Director: Lenny Abrahamson
Runtime: 118 minutes
Rooting an entire movie in the perspective of a 5 year old is one hell of a risk, which is why director Lenny Abrahamson and his collaborators deserve countless hosannas. Last appearing with the oddball music dramedy Frank, Abrahamson has taken a gigantic leap forward with Room, working off of Emma Donoghue's adaptation of her own novel. Both a tense psychological drama and a moving mother/son, Room finds Abrahamson graduating to a whole new level as a director.
Like most kids, 5 year old Jack (Jacob Tremblay) loves when his birthday rolls around. He eats cake, gets extra attention from his mom, and gets to feel like the center of the universe. But the center of Jack's universe is terrifyingly small. All of his life, Ma (Brie Larson) has told him that Room - a soundproofed shack with only a skylight for light - is the entire world. Outside of Room is space, and then beyond that is heaven. Dogs and cats and other people, the ones the pair see on their TV, don't really exist. Ma's behavior would sound disturbing and cult-ish were it not for the fact that her placement in Room was anything but voluntary. Her lessons about the worlds outside of Room may be lies, but they are lies told out of love, in order to keep the awful truth at bay. There isn't much in Room, but at least mother and son have each other while cramped inside their four walls.
Even with a first half set almost entirely in a single space, Abrahamson shows remarkable dexterity behind the camera. Working with cinematographer Danny Cohen, he turns Room into a visually dynamic space. The camera moves and swings, and at times captures space at angles that make everything appear much bigger. The Room may not be big to us (or to Ma), but it's literally the entire world to Jacob, and Abrahamson and Cohen do a striking job of conveying this notion. The grim reality remains at the fringes, but is only palpable when Ma is significantly present in a shot.
Young Mr. Tremblay is effortlessly believable in his role, neither grating nor overly coached. He never hits a false note, and Abrahamson ought to be commended for guiding the young actor through some tricky material. Having the film so strictly grounded in his mindset pays off in spades. Jack is allowed to be both our window into Room's world, while also functioning as a protagonist with agency. W.C. Fields is famously quoted as saying, "Never work with children or animals," but Tremblay makes a compelling case as evidence to the contrary.
Meanwhile, Larson adds another wrenching performance to her resume as Ma. She plays the character's complexities with great restraint, keeping one on edge as to what her next move will be. Ma loves Jack, but she's also an adult who has had her life irrevocably altered, even if a day comes when she can escape from Room. Despite a few disappearances during the story, Room is just as much about Ma's shattered psyche as it is about Jack's experiences with the world (both the one he knows, and beyond). Room is about emotional imprisonment, but it spends just as much time dealing with recovery from trauma, which is hardly an easy journey.
Despite the eventual appearance of the outside world, Room remains anchored in Tremblay and Larson's beautiful performances. Under Abrahamson's watch, their story never gets lost even as the scope of the narrative widens. Room puts the bonds of mother and child through the wringer, but always with tasteful distance. Abrahamson and Donoghue present some harsh realities and harsh questions, but their concern for their characters mirrors Ma's treatment Jack: sometimes it's abrasive, but it ultimately comes from a place of profoundly moving love that refuses to be shaken.
Grade: A-
Director: Judd Apatow
Runtime: 125 minutes
Though by no means as sharp as her sketch show, Amy Schumer's leap to the big screen couldn't have come at a better time. Having finished up a third season of her acclaimed Comedy Central series (which featured an award-worthy 12 Angry Men send up), Schumer is one of the most talked about people on the comedy scene. Rightfully so, as her first feature Trainwreck (which she wrote and stars in), proves. Despite the softening around the edges that was perhaps inevitable in the leap to the big studio system, Schumer's voice has landed into the mainstream remarkably intact and genuine.
Billed as a subversion of the romantic comedy, Trainwreck isn't quite the radical comedy promised by the marketing, but that's not entirely a bad thing. Instead of firmly skewering the rom-com, Schumer and director Judd Apatow (Knocked Up) have simply applied the former's voice to a traditional comedy, and made a funny and sweet film in the process.
