AFI Fest 2014: "Clouds of Sils Maria"

Director: Olivier Assayas
Runtime: 124 minutes

The political revolutionaries at the center of Olivier Assayas' last film, the excellent Something in the Air, would probably hate to watch their creator's follow-up. Moving from social and political upheaval to the world of show business, Assayas' latest is a flashier exercise filled with star power and picturesque imagery. It's also one of the director's most purely enjoyable films, even though it outstays its welcome by treading through too much familiar ground. Snappy writing, sleek camera work, and strong lead performances will be enough for some, while others will look at the subject matter and themes and wonder why they spent two hours with testy celebrities. Or, who knows, you might even find yourself somewhere in the middle, as I did walking out of the Egyptian theater last night.

Films that poke at the behind the scenes activities of the entertainment world are often in a precarious position when it comes to the background details. Throw in too many references to real actors and celebrities, and you risk becoming glib and going after easy targets. Throw out too few, and the world of stardom, no matter how far removed from Hollywood, and the story seems too removed from reality to be fully convincing. On this level, Assayas has thankfully hit the bull's eye. The name-dropping is carefully placed, some of it timed for the film's bursts of humor.

Without replacing the actual development, those references go a long way in informing the mindset of Maria Enders (Juliette Binoche). A big star who's won over both Hollywood and the international scene, Maria is busy trying to find her next project, hopefully one that won't involve her hanging from wires in front of a green screen. On her way to a tribute in Zurich - to Wilhelm Melchior who gave her career its start 20 years ago - Maria and her sarcastic assistant Val (Kristen Stewart) learn that Wilhelm has died. Though distraught, Maria, with Val's coaching, makes it to the tribute, dressed to the nines and receiving thunderous applause.

Maria is all set to get out of Switzerland when she's approached by rising director Klaus Diesterweg (Lars Eidinger), who has an ambitious proposition in mind. He wants to restage Melchior's play Maloja Snake, in which Maria originally played the dangerous young ingenue, but with Maria in the role of the older woman. Though Maria eventually agrees, digging into the role of the desperate Helena, seduced and destroyed by young Sigrid, proves far more difficult than anticipated. Secluded in Melchior's mountain home at the behest of his widow, Maria and Val run lines and debate interpretations of the play in the run up to meeting the future Sigrid: Jo-Ann Ellis (Chloe Grace Moretz), a classically trained actress with Hollywood bad girl tendencies.

Sils Maria's first two parts are never less than a blast to sit through. Part one, which ends with Maria and Val preparing to head into the mountains, is lusciously shot, accentuating the high fashion, fancy galas, and luxury cars. Several dynamic, overhead camera shots make Maria's travels feel like the arrival at the red carpet of the Oscars. Assayas can be a fluid and engaging storyteller - Something in the Air had its share of thrilling photography - but here he's clearly having quite a bit of fun dipping his toes in the lives of the rich and famous. Though not as showy, the film's second part, confined to the mountains, is just as visually arresting.

That same sense of liberated style also applies to Binoche's just-shy-of-fading star. An expert at playing charming, sensitive characters, it's great fun to see the actress tear into such a haughty, self-involved role. Her face, which grows exponentially more expressive with each passing year, is a joy to watch as Maria's fear, disdain, and spite burrow into her eyes and the lines around her eyes and mouth. Even when Maria sheds the fancy gowns and chops off most of her beautiful black hair to prepare for rehearsals, she remains as nervy and high maintenance, a cactus draped in Chanel. For longtime followers of the Church of Binoche (converting was one of the best decisions I've ever made), her success with the role likely won't be a surprise. Just as Assayas' world knows what Maria Enders is capable of, international audiences have long been aware of Binoche's talents.

So even though it's fun to see Binoche play such a different role, the film's understated surprise is none other than Stewart. An easy target after the Twilight series, the actress has made the leap to "respectable" world cinema without stumbling. If anything, she's proven that she's much better suited to material like what Assayas has given her than blockbuster extravaganzas. Stewart, low-key, sarcastic, and determined, is an inspired foil for Binoche's high-pitched hysterics. Initially just a sounding board with two phones, Val inches out of her shell once the film moves to the mountains. Never at full-on odds with Maria, Val's relationship with her jet-setting boss is what keeps some of the film's repetitive rehearsal scenes afloat. Maria and Val's opposing interpretations of the play nicely run alongside the film's ideas about aging and clinging onto youth in the face of middle age.

