Review: "Big Eyes"

Director: Tim Burton
Runtime: 104 minutes

Self-conscious weirdness is in short supply in Big Eyes, which turns out to be for the best for director Tim Burton. After several unwieldy, big-budget extravagazas that cheapened the director's visual quirks, Burton has found his way back to his roots with this telling of the story of artist Margaret Keane. Reunited with Ed Wood writers Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski, Burton's latest is a beautiful and (relatively) restrained effort that's also a much-needed return to form, albeit in a minor key.

The story of Margaret Keane (Amy Adams) and her grandstanding husband Walter (Christoph Waltz, at his Christoph Waltz-iest) is perfect fodder for writing duo Alexander and Karaszewski. The pair have made a career of investigating the odd lives of artistic outliers, including Z-grade director Ed Wood and pornographer Larry Flynt (The People vs. Larry Flynt). Margaret Keane isn't nearly as dynamic or eccentric a figure, but her story is one that lines up perfectly with the two writers' interests. In the early 60s, after fleeing an abusive first marriage, Margaret moves to San Francisco to try and make her way as a painter. Her signature is that she paints children with massive eyes. She catches the eye of Walter, a fellow artist, who quickly marries her to prevent Margaret's ex-husband from getting custody of her daughter.

Though Margaret's friend Dee Ann (Krysten Ritter) has her doubts about Walter, Margaret sees him as a blessing. That is, until her paintings start to sell and Walter takes sole credit for them. At first, Margaret can't really complain that much. The paintings sell increasingly well, to the point where celebrities like Joan Crawford and Natalie Wood begin to own them. Walter doesn't just sell the paintings. He sells pictures and posters and postcards of the paintings, creating one of the first kitsch empires of the 20th century art world. Old guard art critics, like The New York Times' John Canaday (Terrence Stamp), treat the paintings with contempt, but money continues to pour in for the Keanes.

Shut away in her studio and churning out paintings for Walter to take credit for, Adams' Margaret has an odd kinship with fellow Burton protagonist Edward Scissorhands. Though her life is far more comfortable, she still lives in a state of isolation, her true identity hidden from everyone except her husband, who convinces her that their entire empire will collapse if she ever takes the credit she deserves (according to Walter, people don't buy "lady art").

Regardless of the critical reception that greeted Keane's work, Burton and the writers have made sure to treat Margaret's story with sincerity. Kitsch craze or not, the big-eyed paintings were a crucial part of Margaret's life, and the film avoids turning her work into a punchline. Big Eyes has been directed with a light touch, but that doesn't mean that Burton is treating the material as disposable. 

Burton's work behind the camera is quite dynamic, which compensates for the spotty aspects of Alexander and Karaszewski's writing. Big Eyes doesn't showcase the director or the writers at their finest, but the flaws entirely stem from the screenplay. Alexander and Karaszewski researched Keane's life extensively, but they have missed getting into the heart of her as an artist and a mother. Margaret repeatedly mentions that the big eyed paintings are a part of her, but her reason for focusing so intensely on the eyes is glossed over in a single line of dialogue. Unfortunately, Walter's fake reason for the paintings (they're the faces of children ravaged by WW2!) is more convincing that Margaret's exclamations that the art is part of her very being. Several flashes of real people with distorted eyes do little to get further into Margaret's head. Instead, they feel like superfluous, "weird" moments that exist to remind you that yes, this is a Tim Burton movie.

As a viewing experience, however, Big Eyes is the easiest Burton film to watch in years. Shot and decorated with super-saturated colors, the whole film is arrestingly beautiful in a way that captures early 60s pop art without shoving the style down the viewer's throat. Burton's films have always included lush visuals, but unlike the garish designs of his Alice in Wonderland, Big Eyes' beauty comes across as genuine and purposeful. The director's spritely pacing keeps the story afloat and prevents the story from dragging. Even in Burton's best work, pacing has not been his strong suit. Refreshingly, Big Eyes hops and skips through its story, never wallowing in Margaret's ethical dilemma.

Of the cast, Adams proves to be the most ideal fit for Burton's vision. While this is not a performance of extraordinary depth, it captures Keane's loneliness, confusion, and fear with great sensitivity. The characters in Big Eyes are as cartoony as Keane's paintings, but Adams grounds the story with a palpable humanity. Waltz, meanwhile, is on the opposite end of the spectrum. His increasingly unhinged Walter runs amok throughout the movie, most notably in the climactic courtroom scene where Walter and Margaret battle for credit of the paintings. Had the film striven for a toned down, intimate approach, Waltz's work would have been horribly mis-judged. Instead, he's a nice counterweight to Adams' emotional modesty. Meanwhile, the supporting players, including Stamp, Krysten Ritter, and Jason Schwartzman, are sadly underused. 

