researchers, and Jules appears to have a serious sleep disorder. Neither of these elements is ever developed enough, though, and end up feeling tacked on. 

To me, the plot device that rang the least true was with Matt. The fact that he was having an affair felt very real, and I was actually glad Meyers decided to go that route. It brought another layer to Jules's inner conflict and enriched the drama of the film. Its resolution, however, was less believable: Matt returns to Jules, and their marriage is restored. While this may feel satisfying on some level, the film actually contradicts itself here. Jules already knew about the affair before Ben tells her. They discuss it while traveling to California to meet a potential CEO. When Jules says she just wants her marriage to go back to what it was before, Ben cautions her that that is not possible; he tells her he has almost never heard of a marriage surviving cheating. Why have this deep conversation only to wrap up the marriage with a bow? If Meyers had written this situation more truthfully--maybe have them agree to counseling, at the least--it would have felt more believable. As it stands now, it feels forced and cheesy. There is nothing in the movie to suggest Matt feels guilty or remorseful. In fact, there is little to suggest he even respects his wife and her success. 

The flaws aside, The Intern is worth seeing. If you're a fan of romantic comedies or just enjoy a sweet, light-hearted movie, then this is for you. It has a lot to offer in spite of its shortcomings, and the first two acts are really great. 

Grade: B+

The Apartment (1960)

Although he's not discussed much any more among film buffs, Billy Wilder was truly one of America's greatest directors, and The Apartment is one of the most exemplary of his works. Here is the trailer:

From 1960, The Apartment stars Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine, and Fred MacMurray in what is undoubtedly a raw and emotional film about loneliness, suicide, and sex all dressed up as a romantic comedy. As Wilder fans know, a Billy Wilder movie is always tinged with darkness no matter how light the subject matter. Sabrina, Stalag 17, Sunset Boulevard, Some Like It Hot, Ace in the Hole - all of these films, while technically comedies, are laced with darkness throughout (especially Ace in the Hole and Sunset Boulevard). The dramedy is common place today, but Wilder kind of invented it. 

C.C. "Bud" Baxter (Lemmon) works at a massive New York insurance company and has trouble saying "No." Four executives at the company have bribed him into lending them the key to his apartment where they each bring girls from the office over to have sex. Baxter's neighbors assume he is a wild gigolo, and there are some humorous - if not icky - complaints about all of the "noise" his neighbors are sick of hearing. Baxter clearly hates his situation, but also does not know what else to do; if he refuses any of these men, he will lose his job. As a result, his apartment has a reputation throughout the company as a safe place for trysts. 

This situation balloons when the president of the insurance company, J.D. Sheldrake (MacMurray), offers Baxter a promotion in exchange for his own personal key to the apartment. Never one to say no, Baxter goes along with this. To make matters more complicated, the woman Baxter is in love with, Fran Kubelik (MacLaine), who works as an elevator girl, is having an affair with Sheldrake and goes with him to Baxter's apartment. 

The levels of conflict in this film are almost suffocating, as are the sexual conundrums. Think about it: the object of Baxter's affection is not only having sex with his boss but in his own bed. This would be considered racy today, and no doubt was shocking in 1960. Although Wilder does have some comedic elements in this situation, the film takes a serious and dark turn quickly. In fact, for a comedy, there is actually very little to laugh about in this film, which I think is one reason to admire it. Making an already sad and distressing situation sad and distressing is not really that interesting. Finding the humor, though, in something sad and distressing, and using that humor to make some very serious statements about gender, sexuality, and power takes skill, which Wilder had in spades. 

The acting in this film is excellent across the board (as usual in Billy Wilder movies), but the true revelation here is Fred MacMurray, who soars in a very, very different role for him. Known for "father knows best" sort of roles in Disney movies like The Shaggy Dog or the television show My Three Sons, MacMurray's acting in this film is jarring, to say the least. His image as "the dad" from so many films is shattered as he plays a lecherous, cruel, and narcissistic brute who savors controlling his employees and thrives off of seducing women. The first time I saw this film his performance surprised me the most. It was a brilliant choice in casting that actually works in the film's favor; you don't expect him to be so sadistic based on previous expectations. When you realize how disgusting his character is, you are just as shocked as the characters in the film are. Imagine Hugh Grant playing a serial killer and that should give you some idea about how jarring it was for audiences in 1960 to see MacMurray in this light. 

