FilmMonthly » dowd.andrew

Sean Lechowicz’s Top 10

dowd.andrew — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 10:43:40 +0000

2010 will go down as the year that Hollywood got their act together and finally provided more than just explosions or Matthew McConaughey bickering with Kate Hudson. Big budget event films were slapped with a heart and brain. The spoof film became funny and original again. Sure, there are some indie darlings that made a dent this year, but all in all it was a much needed reminder that we can still trust Hollywood to get some things right. So 101 movies later, here are my top ten films of the year.
10. MacGruber- Overcoming the stink of past SNL vehicles and the hit-or-miss nature of the skits of which the film is based on, writer/star Will Forte spreads his wings as an unsung comedic genius. Blowing past its initial concept as a “MacGyver” parody, the humor of “MacGruber” never relents, while also being a poignant representation of how the war over America is between idiots. Lowbrow humor has never been so clever. Who knew a man with a piece of celery up his butt could be so hilariously subtle and down played?
9. The Warrior’s Way- With the ho-hum premise of cowboys vs. ninjas, it’s a marvel that filmmaker Sngmoo Lee found room to infuse layered characters amongst tons of blood shed. There’s a good hour bereft of action, which gives us the opportunity to get to know and absolutely adore each protagonist. Once the final action sequence comes along, the audience actually gives a hoot about who lives and dies. The action is mesmerizing, both gorgeous and intense. Imagine if Zack Snyder understood the human condition and you get “The Warrior’s Way”.
8. Stone- Violent, unrelenting and bizarre, “Stone” is an excellent example of subdued fantasy filmmaking. As the lover of an arsonist seducing a parole officer, Milla Jovovich proves she’s more than just the chick that kills zombies every three years. Superb directing/acting, an airtight screenplay, and a haunting musical score by Jon Brion and Radiohead create a dreamlike universe.
7. Inception- 2010 marks the year that Hollywood science fiction traded in its diapers for a pair of adult slacks. In lesser hands, such an ambitious concept would overwhelm the innards of the narrative and leave little room for character and emotional context. Thankfully, Christopher Nolan is the antithesis of “lesser hands”. A main point of critique concerns the film’s seemingly ambiguous ending. Without going into monstrous detail, Nolan isn’t giving an “F you” to the audience. He has answered what happens to Cobb, but he challenges you to answer how he got there.
6. Buried- Director Rodrigo Cortes achieved the impossible: he made a movie about a single man in a box one of the most suspenseful tales ever put on film. Cortes proposes audiences don’t find fear watching nameless devices reach their demise; they want bleeding heart humans with layers. Ryan Reynolds mentally strips naked on screen, giving every single bit of humanity he has to offer. His portrayal of Paul will have you screaming, laughing, and close to weeping. “Buried” isn’t just a clinic on how to make horror, but a clinic on how to engage an audience visually, emotionally and physically.
5. Toy Story 3-How do you get adult audience members to bawl openly without a care in the world? By effortlessly tapping into the pain we all most go through once we’re forced to grow up. The last fifteen minutes of “Toy Story 3” will go down in history as one of the most powerful scenes in film history. Looking back at the rest of the film, you’ve got a structurally sound adventure story with long lost characters we’ve all loved and missed.
4. The King’s Speech- The biopic is a tough nut to crack, especially when the subject has a speech defect. Colin Firth doesn’t merely speak with a goofy voice to warrant every award being given this year; he immerses himself in King George VI’s pain. Each time Firth stammers while giving a speech, he’ll break your heart with the frustration in his eyes. Director Tom Hooper gets why this story is worth telling and refuses to sentimentalize or play for laughs.
3. Tangled- Disregard the trailers, which will have you believe this is laugh-riot laced with pop culture references. This is a computer generated, very modern animated film, yet it’s able to balance it’s modernity with old fashioned whimsy. The filmmakers smartened up and don’t rely on a novelty like traditional animation to reintroduce audiences to classic Disney storytelling. The humor is contemporary; utilizing recent editing techniques like jump cut montages, while the central love story and musical numbers retains a timeless charm. Pixar is no longer the only powerhouse in Disney’s arsenal.
2. Black Swan- While watching psychological thrillers, modern audiences are accustomed to answering what’s really happening. ‘I knew it! She was a ghost the whole time!’ Darren Aronofsky challenges those viewers to stop looking for answers and watch “Black Swan” for what it is: pure uncut art. He’s not a puzzle maker trying to trick audiences; he’s simply a director weaving a no-holds-barred metaphor of passion and brilliance. Nina Sayers’ (Natalie Portman) doesn’t inhabit our universe; she is a creature of the Aronofsky-verse where he dictates what can and cannot happen without worrying about logic. Oh, and if you haven’t heard already, Natalie Portman delivers the single best performance of the year.
1. Tron: Legacy- In 2010, the definitive statement on our current technological age was made with grace….and it’s a sequel to a 1982 science fiction film with a niche audience. On the surface, “Tron” will dazzle you with state of the art bleeps and bloops, along with the best score in ages. Beneath the surface, however, is the best portrayal of “Frankenstein” ever filmed. This isn’t your run of the mill ‘technology bad, humans good’ story. “Tron” touches on the gray area of playing God, neither damning nor commending. Even further under the surface is a gutsy spiritual story exposing a ‘higher power’ that can’t meet his creation’s expectations. In short, there’s so much food for thought here you’ll practically choke and that’s meant in the best way possible

Burlesque

dowd.andrew — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 07:25:47 +0000

After nearly a decade, schlock masterpiece “Showgirls” has met its match. Calling “Burlesque” a train wreck does not cover the severity of its failure, nor does it cover the hilarity.
Small town girl Ali (Christina Aguilera) moves to the City Of Angels in pursuit of music super stardom. Shortly after relocating, Ali takes the top spot of a floundering burlesque venue run by hard-edged singer Tess (Cher). Ali and Tess team up in order to save their beloved music factory.
Does it appear as if something is missing from this synopsis? Well, there are two things missing: conflict and purpose. It’s obvious that the producers needed an excuse to get Cher and Aguilera singing on film. Characters are introduced without purpose, subplots are introduced without resolution, and then the credits roll.
The music is repetitive and forgettable. Aguilera’s powerful vocal chords don’t blend well with the sensuous songs and dances she’s performing. Cher does what she can with an oddly placed solo number about how she’s still relevant, but it’s just so in-your-face and random. Also, this scene is cut between Cher singing and approving grins from the club’s sound guy. Believe it or not, it’s even more awkward than it sounds.
Ali supposed to be a sweetheart girl next door, but Aguilera plays her like a despicable user. She is introduced to audiences by stealing from her boss in order to fund a voyage to L.A. After her house is burglarized, resident bartender Jack (Cam Gigandet) allows Ali to crash at his place while his fiancé is away for work. Later on, Jack’s fiancée prolongs her stay and he’s strapped for rent money. Naturally, he tells Ali she can continue to stay if she pays rent. Ali only agrees after kicking him out of his own bedroom and sleeping in his bed. This only seems fair after he saved her from shacking out in a cardboard box.
If anything can be learned from this film, it’s this: if you and your bride to be are in a rut, it’s okay to have sex with someone else. Stage manager Sean (Stanley Tuuci) actually passes this message along to Jack regarding Ali. Infidelity is certainly an odd way to endear a character to an audience.
It’s evident that you won’t witness legitimate filmmaking here, but “Burlesque” doesn’t skimp on the unintentional laughs. Aguilera’s juvenile delivery is entertaining and her relationship with Jack provides some of the most absurd moments of 2010. Jack and Ali’s first love scene comes after he performs a strip tease in cotton two-piece pajamas, which also involves a box of chocolate chip cookies.
The ending is so forced, resolving issues in the most convenient ways, it’s as if the filmmakers forgot that there was even a shred of a plot. Each character magically gets everything they want. Clearly director Steve Antin wants nothing to do with scenes that don’t involve Aguilera or Cher strutting their stuff on stage.
“Burlesque” has got the lousy acting, pathetic excuse for romance, and odd line delivery that midnight movie classics are made of. If you’re looking for a reputable cinematic experience, you’re barking up the wrong tree.

The Nutcracker 3D

dowd.andrew — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 07:02:08 +0000

“The Nutcracker 3D” has the blueprint for success: an interesting director, a dependable cast, a timeless story, and all the gizmos and gadgets Hollywood has to offer. Somehow something went terribly awry, leaving a big boring stain on screen for an hour and a half.
In 1920 Vienna, young Mary (Elle Fanning) receives an early present from her Uncle Einstein (Nathan Lane): a dollhouse equipped with a magical Nutcracker (voice of Shirley Henderson). Mary soon finds out the Nutcracker is really a cursed prince banished by the evil Rat King (John Turturro). The young duo ventures to the Nutcracker’s kingdom in order to restore justice and dethrone the treacherous vermin.
For the majority of the picture, the Nutcracker is a crude CGI creature with a squeaky woman’s voice. Since the prince has been cursed, it’s understandable that he’s given an unflattering voice since his physical attributes have been altered. What isn’t clear is why he’s an absolute jerk to everyone when he’s in this state. When he turns human, it’s implied that he’ll be an absolute peach, but instead he’s just boring and hardly says a meaningful word. Both of his personas are lacking, yet Mary inexplicably adores this guy.
The production design nearly makes this film worthwhile. The Rat King and his army ride on jetpacks and motorcycles with chain guns strapped to their sides. There is a helicopter that actually has mechanical legs that keep it afloat. All of these images appear to come directly from a child’s mind, which is exactly how it should look.
Imagination is certainly in abundance, but this is a case of imagination trumping logic and structure. Throughout the movie, Mary goes back and forth through reality and the Nutcracker’s world. Whenever she wakes up in her own bed, she’s upset and misses her new friend. On paper, these are very sweet scenes, but she hardly ever shares a moment with the Nutcracker where they’re not scheming or arguing.
Director Andrey Konchalovskiy never gives her or the audience any incentive to go back into the dream world. A place with neat jetpacks and flying pirate ships is intriguing, but we need some emotional meat on those bones to keep from getting bored after the eye candy becomes common.
The use of practical makeup effects–specifically with the Rat King and his henchmen–is quite a breath of fresh air. In the age of movie magic lazily achieved by simply pressing buttons on a computer, it’s great to see humans interact with real live mutants instead of a digitization.
Turturro undoubtedly had a blast during the filming, making the Rat King an eccentric and fun villain. Likewise, Lane hams it up as Einstein and gets a few entertaining musical numbers for good measure. He soon gets tiresome after he repeatedly shows up out of nowhere from time to time and addresses the audiences about issues they’re already aware of. These scenes almost seem like a last minute addition, confirming that the filmmakers know how nonsensical the plot is.
The story of “The Nutcracker” has been done to death. Any artist who takes a stab at such cherished material must bring something new to the table other than cool vehicles and a beloved Broadway actor using a German accent.