In fact, the only truly rebellious aspect of Trainwreck's screenplay is that it does a bit of gender-swapping in its main roles. This time, it's a woman takes on the cinematic responsibilities of being highly promiscuous all while harboring an ingrained fear of intimacy and commitment. That woman is Amy Townsend (Schumer, obviously) a Manhattanite working at a GQ-esque men's magazine who's no stranger to boozy one night stands. Amy has followed in the footsteps of her rakish father (Colin Quinn), whose mantra is, "monogamy isn't realistic" (drilled in during the hilarious opening scene). Amy's feelings are challenged, however, when her boss Dianna (a spray-tanned Tilda Swinton) assigns her an article about a surgeon (Bill Hader) who cares for A-list athletes.
To be blunt, the rest of the film doesn't exactly contain surprises. Whether judging by Apatow's other films or by rom-coms in general, there's nothing in the structure of Trainwreck that's designed to surprise. Where the film's success comes from is that it remains (relatively speaking) grounded in reality, offering scenes that are either very funny or quite touching (or both). Though Schumer's comedy often blends vulgarity with cutting commentary, Trainwreck demonstrates that she can create genuine moments of drama as well. With Apatow in the director's chair, the shifts in tone are surprisingly smooth. When Schumer and co. take a minute to really get "serious," the end result feels realistic and sincere, without becoming pretentious. This is not the next great American dramedy, but it is a winning mix of sass and heart often missing from studio comedies.
The second biggest surprise of the film is that, in addition to its sincerity, much of the drama falls on Schumer's shoulders. Backed up by an excellent cast, Schumer does what Jenny Slate did in last year's Obvious Child, and shows off her skills as a comedian and as a convincing dramatic actress. Amy's Amy is, depending on the scene, either the goofball or the straight (wo)man, and she handles both roles effortlessly. Whether making drunken commentary during a movie or tolerating backhanded compliments from Swinton, Schumer is a consistently winning presence whose charm is only magnified on the big screen.
Likewise, the supporting cast is full of effective performances, starting with Hader's love interest. The SNL alum steps up to the plate as a romantic lead, and delivers convincing and heartfelt performance. His rapport with Schumer is delightful, which only makes the weightier scenes register more deeply as well. Brie Larson, playing a role modeled on Schumer's actual sister, does lovely work too. As different as the two actresses look, Larson and Schumer have a believable chemistry as siblings who are bonded by love but separated by their drastically different outlooks on life. Swinton, meanwhile, is a delight in her too-brief role as Dianna, while a whole host of Schumer's comedian friends (Vanessa Bayer, Jon Glaser, etc...) fill out additional roles, each with solid contributions to their scenes. LeBron James (as himself) and John Cena offer riotously funny performances as well, using their limited screen time to maximum effect.
So no, Trainwreck isn't the game changing rom-com that Amy Schumer easily could have concocted. And no, it doesn't have the stinging feminist commentary that Schumer's best sketches possess. But that doesn't stop Trainwreck from working as a highly-enjoyable means of pitching Schumer to the mainstream movie-going public. The studio system has a habit of squeezing the life out of distinctive voices. Thankfully, in Schumer's cast, the voice has remained intact. Under Apatow's guidance (or perhaps protection), Schumer has leapt to the big leagues not by compromising her voice, but by adapting to her surroundings. With this first step now out of the way, the door should be wide open for the comedian to really make her mark. And even if that means getting a few more Trainwrecks along the way, well, that's hardly a bad thing.
Grade: B
Director: Destin Cretton
Runtime: 96 minutes
Short Term 12 ends exactly the way it begins: with a story that provides a glimpse into the lives of one of its characters. There are differences in subject matter and outcome, but by and large the bookends feel almost identical, as though nothing has changed. Yet given what transpires between those bookends, it would be foolish to judge Short Term 12 as being without narrative accomplishment. At the heart of Destin Cretton's festival sensation is a story rooted in the day-to-day triumphs and failures of humble people in humble surroundings. They don't change the world by the time the credits roll, but that doesn't mean that their journeys are less valuable.