Shirley MacLaine gives a moving performance as Miss Kubelik. Her scenes with MacMurry are painful to watch because her face reveals her character's emotions with such rawness. No matter how many times I've watched it, the scene at the Chinese restaurant still brings tears to my eyes. Her character's journey also takes an unexpected turn in one of the most moving sequences about a drug overdose you will ever see. 

Jack Lemmon is, of course, perfection. Seriously, the man never made a bad movie. He could do anything - comedy, drama, farce - and we get a taste of his range in this film as Baxter's conscience develops. He clearly resents his neighbors' assumptions about his character but does not know how to reverse it - to say nothing of how disturbing it is that his superiors at work use his bed for sex almost every night. He is extremely lonely, and the film hammers this home in a moving, if humorous, way when he tries to watch television after a long day and eats a nasty TV dinner. 

The cinematography is gorgeous in black and white. With a clever use of lighting and shadows, Wilder is able to make an already dark and unsettling situation that much more moving. I personally prefer black and white movies, and The Apartment is one example of why. Every scene is exploding with emotion because of the way they are lit. Even as I watched it tonight, I felt anxious and distressed throughout much of it despite knowing what was going to happen. That is Wilder's power as a director. 

One thing that should be noted is 1960 was an excellent year for movies: Psycho, La Dolce Vita, The Time Machine, Elmer Gantry, The Entertainer, BUtterfield 8, Inherit the Wind, Spartacus, The Alamo, Sons and Lovers, The Virgin Spring. Truly, 1960 rivals 1939 as one of the greatest years for films, and The Apartment is a worthy addition, winning five Oscars for Best Director, Best Original Screenplay, Best Film Editing, Best Art Direction (B&W), and Best Picture. It really is a perfect movie; I can think of nothing that should have been done differently or would have improved it. 

Although there are comedic elements, The Apartment as a whole is an intense and moving film about suicide, living alone, and sexual exploitation. Truly, you would be hard pressed to find another film from that era that takes such bold and adult content and presents it so movingly. Without a doubt, The Apartment is a work of art and one of Billy Wilder's best. 

Grade: A+

Chariots of Fire (1981)

You know the theme song. The riveting bass, the lilting melody: no matter how unfamiliar one is with Chariots of Fire, one knows the music. 

A (slightly fictionalized) story of Britain's 1924 Olympic track team, Chariots of Fire still stands as not only one of the great sports movies, but also as one of the great costume dramas. For the uninitiated, here is the trailer: 

As a child, I adored Chariots of Fire. My father first showed it to my brother, sister, and me when I was about 6 years old. I loved it so much that I used to tell people I was going to be a track star like Eric Liddell when I grew up. When playing in the backyard, I would take my mother's garden shovel and dig a small hole like the runners do in Chariots of Fire prior to their races. I was convinced Eric Liddell was the greatest runner of all time. When my dad informed me Liddell's records had been broken, I was crushed. 

It has been years since I last watched this film--more than 20--and seeing it again as an adult was a true treat, especially because so much of the film's sociopolitical issues went way over my head when I was a child. 

A story of two rivals, Harold Abrahams and Eric Liddell, this film is really about the loneliness and exploitation that come from being an outsider. 

Harold, a Jew, yearns to be accepted as an Englishman, but the anti-Semitism of upper-crust British society holds him back. As he tells his girlfriend (and later wife) Sybil, "They lead me to the water, but won't let me drink." From the moment we first see Harold, he is berated, gently but cruelly, for being Jewish. Yet, he does not accept this treatment at all. For him, as for Liddell, who I will get into momentarily, running is both a balm and a defense. Harold's talent as a runner, his heretofore unsurpassed speed and agility, are as he himself puts it a "weapon" against the stigma and prejudice directed toward him for being a Jew. That is, his talent is unsurpassed until he races Eric Liddell. 

Liddell, the film's dual protagonist who is also an outsider, is a Scot who must run for Great Britain. A pious man, Liddell's principles are put to the test in one of the more moving scenes of the film. After arriving at the Olympics and learning his race will take place on Sunday, Liddell refuses to run. He is forced to meet with several aristocrats - the Prince of Wales among them - who all attempt to coerce him to run despite his principles. In the end, Liddell's teammate Lord Lindsay offers to swap races with Liddell. While it is easy to dismiss Liddell's reasoning as religious zealotry, his religious beliefs actually have little to do with the actual conflict. His being Scottish puts him at odds with the British aristocracy's expectations; his status as an outsider fuels the tension here, but is also the true source of the stigma he receives, much like Harold. 

