Category Archives: Film

Review: Paul

Posted on March 21, 2011 | Leave a comment

At first glance, the intergalactic road trip comedy Paul looks like the spiritual successor to Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz. But while the dynamic duo of Simon Pegg and Nick Frost star in and wrote the screenplay for the film, it owes more to the Apatowian universe of which director Greg Mottola is a part. Mottola replaces Pegg’s frequent collaborator, writer-director Edgar Wright, who was busy directing Scott Pilgrim vs. the World when this one came down the pipeline. While Wright’s influence – and dynamic camera – is missed, the film manages to find the uniting factors between varied styles of comedy.

Paul follows Graeme (Pegg) and Clive (Frost) as they embark on a UFO-themed road trip across the American West. Pegg and Frost are right in their wheelhouse as a pair of maladjusted nerds, with their well-developed rapport intact. Apart from an encounter with a couple of ornery rednecks (redundant?), their trip is going off without a hitch – until they encounter a crude Little Green Man named Paul (voiced by Seth Rogen).

Paul is on the run from shadowy government types: Jason Bateman as the ice-cold Agent Zoil, and Bill Hader and Joe Lo Truglio as the haphazard man-children Agents Haggard and O’Reilly. Graeme and Clive agree to shuttle Paul to an undisclosed location, eventually adding Christian fundamentalist Ruth (the primed-to-breakout Kristen Wiig) to their traveling party.

As the gang stays roughly half-a-step ahead of their multiple pursuers (rednecks, feds, and Christians, oh my), characters and relationships are developed along predictable lines. Graeme romances Ruth, who sees the world with new eyes (literally). Clive deals with bruised feelings as his best friend is co-opted by an alien and a woman. If the film lags, it does so while the script sets up the emotional payoff of the final act.

While the script may stumble with a few extraneous diversions, the dialogue is hilarious: the right mix of vulgarity (especially as Ruth learns how to swear) and sci-fi references. Unlike the Pegg-Wright films, these are references of substance, not references of style, so expect borrowed lines and homages from Star Wars, Star Trek, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, including the best use ever of the famed music of the Mos Eisley Cantina Band.

A screenplay is only as good as the actors delivering the lines; this is where Paul really shines. The Apatow repertory players, SNL veterans, and UK comedy legends all bring something to the table, their different styles streamlined into a cohesive one.

Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, and Spaced (the cult TV show directed by Wright and written by Pegg and Jessica Stevenson) grow more rewarding after multiple viewings due to fast-paced dialogue and nuanced references. While Paul might not match them on those marks, the surprisingly heart-warming story – dick jokes and all – will keep fans laughing for years to come.

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If not Aronofsky, who should direct The Wolverine?

Posted on March 17, 2011 | 5 comments

Well, that was quick: the dream of a Wolverine prequel helmed by Darren Aronofsky appears to be over, as the visionary director drops out for what appear to be personal reasons. I’m assuming that the Christopher McQuarrie (The Usual Suspects, but also The Tourist) script, based on the 1982 Frank Miller & Chris Claremont miniseries Wolverine, is still on the table. Disappointing, especially after Aronofsky promised such great things, but salvageable. So, if not Aronofsky, who should direct The Wolverine?

The quintessential Wolverine miniseries details Logan’s exploits in Japan. It’s a tale of honor, with a realistic love triangle and plenty of berzerker action; it established the character of Wolverine that the world knows and loves. The pie-in-the-sky director would be Quentin Tarantino, but you can safely put that on the “fan boy wishlist.” Same goes for body-gore master David Cronenberg. And while Robert Rodriguez has adapted Frank Miller before, his style may be too bombastic for this one.

Bryan Singer saved the superhero genre with his X-Men films, but he is stuck in pre-production for three films (Battlestar Galactica, Excalibur, and Jack the Giant Killer) and probably can’t save this one. The same goes for Zack Snyder (300, Watchmen), who takes over the Superman franchise from Singer next year. I’m not sure that Matthew Vaughn would do another comic film after directing three in three years.

