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Drive (2011)
Refn and Gosling knock it out of the park
I'm in the midst of a few things tonight, but wanted to stop and write a bit about Drive, because it's so exceptional that I can't not throw down a few words. So I'm aiming for something of a drive-by blog post here, but I'm finding it hard to write only a brief synopsis of why Drive is so amazing; there's a lot to say and appreciate about the movie. Film students, take note! The direction is phenomenal. Danish filmmaker Nicolas Winding Refn is the man to blame for that, and he just picked up the Best Director award at the Cannes International Film Festival for his efforts. Refn is known for a slew of films I haven't seen, but all of which seem, upon quick review, to involve at least their fair share of violence and murder. Examples include the Pusher trilogy, Bleeder and Fear X. Drive is no exception. Based on the novella of the same name by James Sallis, Refn's latest flick is about an unnamed Driver (Ryan Gosling) who spends his days as a mechanic and stunt-car driver, his nights as a get-away driver for crooks in the Los Angeles area.
Here's where it starts getting hard to merely summarize the fabulous aspects of Drive. But I'm trying
Refn frames his scenes and characters exquisitely; he knows exactly how to create and hold tension with the composition and length of the shot, as well as in the arrangement of characters and props (mise-en-scène). He draws brilliant performances from his actors, including Bryan Cranston as Driver's questionable boss, playing very much, and very well, against type. All of this—the amazing acting, cinematography, storytelling, mood-setting—is illustrated in the opening get-away sequence, which offers enough fodder for an entire essay of its own.
Sound! The sound is extraordinary in Drive: the recordists and editors did a great job with the ambient sound; the pulsing electronic score hovers in the background like a nagging thought tugging at your memory (but in a good way); and the soundtrack is totally awesome. The disco/techno beats blast out in contrast to the dark, nuanced tone of the story and its characters. As subtle as the film is about character development and backstory, a tune like College's A Real Hero will chime in to tell us straight up that Driver is "a real hero and a real human being." Refn seems to have fun playing with contrast and defying expectation. Even the font of the credits clashes with the somber opening scenes; retro pink neon letters are unabashedly slapped over broody, moody shadows.
So much to say
Cutting ahead to the pièce de résistance. The cast is solid all around. I mentioned Cranston, who is joined by a wonderful group of actors, including Albert Brooks, Ron Perlman and the deeply talented Carey Mulligan as Driver's love interest (though I'd like to see her branch off of the whole "sweet, ethereal and innocent" bit sometime soon). But the standout performance comes from the fantastically gifted Gosling. (Whom I would LOVE to feature on KickassCanadians.ca.) I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that Gosling is among the greatest actors of all time, and on top of that he seems to be a profoundly interesting, unique person. His choice of films alone speaks volumes about his character.
In Drive, Gosling doesn't talk much; barely at all, in fact. But he communicates plenty with his eyes and body. Refn's film demands a very technically precise performance from Gosling, and he pulls it off brilliantly. More than that, the actor is able to embody a fully realized person in spite of the fact that the script gives us very little to go on by way of who Driver is. We're told almost nothing about the character's past. It's clear from his actions, and the scrap word tossed out here and there, that he's very experienced at what he does. But it isn't until he's called upon to respond with violence that we know just what he's capable of. When he strikes, it's with chilling ease, skill and speed (so that's why there's a scorpion emblem on his jacket). It leaves you wondering: "Where did he learn to kill like that?" Whatever his background, it also taught him not to fear love and to follow a code of honour that includes loyalty and integrity. He has a deep well of violence churning within him, and you see him struggle at times with whether to draw from it or leave it be. But on the whole, he seems to have a pretty solid sense of right and wrong. Driver, Irene (Mulligan) and her young son seem to be among the few "good" people in Drive, and their scenes together seem to exist on another plane; magical wisps that somehow floated into the rest of Drive and took root. I don't mean to suggest this as a flaw; their scenes come across as stolen moments in time, and again hark back to Refn's apparent fondness for toying with contrast, and preconceptions about genre.
Honestly, Gosling's performance, the use of sound, mise-en-scène, direction, genre convention
So many aspects of this film could be broken down and analyzed at length. I'll stop here, but suffice it to say that I highly recommend Drive. It's an artful, intelligent, unique, entertaining, gripping movie that deserves the recognition it's getting. One of the best I've seen. Outstanding.