These two characters and their relative experiences as outsiders within British society - and more specifically on the Olympic team - are at the heart of this film and are what drives the emotional pull. 

Harold replays the loss over and over...

Truly, one of the most moving scenes of the entire film and one that has stayed with me since childhood is when Harold loses to Liddell. It is Harold's first loss, and we first see the race in real time. After that, the glorious Vangelis score nails the overwhelming self-flagellation Harold puts himself through as he recounts the race over and over. The sound in this sequence is brilliant, allowing the audience first to hear the actual sounds of the race, then silence just before the Vangelis music crescendos. This brief moment of silence allows us to feel the utter distress Harold feels as he loses. After that, the repetitive sound of the arena's chairs being closed up echo over the music. Harold is the only person in the arena as this sound grows louder, making his replaying the race in his head that much more palpable. At the risk of overstatement, I cannot think of another film that captures so movingly how it feels to lose. 

The film is framed like a memory. The opening scene is of Harold's funeral in January 1978, and Lindsay is giving the eulogy. As Lindsay says, only he and Aubrey Montague remain of the 1924 team, and only they remember the true Abrahams. It then shifts to that famous and magnificent slow motion scene with the theme: 

Soon after, the film goes to Aubrey, who is writing to his parents from Paris just before the Olympic games begin. In yet another layer, the film shifts to 1919 when Aubrey and Harold meet as they arrive at Cambridge as freshmen. These many layers to the film's narrative in a way excuse the historic errors (Liddell learning of the Sunday races when he's getting on the boat, Harold marrying Sybil Gordon instead of Sybil Evers, etc.) as they can be accounted for by the narrators' now nostalgic memory. Moreover, one of my favorite scenes is when Harold has dinner with Sybil for the first time. Although in real life Harold married another woman named Sybil who also happened to be a singer and met her ten years later than the movie portrays, the tension between movie-Sybil, played with elegance, grace, and intelligence by Alice Krige, and Harold fuels a large part of the drama and enriches the film's themes--the losing scene being one of the best examples. The fact that it is recounted through so many layers of memory actually makes the drama richer, for we as humans tend to remember younger days with fondness and romance. 

Beyond the characters and conflicts, this film stands out in every aspect of cinema. The costumes are perfection, for which Chariots of Fire rightly won an Oscar. The acting is also stellar, especially Ben Cross, who captures Harold's arrogance and insecurities with gusto, bringing some passion to a character that could have been just another dude in a sports movie. Cross's portrayal of Harold is layered and matures so beautifully as the film progresses. 

Ian Charleson, who played Eric Liddell to such infinitesimal preciseness that he even mimicked Liddell's breathing style as he ran, died of AIDS in 1990 when he was only 40 years old. Since his death, British theatre presents an annual Ian Charleson Award that recognizes new actors under the age of 30. Named in his honor, the award is most prestigious. His performance in Chariots of Fire is memorable and offers a sensitive yet noble counter to Cross's more fiery Harold. 

Altogether, Chariots of Fire is an immaculate experience. More than just a sports movie, the film encompasses several genres at once - biopic, costume drama, coming of age story - and manages to combine so many disparate yet joined themes that explain what it means to be human: love, winning, losing, proving one's worth, holding to principles, and yearning to belong. 

Grade: A+

Last of the Mohicans (1992)

The Last of the Mohicans has been adapted several times, including as a play, a silent film, a 70s television miniseries, and a film in 1936. None, however, have been as successful nor as well made as Michael Mann's 1992 film. 

Starring Daniel Day-Lewis as Hawkeye, Madeline Stowe as Cora, and Wes Studi as Magua, Mann's Last of the Mohicans is a complex, moving, and historically rich film, albeit one that is only loosely based on Cooper's novel. There are deviations, certainly, but the changes made are undoubtedly improvements on both the themes and characterizations, most of which in the source material are at best "quaint" by today's standards. 

