Review: "Maps to the Stars"

Director: David Cronenberg

Runtime: 111 minutes

There's quite a bit of talk about fires and burns in Maps to the Stars, yet precious little actual heat. The latest from David Cronenberg sees him taking a knife to the squishy, slimy underbelly of Hollywood, with results that are more likely to induce shrugs than gasps of horror or outrage. Maps is something of a companion piece to Cronenberg's last film, 2012's Cosmopolis, tackling a different sort of elitist American culture, albeit with drastically different tones. The iciness of Cronenberg's approach in Cosmopolis was off-putting at first, yet gradually became an effective choice before making a gripping hard left turn into fire and brimstone condemnation. Unfortunately, the director isn't able to bring even a small fraction of Cosmopolis' concluding fire to Maps. Despite scenes that are, on paper, stomach-churning, Cronenberg's latest is ultimately a lukewarm stab at cutting satire.

Hollywood has always provided multiple angles for satirization, and Cronenberg and writer Bruce Wagner have at least assembled a good host of targets. There's fading star Havana Segrand (Julianne Moore), trying to revitalize her career in the shadow of her dead mother (Sarah Gadon), and her new assistant Agatha (Mia Wasikowska), who happens to be a burn victim. Then there's Agatha's possible boyfriend Jerome (Robert Pattinson, now at the front of the limo), a limo driver who really wants to be a writer and actor. And then, of course, there's the screwed up child star Benjie Weiss (Evan Bird) and his vaguely creepy parents (John Cusack and Olivia Williams). All good ingredients to have for an expansive satire of the entertainment industry's vanity, misplaced priorities, and closets stuffed full of skeletons.

Where Maps to the Stars veers of course starts with Wagner's screenplay, which spreads the screen time around so much that all the plot lines feel half baked. The most compelling part of Maps is Havana's story - in no small part thanks to Moore's Cannes-winning performance - yet Wagner spends so much time with the rest of his Hollyweridos that her story comes off as pointless by the time the credits roll. In Havana, Wagner is able to tackle issues such as celebrity status, aging, Hollywood's standards for women, and the trauma of childhood abuse, yet he refuses to fully engage with Havana's mindset. During the first hour or so of the film, Gadon pops up as the ghost of Havana's mother (a famous actress who died young in a fire), presumably to torment her struggling daughter. 

Yet as Wasikowska's own story starts to move independently, Havana's hallucinations cease and her mental strain is washed completely away. Gadon and Moore play off of each other well, and their casting taps into some interesting notions about age and talent, but every scene they have together is exactly the same. Havana asks what Gadon's Clarice wants, and by the end of Maps to the Stars, you'll neither know nor care (Havana seems to forget about her as well).

This is made even more frustrating because of how much fun Moore is having sinking her teeth into a role like this. She alone seems to understand what Cronenberg and Wagner are trying (and failing) to accomplish. She is constantly on edge, even when trying to meditate her way through receiving bad news, which enlivens Cronenberg's otherwise staid atmosphere. The biggest crime of the film is that Moore is a member of an ensemble cast, and not a definitive lead. With her at the center, Maps would have had a infinitely stronger foundation. 

Only Wasikowska comes close to Moore's understanding of the film's aims, even as she's saddled with an underwritten character. Though Moore dominates the scenes with Havana and Agatha, Wasikowska is able to effectively hold her own as a sounding board for Havana's histrionics. And when facing off against other cast members, Wasikowska is really able to shine, giving careful hints about Agatha's damaged psyche and doing her best to fill in the gaps of Wagner's writing. 

The rest of the main cast, however, look as though they've been directed into comatose submission. Bird has the looks to play a royally messed up Bieber-esque child star, but he's never given the room to truly dig into the character's excessive lifestyle and increasingly erratic mindset. Cusack, meanwhile, is unable to lend a spark to what should be a juicy role: a classic puffed-up Hollywood life coach/guru. Yet rather than inflate himself to fit the role, the actor shrinks and goes through the motions. As for Pattinson, he's only got a handful of scenes, and they're all of the sort that really don't require a name actor at all. The exception, and not in a good way, is Olivia Williams, who - perhaps because of the editing - appears to be giving two performances at once. One minute she's a domineering stage mother, and the next she's falling apart and weeping over a past trauma. There's no in between, and the shifts feel completely forced. 