The Next Three Days

dowd.andrew — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 15:35:55 +0000

Paul Haggis, writer/director of the Oscar darling “Crash”, is a name synonymous with unavoidable ham-handed social commentary. However, his latest “The Next Three Days” proves that he should steer clear from brashly shouting against racism on a megaphone and stick to suspense film making.
College English professor John Brennan (Russell Crowe), his wife Lara (Elizabeth Banks), and their young son Luke (Ty Simpkins) are the perfect portrait of American suburbia, white picket fence and all. Their world is rocked when Lara is convicted for murdering her boss and imprisoned for life. John, believing Lara’s innocent, devotes his life to freeing his soul mate through any means possible.
The director doesn’t rush us into exciting car chases and gunfire. Instead, he let’s us get to know the Brennan’s and feel every chink in their armor. After a tumultuous visit to the cooler, Lara hysterically tells John that he’s wasting his time worrying about her. After such a downer, we see scenes of John grading his student’s papers. Imagine having to balance raising a six-year-old kid, grading English essays, and paying taxes with trying to prove your incarcerated wife’s innocence.
John isn’t a superman; he’s just an average Joe faced with impossible circumstances. On a routine visit with his wife, John flubs his first attempt at freeing her with a key that can virtually open any door. He’s caught on surveillance and confronted by the warden. This isn’t Sean Connery from “The Rock”; he’s just a guy who loves his wife enough to risk losing everything for her happiness. He screws up, just like any non-professional criminal would.
Luke hardly speaks to anyone; he’s damaged goods. Mommy’s making license plates and daddy spends most of his time learning how to break into jail, not a well-adjusted environment. Ty Simpkins never over-sentimentalizes Luke, but rather acts how any child would act in this instance: he keeps to himself, choosing to live in his own mental world.
When we first see Luke visiting Lara, he doesn’t mutter a syllable to her. Instead, he plays with Legos while John and Lara hash it out. The heartache on Lara’s face after receiving the cold shoulder from her kid is especially powerful. Here’s a woman wrongfully jailed and all she wants is a heartfelt hug from her little boy.
Both Crowe and Banks bring their A-games, knowing how to convey tragedy with just their facial expressions. The audience falls in love with this family, cheering for John every step of the way. Still, when Crowe and Banks are together, their performances don’t quite click together. They have an awkward chemistry, never looking quite right next to one another. We believe John loves Lara when he’s alone, but when co-existing on screen, it just looks like a grizzly bear attacking a talk show hostess.
Haggis keeps raising the stakes for John, pitting him in inescapable situations. As a result, “The Next Three Days” is astonishingly unpredictable. The director plants seeds that the audience isn’t aware are being planted. John makes numerous stops at a medical van at a local hospital, breaking in the back and rummaging through his wife’s medical records, while timing his trips with a stop watch. When the pay off comes for this scene, you’ll be ‘ooo-ing’ at its craftiness.
The film is usually fifteen steps ahead of its audience, so whenever short cuts are taken in the script, they are blaringly obvious. John learns how to break into an armored van by watching videos on Youtube. I’m sure this was meant as a tongue-in-cheek commentary on the vast accessibility of the internet, but it has no place in such a heavy flick and just comes off as lazy storytelling. Likewise, John learns his prison break strategy from escaped convict turned author Damon Pennington (Liam Neeson). The two meet at a coffee shop to strategize a big time crime, how logical! It’s alluded that Damon is now a reputable personality in the media, so why would he risk losing that to help some random guy break the law?
Plot-holes and all, “The Next Three Days” was crafted to excite audiences, for which it is successful. Once the plan is in full swing, you’ll be riveted, forgetting any of its shortcomings. Haggis proves to be a master puzzle maker and has finally found his cinematic niche.

Look Both Ways

dowd.andrew — Tue, 18 Apr 2006 00:00:00 +0000

It’s the rarest of rare pleasures for a movie buff: walking in blind to a new film by a new director and being completely floored by it. In an age when every ambitious young filmmaker is greeted as the Next Big Thing and each new indie sensation arrives on a wave of festival-fueled, pre-release hype, it’s truly amazing when a great film slips through the cracks and opens in theaters without overzealous fanfare.
So at the risk of spoiling such a welcome surprise, I’m here to sing the praises of Sarah Watt’s Look Both Ways, a wonderful Australian import that may be the year’s first unheralded triumph. For though it played at both Toronto and the Chicago International Film Festival last year, the film’s reputation has not preceded it. Curious, given that, as feature-film debuts go, this one’s a stunner. A fusing of modern, experimental techniques with old-fashioned storytelling, it’s a wonderful ensemble, one that engages the mind and the heart with equal conviction.
In Sidney, a young man walking his dog is struck and killed by a passing train. This proves to be the catalyst of Look Both Ways, which, like countless films that have come before it, is about death, and the different ways people respond to and cope with it. To describe it that way, though, would lead one to believe that it’s a bleak, dour affair, a gloom-and-doom indie from Down Under. In actuality, the film has a surprisingly light touch, probably because Watt (who wrote as well directed) is less concerned with grief than she is with self-reflection and, as the title aptly indicates, anxiety about one’s own mortality. The characters (all of whom are connected to each other, directly or indirectly) spend one sweltering hot weekend sorting out their problems and confronting their fears. Strangers bond, lives intersect, and narrative threads are pulled tightly together.
If all of this sounds a lot like Crash, it’s probably because Look Both Ways, like the recent Best Picture winner, is clearly indebted to both Robert Altman’s Short Cuts and Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia. Both films even sport a somewhat trite montage sequence of sulking and mourning, scored to an acoustic, melancholy ballad. But while Paul Haggis’s love-it-or-hate-it epic brought its characters together through vaguely karmic/cosmic coincidence, the connections forged in Look Both Ways are the product of shared experience and tangible relation. It isn’t fate driving each meeting and interaction, but rather mutual loneliness, confusion, and desire. So unlike Crash, the film requires no suspension of disbelief, and it forces no artificial links between its multiple plot strands and character arcs.
Despite its obvious influences, Look Both Ways never feels particularly derivative, perhaps because Watts doesn’t mimic the style or tone of her forebears, just their narrative structure. Her approach to the material is both modern and classical, as she employs radical visual flourishes in conjunction with sturdy plotting and character development. An animator taking her first stab at live action, the director uses flashes of splendid animation (some hand-drawn, some watercolor, some CG) to reflect the emotional distress and anxiety of her protagonists. Two characters in particular suffer from extremely vivid imaginations: Meryl (Justine Clarke), whose father recently passed away, keeps daydreaming of her own death by random accident; and Nick (William McInnes), who has just discovered he has testicular cancer, gets frightening flashes of his own body turning on him and deteriorating. “I keep seeing death all around me this week,” says Nick to Meryl, and the two are drawn together, finding common ground in their morbid preoccupation, the ghoulish visions that they both can’t shake.
In the wrong hands, these striking vignettes and animated cutaways might have been distracting or irritating, but instead they feel like essential components of Watts’s unique vision. Her style complements her content, and the film emerges as the most persuasive argument for mixed modes since American Splendor, another great movie that seamlessly blended live action with animation for thematic purpose. Indeed, what’s most impressive and surprising about Look Both Ways is how its flashy aesthetic tricks never conflict with its existence as a down-to-Earth, character-driven piece. Aided by a large, stellar cast, Watts has made an excellent slice-of-life drama, one that’s punctuated by inspired bursts of dry, gallows humor. Warm but never saccharine, melancholic but never melodramatic, Look Both Ways navigates the middle ground between world-weary cynicism and cautious optimism. And it’s guided, like the best ensemble films, by the plights of its characters, not by some overarching agenda, ala Crash.
Speaking of Crash, though, it’s worth noting that it shares at least one other quality with Look Both Ways: both films capture, intentionally or not, the spirit of the cities in which they’re set. In other words, just as Haggis pulled us into the messy gridlock of L.A., Watts plunges us directly into Sidney’s calmer but no less fascinating urban landscape. To call the film intrinsically Australian is perhaps presumptuous, but it certainly grooves on the idiosyncratic rhythm of its own culture. That, of course, is an outsider perspective. Ultimately, Look Both Ways transcends cultural barriers anyway, as it’s driven by a universal anxiety, that of the mysterious experience of death itself. It’s hard to imagine seeing another movie this year as charming, as moving, as completely satisfying as this one. But the year is young and I’m feeling optimistic.

Unknown White Male

dowd.andrew — Sun, 02 Apr 2006 00:00:00 +0000

A young man awakes, alone and disheveled, on a New York City subway train. He has no idea how he got there or where he is going. As the minutes pass, it slowly dawns on him that he also isn’t exactly sure where he is coming from, or what city he’s in, or even what his own name is. Fear and panic sets in as he realizes that his memory has somehow been completely wiped clean; he’s a blank slate, a stranger with no identity and no past, lost in a big, uncaring metropolis.
If that sounds like the set-up for a twisty psychological thriller (perhaps a sequel/prequel/spin-off to The Bourne Identity or Memento), take note that it’s actually the supposed real life story of 37-year-old Doug Bruce, who woke up one summer day in 2003 with a case of total retrograde amnesia. Doug’s frightening dilemma is the subject of Unknown White Male, an intriguing if slightly remote feature-length documentary. Since its premiere at Sundance last January, rumors have been circulating that the film is actually a fraud, a fictional narrative piece posing as a stranger-than-fiction documentary. I’d be much more inclined to believe such claims were the movie in question more sensational. Yet Unknown White Male unfolds with the clinical detachment of a medical case study. It approaches the material with a mixture of awe and fascination, yet, for all the footage at its disposal, never truly succeeds in capturing the fear, anxiety, and loneliness of Doug’s experience. The result is a drama (fiction or nonfiction–you decide for yourself!) that’s as intellectually engaging as it is emotionally distant.
Beginning with a loopy, gimmicky recreation of those terrifying first few hours (complete with shaky false-POV shots and flashes of overexposed B-roll), Unknown White Male tosses us directly into Doug’s waking nightmare. Baffled and scared out of his wits, he contacts the police, who take him to a NYC mental hospital. Through his signature (which he is able to instinctively scrawl out) and the discovery of the phone number of an ex-girlfriend, the doctors piece together Doug’s identity. The remainder of the film concerns his attempts to reintegrate himself into society and his own life. None of the skills he learned over the years are gone, just his personal memories and experiences, including those of anyone he has ever met. There appears, however, to be no physical explanation for his condition, and none of the doctors are able to say if or when his memory will return.
Unknown White Male is the feature debut of Rupert Murray, an old friend of Doug’s who began working on the movie when he received news of his bizarre condition. A combination of interviews/footage shot by Murray and Doug’s own video diary, the film takes us through the months following the “incident,” as Doug is reacquainted with his friends and members of his immediate family. We also share some of his new experiences, as the camera captures his “discovery” of fireworks, snow, and chocolate mousse. Murray narrates throughout, offering a dry but insightful commentary track on the action.
Much of all this is undeniably fascinating, and Murray raises a number of provocative questions. How much of who we are is shaped by our memories and experiences? Is our personality merely the product of the environment in which we were raised, or is it rooted in something deeper? And what would it be like to see the world through the eyes of a newborn baby but with the cognitive faculties of a grown man?
Unknown White Male could stir up some heavy philosophical debate, yet much of its interest lies entirely in its captivating premise, not its execution. For all the awkward encounters and confessional moments captured on tape, the film keeps us at a safe distance from its subject, encouraging us to analyze but not to become emotionally invested. Family members, friends, and even Doug himself remain curiously aloof throughout the film, perhaps because cameras are constantly in their faces. We never feel plugged into Doug’s predicament or privy to what he is experiencing, and thus we never really get to know him, either as the person he was or the person he has become. Of course, this is understandable and perhaps appropriate, given that Doug doesn’t even know who he is. But without any real insight into what he is actually going through, the film sputters out a bit towards the end, and we are left intellectually stimulated but strangely unmoved.
Real or fake, documentary or elaborate hoax, Unknown White Male would have benefited from a more personal touch. Still, it does leave one quite curious as to what Doug is up to these days. I can’t wait for the sequel.