When we think of artists who deserve biopics, we think of the masters. December will also see the opening of Mike Leigh's Mr. Turner, about an artist held in far higher esteem than Margaret Keane ever will be. In a sense, Keane's work would seem unworthy of a film were it not for the incredible story revolving around the battle for authorship. Schwartzman's gallery owner, at one point, is baffled that anyone would even want credit for the big eye paintings. Yet one of Walter's points in the movie, despite the context, rings true. Who cares about the disdainful comments from the highbrow art community. The paintings are popular because, kitsch craze or not, they've made an impact on people, no matter how shallow. Even the most mass-produced art started somewhere personal, and has a story to be told. 

Grade: B-

Review: "Django Unchained"

Director: Quentin Tarantino
Runtime: 165 minutes

Moving from one historical horror to another (the Holocaust to American slavery), Quentin Tarantino's Django Unchained has all of the ingredients to be another riotous and incendiary work of film making. Yet what's most curious about Tarantino's latest offering is that, despite so many strong ingredients, the film feels in need of serious reigning in, more so than any of the director's previous work. Perhaps the greatest irony here is that even though Django contains some of Tarantino's most direct dialogue, the film as a whole still comes off as protracted and indulgent. When the various pieces of the film click, Tarantino achieves some furiously entertaining and compelling results. Unfortunately, there's far too much limp plotting in the early stretches that undermine much of the proceedings.

Opening with, as one would expect, credits perfectly recreated from a classic Spaghetti Western, Django gets its plot moving quite soon. German bounty hunter Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) rescues the slave Django (Jamie Foxx), so that Django can help him identify the wanted Brittle Brothers. Eventually the two extend the agreement. If Django helps Schultz, he'll help Django rescue his wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) from sadistic plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio).

And, like Tarantino's previous film, 2009's Inglorious Basterds, Django begins by introducing us to Christoph Waltz's character. And yet, from the get go, something feels off. Whereas Basterds began with slowly building tension, teased out by engaging dialogue, Django quickly succumbs to a strange sense of prolonged tedium. So much of the film's moments, even the bursts of violence, are telegraphed so early that tension is defused before it even accumulates. Tarantino has a knack for drawing out conversations in an entertaining fashion, yet here the technique feels tiresome. In an unexpected departure, much of the dialogue (especially in the early portions) is quite straightforward, getting to the point instead of dancing around said point. The great irony of this is that Tarantino's more direct approach to certain scenes feels more tiresome than his diversions.

Even the cast are somewhat let down by Tarantino's less embellished writing. Waltz, who remains a perfect fit for the writer/director's style, seems to get bored as he cuts through his lesser dialogue in order to get to the meat of the part. The same can almost be said for DiCaprio when he first appears. However, once the film settles in at Candie's plantation, DiCaprio truly comes to life, and thoroughly dominates a prolonged dinner sequence that culminates in a soon-to-be iconic speech about a skull. DiCaprio can sometimes falter when he tries to go 'big' with his performances, but here the actor is aces. His slow rise from steady boil to full blown explosion is among the film's acting highlights. It's over the top, to be certain, but the best performances in Tarantino's films rarely veer towards intimate subtlety. The film also receives an unexpected burst of energy from Samuel L. Jackson as a curmudgeonly slave on Candie's plantation. Jackson is both compelling and riotously entertaining in the role, and it stands as the actor's best work on screen in years. 

Unfortunately, even though Django is set amid the horrors of the slave trade, two of the most important black characters are among the least interesting. Kerry Washington is given little more to do than look worried and scream. More disappointing is Jamie Foxx. Despite being the titular character, one charged with a desire for bloody revenge, Django winds up feeling more like a cipher. Despite the occasional good one-liner, the character spends most of his time observing Dr. Schultz, who's more of a driving force even though the story isn't his. Foxx brings little to the role other than some sass, though there's not quite enough in the character for him to work with in the first place. 

And even when Tarantino hits the sweet spot, he sometimes ventures into overkill. A massive shootout, filled with orgiastic levels of spurting and spraying blood, nearly becomes out of control in its overwrought execution, even by Tarantino's standards. Worse are the more grounded moments, meant to highlight the abhorrent treatment of slaves. The film gets the point across - such as when two slaves are shown fighting to the death for mere entertainment - but the violence is so relentless that it threatens to become exploitative, rather than appropriately horrifying.