As a period drama and an action movie, Last of the Mohicans proves action films don't have to be mindless morasses of explosions. There is surprising depth to this film, and in spite of my having watched this movie more times than I can count, I was still able to detect the many layers in this richly American movie. And I stress "American" because the very essence of this film is about the myriad clashes that took place with the germination of this country. The colonials' rising resentment of British rule; the collision of white settlers, Native Americans, and the British and French governments; the clashes between European and guerrilla warfare; the erosion of Native American culture: all of these themes intersect in the most moving and exciting ways in the hands of Michael Mann. 

Mann is often a hit or miss when it comes to directing. He has the skills, certainly, but his movies do not often reflect his talent. Last of the Mohicans and Heat, however, represent Mann at his best--although, Mann has done much to sabotage this. 

The theatrical cut of Mohicans was released on video tape in the early nineties, and it is the best version. However, Mann refuses to put this version on DVD or Bluray. In the early 2000s, Mann released what he called the "Director's Expanded Edition," which could not have been a more dishonest title; the so-called "Expanded Edition" cut nearly all of the best one-liners from the film, some of the music, and even some scenes, resulting in a clunky dud of a movie. I still remember watching this version when I (foolishly) purchased it as a teen. I yelled "No!" the entire time and truly considered writing Michael Mann a letter. Evidently Mann saw the error of his ways (not one human being preferred that edition) and then released his "Director's Definitive Cut" on Bluray. This version does restore many (but not all) of the lines from the theatrical version, and it brings back the beautiful Clannad song ("I Will Find You"), but like its predecessor has a few places that feel clunky due to Mann's using different takes in a few scenes or editing the dialogue in a way that simply does not make sense. As I watched it tonight, I felt annoyed by the changes. Nevertheless, the "Definitive Cut" is the closest you can get to the theatrical cut. I have no idea why Mann refuses to put out the true version of his best movie, but there you go. 

The production value of this film is astounding. The score itself is magnificent and one of my favorites; the scenery could not be more lush and beautiful; and the acting is excellent. I would like it to be known that I consider Wes Studi's performance as Magua one of the best movie villains of all time. The fact that he was not even nominated for an Oscar must rank as one of the most colossal Oscar-snubs in history. He plays Magua as a complex man driven by anger and hatred that he has allowed to poison his very soul. Without a doubt, Magua is a victim of colonization, which is made clear when he recounts his suffering at the hands of "the Grey Hair" to French General Montcalm. Yet, he has allowed his anger to define him completely, and in the end he is completely consumed by it--all to his own detriment. It is a fantastic performance and one of my favorites. 

In some slick and imaginative casting, Mann cast Indian rights activist Russell Means as Chingachgook. As one of the many improvements on the novel, Chingachgook here is a father figure to Hawkeye. In the books he's more of a "gentle savage" who is always subordinate to Hawkeye/La Longue Carabine/The Deerslayer/and all of the other nicknames he has in the books. I read The Pathfinder a few years ago and was struck by the massive difference in characterization. Means plays him with dignity and depth, which again enriches the film's themes.  

The battle sequences are probably one of the best things about this movie. When it comes to building tension before an action sequence, few surpass Mann. The two massacres are still enthralling to watch, and the violence is realistic (especially the scalpings). 

The final 15 minutes or so of this film should be required viewing for anyone interested in film making. Without dialogue, Mann employs pure cinematics to tell the story's conclusion. The placement of the shots in this scene is still moving to watch (despite how many times I've seen it). This scene is among the finest in terms of pure visual storytelling as it captures visually the emotions, action, and themes that simultaneously climax in this sequence. 

In short, Last of the Mohicans is a stirring, exciting film. Michael Mann has never surpassed it in the 24 years since it came out, and he will not cease to suppress the true version. For the time being, the "Director's Definitive Cut" must suffice. 

Grade: A

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)

To explain fully why this movie is so abysmally bad, I will have to write about spoilers. If you wish to avoid them, do not read this review. 

Early this morning my brother and I saw Star Wars: The Force

Awakens at the local theater. Rising early to watch a sci-fi film certainly resurrected memories of Saturday morning cartoons in the best possible way...until the film started. 

I have always enjoyed Star Wars for what it is, but I've never been a fanatic. It's an important piece of American pop culture and beloved by many. The rancid prequels and the teddy bear movie aside, the Star Wars franchise is exciting, suspenseful, and above all, fun. The latest installment, however, derives its entire essence from this nostalgia people have for the original movies. What we get is a slop of quips and references whose sole purpose is to put butts in seats and sell an unimaginable amount of toys. (There's a reason this film came out at Christmas and not the summer.)