Though certainly nowhere near as expansive and dense (few things are), it's tempting to compare Cretton's film to HBO's The Wire. The series' final scene is a montage of the city of Baltimore, showing how much it has stayed the same, despite all of the efforts of its protagonists. Yet rather than condescend, The Wire and Short Term 12 utilize this juxtaposition of big and small pictures to lend a human face to a far-reaching issue.
For Short Term 12, that issue is abused and neglected children. Based on Cretton's own experiences, the writer/director's sophomore feature follows the lives of the youthful staff at a foster care home. Opening with the arrival of Nate (Rami Malek), a new employee, the story's actual focus is Grace (Brie Larson). If anything, Nate is our window into the foster care home's world and rules. While he struggles (often with uncomfortably funny results) to adjust to the vibe, Grace and her co-worker/boyfriend Mason (John Gallagher Jr.) show him the ropes. In the elegantly paced opening reels, Cretton communicates information through effective dialogue and imagery that keeps the freeform narrative from stagnating.
More importantly, the script, as brought to life, is full of tenderness that never borders on sappy manipulation. There's ample opportunity for Short Term 12 to slip into ham-fisted white savior territory (3 of the 4 main staff are white; the kids are quite diverse), yet the interactions avoid condescension and stereotyping. As Grace and Mason go through their own isolated drama, Cretton remains firmly committed not only to their time at work, but the lives of the kids they're doing their best to care for. Some, like Marcus (Keith Stanfield), are nearing the end of their stay, while others, like Jayden (Kaitlyn Dever) have only just arrived. Yet the handful of cases that the script really hones in on are smartly chosen and delicately woven together in this portrait of kindness and frailty.
Grace and Mason, though never blank, are intelligently used to build up the subplots of the kids. They have to put their personal drama in the background for work, and the film follows suit. The first moments to really hit home are those of Marcus and Jayden. As Marcus, Stanfield delivers a beautifully reserved performance, and his scenes are easily among the most powerful. The young actor possesses a quiet magnetism that could fill up an entire movie all on its own. Even something as simple as a haircut comes loaded with deeper meaning, yet Cretton never pile drives the characters for the sake of exploitative suffering. These are people who have lived through horrific experiences, and the script is intelligent in its refrain from histrionics.
The closest that Short Term 12 comes to faltering - from a narrative perspective - is the run up to the climax. It's designed to take the open-ended nature of the character study and build to an emotional breaking point. Were it not for the strength of the characters, and Cretton's level-headed directing, the amount of bad events that pile up flirts with contrivance. Thankfully, the flirtation is brief, and it leaves no lasting marks. Aided by Joel P. West's delicate scoring, the film moves along effectively, yet never shortchanges a moment, even when as a few musical beats feel a touch on the nose.
Of course, the main source of all of the fuss about Short Term 12 has been Ms. Larson, and not without reason. With so much emotional turmoil going on around her, Grace is a figure of strength, capable of relating with the kids while still keeping order. Or, as Hemingway would put it (were he a fan of name-based puns), she's an example of grace under pressure. Always an engaging and watchable performer, Larson has never been given such a meaty role, and she nails every moment. Rather than go for big emotion, she keeps Grace in line with the film around her, only letting the cracks in the surface show when necessary.
Every bit her equal is Gallagher, who more than makes up for his puzzlingly flat work on The Newsroom with a charming and heartfelt turn that never feels generic or forced. Cretton takes his time pulling back the layers with Grace and Mason, especially the former, but the end result is authentic and filled with quiet beauty. By the time we reach the end, and see that the film is ending just as it began, it's hard to see the scenes as identical. As easy as it would be to dismiss the final lighthearted interaction, it's but the surface of these people's lives. Like Larson's performance, Short Term 12's authenticity and measured compassion are what make it such a quiet revelation. American indie cinema doesn't get much better than this.
Grade: A-