Thank You for Smoking

dowd.andrew — Sun, 26 Mar 2006 00:00:00 +0000

With his clean-cut features, athletic physique, and devil-may-care smile, Aaron Eckhardt has the look of a classic Hollywood movie star – think Cary Grant with a square jaw. Yet he’s never quite been able to make that leap into Leading Man superstardom. Perhaps that’s because, beneath that charismatic, All-American veneer lies a strain of unadulterated sleaze. Stare at his affable, welcoming grin long enough and it begins to look more like a ironic sneer. Eckhardt has made a career out of playing charming but cold-blooded scumbags, amoral bastards who conceal their corruption behind expensive suits and bland amiability. His breakthrough was, of course, Neil Labute’s In the Company of Men, a brilliant but truly nasty satire that cast him as the ultimate Wall Street, alpha-male monster. Since that tour de force performance, his most memorable work has been of a similar vain; he may be doomed, it seems, to a life of playing arrogant, black-hearted scoundrels.
But there’s something to be said for doing what you do best, and no one’s better at seductive sliminess than Aaron Eckhardt. Thank You For Smoking, the first feature from writer-director Jason Reitman, would seem to be the perfect showcase for the actor’s unique talents. He stars as Nick Naylor, a high-profile lobbyist for Big Tobacco, and a master showman. Perpetually dancing around the truth and articulately defending his position with sly, specious logic, Naylor is a devious spin-doctor, a “yuppie Mephistopheles,” and Eckhardt tackles the role with conviction and bravado. He plays him like JFK crossed with Tom Cruise: always talking, always smiling, always “on.” And, as the sardonic voice-over narration makes clear, he’s also fully aware of (and proud of) his flexible ethics. “Michael Jordan plays ball. Charles Manson kills people. I talk,” he remarks with gleeful satisfaction, and it’s hard not to be entranced by this coolly amoral shyster.
Eckhardt’s career-high performance is the best thing about Thank You For Smoking, an uneven satire that alternates between being scathingly funny and basically losing its nerve. Adapted from a hit novel by Christopher Buckley, the film takes aim at liberals and conservatives, tobacco companies and health activists, all with the same amount of vigor and venom. Colorful and fast-paced, much of the first half pops with darkly comic energy. Every week, Naylor meets up with a pair of fellow lobbyists, one pulling for the alcohol companies (Maria Bella), the other for the firearm industry (David Koechner, a.k.a. Champ from Anchorman). They’re the MOD Squad (as in Merchants of Death), and every time the three are on screen together (talking shop, sharing war stories, comparing death rates) the movie comes alive. There are also wonderful bits with Robe Lowe as a sleazy Hollywood agent and Sam Elliot as the original Marlboro Man, who’s bitter and dying of cancer. But the best scenes belong to Eckhardt: in one inspired moment, he essentially talks a group of school children into trying cigarettes for themselves before they make up their mind about them. When the film is on target (as it is any time that Eckhardt is doing his seedy, deceptive thing) it’s ruthlessly, consistently enjoyable.
The trouble is, Naylor is not actually the heartless, cutthroat rouge he appears to be. He has a soft side, a flicker of moral conscience, and it’s tied directly to his relationship with his twelve-year-old son, Joey (Cameron Bright, that creepy kid from Birth). To say that this relationship is unconvincing is a vast understatement: despite the moral and intellectual conversations the two have, it’s difficult to sense much of an emotional connection between them. This wouldn’t be a problem were it intentional, as it allegedly is in the novel, but Reitman unwisely decides to hinge Naylor’s entire conflict upon his desire to be a good role model for his son. The movie becomes a half-hearted redemption piece, one that conflicts a great deal with its midnight-black satirical edge.
Eventually, Naylor takes on an ambitious journalist (Katie Holmes, miscast as usual) who sleeps with him then writes a smear piece about him, and a wimpy Vermont senator with the improbable moniker of Ortolan Finistirre (William H. Macy, slumming it in a thankless part). It’s in Naylor’s climatic battle with Finistirre that the film actually tries to have its cake and eat it too: Reitman casts Eckhardt as a relentless defender of Big Tobacco, yet simultaneously saddles him with a moral dilemma that we don’t believe for a minute. The movie softens its blow at the exact moment in which it should be digging the knife in, and Naylor comes out looking like not such a bad guy after all. Behind the smarmy cynicism lies a gooey, jelly center, and the same can be said for the movie itself. For all its nastiness and caustic humor, the film stops just short of achieving the true satirical bite it’s aiming for. Ultimately betraying its more daring, wickedly ironic intentions, Thank You For Smoking is a sheep in wolves’ clothing.