Though Cronenberg knows how to direct freakish madness on screen (Videodrome, Naked Lunch, The Fly, etc etc etc), his forays into psychological dramas over the past decade have largely proven to be stillborn. Cosmopolis and Spider had some effective moments and ideas, yet films like A Dangerous Method were often just sluggish and hollow. Maps to the Stars presents the best opportunity for Cronenberg to use his gifts as a director of nightmares, yet those nightmares never come. Even with the ghosts, different forms of incest, burning bodies, and three dead children, nothing about Maps to the Stars resonates. The visuals are flat, the production design passable, and the music barely notable. The content on page is so scattered that it can't really work without a strong atmosphere to heighten to horror of what it depicts, and Cronenberg and his collaborators never supply it.

One can't blame the director for trying to branch outside of his body horror roots, but you'd think by now he'd have seen that films like Maps to the Stars really don't fit his skill set at all. I have no doubt that he has some genuine contempt for the seedier aspects of Hollywood, but Maps to the Stars ultimately gives the impression that he's just indifferent towards it. Were this his first foray into this sort of satire, it would be easy enough to lay most of the blame at Wagner's feet. Yet even though Wagner's script is heavily flawed, Cronenberg's directorial choices (or lack thereof) are equally lackluster. There is so much bark in what Maps to the Stars wants to say, but when it comes to bite, the film has forgotten to put its dentures in. 

Grade: C

Review: "Grand Piano"

Director: Eugenio Mira
Runtime: 90 minutes

Style over substance is the name of the game in Eugenio Mira's Grand Piano, which only makes its moderate success more surprising. A modern attempt at Hitchcockian thrills, with a dash of Mario Bava, this music-driven thriller is a flawed but ultimately engrossing experience. Despite a frustrating lack of depth (or even an attempt at depth), Grand Piano makes the most out of its modest budget to deliver a polished visual and sonic experience. The suspense will never have you clutching your armrest, but it will be just enough to keep you engaged in the loopy set up (some suspension of disbelief and/or alcohol may be required).  

At the very least, Mira's film, written by Damien Chazelle, doesn't waste any time. Once the title sequence concludes, it's not long before Tom Selznick (Elijah Wood) is rushing from the airport to make a concert. And it's not just any concert. As we learn over the course of the narrative, Tom suffered a breakdown after a spectacular screw-up during a particularly difficult piano piece. His big night in Chicago is his chance at redemption, five years after his viral video-spawning flub.

Of course, if the sinister opening hasn't already clued you in, Tom's night is about to take a rather extreme turn. During the first movement of the concierto, Tom discovers a series of notes on his sheet music. Among the more important points: if Tom plays one false note, he'll be taken out by a silenced sniper rifle by an assassin hiding somewhere in the concert hall. 

As over the top as the premise is, Mira and company play it just straight enough to keep one invested, even though there's not much to be invested in. The particulars of Tom's background are parsed out over the first two acts, which means there isn't a whole lot to grab onto when the threatening messages first appear. Mira compensates by working with cinematographer Unax Mendia to stage and choreograph the central concert with copious style. The camera often glides over the sections of the orchestra, opening up the relatively constrained space where most of the action occurs. Coupled with the concert, which acts as the film's own soundtrack, the photography helps lift Grand Piano far above its pedestrian scripting.

Yet although Mira knows how to work the visual elements of his film, he does a puzzlingly mixed job with his actors. Wood is perfectly fine, and just the right sort to play such a meek, emotionally fragile man. A pity that he never has the time to express Tom's inner turmoil over the enormous pressure he's face, and that's before the sniper's dot lands on him. Kerry Bishe and a mostly hidden John Cusack are also perfectly adequate in their roles as Tom's wife Emma and tormentor, respectively. 

More disappointing is how Mira and his cast handle the bit players. From its opening scene, Grand Piano is filled with shoddy, albeit brief, performances in the simplest of roles (Tom's seat mate on the plane, a stagehand, etc...). The biggest offender, however is the film's use of Ashley and Wayne (Tamsin Egerton and Allen Leech). The duo's crude idiocy (they're not keen on classical music, you see....) is used for bad comic relief that's mostly just frustrating. Mira keeps the pace nice and tight, so the pair are never overbearing, yet they still stick out from the pack of poorly performed supporting roles. 

Thankfully, Mira knows how to get maximum mileage out of the concert, which saves Grand Piano by the skin of its teeth as it heads into act three. Some may find the conclusion (and the motive for Cusack's character) underwhelming, but I found that it acted as a nice escalation of an already over the top set up. Rather than try and play games with audience in regards to who the villain is, the big question is what he's after and how he's trying to obtain it. Unlike Non-Stop, another recent release that felt like a Hitchcock-lite thriller, Grand Piano turns its villain's motivation into a revelation worth waiting for. Grand Piano hits its share of false or missed notes along the way, but its effective atmosphere and over the top plot are enjoyable enough, even if it's but a pale imitation of its iconic influences. 