Last summer, rumored directors included Matt Reeves, Tony Scott, Kathryn Bigelow, and Timur Bekmambetov. Reeves showed promise on his remake Let Me In, and Bigelow would represent Fox thinking outside of the box; both would be good choices. Bekmambetov would work as well, but he’s tied up with the sequel to Wanted and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Pray it’s not Scott; Ridley’s brother hasn’t made a good film in over decade.

One name I’ll totally pull out of nowhere is Edward Zwick, director of The Last Samurai, Blood Diamond, Defiance, and Love and Other Drugs; his diverse body of work demonstrates the range required to bring nuance to a comic book movie.

Luckily, Wolverine will return to the screen after the disastrous Origins flick. But without the right director, this prequel might stumble down the same path.

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Who will – and who should – win at the Oscars

Posted on February 25, 2011 | Leave a comment

As promised in my post about the value of the Oscars, here are my picks for this Sunday’s 83rd Academy Awards. I like to note both who will win, given the Academy’s stodgy, predictable tastes and formulations, and who should win, purely on merit. Also, these come with the caveat that I didn’t see every nominated film (some by choice and some by chance). So here goes:

Best Picture: 127 Hours, Black Swan, The Fighter, Inception, The Kids Are All Right, The King’s Speech, The Social Network, Toy Story 3, True Grit, Winter’s Bone.

Expanding the Best Picture category from five to ten was a transparent attempt by studios to sell more DVDs that bear the “Nominated for by Best Picture” designation. There are still basically two tiers of nominees, serious contenders and token nods. No animated film will win, ever. As I discussed previously, this looks to be a two-man race between The King’s Speech and The Social Network. Speech will win, but Network should.

Best Director: Darren Aronofsky – Black Swan, Ethan Coen and Joel Coen – True Grit, David Fincher – The Social Network, Tom Hooper – The King’s Speech, David O. Russell – The Fighter.

Here’s the cheat sheet for what the Academy really thinks about the Best Picture nominees. It’s actually one of the most talented group of directors nominated in some time (and Tom Hooper). All due respect, but he is clearly the winner of Which Of These Is Not Like The Others. I think Fincher will win, and he should. It will let the Academy split their vote between the year’s top two films.

Best Actor: Javier Bardem – Biutiful, Jeff Bridges – True Grit, Jesse Eisenberg – The Social Network, Colin Firth – The King’s Speech, James Franco – 127 Hours.

In an interesting reversal of last year’s category, Colin Firth will probably rob Jeff Bridges this time around (after Bridges’ Crazy Heart beat Firth’s A Single Man). Firth gets his vaunted payback award for playing someone with a capital D Disability. Sorry, Jeff: to quote Rooster Cogburn, “I can do nothing for you, son.”

Best Actress: Annette Bening – The Kids Are All Right, Nicole Kidman – Rabbit Hole, Jennifer Lawrence – Winter’s Bone, Natalie Portman – Black Swan, Michelle Williams – Blue Valentine.

It must be latent sexism: another year goes by and I missed most of the films with strong female leads. I’ll abstain on who should win, but Natalie Portman probably will. I’m willing to catch up on these films later – just don’t make me watch a heavily-Botoxed Kidman try to emote in a movie about dead children.

Best Supporting Actor: Christian Bale – The Fighter, John Hawkes – Winter’s Bone, Jeremy Renner – The Town, Mark Ruffalo – The Kids Are All Right, Geoffrey Rush – The King’s Speech.

Typically awarded early, this statuette will be an indicator of what kind of night Speech is going to have. If Geoffrey Rush gets it for a characteristically strong but otherwise unremarkable performance, the film is going to do very well. I still think Christian Bale will win it, though, as he should; he’s done the Method weight loss before, but never has he embodied a role quite like this.

Best Supporting Actress: Amy Adams – The Fighter, Helena Bonham Carter – The King’s Speech, Melissa Leo – The Fighter, Hailee Steinfeld – True Grit, Jacki Weaver – Animal Kingdom

If I’m a bit sexist for missing out on most Best Actress films, the Academy is sexist AND ageist for putting Hailee Steinfeld in this category. True Grit is her movie; how can the main character be a ‘supporting’ one!? A Steinfeld loss will be this year’s Crash, but I think it’s her’s in a landslide. Also, will the Academy stop nominating two performers from the same film?