And even though some of Assayas' writing is rather on-the-nose, he keeps Sils Maria buoyant with a boisterous sense of humor. Without leaning too heavily on his Hollywood references, Assayas' script gets great mileage out of its characters' reactions to their compromised situations and idealogical confrontations. Even with the beautiful landscape photography, there's nothing more striking in Sils Maria than the small moments when Maria and Val go toe-to-toe, either at each other's throats or in laughing in each other's faces.

With Maria and Val's dynamic being such an integral part of the film's energy, it's no surprise that Stewart's exit from the story lets a lot of wind out of the story's sails. Even though the third segment of the film is labeled as the epilogue, it's far too long and touches on too many of the same ideas as before. The finale, set during a dress rehearsal, has a great moment between Binoche and Moretz, but just about everything leading up to that point could be left on the cutting room floor without any losses. Assayas touches on Jo-Ann's status as a paparazzi target early on with some hilarious footage of her bad behavior, so the reintroduction of the paparazzi at the end is redundant. Jo-Ann's scenes before the epilogue are more than sufficient, and the reprisal of the paparazzi angle detracts from the better established issue of aging and faded glory. For a film so confidently assembled, the epilogue is an odd misstep that gets in the way of Sils Maria keeping up its streak of winning dramatic and comedic moments.

Grade: B

Review: "The Tale of Princess Kaguya"

Director: Isao Takahata
Runtime: 137 minutes

There's a reason why certain tales are timeless. No matter the variations and adaptations, core cultural truths stand at the center of these stories that are passed down, in some form of another, from generation to generation. Having seen director Isao Takahata's The Tale of Princess Kaguya, adapted from The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, one of Japan's most famous folktales. Whether you're lucky enough to see the film with its original Japanese voice cast, or in its English dub, one thing is clear: Takahata's film is a quiet gem in any language, despite the details that may or may not have been lost in translation.

Though produced by animation juggernaut Studio Ghibli, Takahata's film is much more sedate than the studio's most famous works (Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away). A humble bamboo farmer (James Caan) discovers a small, fairy-like child in the woods. He takes it to his wife (Mary Steenburgen), only for the living figurine to morph into a human infant. A human infant that matures at a truly alarming rate. As the little girl (eventually voiced by Chloe Grace Moretz) comes of age and whispers of her beauty spread, the farmer decides that his Princess (his choice of nickname) deserves a life of royalty. And it seems like the gods agree. Bamboo stalks in the forrest begin coughing up gold, silk, and robes far outside of the farmer's humble country lifestyle. Next on the agenda? Establishing Princess as part of the nouveau riche in the big city.

What seems like a set up for a standard morality tale about society's corrosive love of money eventually turns out to be more fantastical and more complex. However, it's the narrative's more straightforward passages that wind up making a greater impact. Kaguya's struggle to adapt to the expectations of high society are where Takahata's storytelling is at its best. The princess' interactions with the haughty Lady Sagami (Lucy Liu), her tutor on the matter of all things lady like, are perfectly observed moments charting Kaguya's struggle to fit into the world her parents have dragged her into. 

Princess Kaguya's heroine is, at her core, a girl who never has the chance to really define herself. Her father engages a group of local kids in a shouting match over what to name her during infancy (their choice: Little Bamboo, which doesn't give off the spoiled brat vibe). Then, it's up to Sagami to mold her into a proper lady, which includes fun activities like plucking out your eyebrows, dying your teeth black, and moving almost exclusively by shuffling your knees. The facade of nobility is beautiful, but it's also quite a burden to maintain.

Takahata's interpretation of the story, however, is far more dynamic than the restrictive society he depicts (albeit in its own quiet way). This begins with Takahata's visualization of the story. Like France's Ernest & Celestine, Princess Kaguya opts for an ink and water color aesthetic rather than immaculate details. Without going overboard, this approach lends an authentic touch to a story so deeply rooted in Japan's cultural heritage. 

All of Princess Kaguya's images are beautiful, but the emphasis on motion and detail varies to accommodate different locations and mindsets. One of the film's most thrilling moments comes when, in a moment of panic, Kaguya flees her sprawling new home during a coming out party for local nobility. Running frantically though the dark woods, the brushstroke lines start to twist and swirl, almost threatening to swallow Kaguya up whole. It's frantic, and even a bit jarring, but Takahata and his animators never go too far. In its most formal and daring compositions, Princess Kaguya is as much a work of art as one of the scrolls that the title character recklessly unfurls, much to Lady Sagami's horror. Longtime Ghibli composer Joe Hisaishi does a beautiful job backing up the imagery with musical motifs that range from delicate piano solos to soaring orchestral swells.