After viewing Star Wars: The Force Awakens, I think I can say unequivocally that J.J. Abrams is a lousy director. His Star Trek films burn my soul, and this one was yet another addition to his pantheon of lens flares and exploding robots. Every few minutes we're fed action sequences of explosions so vibrant they left me with a migraine - truly, each scene contained some combination of the following:

• Running from explosions
• Shooting up things and causing explosions
• Stopping explosions.

One would assume with so much action that the film was exciting, exhilarating even. Not so. I kept yawning and struggled to stay awake the whole time. Yet, this explosion plot is perhaps the least offensive thing about this movie.

The original cast is never together for any shots in the entire film. Not one. In fact, the whole story surrounds Luke's absence. When we FINALLY do see him, he doesn't even have a line, he stares at the camera. Han and Leia are divorced, which was irritating, and the conclusion is made so obvious from the second Han appears that the actual scene is boring and offensively banal. They never kiss; they only hug, which taps into Hollywood's ageism. However, the most egregious ageism is Lupita Nyong'o's character. Nyong'o, the only Oscar winner in the film, is reduced to playing a CGI old lady. Yes, you read that correctly: an old lady. Hollywood has a terrible legacy of casting off actresses once they reach their thirties. I just never expected them to be so blatant about their thoughts on just how over-the-hill women over 30 are. Good lord.

The new characters are boring and reduced to quips. Oscar Isaac is completely wasted here; the only thing he does is shoot lasers and shout, essentially, some version of "Ya-HOO!" the whole time. Finn is equally lame and played by one of the dullest new actors I've seen in a while. The girl, Rey, has potential, but all she does is run from explosions or look sad. The new bad guy, Kylo Ren, played by Adam Driver, also has potential, but the writers used his character in the lamest and most predictable way possible. 

All of this said, the one thing that drove me from disliking the film to outright hating it was the plagiarism. In 1977, when Star Wars first appeared, legendary sci-fi author Frank Herbert of Dune fame almost sued George Lucas for the gross similarities between Star Wars and his novels. If you feel I'm overstating, take a look at this link, which features a chart comparing the two. The similarities are astounding. 

While I sat in the theater, I felt my teeth grinding; not only have they copied many of the essential elements (desert planet, the Voice/the Force, Sardarkur/Storm troopers, and many more), but Star Wars: The Force Awakens took almost its entire plot from the third Dune novel, Children of Dune. 

In Children of Dune, Paul is missing - like Luke Skywalker, whose character was basically lifted from Paul Atreides - and his sister, Alia, now runs his empire...much like Leia is a general in Luke's absence. Someone who goes by "The Preacher" lurks around Arakeen, and he is brought to Paul's children, a girl and boy who are twins and have greater innate knowledge of the Prana Bindu - oh, excuse me, "the force" - than anyone else...just like Rey and Kylo Ren. (Kylo Ren is Han and Leia's son, and it's pretty obvious Rey is either Leia's or Luke's daughter.) Also, let's not forget that Baron Harkonnen, like Darth Vadar, is dead in Children of Dune, but his presence - and his bloodline in his grandchildren - still burns. Leto II, Paul's son, becomes known as "the Tyrant" in the fourth novel (my second favorite) God Emperor of Dune...kind of like Kylo Ren is now embodying Vadar's evil. Granted, Children of Dune is far more interesting and complex than The Force Awakens could hope to be, but the similarities, which build on the elements already copied in the earlier Star Wars installments, are impossible to deny. I kept wondering why Frank Herbert's estate did not sue, frankly. 

Altogether, Star Wars: The Force Awakens is a long and expensive toy commercial. Remove the nostalgia, and it is nothing but a host of really bland new characters and explosions that do little more than cause headaches. I have no idea why hard core fans enjoyed this movie because it violates so many precious elements and completely misses what is great about the first three films (teddy bears notwithstanding): suspense, action, and character, and a celebration of friendship. 

Grade: D-

The Counselor (2013)

The Counselor marks Cormac McCarthy's foray into screenwriting, and the film is oozing with McCarthy's signature elements: pornographic violence, boring, symbolic dialogue, and stereotypes instead of women characters. Twenty minutes into the film, I checked the time only to be shocked and disheartened there was over an hour and a half left. The abysmal quality of this film is worse than anything I've seen in a while, and that's saying something. 

