By-the-numbers, Oscar-hungry biopic about the late, great singer Ray Charles. There is one -- exactly one -- great scene in *Ray*. It occurs during a flashback to Charles' youth, after the boy become completely blind. Running into the sharecropper house which he shares with his mother, he trips over a chair and sprawls on the floor. He cries out for his mother; she, in keeping with her philosophy that a person should "stand on their own two feet", observes silently and pensively from the kitchen, waiting to see if the boy can fall back on his own resources. The boy proves to be up to the challenge, using his ears and memory to locate a kettle on a stove, a nearby fire-pit, the grass blowing in the wind outside of a window, the scuttling of a cricket across the plank-board floor.
The movie pauses, here; it expands; it breathes -- even if for only 40 seconds. The scene is a much-needed respite from Taylor Hackford's otherwise noisy film. By "noisy" I'm not referring to the music, which is, of course, excellent. I AM referring to the sound effects (big BOOMS! preceding yet another flashback) and the inane dialog ("I'm speaking to you as a FRIEND, Ray," etc.). On the visual side, Hackford is equally and pointlessly flashy: sepia-colored filters over the camera lenses during the flashbacks; whirling-dervish 360s from the camera-crane, etc. etc. All the modern amenities. What a horrible cinematic style is displayed in *Ray*! -- a style all-too-common in wanna-be "important" movies from the past decade or so (Scorsese's *Aviator* is stylistically very similar to this movie). These gimmicks are employed to obfuscate the cliché-ridden screenplay. Some of us won't be fooled.
Some of us also are not quite prepared to accept Jamie Foxx's performance as anything more than superb mimicry. Granted, Foxx eerily resembles Ray Charles: he walks like Charles, talks like Charles, and even twitches like Charles. Foxx's imitation of the singer during live performance is technically perfect. I'm not begrudging Mr. Foxx his Oscar; he deserved it. (It was a pretty weak field this year, anyway.) But one wonders if Foxx really UNDERSTANDS Charles. The actor does achieve one great moment when he insists on trying out the smack that his band-mates are shooting up: he registers, if only for a brief moment, a disgust at the unfairness of being blind and a life of darkness. The movie seems to want to dramatize the struggle within Charles between the bright salvation of music and the oblivion of heroin, with his blindness as the battleground between those two compulsions. But the damn movie just won't take the time: it bounces along from triumph to triumph, never really pausing for any insight into the man. One has to STRETCH to find the dramatic tension; one must supply the drama FOR the movie. One must, in other words, imagine a better movie than this one.
In its rush toward a glorious conclusion, *Ray* introduces, then dodges, several excellent ideas for a movie: his early days on the "Chitlin Circuit"; his bold musical innovations for the Atlantic label; the problem of his addiction to heroin; the inevitable artistic compromises attendant upon overwhelming success; the man's importance to the Civil Rights struggle (touched on in the movie for, oh, about 3 minutes of screen-time), and much more. The filmmakers are too lazy to focus on any one of these elements. Two-and-a-half hours of watching a man overcome one adversity after another may make us feel good, but such a movie is not necessarily a grand work of art. This sort of approach certainly provides no deeper insight into the film's subject -- and shouldn't insight be the real goal of a movie like this? If I had wanted a laundry-list of Ray Charles' accomplishments, I'd have simply Googled him.
3 stars out of 10 -- the extra 2 stars strictly for the music.
The movie pauses, here; it expands; it breathes -- even if for only 40 seconds. The scene is a much-needed respite from Taylor Hackford's otherwise noisy film. By "noisy" I'm not referring to the music, which is, of course, excellent. I AM referring to the sound effects (big BOOMS! preceding yet another flashback) and the inane dialog ("I'm speaking to you as a FRIEND, Ray," etc.). On the visual side, Hackford is equally and pointlessly flashy: sepia-colored filters over the camera lenses during the flashbacks; whirling-dervish 360s from the camera-crane, etc. etc. All the modern amenities. What a horrible cinematic style is displayed in *Ray*! -- a style all-too-common in wanna-be "important" movies from the past decade or so (Scorsese's *Aviator* is stylistically very similar to this movie). These gimmicks are employed to obfuscate the cliché-ridden screenplay. Some of us won't be fooled.
Some of us also are not quite prepared to accept Jamie Foxx's performance as anything more than superb mimicry. Granted, Foxx eerily resembles Ray Charles: he walks like Charles, talks like Charles, and even twitches like Charles. Foxx's imitation of the singer during live performance is technically perfect. I'm not begrudging Mr. Foxx his Oscar; he deserved it. (It was a pretty weak field this year, anyway.) But one wonders if Foxx really UNDERSTANDS Charles. The actor does achieve one great moment when he insists on trying out the smack that his band-mates are shooting up: he registers, if only for a brief moment, a disgust at the unfairness of being blind and a life of darkness. The movie seems to want to dramatize the struggle within Charles between the bright salvation of music and the oblivion of heroin, with his blindness as the battleground between those two compulsions. But the damn movie just won't take the time: it bounces along from triumph to triumph, never really pausing for any insight into the man. One has to STRETCH to find the dramatic tension; one must supply the drama FOR the movie. One must, in other words, imagine a better movie than this one.
In its rush toward a glorious conclusion, *Ray* introduces, then dodges, several excellent ideas for a movie: his early days on the "Chitlin Circuit"; his bold musical innovations for the Atlantic label; the problem of his addiction to heroin; the inevitable artistic compromises attendant upon overwhelming success; the man's importance to the Civil Rights struggle (touched on in the movie for, oh, about 3 minutes of screen-time), and much more. The filmmakers are too lazy to focus on any one of these elements. Two-and-a-half hours of watching a man overcome one adversity after another may make us feel good, but such a movie is not necessarily a grand work of art. This sort of approach certainly provides no deeper insight into the film's subject -- and shouldn't insight be the real goal of a movie like this? If I had wanted a laundry-list of Ray Charles' accomplishments, I'd have simply Googled him.
3 stars out of 10 -- the extra 2 stars strictly for the music.