Best Writing – Original Screenplay: Another Year – Mike Leigh, The Fighter – Scott Silver, Paul Tamasy, and Eric Johnson, Inception – Christopher Nolan, The Kids Are All Right – Lisa Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg, The King’s Speech – David Seidler.

Christopher Nolan’s Inception was one of the most original Hollywood concepts in years, and the screenplay is a tribute to complex plotting that is still enjoyable and comprehensible. If the Academy doesn’t award him for it, I’m not sure what will win.

Best Writing – Adapted Screenplay: 127 Hours – Danny Boyle and Simon Beaufoy from “Between a Rock and a Hard Place” by Aron Ralston, The Social Network – Aaron Sorkin from “The Accidental Billionaires” by Ben Mezrich, Toy Story 3 – Michael Arndt, John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton, and Lee Unkrich, True Grit – Ethan Coen and Joel Coen from “True Grit” by Charles Portis, Winter’s Bone – Debra Granik and Anne Rosellini from Winter’s Bone by Daniel Woodrell.

Judging adapted screenplay without reading the source material is a bit like judging editing without seeing what was left on the cutting room floor. And as you can imagine, if I didn’t even watch every nominated performance, I sure as hell didn’t read all these books. Still, turning a couple of depositions into a compelling movie (with stylized dialogue) should get Sorkin his first Oscar. But, the Academy has a soft spot for “Important Novels,” so I think Winter’s Bone is a possible dark horse.

Watch the Oscars on ABC, Sunday at 8. Or don’t, and read Twitter instead.

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"X-Men: First Class" trailer released

Posted on February 11, 2011 | Leave a comment

When X-Men was released in 2000, it represented an ambitious attempt at revamping the comic book film. Joel Schumacher’s debacle of a movie, Batman and Robin, with its campy script and, uh, Bat Nipples, put the genre in deep freeze.

In X-Men, Bryan Singer, the director of such dark dramas as Usual Suspects and Apt Pupil, introduced a gritty realism to the superhero film that would later be perfected by Christopher Nolan in Batman Begins and The Dark Knight. The historic success of the new Batfilms has ushered in another decade of superhero movies. But what about the franchise that got the ball rolling?

As Singer left to make Superman Returns, glorified music video director Brett Ratner took the wheel. Ratner promptly drove the franchise off a cliff with his garish X-Men: The Last Stand. The misguided and predictable X-Men Origins: Wolverine didn’t help matters either.

Luckily, this summer’s X-Men: First Class looks to right the ship. Guy Ritchie protege Matthew Vaughn (Kick Ass, Layer Cake) directs from a script by frequent-collaborator Jane Goldman; Singer re-joins the franchise, penning the story and producing. The cast is a Who’s Who of up-and-coming talent, including James McAvoy, Michael Fassbender, Rose Byrne, Jennifer Lawrence, and January Jones. The trailer debuted yesterday, and the buzz is already substantial.

X-Men: First Class examines the origins of the team, along with the friendship-turned-rivalry of Professor Xavier and Magneto, set against the backdrop of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The historic fiction angle is an interesting one, representing a return to the Golden Age of X-Men. And while fanboys may blanch at the character list of the film (which does not faithfully reproduce the original X-Men team), it should be a return to the tastefully reverent work of the Singer films.

X-Men: First Class premieres June 3.

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The Social Network: How a great film still doesn't get it right

Posted on February 9, 2011 | Leave a comment

In late 2008, I winced at the news that Aaron Sorkin would be writing a film about Facebook. A masterful writer, with such a unique voice, reduced to making a movie about a website that wasn’t even five years old? It seemed premature, like penning a script while the story was still being told. The edition of a true auteur (David Fincher) behind the camera and a favorite musician (Trent Reznor) behind the score did little to allay my fears that this was just a cash-in.

In late 2010, I avoided The Social Network, even as it gained critical and commercial plaudits. I finally caved, screening the film a few months ago. I was impressed, mostly at how Sorkin, Fincher and Reznor, along with an extremely talented cast of young actors, gave life to a story that shouldn’t work as a film.