Enemy (2013)
Denis Villeneuve spins a beautiful, twisted tale with Enemy
If you read my Prisoners review from September 2013, you'll know how much I've been looking forward to the release of Denis Villeneuve's subsequent film, Enemy. In anticipation, I read José Saramago's novel The Double, on which the movie is based. This was my second exploration of a film adaptation of one of Saramago's works, having read and seen Blindness years before. But unlike with the first experience, this time I had trouble getting through the book. In writing Blindness, Saramago took liberties with punctuation (i.e., he didn't use much of it), but it's even more extreme in The Double, where he spends countless pages detailing inanities in a confusing, repetitive manner. All that made for a bit of a tedious read.
Still, The Double does delve into interesting ideas about identity, perception, purpose and our very existence. So it was worth exploring. But for me, those ideas were better presented in Villeneuve's film adaptation than in its source material.
In Enemy, as with most film adaptations, the story is pared down from the novel, offering a leaner, and in this case meaner, version of events. Enemy cuts to the chase—even if that chase leads you in circles, after your own tail.
So what's the movie about? Well, that's a little complicated, but I'll start with what happens in the movie. We're introduced to Toronto-based history professor Adam Bell (Jake Gyllenhaal), who goes about his dreary, repetitive life, trapped in a cycle of routine lectures (on the ways totalitarian states keep people down), mundane sex (with his girlfriend, Mary, played by Mélanie Laurent) and restless nights. His pattern is shaken up when Adam rents a movie, on a colleague's recommendation, and discovers an actor who looks just like him.
Adam tracks down the actor, a man named Anthony Claire (also Gyllenhaal), who already operates under a dual identity, having the stage name Daniel Saint Claire. Anthony's exterior matches Adam's, but his interior harbours a much darker side.
The men confirm they are one another's exact double, complete with matching scars. From there, things really start to unravel, particularly when the men swap women without consulting their partners (Anthony has a six-months pregnant wife named Helen, played by Sarah Gadon).
Enemy does more than tighten The Double's plot points; it takes liberties with events, trimming some here, adding others there. But it hits all the unmissable points.
The film also nails the novel's creepy tone, capturing the feeling of being caught up in the minutia of daily life, of endlessness, pointlessness and powerlessness. Capitalizing on the poignancy of the visual image, as opposed to the written word, Enemy's cinematography depicts a bleak, dingy cityscape, one that's yellowed out somehow, like faded images—relics of the past, or a history destined to repeat itself.
Beyond its cinematography, Enemy incorporates a visual metaphor and representation of The Double's twisted surrealism and sense of being trapped in a web. From the low-angle shots of streetcar wires that hang over the city like spindles, to the appearance of actual arachnids (for example, at an elite sex club, where men stare vacantly as naked women release live tarantulas from captivity), spiders are a recurring symbol in the film.
I don't want to break Enemy down too much, both because I want to avoid spoilers and because I should watch the movie a second time before trying to really analyze it—the film bears repeating. But it's definitely not for a lack of material to explore. Enemy, like Drive, is another great candidate for a film essay. Its script is loaded with double meaning and leaves even more open to interpretation than does The Double.
Whereas the book treats the two men, Tertuliano and António Claro, as being quite separate, the movie drops hints that they may actually represent two sides of the same person. We're given clear evidence that they are two different people, but there are also suggestions to the contrary, letting the complexity and ambiguity of the novel's themes emerge from the cluttered prose to rise to the surface.
Then there's the significance of changing the title from The Double to Enemy. The focus is directed away from the notion of a doppelganger and toward the threat it represents, but who is the enemy here—the state? the self? There's a lot to uncover, and it all culminates in a staggering ending; the final shot is a total WTF moment (and another departure from the novel, although it does bring to mind a line from The Double: "
sometimes dreams do step out of the brain that dreamed them
"). But after the initial shock wore off, I found it to be perfectly fitting with Enemy's themes, absurdity and apparent quest to get the neurons firing. A more conventional conclusion might have been clearer, but it likely would have felt trite or unsatisfying. As it is, Enemy keeps its viewers dangling, and I think that's exactly what the filmmakers intended.
Enemy is an interesting study in the possibilities of moving from page to screen. And while its tone, cinematography and trippy dream sequences are reminiscent of the Davids (Cronenberg and Lynch), more than anything else, the artistic choices behind Enemy demonstrate Villeneuve's own astonishing range; to go from Maelstrom to Incendies to Prisoners to this is quite incredible.
Enemy also features another of Villeneuve's fantastic casts. Laurent and Gadon are excellent as ever. Still, the film rests on Gyllenhaal's shoulders, requiring him to do double duty as both protagonist and antagonist (or are they one and the same?). He's more than up to the task, proving yet again that he's one of the finest actors working today.
With Enemy, Gyllenhaal also reinforces what a remarkable duo he makes with Villeneuve. I look forward to their next collaboration; what form it will take is anybody's guess.