Grade: B/B-

Cannes '12 Review(s): "The Paperboy," "The Angel's Share," and "Post Tenebras Lux"

The Paperboy dir. Lee Daniels [Competition]
I remain convinced that The Paperboy isn't a good movie, but that doesn't mean that you should avoid it. Quite the contrary. It should be near the top of your list of films to see this year, because I can guarantee that it will give you plenty to talk about. Honestly, bad movies sometimes seem less bad if they are at least interesting.


Adapted from Pete Dexter's novel of the same name, The Paperboy tells the story of Jack James (Zac Efron), a small-town paperboy in Florida who helps his journalist brother Ward (Matthew McConaughey) and parter Yardley (David Oyelowo) investigate whether a local man (John Cusack) was wrongfully imprisoned. In the process, Jack also starts to fall for Charlotte Bless (Nicole Kidman), a woman with a thing for convicts who is engaged to the incarcerated, despite having never met him in person. What follows is a mystery drama that alternates between being dull and being wildly entertaining in an exceedingly trashy, campy fashion. At one point Charlotte bitches out some local beach dwellers for the right to urinate on Jack's jellyfish sting and then yells, "If anyone's gonna piss on him, it's gonna be me!" If that's not entertainment, I don't know what is. Unfortunately, not enough of the movie is of the trash/camp variety. Mostly it's a series of dull scenes that somehow feel only remotely attached to the plot. The characters interact, yet the plot seems to progress entirely outside of the movie. 


Thankfully, some of the scenes are entertaining enough to make up for it, and the performances are all engaging. Kidman and Cusack are standouts, the former creating a sexbomb with a vulnerable side, the latter exuding surprising amounts of menace that make you doubt whether he should be allowed back into society, even if he's innocent. Efron is probably the weak link, though it really just comes down to one scene near the end. You have to admire the cast for keeping it together through Daniels' pulpy treatment of the source material. That had to be a challenge.


Grade: C-

The Angel's Share dir. Ken Loach [Competition]
An amiable comedy that isn't much of a comedy, Ken Loach's return to Cannes (his 11th time) is the sort of pleasant diversion that you can take or leave. It's certainly not must-see viewing, but there are worse things you could see. Compared to some of the films in competition, however, it comes off as hopelessly lightweight, despite skimming the surface of its protagonist's emotional turmoil.


Set primarily in Glasgow, Share centers on a group of young men and women doing community service. The group begins to bond with their supervisor, and one day he takes them to a whisky tasting. It's there that they discover that Robbie (Paul Brannigan) has a good nose for different types of whisky. Simultaneously, they devise a plan to steal an incredibly rare cask of the liquor to sell to a high end connoisseur. 


Nothing about the plot is remotely surprising, and the same goes for the character arcs. Loach, known for bracing social dramas, is taking it somewhat easy here, though one wishes he and screenwriter Paul Laverty had put a little more effort into building up the stakes and the humor. Performances are solid all around, with Brannigan making an appealing anchor for the story, but like the movie, there's no standouts. If anything, the film has too much in the way of serious elements, while simultaneously being devoid of strong comedic material. So by the time it rolls around to the conclusion, you know where it's going, and there's nothing to surprise you. It's not quite lazy, but rather a little too unambitious for its own good.


Grade: C

Post Tenebras Lux dir. Carlos Reygadas [Competition]
An excruciatingly dull piece of "art," Lux is a vague, distant attempt at...well, it's an attempt at something. Yet nothing, save for the image of a glowing red devil creeping through a house, clicks or comes together for an interminable two hours, resulting in a film that's both bad and boring. It doesn't get much worse.


After a protracted opening of a little girl running around some farmland yelling at the cows ("Vacas!...Vacas!...Vac-" SHUT UP), we're introduced to a family in Mexico. That's all I'll say because, despite an odd venture to a sex sauna, I find it tiresome to write much more. Critics can trash talk The Paperboy all they want, but nothing approaches the awfulness of this pretentious piece of drivel. Reygadas has some ideas in mind, yet the approach and nature of the narrative lacks any spark. It's that rare disaster that's mystifyingly un-engaging right from its opening scene. Avoid at all costs.


Grade: D