The Social Network uses two depositions to frame the origin story of Facebook. Sorkin is the perfect writer for this script. He has experience writing legal drama, including both the most famous courtroom dialogue and most famous deposition ever captured on film. Like all Sorkin characters, these characters are preternaturally silver-tongued, relying on wit, word play and repetition to battle each other.

The opening scene, between Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) and his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend Erica (Rooney Mara), sets the score. Mark is playing verbal chess, seemingly plagued by ADD, OCD, and Asperger’s syndrome. This behavior continues throughout the film, in flashbacks and in depositions: he’s immature but brilliant, and supremely confrontational. As Rashida Jones‘ character will later surmise: “You’re not an asshole, Mark. You’re just trying so hard to be.”

The film is a portrait of friendship under siege, and the best scenes revolve around Mark and his “only friend,” Eduardo Saverin. Andrew Garfield plays the role with the right combination of suaveness and insecurity. Garfield captures the emotional pain of Mark’s betrayal, made worse by his unclear motivations and intentions.

The humor of the film comes from the farcical portrayals of Mark’s adversaries and allies, the Winklevoss twins and Sean Parker, respectively. The twins (and their case) are not sympathetic; they are stereotypical Harvard WASPs from a world where they are used to getting everything they want.

Justin Timberlake plays Sean Parker with the confidence of someone whose self-awareness is greatly maligned by everyone telling him how brilliant he is. In actuality, he’s a punk: paranoid with delusions of grandeur, and armed with a petty, vindictive streak. At first, he’s almost charming. Later, he’s played for laughs, a manchild puffing his inhaler in a station house.

The story presents the early days of Facebook as a battle for Mark’s soul between Saverin and Parker. Saverin is a sensible realist who puts stock in loyalty and doing “the right thing.” Parker is the Dreammaker who shows Zuckerberg how things could be, how a Big Idea can change the way we look at the world. For Mark, a glimpse of Parker’s lifestyle is all it takes to settle the debate.

By the end of the film, the man with a million friends has none. He still pines for the girl who scorned him, her rejection the impetus for this incredible journey. The man who revolutionized social networking yearns for human connection.

Many people have gotten caught up in the authenticity of the film. But this is a work of reality-based fiction, not a documentary. From all accounts, Mark Zuckerberg is not much like his screen counterpart. He may have iconoclastic ideas about privacy and society, but he seems relatively well-adjusted for the world’s youngest billionaire. And “Erica?” He’s been dating the same person since 2003.

In film, this reduction of reality works. Sorkin has said, “I don’t want my fidelity to be to the truth; I want it to be to storytelling.” As a storyteller, Sorkin is unparalleled. The characters are richly drawn, and the non-linear story builds to a crescendo over two hours. Similarly, David Fincher makes coding cool, without the parlor tricks of something like Hackers.

I don’t think a film needs to get history right to be a great film. If it actually loses to The King’s Speech, I think it will be another unfortunate choice by the Academy, not a historic flub.

But saying that this film defines the generation, as Peter Travers has, makes me feel the same way I did when I first heard about it back in 2008. Can we really make these grand proclamations while history is still unfolding, and furthermore, what business does Peter Travers have judging my/your/our generation based on this film?

Zadie Smith’s thoughts on The Social Network, and social networks in general, are a must read. One of her best points is that “this is a movie about 2.0 people made by 1.0 people.” Lawrence Lessig made a similar argument in The New Republic, that the filmmakers miss the point of the Facebook story. Sorkin and Fincher see the Facebook generation as Zuckerberg as he is in the final scene: obsessed with connection, but lacking any authentic human ones. Saying The Social Network defines the generation is patronizing. The story of this generation is still being written, and Facebook might end up being another footnote in that story.

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Why bother with the Oscars?

Posted on February 3, 2011 | Leave a comment


The logical conclusion to the “For Your Consideration” posts is a rundown of my picks for who should and who will win Oscars on February 27th. That post, and the rest of the FYC series, is forthcoming. But since The King’s Speech swept the industry’s awards trifecta (Screen Actors Guild, Directors Guild, and Producers Guild), there’s been a pre-backlash against its predicted Best Picture win over early favorite The Social Network.

This raised a few questions. Specifically, “is The King’s Speech winning big picture over The Social Network that big of an upset?” and generally, “why do the Oscar’s matter?”