The plot makes little sense, but here's an attempt at summary anyway: The counselor (Michael Fassbender - the character has no name) has some kind of relationship with a scarily orange Javier Bardem. (I have no idea what Bardem's character's name was, so we'll just call him Bardem for the sake of clarity.) Rosie Perez has a 3-minute role as one of the counselor's former clients whose son is in jail. The counselor gets him out, but he is soon killed in an elaborate murder plot that made no sense and was executed with the kind of gross-out violence one would expect from McCarthy. At the center of the plot is Cameron Diaz, who does little besides strut and look evil. Brad Pitt has a part in this, too, although I have no idea why; he was just there to offer surly opinions and be killed in one of the most excessively gruesome scenes I've seen in a while - one that makes Neil Patrick Harris's demise in Gone Girl look child-friendly. I really have no clue who his character was or why he was even in the movie, and honestly the same goes for almost everyone else in this meandering drivel. 

The most striking flaw, and one that mars all of McCarthy's fiction (and now his screenplays), is the women characters. I'm using the word "character" loosely because that's not actually what they are: they're symbols solely there to show us the torment of the male characters. Penelope Cruz co-stars as Michael Fasssbender's lover (named Laura!), but she has maybe ten minutes of screen time - and that's a generous estimate. I kept a list of everything we see Cruz do in the entire film:

• Complement Michael Fassbender on his bedroom technique (this is the first scene);
• Accept Fassbender's marriage proposal;
• Show off her diamond to Cameron Diaz, then blush at talking about sex (so we know she's a "good girl");
• Restrain Fassbender from fighting some creep to defend her honor;
• Plead with Fasssbender to run away with her to escape danger;
• Arrive at airport in red dress and flowing white coat where she:
• Screams
• Is chased
• Is kidnapped;
• Dumped into landfill as a decapitated corpse.

So, basically, "Laura" exists in this movie only to look pretty, tell the audience what a great lay Fassbender is, and die. There are several scenes with Fassbender weeping about her, but I felt nothing. The film has no pathos: the plot makes no sense, the characters are symbols, and the violence has no point. 

Sadly, the misogyny doesn't stop with Cruz; Diaz is equally ridiculous and only does the following:

• Lie (mostly) naked on a bench and quiz Laura about her diamond and sex;
• Plot murder on the phone;
• Strut;
• Have sex with a windshield (yes, you read that correctly: with not on);
• Taunt priest about sex at confession;
• Plot murder;
• Strut;
• Plot;
• Plot;
• Strut;
• Plot.

Now, if these lists do not embody the most misogynistic (and boring) stereotypes about women, I don't know what does. I found myself sighing loudly throughout the whole thing and begging my bluray player to hurry up and end this torture. Sadly, at almost two hours, this trashy, boring, meaningless junk is like a case of diarrhea that won't go away. The dialogue is bland and goes on and on and on and on without any point. The cinematography is ugly and almost as orange as Javier Bardem's spray tan. Considering the amount of talent involved with this film, the tacky result is startling and embarrassing. 

As the credits mercifully arrived, I struggled to think of one positive thing about this film, and realized there really is only one: getting to hear Michael Fassbender say my name. For that, I give it a slightly higher grade....

Grade F+

The Age of Innocence (1993)

The blog is back! So sorry for the long interim, but my blu ray player stopped working on Halloween only to come back to life miraculously just a few days ago. Given I was in the middle of purchasing a new player, my relief at my current one resurrecting itself is almost inexpressible.  

In celebration of my player's return, I watched a film I have not seen in at least five years, but one that never ceases to stir me: Martin Scorsese's The Age of Innocence. Based on Edith Wharton's novel, this adaptation is superb and easily my second favorite of all time (only Ken Russell's Women in Love surpasses it, but that is for another post). 