The Golden Season: Oscar Preview 2006

dowd.andrew — Fri, 17 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000

It pains me to do this, but I have to get something off my chest, a secret I’ve been living with for years. Call it a confession, if you must, but here it is: I love the Academy Awards. I mean, I really love them. And no, I don’t just mean the annual ceremony. I love the entire Oscar season, which, as any true fan will tell you, begins around September 1st every year and doesn’t end until that last and most coveted statuette is handed out several months later. I can’t help it, I love every shameless, predictable minute of this annual three-ring circus, from pre-season prognosticating to post-show analysis. Following studio campaigns, predicting nominees and winners, debating the merit of this film or that–it’s my bread and butter! I even love Oscar history: I can name over half of the Best Picture winners, the years they won, and the films they were up against. It is a sickness, I know, but one in which I have no desire to be cured. For me, the Academy Awards are like March Madness, the Kentucky Derby, and a presidential race rolled into one! What’s not to love about that?
Well, this harmless obsession I have wouldn’t really be a problem if it didn’t conflict entirely with my love of cinema as a progressive art form. Let’s face it, though: the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has done more to stifle the artistic development of the medium than any organization out there. It rewards the safe, the ordinary, the non-challenging, while often ignoring the most innovative or provocative work being produced. Its historic tendency to celebrate films that extol racism, sexism, or staunch conservatism has gradually been replaced by a preference for extreme political-correctness. And winning an Academy Award is ultimately as much about politics and money as it is about artistic merit. Thus, at their best, the Oscars are silly and fairly pointless; at their worst, they contribute to the overall decline and degradation of the film industry.
So how do I reconcile my love of All Things Oscars with my love of Cinema-With-A-Capitol-C? I guess I don’t, really. Despite their inherent connection, I essentially see the two as separate interests. I have a passion for film that transcends mere entertainment value. I want to be moved, inspired, provoked or challenged by what I see. On the other hand, the Oscars are just entertainment: they’re a way to pass time, something silly and fun to get excited about, but nothing to put much stock in. They are, in other words, a guilty pleasure. Considering how I feel about what they truly represent, I suppose I should call them a very guilty pleasure.
Besides, one of the most enjoyable things about the Oscars is getting all worked up about the decisions the Academy makes every year. As a friend of mine astutely pointed out, sometimes it’s as much fun rooting against a film as it is rooting for one. Given my recent campaigns against contenders like The Hours and Seabiscuit, I certainly have to agree with him. And ‘s hard to deny the tinge of satisfaction felt when a movie that one truly adores actually gets some recognition. Last year’s win for Million Dollar Baby, for example, proves that occasionally they do get it right. Anyway, regardless of the quality of the films the Academy actually selects, the Oscars remain a great conversation starter, a good way to get people talking about and debating film.
This brings me, finally, to this year’s awards. The nominations were announced a couple of weeks ago, and they offered few surprises for anyone who has been paying attention this season. Brokeback Mountain led the pack with eight nominations, cementing its long-running status as the front-runner for the Big Prize. As expected, Crash and Good Night, and Good Luck also scored a healthy number of nods, as did (ugh!) Memoirs of a Geisha, though only in technical categories. The acting nominations were equally predictable: don’t let anyone tell you that Terrence Howard’s Best Actor nod was a big surprise, or that Russell Crowe’s exclusion in that same category was a shocking snub. For the most part, this was one year in which Oscar precursors like the Golden Globes and the Guild Awards pretty much laid the course for the Academy’s selections.
Still, as in every year, there were a few curveballs thrown into the mix. Who could have guessed, for example, that William Hurt would pick up a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his ten minutes of screen time in A History of Violence? Or that the last Star Wars installment would somehow fail to grab a Visual Effects nod? By my estimation, the biggest surprise was probably that, for the first time in twenty-five years, the Best Picture and Best Director categories lined up perfectly. I thought for sure that Capote’s Bennett Miller would get pushed out of the Director race by Woody Allen or David Cronenberg or Fernando Meirelles, but no. And in the category of pleasant surprises, I’m glad to see that all the bafflingly negative buzz surrounding Munich didn’t prevent it from picking up nominations for Picture, Director, and Screenplay. Of course, it doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of actually winning any of those awards, but at least it didn’t lose its spot to Walk the Line or something.
Anyway, as predictable as the nominations are, they’re also remarkably solid. I mean, I can’t think of the last time the Best Picture line-up was this good; I could make a case for every one of these films, even Capote. You could, of course, argue that they missed the ball by not including (insert film or artist of your choice here) in some category, but there are very few major stinkers competing this year–though I think I did mention that Memoirs of a Geisha is up for six awards. For a full list of nominations, scroll down to the bottom of this page.
In the three weeks leading up to the Big Show on March 5th, I’m going to dissect the major eight categories, offering my thoughts and predictions on who I think will win and who I think actually deserves to win. In the meantime, I encourage you, the reader, to do the same, because what are the Oscars good for but an excuse to rant and rave about film? Were you surprised by the nominations? Who do you think will win the big awards? Who should win? Who was overlooked? Post your thoughts and comments on the matter. Get angry and get excited… I know I’m going to!
A lot can happen in three weeks. Or nothing at all. It’s time to wait and see.
NOMINATIONS FOR THE 78th ANNUAL ACADEMY AWARDS:
Best Picture
Brokeback Mountain
Capote
Crash
Good Night, and Good Luck
Munich
Best Actor
Philip Seymour Hoffman, Capote
Terrence Howard, Hustle & Flow
Heath Ledger, Brokeback Mountain
Joaquin Phoenix, Walk the Line
David Strathairn, Good Night, and Good Luck
Best Actress
Judi Dench, Mrs. Henderson Presents
Felicity Huffman, Transamerica
Keira Knightley, Pride & Prejudice
Charlize Theron, North Country
Reese Witherspoon, Walk the Line
Best Supporting Actor
George Clooney, Syriana
Matt Dillon, Crash
Paul Giamatti, Cinderella Man
Jake Gyllenhaal, Brokeback Mountain
William Hurt, A History of Violence
Best Supporting Actress
Amy Adams, Junebug
Catherine Keener, Capote
Frances McDormand, North Country
Rachel Weisz, The Constant Gardener
Michelle Williams, Brokeback Mountain
Best Director
George Clooney, Good Night, and Good Luck
Paul Haggis, Crash
Ang Lee, Brokeback Mountain
Bennett Miller, Capote
Steven Spielberg, Munich
Best Adapted Screenplay
Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, Brokeback Mountain
Dan Futterman, Capote
Jeffrey Caine, The Constant Gardener
Josh Olson, A History of Violence
Tony Kushner and Eric Roth, Munich
Best Original Screenplay
Paul Haggis and Bobby Moresco, Crash
George Clooney and Grant Heslov, Good Night, and Good Luck
Woody Allen, Match Point
Noah Baumbach, The Squid and the Whale
Stephen Gaghan, Syriana
Animated Feature
Howl’s Moving Castle
Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride
Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit
Art Direction
Good Night, and Good Luck
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
King Kong
Memoirs of a Geisha
Pride & Prejudice
Cinematography
Batman Begins
Brokeback Mountain
Good Night, and Good Luck
Memoirs of a Geisha
The New World
Costumes
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Memoirs of a Geisha
Mrs. Henderson Presents
Pride & Prejudice
Walk the Line
Documentary Feature
Darwin’s Nightmare
Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room
March of the Penguins
Murderball
Street Fight
Documentary Short Subject
The Death of Kevin Carter: Casualty of the Bang Bang Club
God Sleeps in Rwanda
The Mushroom Club
A Note of Triumph: The Golden Age of Norman Corwin
Film Editing
Cinderella Man
The Constant Gardener
Crash
Munich
Walk the Line
Foreign Language Film
Don’t Tell (Italy)
Joyeux Noël (France)
Paradise Now (Palestinian Authority)
Sophie Scholl — The Final Days (Germany)
Tsotsi (South Africa)
Make-Up
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Cinderella Man
Star Wars: Episode III–Revenge of the Sith
Original Score
Gustavo Santaolalla, Brokeback Mountain
Alberto Iglesias, The Constant Gardener
John Williams, Memoirs of a Geisha
John Williams, Munich
Dario Marianelli, Pride & Prejudice
Original Song
”In the Deep,” from Crash
”It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp,” from Hustle & Flow
”Travelin’ Thru,” from Transamerica
Short Film (Animated)
Badgered
The Moon and the Son: An Imagined Conversation
The Mysterious Geographic Explorations of Jasper Morello
9
One Man Band
Short Film (Live Action)
Ausreisser (The Runaway)
Cashback
The Last Farm
Our Time Is Up
Six Shooter
Sound Editing
King Kong
Memoirs of a Geisha
War of the Worlds
Sound Mixing
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
King Kong
Memoirs of a Geisha
Walk the Line
War of the Worlds
Visual Effects
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
King Kong
War of the Worlds
The Golden Season: Best Original and Adapted Screenplay
With the possible exception of Best Picture, no Oscar categories get me more worked up, year after year, than Original and Adapted Screenplay. I can brush off wins or losses in the other categories, but I always end up either quite pleased or quite miffed by the writing awards. I’m sure this has a lot to do with the fact that I am a writer, but I think it’s definitely more than that. My favorite films every year tend to be dialogue and character based rather than visual spectacles, so they often end up competing in the screenplay categories. In recent years, movies such as Ghost World, Adaptation, Y Tu Mama Tambien, American Splendor, and In America have been left out of the Best Picture race, but still managed to pick up screenplay nods. I’m always happy to see them up for something, but this can prove to be quite the set-up for a disappointment; all those films listed above, for example, lost the award.
And as someone who has participated in Oscar pools for the last eight years, I know all to well what sports fans mean when they talk about “betting with your heart, and not your head.” In 2002, I put my money on Memento to win Best Original Screenplay, even though I knew, deep down, that the Academy would give it to Godsford Park. Every once and a while, though, the best script (or your favorite, anyway) happens to also be the front-runner. Last year, for instance, I was able to comfortably bet on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, playing with both my heart and my head.
Alas, the same cannot be said of either of the writing awards this year. My favorites in both Original and Adapted are certainly long shots. As in several of the major categories, these ones are most likely going to come down to Brokeback Mountain and Crash.
Original Screenplay
Nominees: Crash, Paul Haggis, Bobby Moresco; Good Night, and Good Luck, George Clooney, Grant Heslow; Match Point, Woody Allen; The Squid and the Whale, Noah Baumbach; Syriana, Stephen Gaghan
With Match Point, Woody Allen has now been nominated for a screenplay Oscar fourteen times; he remains the all-time record holder in this category. That nice little statistic having been shared, don’t think it means he has a ghost of a chance this year. As is the case most of the time (though not quite all of the time), the two favorites in contention here are both Best Picture nominees. Crash was the front-runner to win this award long before anyone was even suggesting that it could be nominated in any other major categories. It’s certainly got a lot going for it here: it’s dialogue-heavy, it’s “important,” it’s packed to the brim with Big Moments, and it’s written by the guy who penned Million Dollar Baby, which he didn’t win for last year (which means he’s “due”). Considering that Crash probably isn’t going to pull off that Best Picture steal everyone keeps warning us about, this would be the place to honor it. The only film that really has a shot at toppling it is Good Night, and Good Luck. If voters decide that it was Clooney’s year more than it was Haggis’s, it could slip in for the win. But don’t count on it: the sharp, sophisticated discourse of Good Night is no match for the sharp, verbal fireworks in every single scene of Crash. Besides, Clooney will get his due in the Supporting Actor race.
After two viewings, I would have stood by Haggis to take this one home. Having seen his film a third time, though, I’m beginning to recognize what its detractors see (or, rather, don’t see) in it, though I still say they protest a bit too much. Really, this is a fairly strong group of nominees; though I have little affection for either Match Point or Syriana, I understand and do not contest their inclusion. I could get behind a win for Good Night, and Good Luck, but the real gem here is The Squid and the Whale. It’s the most intimate of the five films, the most moving, the most sincere. And despite all the nasty slurs and insults that are thrown about in Crash, Baumbach’s script certainly cuts the deepest. I’d give him the Oscar for just one of Jeff Daniel’s painful but funny tirades.
Will Win: Crash
Should Win: The Squid and the Whale
Best Adapted Screenplay
Nominees: Brokeback Mountain, Larry McMurtry, Diana Ossana; Capote, Dan Futterman; The Constant Gardener, Jeffrey Caine; A History of Violence, Josh Olson; Munich, Tony Kushner, Eric Roth
A famous writer struggling to complete his most acclaimed novel while dealing with issues of journalistic integrity and moral responsibility? Sounds like a winner to me. And in a different year, Capote might have been the horse to bet on. Too bad it has to compete with the unstoppable juggernaut that is Brokeback Mountain. McMurtry and Ossana have already picked up the Golden Globe and the Writer’s Guild award for their adaptation of the Annie Proulx short story; their win here seems as imminent as Ang Lee’s. Had Steven Spielberg and DreamWorks not botched Munich’s award campaign with a misguided release strategy, the film might have been a viable spoiler in this race. Instead, it joins A History of Violence as a just-happy-to-be-nominated also-ran. Even if voters are feeling especially ” “political” when it comes time to send those ballots out, they are much more likely to lend their support to the faux-humanism of The Constant Gardener than to the unsettling moral ambiguity of Munich.
No, this is definitely Brokeback’s award to lose. But while it’s hard to find fault in its script, which gracefully spans several decades without losing any momentum, I still say it isn’t quite as strong as Munich’s. Kushner, who had never before written a theatrical feature, deftly balances complex narrative plot turns with intense human drama. The dialogue is strong, the plotting is impeccable, and the characters are richly drawn. But the film is also seriously, undeniably bleak, which can be a real Oscar turn-off; Brokeback looks downright uplifting by comparison. Kushner should consider the nomination a vote of confidence; he’ll be back here soon.
Will Win: Brokeback Mountain
Should Win: Munich
The Golden Season: Best Supporting Actor and Actress
What exactly constitutes a supporting performance? That’s one question I usually find myself asking after the Academy Award nominations are announced each year. The criteria seems to change constantly, and I’m willing to bet that a number of would-be contenders have missed prospective nominations because voters were confused about which category they actually belonged in. Such uncertainty may have killed Maria Bello’s Oscar chances this year, given that her strong performance in A History of Violence probably got votes for both Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress. Sorry Maria, but thanks for playing. You can take a seat next to Scarlett Johansson, who once again didn’t quite make the Academy’s shortlist.
Still, though, what does constitute a supporting performance? Is it length of time on screen? Anthony Hopkins appears for only sixteen minutes in Silence of the Lambs, yet he won Best Actor for his portrayal of Hannibal Lector in the film. Conversely, Billy Bob Thornton may actually have more screen time in A Simple Plan than “lead performer” Bill Paxton, yet he received a Supporting Actor nomination for his efforts.