While I’ll save deeper thoughts on The Social Network for another post,* suffice to say it’s a very good film. The combination of David Fincher’s vision, Aaron Sorkin’s dialogue, Trent Reznor’s music, and breakout performances by Jesse Eisenberg, Andrew Garfield, and yes, Justin Timberlake, is captivating. And if that wasn’t enough, old white film critics say it defines our generation!

Meanwhile, The King’s Speech is essentially tastefully done Oscar Bait. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Oscar Bait is only a problem when the film only exists for that purpose, ie recent winners Million Dollar Baby and the Dark Mark on the Academy, Crash.

Both The Social Network and The King’s Speech are well-crafted, enjoyable films. This (probably) isn’t “How Green is My Valley” winning over “Citizen Kane.” Nearly 70 years later, the Academy is still risk averse, picking safety over risk 90% of the time. At this point, I would think Oscar watchers would stop feigning surprise when the same is true, year after year.

After all, making Oscar picks is more like horseracing than March Madness, especially these days. “Nominated” or “Winner” on a DVD case means millions in rentals and purchases. So instead of horse owners besting each other, we have producers like Harvey Weinstein and Scott Rudin lobbying for votes in a Hollywood pissing match. So enjoy the Oscars for what they are: a spectacular, star-studded ad campaign. Use the nominations and winners as a guide for the year’s achievement in film, not as the definitive record.

* I saw it some time back, but have yet to review it on this site. Coming soon!

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For Your Consideration: True Grit

Posted on February 1, 2011 | Leave a comment


Going to film school ensures two things: difficulty finding gainful employment and the viewing of a bunch of Westerns. While only Joel Coen attended film school, True Grit proves that both brothers have seen a few. The Coen brother’s True Grit, the second adaptation of the Charles Portis novel of the same name, is most surprising in how little it resembles a typical Coen brothers’ film. And that’s not a bad thing.

Over the past 25 years, the Coen’s have built a remarkable body of work. The wit and irony of a Coen brother’s script, their deftness with both shot and cut, and the ability to get the most out of their stable of players makes nearly every film a classic. All those talents are presented in True Grit, and while it may be a classic, its place in the Coen oevre is a curious one.

True Grit follows the journey of Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld, in her big screen debut) as she pursues her father’s killer. The headstrong 14-year-old is joined by the indefatigable, if drunk, U.S. Marshal Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) and a through and through Texan, Texas Ranger LaBoeuf (Matt Damon). This motley crew is very Coenesque. So is the story: a tale of revenge and retribution is nothing new for the Coens, either. In fact, their 2007 Best Picture winner, No Country for Old Men, is essentially a neo-Western, albeit with Cormac McCarthy’s noirish depravity.

But True Grit is best when the Coen’s use their talents in service of genre, and not the other way around. The alternating picturesque beauty and staggering desolation, the black and white depiction of good and evil, and the titular trait in the characters makes this a pure American Western.

For better or worse, Westerns will forever be associated with John Wayne. Jeff Bridges, in the role Wayne won an Oscar for, can’t try to out-Duke the Duke, so he makes Rooster Cogburn his own. Grimier and sloppier than Wayne ever would be on film, Bridges’ Cogburn is a high-functioning alcoholic, prone to telling tales like any barroom drunk. But he gets the job done, even if a few scumbags have to die as he pursues his quarry. Damon, in a supporting role, outshines Glen “Rhinestone Cowboy” Campbell, who had the role in 1969. Damon’s LaBoeuf is Cogburn’s straightman, a no-nonsense (except in dress) lawman, “Don’t Mess with Texas” 100 years early.

While Cogburn and LaBoeuf loom large, this is Mattie Ross’s story, and Hailee Steinfeld’s film. Actually playing her own age (as opposed to Kim Darby, who played Mattie while in her early 20s), the young actress is a force, embodying the single-minded determination that the role requires. This is a teen girl holding her own on the frontier, and it’s totally believable, thanks to Steinfeld’s performance. Whether outsmarting a local businessman or bargaining with captives and captors, Mattie Ross has ice water in her veins.