Yet perhaps the biggest stumbling block is the film's near-shapeless plotting. After building to what feels like a riveting, albeit vague, climax, the film trudges on for another 25 minutes to a solution we can already see coming. It's hard to know how much of this has to do with the fact that longtime Tarantino editor Sally Menke sadly passed away before the film even began shooting, or if even she could have reined the film in. Regardless, Django is easily one of Tarantino's least consistent offerings, with his indulgences getting the better of him at an alarming rate. Say what you want about his films, but they've never failed to intrigue or entertain me at every turn until now. Yet here there was a palpable lapse in energy from the get go, one that at times allowed me to wander off into tiny day dreams without the slightest concern that I was missing anything. Django may be off of the chain, and rightfully so, but Tarantino needs to be put on a much shorter leash.

Grade: B-

Review: "Carnage" (2011)

The final shot of Roman Polanski's Carnage, an adaptation of Yasmina Reza's acclaimed play "God of Carnage," doesn't feature anything wrong in and of itself. The composition, framing, lighting, etc... are all perfectly fine, crisply and cleanly captured by cinematographer Pawel Edelman. Yet when one takes into account everything that came before it, along with its supposed meaning, this final shot is a head-bangingly obvious piece of symbolism that does nothing but add an abrupt end to a fast-moving but ultimately tepid piece of satire and social commentary.

Opening with a shot of a park (one of only two exteriors in the whole film), we witness one boy (Zachary) strike another boy (Ethan) with a large stick. Next thing we know, we're in a Manhattan apartment with the parents of the aggressor (Kate Winslet's Nancy and Christoph Waltz's Alan) and the victim (Jodie Foster's Penelope and John C. Reilly's Michael). What starts as a simple conversation among the four of them to come to terms with the bit of violence between their children quickly devolves into a savage verbal battle.

Yet the problem, which registers fairly early on, is simply that Reza's target - middle class hypocrisy and self-righteousness - feels easy, and as a writer she hasn't said anything truly entertaining, interesting, or insightful. Add to the mix that characters switch sides so frequently that no one feels like they have any structure to them. Though the characters have some distinct traits, they ultimately all feel like limply-constructed mouthpieces for the author. There's no depth to any of the four characters, and it only becomes more apparent the more the script drags out the encounter between the two couples. There are any number of opportunities for Nancy and Alan to leave Penelope and Michael's apartment, but through contrivance after contrivance, they keep going back in the door for more punishment (for themselves, the other couple, and the audience).

It's a shame too, because Polanski's cast is trying their hardest. A pity, then, that they're saddled with such lackluster material. Occasionally their talents overcome the script's deficiencies - Winslet's drunken anger is fun to watch, along with Foster's holier-than-thou attitude and Waltz's general disinterest - but even the film's best lines barely register. Polanski's direction is straightforward and efficient, never getting in the way of his talented cast. Unfortunately, there's not much he, or anyone else can do to overcome the weaknesses of the source material, and therefore the screenplay. Thankfully the actors have plenty of energy, so the film never drags. At the same time, the only reason the pace is a strength is that it makes the film feel like a swift piece of mediocre film making rather than a tortuously drawn-out affair. It's all so surface-oriented, so forced, and so artificial, that even the third act theatrics fail to bring a much-needed spark to the scenes. Throughout the entire ordeal, Waltz's Alan displays a constant attitude of disinterest, remarking at one point that the whole conversation is pointless. As it turns out, he's right, and the result is that the film as a whole feels pointless as well.

Grade: C

Venice Review Round-Up: "Carnage"

Though it is among my most anticipated for the rest of year, I'm still on the fence about Roman Polanski's Carnage. Adapted from Yasmina Reza's Tony-winning play, the director's latest features an excellent cast (Waltz, Foster, Winslet, Reilly) in a situation that seems rife with possibility for juicy drama and dark comedy. The only problem is that all released info and footage so far has done little to calm my fears about one key aspect: the source material. As I'll probably end up saying every time I discuss Carnage, I was no fan of the stage show, which felt like it thought it was smarter, funnier, and more insightful than it actually was. I was counting on Polanski and his excellent cast to find something in the material that would make it work better. Judging from the first few reviews, I'm still stuck on the damn fence:

InContention - Guy Lodge (2.5/4 stars): "...the film....doesn't give [the subject matter] much resonance beyond the universal fun factor of milquetoasts behaving badly." "Foster is given the play's most garlanded role, and enjoys herself most when the character at last self-immolates." "The men, perhaps surprisingly, fare better."

The Guardian - Xan Brooks (4/5 stars): "...a pitch black farce of unbearable tension." "[Polanski's] direction is precise, unfussy, and utterly fit for purpose..." "It does turn a shade too shrill...in the final stretch..."

IndieWire - Oliver Lyttelton (C+): "...it's pleasurable enough, although anyone hoping for a return to 1970s form for Polanski will be disappointed..." "For this writer, it's Jodie Foster who was the highlight." "...at best Reza's material is targeting some fairly low-hanging fruit (upper-middle class hypocrisy, in the main) without adding much to the discussion..."