Take Shelter (2011)
A haunting look at our future, and present
In my teaser about Melancholia and Take Shelter, I mentioned being curious about the two films because of their exploration of impending apocalypse and mental illness, and the question of perception vs. reality. As it turns out, I only made it to Take Shelter during the films' runs at The ByTowne, so Melancholia will have to be a rental or On Demand order for me. But Take Shelter absolutely didn't disappoint. It's a fabulous film—one well worth seeing and, if you're into the nerd thing, analyzing.
To recap from the teaser, Take Shelter assumes the point of view of Curtis (Michael Shannon), an Ohio construction worker who's beleaguered by the sudden onset of disturbing dreams and visions about a violent storm that promises to bring about murky acid rain and possibly the end of the world, at least as we know it. Curtis' episodes are so powerful that they leave a physical mark that carries over to the rest of his waking life.
Making matters more complicated—or perhaps simpler, for everyone but Curtis—is that he has a family history of paranoid schizophrenia, with an onset age right around his. While everyone in his life seems to arrive at the conclusion that he's simply presenting the first symptoms of the disease, Curtis seems to know better; rather than just accepting that medication and therapy are the answers, he begins building a storm shelter, using money his family really can't spare.
One of the things I was interested to see in Take Shelter was the treatment of Curtis' perceived reality in contrast to the reality presented through the rest of the characters, and whether it would really matter whether or not Curtis was right or delusional, given that his experience would always be framed by his perspective. As presented in this film, if not everywhere else, the difference between what may "really" be out there and what's in our minds starts to matter when we're no longer able to function alongside the people around us—even when we're right.
The film also offers an interesting study from a mental health perspective, both of the symptoms of the disease and of people's tendency to dismiss any difference as something "other"—they'd rather label Curtis as diseased, even without a proper examination, than try to understand what's foreign to them or face something they may not want to.
I can't say enough good things about Take Shelter. The script is among the best, with impeccable dialogue that never reveals too much and rings utterly true. The film features a great score that's suitably spare and haunting. Its imagery is demurely beautiful, and its performances are superb. As Curtis' wife Samantha, Jessica Chastain doesn't have a lot to do, but she's lovely in the role and provides a solid platform from which Shannon is able to anchor his exceptional portrayal.
Shannon is racking up the Best Actor nominations for his work here, and deservedly so. He's fantastic. From quietly tense moments to those filled with frustration and rage, he's always perfectly on key. There's a scene in the storm shelter when he holds the camera's attention for several beats, and each time, his inner turmoil is so plainly, perfectly conveyed. I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of Shannon after this.
Writer/director Jeff Nichols does a formidable job of bringing the viewer into Curtis' world, and then of turning it around and making it our own, giving us something very big to reflect on. It's a deeply impactful film, with wonderful glimpses of the good in humanity (the bond between Curtis and Samantha is especially beautiful, clearly built on trust, respect and kindness), and important questions about the darker choices we've made and continue to make, and what the potential consequences may be.
Mud (2012)
Nichols nails it again with Mud
Jeff Nichols has done it again. The writer/director's latest creation, Mud, is as beautifully shot and soulfully written as his last feature, Take Shelter (see the Take Shelter review from December 2011), which I absolutely loved. And although the two films' plots are quite different, their territory is familiar; with Mud, Nichols again explores ideas of perception, and how our experiences and belief systems inform our take on reality.
Mud has also been found (by many a reviewer) to share turf with the works of Mark Twain—in particular, the escapes and escapades of two adventuresome young boys, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. The movie is about 14-year-olds Ellis (Tye Sheridan) and Neckbone (Jacob Lofland), who go exploring in their boat and come upon a fugitive living on an island on the Mississippi River.
The fugitive's name is Mud (Matthew McConaughey), and that fact, along with his disheveled look (complete with snaggletooth and hand-knotted hair) and freewheeling lifestyle (he sleeps in a boat lodged in a tree), not to mention his whimsical, childlike quality, almost make you wonder at first whether the character is imagined by the two boys. Mud certainly matches them—and Ellis in particular—in his raw emotion and fierce stubbornness.
You wouldn't blame Ellis if he had constructed such a character. The boy's life seems to be sinking beneath him, as he faces his parents' separation and an impending move to the city, away from his beloved home on the river.
Ellis is also discovering girls. He's got his eye on an older high schooler named May Pearl (Bonnie Sturdivant). And no matter how careless she is with his heart, it seems to belong irrevocably to her. Love and romance are lifelines for Ellis, and as he gets hit by a wave of change, he clings desperately to them.
So when Ellis learns that Mud's crimes were committed in the name of love for his sweetheart, Juniper (Reese Witherspoon), he does everything he can to reunite the pair, even if it means butting heads (or fists and heads) with the bounty hunters who are hot on Mud's trail. Neckbone, of course, comes along for the boat ride.