The takeaway I had after viewing True Grit was “unflinching.” From the blatant racism of the 19th century to the gruesome violence of the lawless West, the Coen’s never shy away from the reality of their source material. Which isn’t to say that the film isn’t laugh-out-loud funny, because it is. It’s the stark contrast between the repartee and the retribution that makes True Grit a pure Western that only the Coen brothers could make.

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For Your Consideration: The King's Speech

Posted on January 28, 2011 | Leave a comment


I am usually hesitant to watch period pieces that dramatize Important Historical Moments. These films typically become exercises in historical reenactment, soapboxing, or a combination of the two, stifling story and human drama. Furthermore, the desire to wink and nod at the audience fights against the desire to engross the viewer.

The King’s Speech manages to sidestep these problems and focus on a very personal story, even when set against a vivid historical backdrop.

The titular king begins the film as a prince, namely Prince Albert, the Duke of York, played by the regal Colin Firth. The second son of the lionly George V (Michael Gambon, better known as Dumbledore in the recent Harry Potter films), Albert is expected to lead an ordinary life, as far as the monarchy goes. He’s second in succession to his older brother, the galavanting playboy Prince Edward (Guy Pearce), and is expected to tend to minor matters while Edward waits to become king.

This includes giving the occasional speech, a task that Albert is terribly unable to do: he is afflicted with a crippling stutter. The film’s inciting incident is a speech that is so embarrassing that Albert decides, with the help of his wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter in an atypical, subdued role), to finally conquer his stammer.

Throughout the film, shots are set up to accentuate the symbolic weight that royalty and his handicap place on Albert. Microphones loom large in the foreground, as do crowds and audiences, dwarfing the protagonist. The trappings of royalty are shown in disorienting scale. These shots frame Albert as he sees himself: a small, helpless man in the face of history. During an early consultation with a physician who utilizes Classical methods (without any success), the frame is tight and claustrophobic as Albert is tortured with a mouth full of marbles.

Elizabeth looks for alternatives and finds Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), a peculiar man in an unknown, underground world. When Lionel meets Albert (or Bertie, as he will insist on calling him), the results are predictable. The prince alternates between regal pretension and outbursts of pure rage, while Logue keeps him off-balanced, yet on equal footing. Albert refuses to open up in the way that Logue would prefer, making his task an uneviable one. Logue must loosen the most uptight of patients – a stuffy, angry British royal – and cure a problem while only treating the symptoms. The film manages to dramatize the combination of speech and physical therapy that are part of Logue’s unorthodox methods.

While the cause of his stammer is unknown to Albert, it is readily apparent to the audience. His father the king is overbearing, deliberate, and blessed with a rich, ready baritone. His method for getting Albert to speak clearly is to bellow commands (“Relax!”). The king eventually slips into ill health and passes, ending the spectre over the prince. Only then does he open up to Logue about the extent of his psychic damage. He unloads a litany that is staggering: parented through fear, forced to change from left to right-handedness (as was typical far into the 20th century), fitted with metal splints to correct his legs, and abused by nannies. Still, a diagnosis is not the same as a cure.

As Albert works with Logue, the stakes are raised by circumstances beyond his control. Between his father’s death and Edwards petulant desire to marry an American divorcee, the government and monarchy face a crisis of legitimacy. Logue counsels him, but oversteps the tenuous balance of respect and friendship they have built when he verbalizes what Albert knows: Albert would make a better king, if not for his fatal flaw. Logue is cast aside, just as Edward abdicates, but with the coronation speech in sight, he’s brought back into the fold.

For the final act, the film fast-forwards to 1939, with Britain on the verge of war with Germany. The coronation speech proves to be a walk in the park compared to the three pages the king must read on-air, at this crucial moment. The contrast with the film’s opening speech, the disaster at Wembley, is great: the king falters at points, but perseveres. With Logue behind him, he steps out to greet his subjects, and finally comes into his own as monarch.

The King’s Speech owes much to the performances of Firth and Rush, who are strong candidates for Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor Oscars, respectively. It is an inspiring film that draws its strength from its characters rather than the monumental times it captures, which like public speaking, is not such an easy feat.