The Hollywood Reporter - Todd McCarthy (N/A): "Snappy, nasty, deftly acted...Carnage fully delivers the laughs and savagery of the stage piece..." "Polanski too often abandons group compositions in favor of close-ups..."

Variety - Justin Chang (N/A): "...never shakes off a mannered, hermetic feel that consistently betrays [the film's] theatrical origins."


Venice Verdict: Though it has moments that work, Polanski's adaptation of Yasmina Reza's play is a minor, and flawed, pleasure. Jodie Foster and Christoph Waltz emerge on top, even though the film around them fails to say much that hasn't been said before.

Trailer: "Carnage"

Confession time: I really wasn't a big fan of Yasmina Reza's God of Carnage, a play that that earned raves on Broadway and won Tony Awards for Best Play, Best Actress (Marcia Gay Harden) and Best Actor (James Gandolfini). It's essentially a bottle story, where two couples try and sort out a fight that happened between their children on a playground. The premise is rife with possibilities for explosive drama and comedy, but Reza's script (originally in French) always felt like it lost something in translation. I laughed at the production I saw (which had the second run of cast members, including Christine Lahti and Jimmy Smitts), but I always felt like I was straining. Some exchanges and quips were funny, but they also came off as hollow and unsatisfying. Throw in that ridiculous vomit gag, and I wasn't exactly impressed.

And even though I have hope that Roman Polanski and his amazing cast will be able to create a more satisfying end result, the trailer hasn't boosted my hopes much. Foster, Waltz, and Winslet seem like they're trying their hardest, while poor John C. Reilly is stuck with the story's weakest role. All that Polanski has done, if this trailer is any indication, is give us exactly the same product but with close-ups and more detailed sets. Whatever mix of intensity and pitch-black comedy the footage is trying to get across isn't really coming through. Instead, this looks all too much like the play: an attempt to subvert middle class personalities that isn't nearly as smart or incisive as it wants us to believe.

"Water for Elephants" - REVIEW

What is it that makes the circus so appealing? The clowns? The high-wire acts? The colorful costumes and slapstick humor? Probably all of them, to varying degrees. Variety is the key to a circus' success. And, when successful, the circus can be a captivating experience, even in the age of streaming films online; the connection that circus performers have with their live audiences is difficult to replicate, let alone capture. I say all of this because the following film, Water for Elephants, which has a great deal to do with the circus, mostly left me wishing that I was at one instead of in the movie theater.

This isn't to say that Francis Lawrence's film, an adaptation of Sara Gruen's acclaimed best-seller, is a bad one. It's simply a middling effort, one that fails to become truly involving or capture the magic. On the day of his final exam at Cornell, Jacob Jankowski, son of two Polish immigrants, learns that his parents have been killed in a car accident. He soon discovers that their home was mortgaged for his education, leaving him without a place to stay. Distraught and confused, he packs up some belongings and begins wandering along a train track, where he jumps aboard a late-night train. The train, as it turns out, houses the Benzini Brothers circus, run by August (Christoph Waltz) and headlined by star performer - and August's wife - Marlena (Reese Witherspoon). With his skills from veterinary school, Jacob slowly but surely becomes accepted into the circus by everyone from the crewmen to August.

Of course, at this point we know what's coming: the inevitable love affair/demonization of the 'other man.' Granted, Water for Elephants earns points for at least giving some context to August's dark nature, but as the film chugs ahead, it can't help but feel a bit too tidy and shallow. The film wants to look more at its characters lives and the dire situation of circuses in the Depression Era, but it all feels a bit thin. The standouts of the film are in the artistic and technical departments, with strong costume work really bringing the era alive. If only if the same amount of skill and passion had gone into the performances and writing. As characters, the one we best understand eventually becomes our domineering antagonist. Meanwhile, Pattison and Witherspoon's lovers have only middling chemistry. In the story department, there are vague hints of subplots that would better flesh out the hardships of the time period, which seem to have been either left on the cutting room floor, or left out from the script altogether. From what I can gather from friends who have read the source material, the film is a severely watered down version of the novel, to rather startling detriment. There are moments of uncertainty, but nothing that isn't resolved in an unsurprising way.

Weakest of all is how the story begins to lurch forward towards its conclusion in the last act. To his credit, Lawrence keeps the transitions between these lurches stable enough so that they aren't awkward or amateurish. Still, the final half hour leaves a lot to be desired, and concludes with an annoying neat and tidy ending. To be fair, the film is sporadically involving, and it's never offensively bad in any regard. It's just all too safe, tepid, and uninspired to be anything worthy of mention. The poster for Water for Elephants proclaims that "Life is the Most Spectacular Show on Earth." I entirely agree, because this film is anything but.

Grade: C+