So maybe it has more to do with the nature of the role: supporting actors play characters whose story arcs are secondary to those of the main protagonist. But is there anyone out there who would really consider Jake Gyllenhal’s character in Brokeback Mountain secondary to Heath Ledger’s? If so, would those same people dispute Reese Witherspoon being up for Best Actress, despite the fact that she is “merely” Joaquin Phoenix’s love interest in Walk the Line?
And what about ensemble films? Are we to assume that every actor in one of those is delivering a supporting performance rather than a lead one? Given the nominations for George Clooney and Matt Dillon (who are up for their “supporting” work in ensemble dramas Syriana and Crash, respectively), that would seem to be the Academy’s philosophy on the matter. It’s all so confusing!
Regardless of the shaky rules that govern them, Supporting Actor and Actress are, historically speaking, the most unpredictable of the major categories. Will we see a James Coburn or Anna Paquin or Marisa Tomei-style upset this year? God, I hope so. Otherwise, this is going to be one boring telecast.
Supporting Actor
Nominees: George Clooney, Syriana; Matt Dillon, Crash; Paul Giamatti, Cinderella Man; Jake Gyllenhaal, Brokeback Mountain; William Hurt, A History of Violence
Back in June of last year, I prematurely announced that Paul Giamatti would win Best Supporting Actor for his funny, fierce, and scene-stealing performance in Cinderella Man. Eight months later, he’s one of three actors with a serious shot at taking home the award. Some would argue that this is actually a four-man race, but the chance of Gyllenhaal riding a wave of Brokeback support to a victory here is pretty slim. And with all due respect to William Hurt (who’s occupying the same hey, why-not? spot as Alan Alda was last year), this contest will surely come down to Paul, George, or Matt.
It’s hard to imagine anyone passionately loving Clooney’s adequate but entirely forgettable performance as a CIA operative in Syriana. Then again, he’s got a Golden Globe that suggests otherwise; maybe it’s all the suffering he endured (onscreen and off) that awards voters are reacting so strongly to. Giamatti, whose contribution to Cinderella Man is the very epitome of strong support, picked up the SAG award a few weeks ago. If only the acting branch of the Academy were voting, he’d probably be a lock for the win, especially considering that his highly acclaimed performance in Sideways failed to make the Best Actor cut last year. But with all branches of the Academy voting, this could go either way. Or, as some have suggested, Matt Dillon’s intense portrayal of a racist cop could be the underdog that beats them both. He hasn’t received the accolades that Clooney or Giamatti have, but, to put it mildly, Crash has more supporters than Syriana and Cinderella Man combined. Will that be enough for him to win, though?
In the most competitive of the major categories, I reluctantly give the edge to Clooney. The Academy loves to use its awards to celebrate an artist’s numerous accomplishments; by giving him this, they could indirectly honor him for his work on Good Night, and Good Luck. This is one instance, though, in which I’d love to be proven wrong.
Will Win: George Clooney
Should Win: Paul Giamatti
Best Supporting Actress
Nominees: Amy Adams, Junebug; Catherine Keener, Capote; Frances McDormand, North Country; Rachel Weisz, The Constant Gardener; Michelle Williams, Brokeback Mountain
Had you asked an entertainment journalist in September who would win this year’s Best Supporting Actress award, he or she probably would have said either Diane Keaton or Shirley McLaine. My, what a Battle of Hollywood Royalty that would have made for! Too bad neither of their films had actually opened in September; tepid responses to both In Her Shoes and The Family Stone wiped out their chances. Ditto for Uma Thurman, whose hype surrounding her performance in The Producers couldn’t survive the first screenings of the movie. So, unlike the very tight Supporting Actor race, this one is pretty much locked down. Rachel Weisz, whose performance in The Constant Gardener has already won the Globe, the SAG, and a whole slew of critics’ awards, appears to be running unopposed. A month ago, when Brokeback Fever was in full swing, Michelle Williams emerged as the dominant front-runner. However, like fellow nominee and husband Heath Ledger, she peaked too early. And the other nominees? They could all safely stay home on Oscar night.
It’s no shocker, of course, that voters prefer Weisz to the competition: her turn as The Great White Martyr is as brazen and showy as the other performances are modest and understated. In this group of talented but underused actresses, Amy Adams takes the cake for her absolutely wonderful work in the phenomenal Junebug. Her performance is charming, hilarious, and moving; it’s also the catalyst for the film’s devastating third act. Adams is one of many first-time nominees competing this year. She won’t win, but I have a feeling we’ll being seeing a lot more of her real soon.
Will Win: Rachel Weisz
Should Win: Amy Adams
Four categories down, four to go. Stay tuned for coverage of the Best Actor and Actress awards.
The Golden Season: Best Actor and Actress
By now, it should be clear that I am a shameless, unrepentant awards season junkie. I live for the meaningless thrill of a good Oscar race, and enjoy all the hype and hoopla of this annual spectacle. That having been said, even I have to admit that the media’s coverage of the Academy Awards (and its precursors) has gotten severely out of hand in recent years. These days, entertainment journalists spend a whopping five months or so talking Oscar; predicting who will get nominated and who will win has become a yearlong obsession for some, and every Tom, Dick, and Harry is throwing his two cents into the ring. Ed Gonzalez of Slant Magazine hit it on the nose in a recent piece regarding the sport of award season prognosticating: “the mere concept of credibility in the world of film journalism has shifted to Oscar batting averages, and film appreciation has become synonymous with poring over columns of statistics.” You said it, Ed. By the way,
I’m aware of the enormous irony of criticizing this trend within an Oscar column, so don’t bother pointing it out to me.
Here again my internal conflict–the struggle between my artistic tastes/standards and my giddy enjoyment of the silliness that is the Academy Awards–rears its ugly head. For as harmless as it seems, this annual media blitz actually affects the Academy’s selections. Like the tail wagging the dog, journalists’ Oscar predictions narrow the field of play, killing the chances of some contenders and solidifying the inevitable victory of others. Couple this with the sheer number of critic awards (some of which are handed out as early as November), and it’s no wonder the Oscars have become such a predictable affair. And here I am contributing to this madness!
Of all the major categories, Best Actor and Actress are the biggest causalities of ubiquitous awards season coverage. You call a nominee a “sure thing” or a “front runner” for long enough, and the possibility of anyone but that individual winning becomes nil. I can’t remember the last time I was even remotely surprised by the Academy’s lead actor selections. No, wait, yes I can: it was 2003, when Adrien Brody won Best Actor over Jack Nicholson and Daniel Day Lewis. But that happened because there were actually two frontrunners; they split the vote, and Brody capitalized. In most years, a single person is locked in for the win by late January. That’s certainly the case this year, so predicting these categories is an exercise in stating the obvious. But that never stopped me before, so why should it now?
BEST ACTOR
Nominees: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Capote; Terrence Howard, Hustle & Flow; Heath Ledger, Brokeback Mountain; Joaquin Phoenix, Walk the Line; David Strathairn, Good Night, and Good Luck
In December, before the nominations were announced and the other big award shows had aired, this was the closest and most compelling of the major Oscar races. Buzz was strong for no less than three candidates, all of whom had their ardent supporters. Would the Academy honor Philip Seymour Hoffman’s sharp, nuanced take on Truman Capote? Would they go for Joaquin Phoenix’s passionate turn as country-music legend Johnny Cash? Or would they fall for Heath Ledger’s anguished performance as Enid Del Mar, a Wyoming ranch hand struggling with his own emotions and desires? In the midst of all the Brokeback adoration, Ledger seemed to have the edge, but Hoffman and Phoenix were right there with him. It was going to be one hell of a fight!
Two months and many award shows later, there’s no drama or excitement left in this category. Over fifteen of the major critic groups (including Los Angeles, Chicago, and the National Board of Review) have given Hoffman Best Actor honors; he’s also taken home the Golden Globe and the SAG award. He seems unbeatable at this point, especially considering that support for his closest competitors has waned quite a bit these last few weeks. Ledger would have been more formidable had he campaigned a little harder, whereas Phoenix’s chances pretty much died when Walk the Line missed out on a Best Picture nomination. I’m almost inclined to believe that if anyone has a shot at toppling Hoffman, it’s Terrence Howard. He showed the Academy that he really wanted that nomination, and he’s still fighting as if he has a shot of winning. He doesn’t, really, but his enthusiasm will not go unnoticed by voters.
So who actually deserves to win here? All five of the men nominated gave pretty strong performances, though I could easily name a few others (Damian Lewis for Keane or Ayad Akhtar for The War Within, for instance) whose unsung work I’d rather see honored. Still, among this bunch, Hoffman and Howard deserve special credit for carrying the otherwise unremarkable pictures that they were in. What power and interest Capote and Hustle and Flow hold, they owe almost entirely to their lead actors. It’s a tough call, but I ultimately have to go with Hoffman. He nails Capote’s speech and mannerisms, while subtly suggesting the insecurity and uncertainty lying beneath his meticulously constructed public persona. It’s a great performance in a pretty average film. AMPAS, you have my support on this one.
Will and Should Win: Philip Seymour Hoffman
BEST ACTRESS
Nominees: Judi Dench, Mrs. Henderson Presents; Felicity Huffman, Transamerica; Keira Knightley, Pride & Prejudice; Charlize Theron, North Country; Reese Witherspoon, Walk the Line
I’m ashamed to admit this, but I have actually caught only three of the nominated performances in this category; somehow I never got around to seeing Felicity Huffman play a man in the process of becoming a woman or Dame Judi Dench play, well, herself. But with all due respect to the women competing this year, you wouldn’t have to have seen any of these films to know that Reese Witherspoon’s victory here is a foregone conclusion. Like Hoffman, she’s been racking up awards since her film opened, including the requisite Globe and SAG wins. Nearly everyone who has seen Walk the Line (film critic or otherwise) is absolutely smitten with her portrayal of June Carter, and the Academy has a long history of confusing charm and charisma with great acting. Award-magnet Huffman will certainly get some votes from anyone looking to honor a more serious performance, but for now she’ll probably have to settle with just being an Emmy and Golden Globe winner. Meanwhile, Witherspoon will be the latest young woman to be christened an Oscar Starlet for an enjoyable but decidedly limited performance, following in the footsteps of 1998 winner Gwyneth Paltrow.
Given my narrow perspective on this race, it’s difficult for me to say who actually deserves to win–though I have a sinking suspicion that Dench wouldn’t be my first choice even if I had seen the film. But if I were voting, I’d check off Charlize Theron’s name in a heartbeat. Her performance in North Country isn’t as great a revelation as the one she delivered in Monster, but it’s strong and memorable enough to prove that her Oscar-winning turn as Aileen Wuornos was less about the make-up and more about the woman underneath it. It’s sturdy, emotionally resonant work, and much more worthy of praise than the charming but less-than-remarkable performances delivered by Witherspoon and Knightley. But when it comes to Oscar love, sometimes all it really takes is looking good in a dress and being able to carry a tune.
Will Win: Reese Witherspoon
Should Win: Charlize Theron
Oscar night is just a few days away. Stick with me as I discuss and predict the final two categories, Best Director and Best Picture.
The Golden Season: Best Director
I think it would be appropriate, at this stage of the game, to play a little Oscar 101, just for anyone who’s still confused about the rules that govern the nomination process. When it comes to selecting the films and artists in competition, each category is filled in by its corresponding branch of the Academy. In other words, costume designers pick the Costume Design nominees, screenwriters pick the Screenwriting nominees, and so forth. On the other hand, every member of the Academy has a say in the films that will be competing for Best Picture, regardless of what particular branch they belong to.
This is an important distinction to recognize, because it helps account for the discrepancy that often exists between the Best Picture and Best Director nominees. Conventional wisdom might lead one to believe that the two categories would or should be identical–after all, doesn’t it make sense for the directors of the year’s best films to also be nominated? But pretty much every year, there’s at least one odd-man-out, some schmuck who couldn’t quite land a Best Director nod, despite the fact that his baby is competing over in the Best Picture category. Too bad for him, but it means that somebody else is going to grab that nomination, effectively becoming the odd-man-in. This is the annual Wild Card slot in the Best Director race, a position that has been occupied, in recent years, by the likes of Pedro Almodóvar, Spike Jonze, and Fernando Meirelles. In 2001, there were actually two of these guys competing, as both David Lynch and Ridley Scott picked up nominations despite the fact that their films (Mulholland Drive and
Black Hawk Down, respectively) weren’t up for Best Picture.
Besides providing a nice little surprise on the day the nominations are announced (did anyone out there predict that Mike Leigh would nab that fifth slot last year?), this annual tradition illuminates the good taste and adventurousness of the director’s branch of the Academy. And since history shows that only one film has ever won Best Picture without an accompanying Best Director nomination (the awful, racist Driving Miss. Daisy, for those of you keeping track at home), the Wild Card nod also helps steer the entire Academy away from making disastrously bad choices–I think ‘thank yous’ are in order for those voters who killed the Oscar chances of Finding Neverland and Chocolat by not nominating their respective directors. That having been said, no one has ever won Best Director when his film wasn’t up for Best Picture. That pretty much relegates the Wild Card nominees to last place. Still, it’s an honor just to be nominated, right guys?
This year, for the first time since 1981, there is no Wild Card. All of the five Best Director nominees have films competing for Best Picture. Why now and why these five men? Your guess is as good as mine. It wasn’t a lack of potential, alternate nominees: David Cronenberg, Fernando Meirelles, Woody Allen, Terrence Malick, and Peter Jackson all had their supporters in the media. Some even suggested that the Director’s branch might go for Michael Haneke, perhaps as compensation for the fact that his highly acclaimed Caché was disqualified from the Best Foreign-Language category on a technicality. But none of these filmmakers were able to slip onto the ballot, so what gives? Is there anyone out there who really thinks that first-time director Bennett Miller deserved a nod more than, say, Cronenberg, who has yet to ever be nominated in this category? Or what about Allen, whose Match Point is considered by many critics (though not this one) to be a stunning return to form? Maybe support for all five of the Best Picture nominees is so strong and universal throughout the Academy that the director’s branch felt compelled to honor each of their maestros.
Just some things to think about on Oscar night while you wait for Ang Lee to make that long and long awaited walk to the podium.
BEST DIRECTOR
Nominees: George Clooney, Good Night, and Good Luck; Paul Haggis, Crash; Ang Lee, Brokeback Mountain; Bennett Miller, Capote; Steven Spielberg, Munich