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For Your Consideration: The Fighter

Posted on January 21, 2011 | Leave a comment


Sports films, as a genre, flow from a few templates. Films about boxing are no exception: the rags-to-riches rise, the inevitable decline, the montage of fights leading to a title shot, and the boxer who needs to inflict and receive pain (both in and out of the ring) are calling cards of all boxing films.

The Fighter tells the true story of boxer Micky Ward (Mark Walhberg, in his third David O. Russell feature) and his older half-brother Dickie Eklund (Christian Bale). Micky and Dickie are from Lowell, Massachusetts. Lowell is just thirty minutes outside of Boston, but it might as well be part of Southie, a setting that has just about reached its saturation point on film (I blame Ben Affleck. See: Good Will Hunting, Gone Baby Gone, The Town). Still, the ethic neighborhoods with their gray skies, cheap paneling, and poor-white-trash denizens feel authentic here, even if the jock jam soundtrack and whiskey-fueled bar brawls push towards parody.

The film opens with an interview of Dickie, who is being filmed (allegedly) for a documentary chronicling his comeback. Breaking down their different fight styles, Dickie says Micky “takes the punishment; I don’t know why he does it.” Unsurprisingly, Dickie is also describing Micky’s personal life.

The boxing theme is but a setting: while The Fighter spends a lot of time in gyms and the ring, it’s really about Micky and his family dynamic. Dickie is an ex-boxer, and the worst kind at that: a con-man and drug addict, fixated on regaining his former glory (Christian Bale regains his gaunt Machinist frame, with shifty, hollow eyes and a wickahd accent). He’s also Micky’s trainer (shades of Raging Bull), where his personal failings affect Micky both personally and professionally. The boys share a mother, Alice, played by Melissa Leo, who disappears into the role of bottle-blond ball-breaker. Rounding out the family are seven sisters, serving as a Greek chorus of skanks. Obviously, the family is toxic. They are a collection of parasites, feeding off Micky, projecting their dreams and insecurities on the only semi-decent one of the bunch, all the while proclaiming that family is above all.

The Raging Bull connection doesn’t stop at the brotherly subplot. Fights with Sugar Ray Leonard loom large for both Dickie and the Raging Bull himself, Jake LaMotta. Dickie constant harping (“I knocked Ray down!”) recalls the famous scene of LaMotta, bloodied and beaten: “Never got me down, Ray.”

Micky is coming off a string of loses that have left his career at a teetering point. Meanwhile, Dickie’s “comeback” is a pipe dream, literally. The documentary isn’t about his comeback, it’s about crack addition. Despite his condition, everyone (Micky included) thinks Dickie in his corner is what Micky needs to break through.

Enter Charlene (Amy Adams), the barmaid who wins Micky’s heart. Charlene is no shrieking violet: she’s the only one headstrong enough to face-off against his family and keep his life on track. Adams’ no-bullshit performance is reminiscent of that of another Amy – Amy Ryan’s surprising turn in Gone Baby Gone.

Micky’s central conflict is choosing between family and external players, whether its Charlene or someone like Mike Toma, a promoter who wants Micky to train in Vegas with his guys. When faced with these outside forces, Dickie’s reaction is a half-brained pyramid scheme. When that fails, he pimps out his girlfriend and shakes down the johns. Finally, Dickie hits rock bottom: he assaults a couple police officers, gets Micky’s hand brutally broken and ends up in jail.

Dickie detoxes (in a paint-by-numbers scene meant to stand in ‘Facing Ones Demons’) and becomes a bit of a prison celebrity. Meanwhile, Micky struggles to put the pieces of his life back together. When “Crack in America” debuts, it’s a very public airing of the family’s dirty laundry that finally convinces Micky to cut the ties that bind. No one takes this harder than Alice, who tries to take out her frustration on Charlene.

In the end, the answer isn’t either-or. He needs Alice, Dickie and Charlene (and even his trashy sisters), and until they finally decide to co-exist for Micky’s sake, they all hold him back in their own ways. When they realize this, everything starts to click for Micky, and the last act plays out predictably. Surprisingly, the film ends with his title bout against Shea Neary, a 2000 fight that preceded Ward’s famed trilogy of fights against Arturo Gatti.