Mud is a special film that paints fairytale and coming of age with a slightly sinister brush. Its darker hues and fantastical tones remind me of several other great movies about children at odds with growing up: Where the Wild Things Are, Moonrise Kingdom, Winter's Bone and even Son of Rambow.
The film is full of gorgeous imagery (flowing down the river; slowing long enough to linger on scrambling spiders or sun-streaked plants) and golden nuggets of truth and humour.
It's also buoyed by exceptional performances. In particular, Sheridan, who debuted in Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life, Lofland, in his first movie role, and McConaughey, who uses Mud to further his habit of delivering ever-better performances.
I saw the film with two good friends, LG and TG. As we were leaving the theatre, TG asked whether Take Shelter depicted women as negatively as did Mud. I was too tired to get into it at the time, but I'll say now that I don't think Mud ultimately does portray women in a poor light. Ellis' mother is revealed to be the stronger, more responsible parent. Juniper is redeemed. And although May Pearl is no gem, we see glimmers of brighter treasures to be found.
In the end, Mud suggests the promise of greatness—in love, but also in adventure, discovery and friendship. Ellis is left with hope, and so are we.
Before Midnight (2013)
A beautiful blast from the past
Before Midnight is the third installment of the ongoing love story between American Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and French Celine (Julie Delpy). First was 1995's Before Sunrise, in which the characters meet at age 23 and spend a blissful night wandering the streets of Vienna, talking endlessly and falling in love.
Then, in 2004's Before Sunset, the couple reconnects for the first time since Vienna. They spend an evening wandering the streets of Paris, talking, of course, and discovering that Celine never found true love, Jesse is unhappily married (with a young son), and they probably shouldn't have parted nine years ago.
Now, in Before Midnight, Jesse and Celine are 41 years old, living together in Paris and raising their twin daughters. We catch them at the tail end of a summer holiday in Greece. Jesse's 14-year-old son has just returned to Chicago, where he lives with his mother, and it quickly becomes clear, through more witty and winding conversation, that married life (or at least common-law marriage) has tested the strength of Jesse and Celine's commitment to one another.
All the Before films have their charms and merits, and feature exceptional writing, acting and cinematography. But each one is more substantial than the last, and with good reason. The first is about falling in love; it should be the most frothy and fun. The second is about deciding whether to give the relationship a go. And the third is about trying to make good on that decision.
It makes sense that Before Midnight is the one that sticks with you the longest and packs the biggest punch. Eighteen years in, and with more than one night's memories to build on, Jesse and Celine's story is weighted down by much more baggage, but it's richer because of it.
There are moments in each of the movies that carried over for me through the years. In Before Sunrise, there's Jesse and Celine's make-believe phone call in a restaurant, or Delpy's perfectly delivered performance at the pinball machine, when Celine steals the conversation while staying totally focused on her game.
In Before Sunset, the ending sealed the deal for me. It was so leading and provocative, you didn't need to see what was coming next. The film faded out on a fabulous note of anticipation.
In Before Midnight, it's the lengthy conversation in a hotel room that left a lasting impression. The scene plays like a microcosm of Jesse and Celine's relationship. They take turns dodging and tackling feelings of comfort, love, resentment, inadequacy, verbally waltzing through the bitter and the sweet and back again in the space of minutes, sometimes only even seconds. It's an incredibly poignant look at married life, and so real and fluid that you almost forget you're watching a performance.
I don't know of any other films, or even television shows, that present live-action characters over the span of 18 years. It's very special to be able to see these snapshots of Jesse and Celine's life, presented in near-real time and taken as the actors age. It creates the magical sense that these characters really exist; that, rather than catching a movie, you're actually catching up with old friends you don't see often enough. (There's even that trippy encounter you had several years back in Linklater's rotoscoped wonder, Waking Life.) The Before experience is even more special given that the snapshots are so well executed.
Like its predecessors, Before Midnight has a hopeful but open-ended finish. Perhaps nine more years down the road, we'll be treated to another day, or night, or few hours, in the lives of Jesse and Celine. Here's hoping.
Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
The Coen brothers make beautiful music together
The Coen brothers don't seem to feel bound by any particular genre, and that's a lovely thing for their viewers. With Inside Llewyn Davis, the writer/director duo delivers a gem of a movie about New York's 1960s folk music scene. Told in a pseudo-documentary style, the flick follows fictional Dylan-era singer Llewyn Davis (Oscar Isaac) as he spends a week bopping from couch to floor to car, from New York to Chicago and back again, pursuing a career in music even as he becomes less enchanted with his calling—or at least with the lifestyle it entails.