Here’s a factoid that’s been thrown around a lot this season, but bears repeating: in the last two decades, only one person has ever picked up the Golden Globe and the Director’s Guild Award in one year, only to subsequently lose Best Director at the Academy Awards. That person is Ang Lee, who was defeated at the 2001 ceremony by the double-nominated Steven Soderbergh. It must have been quite disappointing, but Lee can take solace in the fact that history will definitely not be repeating itself this year. The versatile auteur has more than just a Globe and DGA win to his credit this time: his Brokeback Mountain, which has been honored by virtually every major and minor critics’ group in the nation, is a bona fide cultural phenomenon. To date, it’s also the highest grosser of the Best Picture nominees, and unlike Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, both technically and intrinsically American. Even if Crash somehow manages to trump Brokeback for the Big One (which it won’t), there is no way first-time director Haggis is taking this from a revered, Jack of All Genres like
Lee. He’s the night’s surest thing, and you’d have to be nuttier than Nick Nolte in The Hulk to bet against him.
Oh, and I almost forgot: Oscar loves make-up sex! The fact that Lee did lose in 01′ is probably reason enough for some Academy members to vote for him now. I’ve never been a big fan of this trend, this tendency to honor artists not just for the work they are nominated for but also for past accomplishments. If I thought like that, I would have rooted for five-time loser Martin Scorsese to win last year, even though I greatly preferred Clint Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby to his Aviator. Films and performances should win Oscars based on their particular merit alone. So as happy as I am to see Ang Lee become the first non-white male to win Best Director, my support lies elsewhere. Munich is both a spectacular piece of entertainment (intense, thrilling, engrossing) and a complex, sophisticated bit of socio-political commentary. Only a filmmaker as skilled and confident as Steven Spielberg could have pulled off such an amazing tight rope act. I feel a little guilty voting for the world’s most successful filmmaker in such an indie-oriented year. But Spielberg trumps the competition, and no matter how many times he’s been honored before (twice, in this category), he still deserves to win here.
Will Win: Ang Lee
Should Win: Steven Spielberg
All that’s left is the Big Prize itself, Best Picture. Will it be Crash or Brokeback? Or will my dreams of Munich sweeping in for a (very) surprising victory come true? Check back in for my analysis of the last major category, and tune in on March 5th for the awards themselves.
The Golden Season: Best Picture by Andrew Dowd
A biopic that plays like an intimate character study. A smart, insulated newsroom drama in black-and-white noir. An L.A.-based, Altman-esque ensemble. A violent, globe-trotting political thriller. And an epic, languid ode to forbidden desire.
At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be much connection between this year’s crop of Best Picture nominees. But look closer, as a certain Oscar winning movie recently advised us (hint: it was the one with the plastic bag floating in the wind), and you’ll see how much these five films really do have in common.
Trying to find a tangible link between Best Picture contenders can be an exercise in futility or a real no-brainer, depending entirely on the year. The 1998 line-up is the most obvious example of the latter: three of the nominees (Saving Private Ryan, The Thin Red Line, and Life Is Beautiful) were WWII films, while the other two (Shakespeare In Love and Elizabeth) were 16th century costume dramas. Other years, there hasn’t seemed to be much at all tying the top competitors together. I challenge anyone out there to find a real connection–thematic, stylistic, or otherwise–between 2001′s A Beautiful Mind, In the Bedroom, Moulin Rouge, Godsford Park, and The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Go on, I dare you, try to find one!
When it comes to form, content, or specific thematic intentions, this year’s five nominees are vastly different from one another. What they all share, though, is a refreshing commitment to exploring real issues affecting the world today. All of the nominated films are serious, relevant, and challenging cinematic experiences. Four out of the five contenders are period pieces, yet every last one of them is a reflection of American culture circa 2005–even Munich, which uses the Israeli response to the Black September massacre as a medium through which to examine and criticize our own War on Terror.
Really, you have to go all the way back to 1976 to find a Best Picture line-up this provocative: the incendiary nominees that year included Bound For Glory, Network, All the President’s Men, and Taxi Driver. Of course, even that race saw a light crowd-pleaser in contention, and none of those films really had a chance against Rocky, which, unlike its more daring competition, was warm and safe and uplifting.
This year, though, there is no Feel Good candidate for voters to back, no epic fantasy, no escapism. These films offer harsh truths and bleak realities. There are no real blockbusters in the mix either, as the highest grossing film (Brokeback Mountain) has yet to cross the $100 million mark. And with only one Hollywood studio film competing (Munich), some have dubbed this year’s Oscars “The Wannabe Indie Spirit Awards.” It’s not such an unfair label, especially when you consider that Capote, Brokeback Mountain, and Good Night, and Good Luck are all up for the Big Prize at the ISAs, too. It’s like a repeat of the art-house heavy 1997 Oscars, except that Jerry Maguire (which was the lone studio nominee that year) was a hell of a lot more popular than Munich is. Since many Americans have yet to see any of the nominees, some are predicting this will be the lowest rated Academy Awards telecast in history. I’m skeptical of this prediction, but we’ll know by Monday morning.
Ultimately, what else can be said about this year’s Best Picture line-up? How about that, politics aside, it’s the best one we’ve seen in years. Of course, everyone’s opinion will differ on which of these films is the “scrub”–i.e. the movie that doesn’t quite deserve its place among the others. For many, that distinction probably belongs to Crash, whose detractors seem to be coming out in full force to denounce it. For me, Capote is the one that seems a bit out of its league. But regardless of how one feels about the individual nominees, this year’s selections, on a whole, reflect an exciting shift in the Academy’s preferences. An investment has been made in quality over quantity, substance over style, and artistry over spectacle. Whether this endorsement of truly worthy candidates is a precedent or a momentary spell of good judgment remains to be seen. Me, I’m just glad to see some great films getting some real attention for once.
On that note, let’s proceed with my analysis of the last of the major categories, the Big Prize itself, the Grand Royale of all movie awards…
BEST PICTURE
Nominees: Brokeback Mountain; Capote; Crash; Good Night, and Good Luck; Munich
Say what you want about entertainment journalists, but they’re nothing if not creative storytellers. Case in point: this season, they’ve concocted one hell of a tall tale. Somehow, they’ve convinced everyone that this year’s sewn-up, locked-down, signed-and-sealed Best Picture category is actually a two-film race. Sure, Brokeback Mountain seems like the logical winner; after all, it has won the Golden Globe, the Producer’s Guild Award, the Director’s Guild Award, the British Academy Award, and more critic awards than any other film released last year. But according to self-appointed Oscar experts and bored media pundits, Crash has been gaining momentum all year and solidifying its fan base. Remember, it’s also set in Los Angeles, which is, you know, where most Academy members live. Forget that it has as many critics as it does supporters: that just means it’s controversial and edgy. So what was once a clear-cut, single film race has become a dead-heat between two strong contenders, right?
Sorry guys, but I just don’t buy it. Sure, it is true that Crash has been building momentum for a long time. The numerous nominations it received prove that it’s certainly a popular movie. But Brokeback Mountain is more than just a movie: it’s a cultural event. You know a film has entered the American Lexicon when MAD TV starts churning out parodies of it. Brokeback, like Titanic or Casablanca or The English Patient before it, is an epic four-hankie weeper; the only thing that Oscar loves more than a love story is a doomed love story. The fact that it also tackles, with grace and compassion, a controversial social issue, doesn’t hurt its chances one bit. If anything, it helps them, because it allows the Academy to believe they are shaping public opinion. Make no mistake, Brokeback Mountain will win this award. But don’t cry for Paul Haggis: he’ll have a screenplay Oscar to console him.
Capote. They’re all fine films, but if I had a vote, I’d cast it in favor of last year’s most unjustly ignored masterpiece, and this category’s long shot, dark horse contender. In a different year, under slightly different circumstances, Munich could have been the film to bet on. As it stands, it will probably go home empty-handed on Sunday night. But in a year (and category) dominated by progressive socio-political films, Munich towers above all of them, a thriller as ideologically complex as it is purely, viscerally exciting. This is the work of a master filmmaker at the top of his game. Hopefully, in time, it will get the adoration and respect it deserves.
Will Win: Brokeback Mountain
Should Win: Munich
That’s all for me, folks. Of course, I’ve got my personal opinion about all of Oscar night’s categories, from cinematography to animated short, but ‘ll spare you my never-ending musings on the subjects. Tune in on Sunday for the awards themselves, at which point this crazy carnival ride can finally stop, at least for a few months. Enjoy the show and thanks for reading.
The Golden Season: Best Picture by Andrew Dowd
A biopic that plays like an intimate character study. A smart, insulated newsroom drama in black-and-white noir. An L.A.-based, Altman-esque ensemble. A violent, globe-trotting political thriller. And an epic, languid ode to forbidden desire.
At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be much connection between this year’s crop of Best Picture nominees. But look closer, as a certain Oscar winning movie recently advised us (hint: it was the one with the plastic bag floating in the wind), and you’ll see how much these five films really do have in common.
Trying to find a tangible link between Best Picture contenders can be an exercise in futility or a real no-brainer, depending entirely on the year. The 1998 line-up is the most obvious example of the latter: three of the nominees (Saving Private Ryan, The Thin Red Line, and Life Is Beautiful) were WWII films, while the other two (Shakespeare In Love and Elizabeth) were 16th century costume dramas. Other years, there hasn’t seemed to be much at all tying the top competitors together. I challenge anyone out there to find a real connection–thematic, stylistic, or otherwise–between 2001′s A Beautiful Mind, In the Bedroom, Moulin Rouge, Godsford Park, and The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. Go on, I dare you, try to find one!
When it comes to form, content, or specific thematic intentions, this year’s five nominees are vastly different from one another. What they all share, though, is a refreshing commitment to exploring real issues affecting the world today. All of the nominated films are serious, relevant, and challenging cinematic experiences. Four out of the five contenders are period pieces, yet every last one of them is a reflection of American culture circa 2005–even Munich, which uses the Israeli response to the Black September massacre as a medium through which to examine and criticize our own War on Terror.
Really, you have to go all the way back to 1976 to find a Best Picture line-up this provocative: the incendiary nominees that year included Bound For Glory, Network, All the President’s Men, and Taxi Driver. Of course, even that race saw a light crowd-pleaser in contention, and none of those films really had a chance against Rocky, which, unlike its more daring competition, was warm and safe and uplifting.
This year, though, there is no Feel Good candidate for voters to back, no epic fantasy, no escapism. These films offer harsh truths and bleak realities. There are no real blockbusters in the mix either, as the highest grossing film (Brokeback Mountain) has yet to cross the $100 million mark. And with only one Hollywood studio film competing (Munich), some have dubbed this year’s Oscars “The Wannabe Indie Spirit Awards.” It’s not such an unfair label, especially when you consider that Capote, Brokeback Mountain, and Good Night, and Good Luck are all up for the Big Prize at the ISAs, too. It’s like a repeat of the art-house heavy 1997 Oscars, except that Jerry Maguire (which was the lone studio nominee that year) was a hell of a lot more popular than Munich is. Since many Americans have yet to see any of the nominees, some are predicting this will be the lowest rated Academy Awards telecast in history. I’m skeptical of this prediction, but we’ll know by Monday morning.
Ultimately, what else can be said about this year’s Best Picture line-up? How about that, politics aside, it’s the best one we’ve seen in years. Of course, everyone’s opinion will differ on which of these films is the “scrub”–i.e. the movie that doesn’t quite deserve its place among the others. For many, that distinction probably belongs to Crash, whose detractors seem to be coming out in full force to denounce it. For me, Capote is the one that seems a bit out of its league. But regardless of how one feels about the individual nominees, this year’s selections, on a whole, reflect an exciting shift in the Academy’s preferences. An investment has been made in quality over quantity, substance over style, and artistry over spectacle. Whether this endorsement of truly worthy candidates is a precedent or a momentary spell of good judgment remains to be seen. Me, I’m just glad to see some great films getting some real attention for once.
On that note, let’s proceed with my analysis of the last of the major categories, the Big Prize itself, the Grand Royale of all movie awards…
BEST PICTURE
Nominees: Brokeback Mountain; Capote; Crash; Good Night, and Good Luck; Munich
Say what you want about entertainment journalists, but they’re nothing if not creative storytellers. Case in point: this season, they’ve concocted one hell of a tall tale. Somehow, they’ve convinced everyone that this year’s sewn-up, locked-down, signed-and-sealed Best Picture category is actually a two-film race. Sure, Brokeback Mountain seems like the logical winner; after all, it has won the Golden Globe, the Producer’s Guild Award, the Director’s Guild Award, the British Academy Award, and more critic awards than any other film released last year. But according to self-appointed Oscar experts and bored media pundits, Crash has been gaining momentum all year and solidifying its fan base. Remember, it’s also set in Los Angeles, which is, you know, where most Academy members live. Forget that it has as many critics as it does supporters: that just means it’s controversial and edgy. So what was once a clear-cut, single film race has become a dead-heat between two strong contenders, right?
Sorry guys, but I just don’t buy it. Sure, it is true that Crash has been building momentum for a long time. The numerous nominations it received prove that it’s certainly a popular movie. But Brokeback Mountain is more than just a movie: it’s a cultural event. You know a film has entered the American Lexicon when MAD TV starts churning out parodies of it. Brokeback, like Titanic or Casablanca or The English Patient before it, is an epic four-hankie weeper; the only thing that Oscar loves more than a love story is a doomed love story. The fact that it also tackles, with grace and compassion, a controversial social issue, doesn’t hurt its chances one bit. If anything, it helps them, because it allows the Academy to believe they are shaping public opinion. Make no mistake, Brokeback Mountain will win this award. But don’t cry for Paul Haggis: he’ll have a screenplay Oscar to console him.
I’ve already written that this a particularly strong Best Picture line-up. Honestly, I could make a credible case for any one of these movies to win, though I might have to strain a little bit on Capote. They’re all fine films, but if I had a vote, I’d cast it in favor of last year’s most unjustly ignored masterpiece, and this category’s long shot, dark horse contender. In a different year, under slightly different circumstances, Munich could have been the film to bet on. As it stands, it will probably go home empty-handed on Sunday night. But in a year (and category) dominated by progressive socio-political films, Munich towers above all of them, a thriller as ideologically complex as it is purely, viscerally exciting. This is the work of a master filmmaker at the top of his game. Hopefully, in time, it will get the adoration and respect it deserves.
Will Win: Brokeback Mountain
Should Win: Munich
That’s all for me, folks. Of course, I’ve got my personal opinion about all of Oscar night’s categories, from cinematography to animated short, but I’ll spare you my never-ending musings on the subjects. Tune in on Sunday for the awards themselves, at which point this crazy carnival ride can finally stop, at least for a few months. Enjoy the show and thanks for reading.