I must confess that I am a Whartonion, to coin a new phrase: she has easily been my favorite author since I was in high school, and this adaptation of her work is actually a most personal film for me. The memory of viewing it religiously in high school, absorbing its vivid sensuality and lush symbolism with determined focus, is still fresh; I remember how deeply this film affected me, especially as a teenager with health problems, because of its unflinching plunge into a world of aching rigidity and cruel gossip. Having been the target of such exploitation myself (as recently as this summer) for issues beyond my control, I can truly say this film - and the book to an even greater extent - encapsulates the emotional turmoil of codes and rumors and ignorance and cruelty, above all, better than any other work of art I can think of. This film left such an impact on me in high school that I soon read the novel for the first time as a teen and have treasured it ever since. In fact, I wrote my MA thesis on Wharton, with one chapter discussing The Age of Innocence. Not only shaping my world views and emotional experiences, this film also germinated my studies and career, for which I am indebted to Scorsese for creating such a faithful and impactful adaptation. 

For those who are unfamiliar, The Age of Innocence, set in the 1870s, tells the story of Newland Archer, an aristocrat who is not quite part of the leisure class because he has do something as vulgar as "work," who is engaged to May Welland, only be to swept off his feet by her exotic, older cousin Ellen Olenska, who is trying to divorce her philandering husband, a Polish count whom we never see. The title is ironic, and Newland and Ellen's love is never consummated; truly, the torture of this film comes from seeing these two people who share such an intense connection never allowed to realize it fully. 

It is actually difficult for me to put into words precisely how raw and agonizing the emotions of this film are. Scorsese himself has actually called this one his "most violent film," and it is not difficult to see why. Does the film have people getting shot in the head or being beaten to death and buried alive in the desert? No, but to associate only physicality with violence is ignorant at best and is a complete misunderstanding of the very nature of violence. Violence is raw, cutting, and scarring; it can be physical, certainly, but emotional violence leaves scars far deeper than a punch or bullet can. Newland's internal violence, which the audience experiences through him, is so suffocating that one can actually find breathing difficult while watching this film. Although most people may assume Goodfellas or Casino is Scorsese's most violent, neither of those films reaches the depths of distress or melancholy that is realized so beautifully and hauntingly in The Age of Innocence. 

How is The Age of Innocence more disturbing than Goodfellas, you ask? The fact is that despite the world in Age belonging to a very specific time and era, the truth beneath its setting is applicable to any time. The film is all about how it feels to succumb to others' expectations for you and to disregard - or even suppress - your own desires for your own life. It's about learning everyone around you has gossiped about you behind your back. It's about giving in to habit and normalcy at the expense of sacrificing your own self merely to maintain propriety. These experiences apply to anyone in any time, and they certainly resonate with me. 

Newland's world is lush and gorgeous; indeed, the film itself is a visual feast. Like a strong perfume, though, his world is too beautiful, suffocatingly beautiful. The novel is full of death imagery, and Scorsese leaves much of this dialog in the film. The contrast between the extravagant wealth and "polite" conversation and the actual meaning behind these words is startling, especially when compacted with Elmer Bernstein's magnificent score. 

Truly, this is a film that demands re-viewings; it is impossible to absorb all of the details of this film in only one viewing. Tonight, after watching this film countless times for more than 15 years, I still caught new things. That is how much skill went into this film. The production design is peerless in both its beauty and its authenticity; the music is gorgeous; and the acting is perfect. 

If you ever want to measure Daniel Day-Lewis's talent, simply watch both of his Scorsese films. The gulf between Newland Archer and Bill the Butcher (Gangs of New York) is so vast that it is difficult to believe they're played by the same actor. In The Age of Innocence, Daniel has increasing difficulty speaking, becoming more tight-jawed as the film progresses. Michelle Pfeiffer is in one of her best roles as Ellen, and Winona Ryder complements as the seemingly oblivious May. 

Sadly, The Age of Innocence may be both Scorsese's best film, yet also his most underrated and overlooked film. Criminally ignored by film critics and even dismissed by so-called Scorsese aficionados (the ones who only think of Scorsese as a master of blood and guts; those folks are also called "idiots"), The Age of Innocence receives little attention, which has led to some unfortunate consequences. One cannot even purchase a 35 mm print of the film - not even the editor Thelma Schoonmaker. Yet, if one looks closely, one can see the similarities between Goodfellas and The Age of Innocence: both films deal with entities that have specific codes of conduct - and thinking - that must be followed in order to survive in their respective worlds; when someone challenges this order, he or she must be axed, which is what happens to Ellen Olenska. 

I cannot say enough good things about this movie, and it has been difficult for me not to write about the book in this post. My only suggestion is that you watch this film, then watch it again, then watch it again until you finally grasp the enormity of its messages and veracity. 

Grade: A+