Inside Llewyn Davis is told so skillfully and with such authority that you imagine Llewyn really was part of Bob Dylan's scene. The film is grounded by a fabulous performance from Isaac, who nails the singing and guitar playing along with the acting. It also features an excellent soundtrack, produced by industry mogul T Bone Burnett.
As you would expect from looking in on a week in the life of a talented, vagabond musician, the film unveils a fascinating smattering of characters, human and otherwise, who cross Llewyn's path. The supporting cast includes John Goodman, a scene-stealer as bluesman Roland Turner, and Isaac's Drive costar Carey Mulligan as songstress Jean, showing off the vocal chops she debuted in Shame.
Overall, Inside Llewyn Davis is an emotional arrangement rich with mood and atmosphere; watching it often feels more like dropping in at a club than taking in a movie. There isn't always a clear direction, but each performance leaves you with the impulse to clap. And it's all wrapped up in an interesting finale that perfectly ties the film to time and place.
This is a great picture. I'll be surprised if it doesn't wind up with more than a few nods, come Oscar season.
Hanna (2011)
Hanna makes the perfect leading lady for a perfectly twisted Hollywood fairytale
Once upon a time in Hollywoodland, a brilliant young actress named Saoirse Ronan re-teamed with her Atonement director Joe Wright to defy boundaries and conventions, and create a new twist on the classic fairytale. The result? A very twisted tale indeed.
Hanna is about a lovely girl with big blue eyes and flowing blond locks, who was raised by her father Erik (Eric Bana) in a Finnish forest to be the perfect assassin. Poppa is a former CIA agent with a score to settle. Hanna (Ronan) is grappling with the usual coming-of-age issues facing most young girls who have been brought up in isolation, exposed to the outside world through only Grimm's fairy tales and an outdated encyclopedia, trained to kill without hesitation or remorse, and ingrained with the mantra "Adapt or die." When Hanna hits the golden age of 16, Erik realizes she's ready to step out into the world and complete her life's mission: to kill CIA operative Marissa Wiegler (Cate Blanchett). Hanna flips the switch to adulthood—the one that also alerts Marissa to her whereabouts, and brings a torrent of armored gunmen to the snow-covered forest for Hanna's capture—and the story kicks into high gear.
As she journeys through Morocco and Europe, Hanna encounters a series of oddball characters, many of whom are distortions of "classic" fairytale characters. (One is even called Mr. Grimm.) Through her coming-of-age adventure, she gets her first kiss, makes her first friend and completes her first human kill. In the reverse order. And usually in time to The Chemical Brothers' psychedelic score.
Wright clearly had fun exploring how to incorporate fairytale allusions throughout the film. There's an abundance of visual references to support the script, as well as a killer soundtrack. In his trippy and highly stylized approach, Wright somehow manages to make his heroine's peculiar point of view seem normal when compared with the characters and scenarios she stumbles upon. From the hippie tourist family Hanna picks up with, to the manic, obsessive-compulsive Marissa, and especially to Marissa's rogue henchman Isaacs (Tom Hollander), who plays very much like a sideshow ringmaster, nearly everyone Hanna meets on the yellow brick trail full of bread crumbs is a little
off.
The film takes risks. It throws genre conventions onto the chopping block, then tosses them all back into the bowl to serve up a unique blend of drama and satire, hyperrealism and caricature, simplicity and overkill. A tidily book-ended world of chaos. A bedtime story with bipolar mood disorder.
Hanna may be touted as "a fairytale gone wrong." But it's definitely a movie gone right.
Don Jon (2013)
Sharp, focused and not at all blurred: Joseph Gordon-Levitt delivers a clear take on gender roles
Don Jon is the feature film debut from writer/director Joseph Gordon-Levitt. In it, he plays a New Jersey guy named Jon who's addicted to porn, not to mention church, cleaning, road rage and bedding women—the rituals that get him through the week (or day, as the case may be).
Jon is sexist, shallow and one-dimensional. So, not surprisingly, he winds up with sexist, shallow and one-dimensional Barbara (Scarlett Johansson), whose addiction to romantic movies feeds her unrealistic expectations of the opposite sex just as much as Jon's addiction to porn feeds his.
The relationship plays out as you might expect. And then Jon gets to know Esther (Julianne Moore), who's older and far more self-aware than either Jon or Barbara. She has rituals of her own to get her through the day (to lose herself, as Jon might say). But they don't stop her from trying to make a connection to Jon.
There are two reasons I'm writing about Don Jon: First, because it's part of a long line of exceptional work from Gordon-Levitt, and an early indication of what he might become as a director. Second, because, in spite of its focus on porn and countless close-ups of women's bodies, the film offers a welcome counterpart to some of the other pop media out there today—the kind that doesn't bother to show a different angle.