Bubble

dowd.andrew — Mon, 06 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000

If you’ve heard of Bubble, the latest cinematic “experience” from Steven Soderbergh, chances are it’s because of its unique and controversial distribution strategy: much to the chagrin of theater owners everywhere, the film is being released simultaneously in multiplexes, on DVD, and on cable. Or maybe you’ve seen the creepy, surreal theatrical trailer, which depicts a montage of deformed, plastic baby-doll heads. Either way, none of the pre-release hype or promotional materials surrounding the movie sufficiently prepare you for what it’s actually like to watch.
Far from the avant-garde stunt it appears to be, Bubble is a very small, very understated slice-of-life drama. Shot on HD and featuring a cast of complete unknowns, it’s a low-budget artistic experiment likely to turn off as many viewers as it intrigues. How you’ll respond to the film depends entirely on your ability to get on its very particular wavelength, and appreciate the modest pleasures this peculiar diversion has to offer.
Set in a small industrial town in Ohio, Bubble quietly but purposefully traces the lives of its lonely blue-collar protagonists. When she’s not caring for her elderly father, Martha (Debbie Doebereiner), who’s overweight and pushing fifty, works at the local doll factory. Her best friend and co-worker, Kyle (Dustin James Ashley), is a soft-spoken young man in his twenties. The two go to work, engage in polite but mundane conversation, and interact intermittently with their family members. A portrait of working-class malaise, the film depicts its characters’ lives as a monotonous but comfortable trap, one built around a sense of structure and routine. Martha and Kyle may be unsatisfied, on some level, but at least they know what to expect. When Rose (Misty Dawn Wilkins), an attractive young woman from out of town, begins working at the doll factory, the fragile equilibrium of their habit-based lives is disrupted, and there are consequences for everyone involved.
Slow and uneventful by design, Bubble feels less like a traditional narrative drama and more like a series of moments, vivid snap-shots of small town desolation. Exploring a newfound fascination with the mundane, Soderbergh lingers on the sheer banality of his characters’ lives, and on conversations that amount to little more than awkward small talk. But there is method to this madness, and it is contained within the wonderfully natural performances of his inexperienced leads. Martha, Kyle, and Rose simply exist on screen, not as creations of the script but as real people you might encounter in your everyday life. Coming from these nonactors, the dialogue is refreshingly authentic, with the exchanges driven by the completely believable quirks and nuances of the characters. And, remarkably, these scenes are also load-bearing: every line of dialogue, every subtle glance or mannerism, is invested with subtext. The film would be dull and rather weightless were it not for the glimmers of desperation embedded in each scene.
Perhaps wary of making a movie stripped entirely of explicit drama or action, Soderbergh shifts gears at the end of the second act, tacking a big plot development onto his otherwise static narrative. This proves, in fact, to be a bit of a miscalculation: while the events that occur make sense thematically, they force a more conventional ending on the film, one that doesn’t gel entirely with its loose, observational nature. It would have been braver and much more appropriate for the movie to build to a less disruptive climax. Or maybe it shouldn’t build to a definitive climax at all, but rather just fade out on these lives, with as little fanfare as they were introduced. This turn for the sensational, as modest as it really is, betrays the film’s more interesting, admirable intentions.
Still, it’s quite satisfying to see Soderbergh, whose last two features were the garish, insipid Ocean’s Twelve and the bombastic Solaris, make something small and intimate again. Freed of his latter-day, stylistic trademarks (mixed-up chronology, non-synchronous dialogue, funky music), the director displays an artistic ingenuity that has been lacking from his work for years. And though Bubble feels less like a permanent return to form than a quick, in-between-movies experiment, it is reportedly only the first of six low budget projects the filmmaker has in the works. Is Soderbergh attempting some sort of artistic about-face, a reinvention comparable to the one Gus Van Sant recently pulled off? Probably not, especially considering that Ocean’s Thirteen has just been announced. Regardless, Bubble proves that it’s never too late to get it back and to return to your roots.