When it comes to actual boxing, Russell doesn’t try to romanticize the action. The fighting isn’t poetic, it’s visceral and dehumanizing. In his first fight back against an out-sized opponent, he takes an almost unrealistic number of hits to the head. As is his style, he’s always taking a beating. He can’t win off points – he always needs a knockout. Once again, boxing stands in for life.

The Fighter tells the familiar story of a boxer’s redemption through our most savage sport. It’s a character study that takes its cues from Raging Bull and Rocky. So while it doesn’t cover much new ground, Russell allows his four leads to really shine: the pride of Lowell, the roses from the concrete.

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For Your Consideration: Black Swan

Posted on January 12, 2011 | Leave a comment

Natalie Portman in Black Swan
Darren Aronofsky is an unparalleled director, whose five feature films are engrossing and epic, whether personal (The Wrestler), universal (The Fountain), or a masterful combination of the two (Requiem for a Dream). His latest effort, Black Swan, is no different.

The film follows a production of the “Swan Lake” ballet, while retelling the ballet’s own plot as a psychological thriller. Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) is the prima ballerina in Swan Lake, taking the dual role of the White Swan and Black Swan. Nina is the infantilized daughter of an overbearing, obsessive former dancer (Barbara Hersey, who nails the Mommie Dearest role of Erica Sayers). Vincent Cassel plays Thomas Leroy, the manipulative, twisted and all-powerful director of Swan Lake in a role that seems written expressly for him. Mila Kunis is Lily, the dancer that is everything Nina isn’t: free-spirited, sexual and seductive.

Early on, images of mirrors and reflections redflag the major themes of the film: sense of self and dualities of identity. The imagery isn’t subtle; in the first five minutes of the film, I started the countdown until a mirror was broken (which, indeed, occurs at a pivotal moment in the final act). The same goes for the white swan / black swan symbolism, with Lily as Nina’s doppleganger.

Nina, poised and pure, is perfect for the White Swan. Predictably, she struggles with both the demands of the role of the Black Swan, and with the side of her personality that allows her to embody the role. She lives under the thumb of her mother, and her mental and emotional development is arrested. Her sense of self is tied up in being the perfect dancer, having total control of her movement. Similarly, her apparent anorexia has more to do with control than body image (true of many real life sufferers of the disorder). But as Thomas attempts to teach her, “perfection is not just about control. It’s also about letting go.”

It’s the letting go, and the embrace of her dark side, that is at the heart of the film. Nina sees herself in Lily, and as her paranoia and delusions grow, she projects onto Lily those things she cannot do or be by herself. Coming to terms with her sexuality, there are two scenes of masturbation, one literal and one figurative. The first begins as a suggestion by Thomas, and at the start it feels exploitative and not at all sexual, as if we’re watching this girl discover her body for the first time. But midway through, Nina’s dark side takes over and the tone changes to raunchy (even if the jarring end of the scene is a bit predictable). Later on in the film, the much-hyped lesbian scene is nothing more than sex with self – Lily is only there as fantasy, as Nina acting out.

This is no more true than in the film’s final sequence, when Nina, spiralling out of control and further away from reality, imagines a physical confrontation with Lily. At last, I got my broken mirror, as Nina’s fragile sense of self finally (and literally) shatters. She stabs herself/Lily, taking her own life in a twisted act of control over her demons. If Nina dies, there are no more tears, no more broken toes, no more flaws: in a word, perfection.

Throughout the film, Nina has visions of literally becoming the black swan, and these scenes are mixed in their effectiveness. The manifestations are more chilling at the start, as a rash or a foreign fragment under the skin. But by the time we get to legs breaking backwards, funhouse mirror tattoos, and feathers covering her entire body, it’s a bit extreme to take seriously. After watching the (very real) bodily trauma of Nina’s physical therapy, these horrific elements are too absurd to resonate.

Still, Aronofsky crafts a psychological thriller on par with and reminiscent of Pi. Both are stories of protagonists who cannot bear the weight of their gifts and curses, and choose drastic means to alleviate their anguish. Along with Pi, Black Swan reminds me of classics like de Palma’s Sisters and Bergmann’s Persona for its meditation on dualities of self. This ground is so well-tilled because of how fertile it is, which excuses some of the heavy-handed symbolism that Aronofsky uses to tell a familiar story.

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