I have a particular piece of pop in mind, but I'll get to that a little later. For now, it's first things first.
In case it needs to be stated, Gordon-Levitt is a highly prolific and unusually gifted actor. He's been in tons of first-rate films, including Brick, Looper, Inception, 50/50, The Dark Knight Rises and Lincoln.
He's also founder of a really cool open-collaborative production company called HITRECORD. They're putting out a slew of fascinating, high quality pieces, including books and even a forthcoming TV show. (Check out this call for artists for a documentary segment on unity.) As a fan of Gordon-Levitt's work, I was eager to see Don Jon. And I wasn't disappointed. Already, with his first feature film, he comes across as an assured director with a strong grasp of visuals and editing. It's not like he's a rookie; he's been on sets for nearly three decades and has already directed several short films. Still, Don Jon is an impressive first feature.
I'm looking forward to seeing Gordon-Levitt go further into creating mood through cinematography, and develop more complex story lines. But as it stands, Don Jon presents a lovely character arc, as Jon stumbles through romantic entanglements, and offers poignant observations on how we treat one another and the dangers of falling prey to the influence of popular media.
Which brings me to my secondary point. Because Robin Thicke's idiotic song Blurred Lines certainly doesn't deserve to be front and centre. It's the kind of thing I hate so much that I wouldn't normally give it any space on this blog. But it came to mind while I was watching Don Jon, so here it is.
I'd heard bits of Blurred Lines on the radio, and let it play because it's catchy. But when the lyrics sank it, even just those approved for the radio stations I listen to, I tuned out; something about wanting a "good girl" who still likes to "get nasty" was a little off-putting.
Then, when the damn thing got stuck in my head again ("'Catchy' is not a redeeming quality," says my wise buddy ACR), I looked the lyrics up and was totally appalled. The original version is beyond sexist; it's misogynist and threatening. I'm thinking of one line in particular, but the whole thing is just grotesque. Now when it comes on the radio, I always change the station, never mind how addictive the beat.
Anyway, I was really appalled and wanted to see what kind of reaction others were having to Blurred Lines. So I went online and found an interview in which Thicke acknowledges that his song is degrading to women, but says that it's okay because he's married and has respected women all his life. How big of him.
If that kind of "context" is going to carry any weight, it has to be established within the song. Take Eminem's Love the Way You Lie, a far superior listen; yes, it's got references to violence against women, but its lyrics have a clearly ironic tone. And by including the woman's voice (Rihanna's, no less, a woman who has borne evidence that abuse is no joke), he brings her perspective into it, redefining the lyrics and underscoring the irony.
Coming back to Don Jon, I'm not sure exactly at what point in the film I was reminded of Blurred Lines. But when Gordon-Levitt took care to show that people—of both sexes—are more than just their appearance, it made me very grateful that we also have men like him contributing to popular culture. And that he understands the importance of losing yourself with a real-life human being, one you can look at, but also one who is able to really see you.
Here's to more insights like these, from Gordon-Levitt and all artists who want to create works that will bring people together, rather than further divide, isolate and objectify.
* * * "You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You better never let it go." – Eminem, Lose Yourself
Girl Rising (2013)
Girl Rising hits new high for documentary filmmaking
I recently had the privilege of seeing Girl Rising, 10x10's gripping documentary about nine girls from around the world, and why educating them—and every girl—is vitally important to our future.
Each of these amazing, resilient girls comes from one of nine countries: Afghanistan, Cambodia, Egypt, Ethiopia, Haiti, India, Nepal, Peru and Sierra Leone. They all have incredible stories to tell, each with unimaginable hardships, but also with hope.
Girl Rising features a beautiful mix of live-action, animation and narration, of reenactments and reimaginings, as well as real-life footage. It's stunningly made, with fabulous cinematography, impeccable writing, and a unique approach to each story—fitting for nine unique and utterly captivating girls.
The film is also fair. It gives the girls a voice, which sadly has a lot to say about abuse at the hands of men, and being subordinated by both men and women. But it makes an effort to show positive male figures, like protective brothers and nurturing fathers.
Interestingly, the film is directed by Richard Robbins and its central narrator is Liam Neeson. To me, involving these men shows solidarity and an emphasis on healing the world together.
But that's not to say the male voices overpower the female in Girl Rising. Women leave a lasting mark all over the film, from the producers to the writers to the rest of the narrators, who are all female and include the likes of Cate Blanchett, Anne Hathaway, Salma Hayek, Alicia Keyes and Meryl Streep.