And while I dearly wish I could have seen the film with its original Japanese cast, the American roster is no slouch. Moretz, known for sassy, wise-beyond-her-years characters, creates a believably innocent and carefree Kaguya. Caan and Steenburgen, though occasionally burdened with repetitive dialogue work well as the adoptive parents, and Liu and the rest of the actors tasked with playing Japan's nobles have fun puffing out their chests without becoming unbearable.

Only when the fantastical elements make their definite return to the story does Princess Kaguya start to lose a bit of its focus. The reintroduction of Kaguya's origins comes a bit suddenly on the heels of the main rags to riches story, and desperately needs more time. Instead, there's a bunch of exposition that Kaguya throws at her parents, with little time for any of it to really stick. Princess Kaguya captures its heroine's more realistic developments so seamlessly. The high fantasy elements that arrive during the finale almost feel unwanted. It's too much of a turn around to really care about, when the film has a much more compelling story of Kaguya reconnecting with her humble roots.

Rather than end its moving story in a way that effectively ties into Kaguya's growth, one is left a bit flummoxed by the amount of heavy mythology doled out only minutes before it becomes extremely important. The finale, touching as it is, loses something from such an abrupt transition. Takahata's film is beautiful to behold, but it ends by stumbling across in bewildering exhaustion, rather than in a triumphant sprint.

Grade: B+

Review: "Hugo"

A train crash occurs somewhere in the middle of Martin Scorcese's Hugo, and unfortunately, it's the perfect metaphor for the film as a whole. Despite the earnestness of Scorcese's efforts, the end result is a curious and curiously underwhelming film that suffers from a clumsy script and poor pacing. Coupled with the uneven Shutter Island, Hugo is enough to make one wonder if perhaps Scorcese's best days are at last behind him.

Adapted from the novel "The Invention of Hugo Cabret" by Brian Selznik, the film centers around Hugo (Asa Butterfield), an orphan in 1930s Paris who lives in a train station, and becomes entangled in a mystery revolving around a clockwork automaton. The film marks a rare foray into PG territory for Scorcese, but the film holds little for either children or adults to truly enjoy (though I suspect I'm in a tiiiiiiiny minority on this).

Hugo's biggest problem, unfortunately, is one that comes in right at the start: Scorcese and writer John Logan (The Aviator, Gladiator, Sweeney Todd) never properly establish Hugo as a character. Once the lovely opening shot(s) are over and the film moves into its first proper scene, one thing becomes clear: Ben Kingsley's toy store owner isn't the only one who doesn't understand Hugo; we don't understand him either. As Hugo refuses to explain himself, we can't feel anything for him because we have no reason to empathize with him when he withholds information from other characters. Once the film finally gives us Hugo's backstory (Hi, Jude Law!....Bye, Jude Law!), it's too little too late. This has an unfortunate ripple effect throughout the entirety of the film, and scenes that should be magical or moving feel muted. Throw in a pair of completely extraneous dream sequences, and you have a film that feels like it needs two or three (or five) re-writes.

More troubling is how weak the dialogue and character interactions are. There's rarely a moment that has any charm or wit, and the pacing and timing of the dialogue exchanges feels off by a few beats. Worse, there's a handful of characters who are even more poorly-set up than Hugo himself. Sacha Baron Cohen's station manager, a man who spends much of his time trying to catch orphans, always seems to be just, well, there. We never get a proper introduction to him, and yet we're expected to fear him whenever he appears. Even less fortunate are Frances de la Tour and Richard Griffiths as a pair of older merchants at the train station whose attempts at romantic connection are thwarted by de la Tour's yappy dog. No one fares worse, however, than Emily Mortimer, who has precisely two brief, uninformative scenes before showing up at the ending as though she's supposed to mean something. It's roles like these that make Hugo feel like a bloated silent film.

Hugo is meant to be a tribute to some of cinema's very first films (Lumiere, Melies, etc...), but weak dialogue and poor pacing leave the whole thing feeling like a missed opportunity. Scorcese's heart is clearly in the right place, but Scorcese the film enthusiast seems to have taken over Scorcese the director, to hugely detrimental results. Though the second half picks up a little and introduces some legitimately charming scenes, it never amounts to anything substantial or fully satisfying. This may have been a passion project for Scorcese, but ultimately Hugo stands as proof that one's passion for a subject matter can be blinding.

**Oh, and the 3D? Pointless.

***Yes, it's a pretty movie, but just about everything is in shades or orange and blue. Someone show Scorcese this article (link) ASAP.

Grade: C