Andrew’s Year In Review: 2005

dowd.andrew — Sat, 21 Jan 2006 00:00:00 +0000

Maybe it’s the weather or the plethora of awful movies Hollywood unloads each January, but something about this particular time of year really puts film critics in a foul mood. As I peruse the variety of Best-and-Worst lists of 2005, I’m struck by the number of writers and journalists who have used their opportunity to comment on a year of film as a medium through which to bemoan the continual decline of all cinema. “The truth is, 2005 was a fairly crappy year at the movies,” said David Poland of “Movie City News,” reflecting the negative spirit of many of his contemporaries–though this is coming from a man who put The Family Stone in his top ten. It’s the same story every year, with gloom-and-doom reviewers spending as much time complaining about the state of the industry as they do praising the few movies they DID enjoy. Call me old-fashioned, but shouldn’t we, as supposed film lovers, see the annual review as an opportunity to celebrate our art form of choice?
And there was certainly a lot to celebrate in 2005. Every year I see at least fifteen to twenty movies that entertain, intrigue, inspire, thrill or move me, and last year was no exception. What was most surprising and interesting to me was the number of movies that directly dealt with real, serious issues affecting the world today. There were films about war (Munich), race relations (Crash), abortion (Palindromes), intolerance (Brokeback Mountain), gender identity issues (Breakfast on Pluto, TransAmerica), and pharmaceutical abuse (The Constant Gardener). Both The War Within and Paradise Now tackled the philosophy of terrorism, while George Clooney had his hand in two films that offered pointed criticisms of the American government, Syriana and Good Night, and Good Luck. Even Steven Spielberg and George Lucas were able to sneak some sly political commentary into their big-budget, summer blockbusters.
Of course, not every good movie released in ’05 had a Big Message to convey. Some of the best, in fact, were small movies driven by character and story rather than some over-arching theme or agenda. And others were just first-rate entertainments, dazzling paeans to style over substance. Of the 82 new films I saw in 2005, here is my list of the ten best, from an under-seen indie character study to a $200 million fantasy epic. And it starts, of all places, in the Bible Belt.
Junebug- Not just the year’s best film, but also its most welcome surprise, an out-of-nowhere triumph of American independent filmmaking. The plot suggests a broadly comedic culture clash: a Chicago art dealer (Embeth Davidtz) travels with her new husband (Alessandro Nivola) to his home in North Carolina, where she inadvertently disrupts the dynamics of his exclusive Southern family. But there are no stereotypes or clichés here, and not a single false note struck in this smart, funny, and deeply moving ensemble. With the help of a wonderful cast–including the charming Amy Adams, in an extraordinary break-through performance–director Phil Morrison has made a film of rare power and insight, one that gracefully walks a line between behavioral comedy and rich human drama. The tension between Davidtz and her new in-laws suggests an understanding of the real, fundamental differences between “Red” and ‘Blue” America, but Junebug, at its best, is about the prickly, complicated bond we share with our families, about the contrast between who we are to them and who we really are. This theme is hammered home in the last scene, a sublime final moment capped off by a closing line so revelatory and cathartic that it casts everything that came before it in a new light. It’s the perfect end to 2005′s most rewarding cinematic experience.
The Squid and the Whale- In which an ironic hipster explores his own childhood, growing up and finding his voice in the process. The fourth feature from writer-director Noah Baumbach is allegedly based on memories of his own parents’ divorce; you can feel the sting of painful experience in every frame of this biting, brutally honest comedy, which concerns the post-separation war of words between fed-up housewife Joan (Laura Linney) and her pompous husband, Bernard (Jeff Daniels), who selfishly puts their two children in the middle of the struggle. Both achingly sincere and relentlessly caustic, The Squid and the Whale is driven by four great performances. Daniels does the best acting of his career as an intellectual bully plagued by stifling insecurity, and Linney, the restrained yin to his boorish yang, matches him scene for scene. But the real revelations are Owen Kline and Jesse Eisenberg, two very different sons coming to terms with who their parents really are. They’re the emotional anchors of this deeply personal film, which is as hilarious and touching as it incredibly bitter and harsh.
Munich- You know we live in strange, topsy-turvy times when the most challenging, politically relevant film of the year comes from Steven Spielberg, the world’s most famous purveyor of feel-good, popcorn entertainment. There’s nothing even remotely uplifting about Munich, his somber, violent, intensely provocative thriller about the aftermath of the 1972 Olympics, where 11 Israeli athletes were murdered by Palestinian terrorists. Starting with a shocking recreation of that tragedy, the film follows a team of assassins (led by the quietly charismatic Eric Bana) as they hunt down and eliminate the men responsible for planning the massacre. Spielberg stages this globetrotting mission as a series of pulse-pounding, Hitchcockian set pieces, yet to confuse the movie as mere action spectacle would be to ignore the complex ideological terrain that it navigates. Munich gets darker and more thought provoking as it goes, and Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner never stop asking questions–about government motives, about moral obligations, and, most profoundly, about the cyclical nature of revenge itself. This is serious, powerful stuff, delivered by a filmmaker who, thirty-five years into his career, is still growing and maturing as an artist.
Crash- There seems to be very little middle ground when it comes to Paul Haggis’s debut feature: either you find it be a brilliant, hard-hitting look at contemporary race relations or a simplistic, heavy-handed lecture on the ubiquity of intolerance. Regardless of what you think of Haggis’s cultural politics, though, there’s no denying the exciting, galvanizing force of his storytelling abilities. Like a Robert Altman film on steroids, Crash tells the interconnected tales of a dozen L.A. natives, all of whose lives are affected by racial prejudice. Moving nimbly from one character arc to the next, it gives actors like Matt Dillon and Hustle and Flow’s Terrence Howard meaty roles to sink their teeth into. At its best, it’s thrilling and provocative, a fast-moving ensemble drama with considerable emotional impact. At its worst, it’s still a highly enjoyable melodrama. Ultimately, moral messages aside, the film, like Short Cuts, may work best as a love-and-hate valentine to Los Angeles, that big, messy, polluted metropolis of the West.
Grizzly Man- Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction. Case in point: Timothy Treadwell, the subject of Werner Herzog’s utterly fascinating found-footage documentary. A self-proclaimed bear activist, he spent many years living amongst Alaskan grizzlies, until, in October 2003, he and his girlfriend were mauled, killed, and eaten by one. The strength of the film is its refusal to either mock or romanticize Treadwell, who genuinely loved the bears he swore to protect, but failed to respect them as wild animals capable of doing him harm. Herzog presents him objectively, through his own footage, and thus what immerges is a funny, sad, and strangely compelling portrait of a man and his obsession. The director frequently comments on the action via somewhat intrusive voice-over, but even this unnecessary editorializing cannot detract from the overall power of this outstanding nonfiction drama.
King Kong–Okay, so it’s at least a half hour too long and that business with the natives is still a little problematic. Those quibbles aside, Peter Jackson’s epic retelling of the 1933 classic is still monstrously entertaining, a towering achievement of the Event Movie era. Not since Spielberg made the first Jurassic Park has a filmmaker found such lively, effective use for the technology at his disposal: from its amazing recreation of depression-era New York to its never-ending cascade of leaping, snarling, prehistoric creatures, King Kong is a thrilling special effects showcase. But what gives the film its resonance, its soul, is Jackson’s commitment to making us wholeheartedly believe in the bond that develops between a young woman and a 25-foot tall ape. Thanks to the dedication of Naomi Watts (who radiantly fills Fay Wray’s shoes as the gorgeous Ann Darrow) and the utter believability of the lifelike, CG Kong, the film obtains a tragic romantic grandeur you can scarcely believe you’re falling for. When people talk about the magic of the movies, this is what they mean.
Wolf Creek–Because a good horror movie is hard to come by these days, and this is a great one. Three charming, sensible teens take a road trip to the Outback, only to get stranded and have unspeakable atrocities committed against them. This gorgeous but bone-chilling Australian thriller is like an impeccably constructed booby trap: it lures you in with its placid but unsettling first half, warming you up to its characters while it silently tightens the noose around their necks. And just when the film seems ready to explode from all the ominous tension, it does, and the audience is plunged, along with the teens themselves, into a nightmarishly vivid hell-on-earth. A lot of critics panned the movie upon its release last month, mostly because they were disturbed by its sheer brutality. But horror movies should disturb us: the best and the most effective ones prey on our deepest fears, slipping past our defenses and crawling under our skin. The terrifying Wolf Creek does all those things, and it is, in its own way, as powerful as anything released last year. It’s not for everyone, but those who can handle it will not be disappointed.
Good Night, and Good Luck–You can feel George Clooney’s love–of the 1950s, of investigative journalism, of cinema itself–in every beautiful, lovingly crafted shot of Good Night, and Good Luck. A sharply intelligent, coolly engaging period piece, Clooney’s second feature is a sort of anti-Network: in its depiction of Edward R. Murrow’s historic, televised attack on Senator Joseph McCarthy, it wistfully longs for an era in which broadcast media still fought the good fight for those watching across the nation. The film can easily be read as an allegory for what’s happening in America today, but looking for obvious parallels is perhaps less satisfying than just admiring the movie’s crisp black-and-white photography, its clever use of actual newsreel footage, and its strong sense of mood and pacing. In a dynamite cast, David Strathairn stands out as the strong but elusive Murrow, as does Frank Langella as his wary but supportive boss, William Paley.
Keane–A great, startlingly complex performance in a film nobody saw. As William Keane, a desperate and unstable man looking for the daughter he lost months earlier, Damian Lewis suggests internal confusion and distress through subtle shifts in tone and mannerism. His restrained but mesmerizing depiction of a lost soul losing his grip on the world around him is the centerpiece of Keane, a quietly intense, methodically paced character study. Everything about the film is understated, from its simple, handheld aesthetic to the uneventful nature of its meandering plot. But those patient enough to stick with it will find that it gets more suspenseful and emotionally gripping as it goes, culminating in a ending that is taut, touching, and quite devastating, all at once. This is a true independent production, one of the many undiscovered gems to float in and out of theaters every year. Here’s hoping it finds the audience it deserves on DVD.
Brokeback Mountain & A History of Violence- What tie could possibly exist between the two most critically acclaimed movies of the year? One’s an epic, languid ode to forbidden desire, the other a crisp, unsentimental bit of exploitation. Yet aren’t both Ang Lee’s tragic love story and David Cronenberg’s intelligent revenge thriller really, in their own separate ways, revisionist westerns? With its stunning, wide-angle vistas and its reflection of loneliness in the vast desolation of the Wyoming wilderness, Brokeback Mountain suggests the best work of John Ford, except that the doomed romance at its center is between two men. A History of Violence, on the other hand, plays like a particularly rough and raw gunslinger western, with the conventions of the genre subverted to expose the intrinsically American values they represent. Maybe you still don’t buy the connection. Either way, this list would feel incomplete without these two films, both of which are fundamentally American despite their foreign-born directors.
The honorable mention award goes to The War Within, Joseph Castelo’s disturbing but insightful look into the mind of a suicide bomber. It is followed by, in alphabetical order, The Edukators, Everything Is Illuminated, Fever Pitch, Last Days, North Country, Three… Extremes, and War of the Worlds.
Typically, after delving into my picks for the best films of the year, I also present a ranked list of the five worse movies I saw over the previous twelve months. I certainly experienced my fair share of cinematic disasters in 2005: though I dodged a lot of awful-looking Hollywood films (I wasn’t one of the unlucky few who caught Stealth), I did see a whole slew of mediocre to atrocious indies. But why bother calling out and ranking these follies when it is probably best if they were just ignored and forgotten.
I reserve my contempt for just one movie, a film for which Worst of the Year barely does justice. I’m speaking of Rob Marshall’s Memoirs of a Geisha, a stupid, shallow, pandering bit of Oscar bait stretched out over an agonizing two-and-a-half hours. It’s hard to decide what’s most reprehensible about the film: its glorification of prostitution and female subservience; its superficial, bastardized depiction of Japanese culture; or its flat, utterly prosaic aesthetic. Choose for yourself… or, better still, skip this middlebrow schlock altogether and go watch something, ANYTHING else instead.
I suppose it is rather hypocritical of me to complain about the negativity of film critics when I’m ending my year in review on such a decidedly negative note. But this has more to do with journalistic structure (I always try to lead strong) than it does with my feelings about 2005 as a year of cinema. On a whole, the good generally outweighed the bad, and I saw more films that I liked than I disliked. If I can honestly say the same thing next year, I should be able to dodge the Critical Blues for a little while longer. If not, all bets are off.