See Girl Rising and I believe you'll be deeply moved. The girls' stories are sometimes painful, but always lead to powerful, triumphant endings. And between each one, you'll discover overwhelming facts about the benefits of educating girls—benefits for them, their countries and the entire world.
I'm not sure when/if the film will get a wider release, but for now, you can visit GirlRising.com to arrange a screening, get more information and, of course, donate to one of the most important causes.
The Lego Movie (2014)
The Lego Movie is a perfect fit
A few years ago, back when I had only two nephews, I was on a quest for real Lego—those loose pieces that come in all sorts of shapes, colours and sizes, the kind you could build into whatever you wanted, the kind that didn't come with a set of instructions and a specific purpose in mind. I wanted to give my first nephews, Jon and Isaac, the kind of Lego I grew up playing with. But all I could find in my local toy stores were Lego kits, designed more for crafting predetermined ships or boats or planes than to stimulate the imagination. It wasn't until I stopped in at Toys "R" Us in Times Square that I was able to find a box of the prized pieces.
Today, I've got three nephews playing with that New York City Lego (young David joined the gang about six years ago). I'm proud to say that all of them prefer making their own Lego creations to sticking with the instructions. They love the kits, too—they're a new generation, after all—but once they've finished following directions, they take the finished product apart and start inventing their own versions.
As much as my nephews and I love Lego, we weren't on board right away with the idea of a Lego movie. When Isaac and I discovered the movie's poster during his recent visit to Ottawa (the boys live in another province), we were left wondering what on earth the plot would be about for such an obvious marketing piece.
Jon had the same doubts, although they were quickly turned around once he saw the movie last weekend. "When I started watching it, I was thinking, 'How can a movie about Lego have a plot?'" he says. "And then after, I realized it was pretty cool how they took Lego and made it into a huge movie." It's a huge movie, indeed. The Lego Movie comes from the genius writer/director team behind Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. Here, they've created a brilliant, self-reflexive animated flick that, in the words of fellow Lego junkie Thomas J Bradley, "perfectly captures the ideas of Lego." So what is the plot? I won't reveal the overarching premise, but the main story follows Emmet (Chris Pratt), a regular Joe Lego man presumed to be the "Special" destined to save the world from the evil Lord Business (Will Ferrell), who rules over all things Lego and insists that everyone always follow the instructions. Emmet joins forces with a fantastic group of rebel figurines, including Wyldstyle (Elizabeth Banks), Batman (Will Arnett), Spaceman Benny (Charlie Day) and the wizard Vitruvius (Morgan Freeman). Standing in the way, alongside Lord Business, is Liam Neeson's conflicted Bad Cop.
The Lego Movie holds together with shrewd observations about the real world and very clever plays on sayings, words and product names. It turns ideas on their heads and offers hilarious insights into the way children interpret their surroundings — all without alienating the parents in the audience.
Sean, my brother-in-law, dutifully took the boys to the movie, but he was pleasantly surprised by how much he himself enjoyed it. "There were a lot of adults laughing their heads off in the movie," he says. "It was well done." Sean also commented on the "nostalgia factor" the movie tapped into. For example, Spaceman's faded logo, or his broken chin strap. "That was what would always break first on those things." There's no question that The Lego Movie is an unabashed marketing campaign. The filmmakers deliver a fabulous one-two punch, targeting grown-up kids who were raised on Lego, just as much as the kids who play with it today. But they've also built a smart, inventive flick that shows what's at stake when imagination is squelched for the sake of compliance, and concludes perfectly by driving home the idea that one person's happy ending isn't necessarily the same as everyone else's.
More to the point, The Lego Movie is piles of fun. It's hilarious and visually awesome, and it makes it very clear that playing with Lego (or at least being creative, taking risks and believing in yourself) forms the building blocks of a happy childhood and an accepting, inspired adulthood.
I don't want to spoil the surprise by rattling off too many examples of what's so funny and clever about the movie. So I'll keep it to just a few of the best bits, according to my nephews and me.
David: "Everything is AWESOME!!! I liked the Lego lava at the beginning. It's so cool when it boils, Lego hot stuff goes flying up in the air. They used a lot of Lego pieces for that. Except it's not so realistic Lego. I love how that spaceship guy was screaming 'SPACESHIP!' the whole entire time he was flying; it was so funny. How does that work, Lego people talking? I guess people were dressing up as Lego blocks." Isaac: "I liked the rocket ship guy. And the Millennium Falcon. I thought it was funny. The ending was really funny. I don't know what my favourite part is; I just like building Lego. I just finished building a Lego castle, it's like six little rooms, each side of it has a roof and then a base on top. It has walls and a sniper tower. And I added more to the Lego ISS." Jonathan: "I really liked the part where the bad cop keeps changing into a good cop. I liked the plays on terms. And the ending was pretty funny. I read a lot about it in Isaac's Lego magazine so I kind of knew what was coming. It was really good." Me: "I loved Batman's song, Untitled Self Portrait: (To the barking beat of the Batmobile's subwoofers) DARKNESS. NO PARENTS. SUPER RICH. KINDA MAKES IT BETTER."
The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
The Grand Budapest Hotel: A five-star viewing experience
I don't know what it is about Wes Anderson movies, but looking back at my Moonrise Kingdom review from June 2012, it seems I felt the same way I do now about The Grand Budapest Hotel: I loved the movie, so much so that I wanted to get something up on this blog, no matter how short, but I simply didn't feel like writing much. Really, I just want to watch The Grand Budapest Hotel again and soak up any morsels of the delightful confection I might have missed the first time.
But before that, a few words about exactly why I loved it so much, in the hopes that your appetite may be whetted enough to get you to the theatres, ready to sink your teeth into this delectable treat.
The Grand Budapest Hotel is Wes Anderson in all his glory. The sets are masterpieces, oddball works of ornate, pastel art. The cinematography is extraordinary, ditto the score (with musical mastermind Alexandre Desplat returning to Budapest from the Kingdom to work his magic once again). And the story, chock full of absurd characters and absurdist scenarios, manages to touch on human and historical truths, all in a thoroughly engaging, giggle-inducing manner.
Most of The Grand Budapest Hotel takes place in 1930s Europe, although it moves around in place and time, being a story within a story, several times over. A young girl reads a book of the entire account, which was written by a now-deceased author, whom we meet as an older man (Tom Wilkinson) and then as a middle-aged man (Jude Law). As Law, the young writer travels to the Grand Budapest Hotel, only to encounter the hotel's fascinating, if lonely, owner Mr. Moustafa (F. Murray Abraham), who recounts the story of how he acquired it.
With that, the main story begins. It follows Mr. Moustafa in his youth, when he was a lobby boy who went by the name of Zero (Tony Revolori) and studied under the hotel's expert concierge, M. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes). M. Gustave is a spectacularly thorough concierge, even going so far as to take his patrons to bed—particularly the wealthy, elderly, female blonds. When one of those patrons is murdered (the mysteriously named Madame D., played by Tilda Swinton) and M. Gustave inherits her most prized possession, her greedy family is understandably suspicious. From there, Gustave and Zero embark on a wacky caper that makes its way across fascist-era Europe, into jail and down the snowy Alps near the fictional Republic of Zubrowska, where the Grand Budapest stands tall.
The Grand Budapest Hotel is as fanciful as Moonrise Kingdom, but even quirkier and much heavier. For all its whimsy and brightly coloured décor, the film's historical backdrop sets some darkly hued undertones. Case in point: the ZZ officers who invade Gustave and Zero's train compartment.
But Gustave refuses to bow down to the rising wave of fascism. He insists on preserving the "faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity." Indeed, the Grand Budapest itself is a nostalgic nod to Old Europe's refinement and romanticism. (Driving the point home, the film's 1930s storyline is shot in the nearly square aspect ratio used in the golden oldie movies of yesteryear.) Gustave runs the hotel with panache, leaving a haze of cologne and exquisite Mendl's pastries in his wake. Shamelessly flirtatious and unfailingly polite (minus an f-bomb here or there), he manages to come across as that oh-so-rare creature: an honourable jackass. This spectacular combination is delivered courtesy of Fiennes' brilliant performance. As Gustave, he's staggeringly hilarious; his brand of straight-up comedy is perfectly on point and appears utterly effortless.
Fiennes steals the show, but he's backed by a seemingly endless supply of impeccable actors, none above even the smallest cameo in a Wes Anderson film. In addition to those already mentioned, The Grand Budapest Hotel features an overwhelming ensemble cast that includes many Anderson favourites, not to mention mine—Willem Dafoe, Jeff Goldblum, Harvey Keitel, Edward Norton, and Saoirse Ronan as Zero's true love Agatha, the creator of those adorable little Mendl's pastries that look as scrumptious to eat as the movie is to watch.
All this to say I absolutely adored The Grand Budapest Hotel; I even managed to write a full review of it, after all. But there is some small print to read: As soon as the credits rolled, a guy behind me in the theatre said, "That was the strangest, most boring movie I've ever seen." Strange? Yes. Boring? Not in the least, not in my opinion. Still, maybe this movie isn't for everyone. But if you're a Wes Anderson fan, or even more generally an art fan, you should absolutely get thee to The Grand Budapest Hotel, post-haste. And you might want to bring along some pastries for the ride.