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: "Godzilla"

Director: Gareth Edwards
Runtime: 123 minutes

The second that Godzilla's iconic roar blasts out of the speakers, you know that you've just witnessed the glorious rebirth of one of cinema's most famous movie monsters. After decades of silly ups and downs, Gareth Edwards' new reboot knows how to remind us all that Godzilla will always be king. If only the rest of the film were worthy of joining him on the throne. Edwards and co. create some stirring sequences, and they also keep the tone balanced between serious and silly. However, a lackluster protagonist and an uneasy focus on various members of the ensemble proves to be a considerable hurdle that the film is barely able to clear.

Faults and all, though, Edwards deserves credit for his handling of the towering monsters (yes, there's more than just the big guy). Restraint isn't a word that comes to mind when talking about a film involving cities being leveled, but it's rather on point here. Edwards handles the big reveal of Godzilla (Gojira, if you're feeling formal) gradually. This is a summer blockbuster/creature feature operating in the vein of Jaws or Alien, where the buildup, and the gradual flashes are more important that showing something in its full glory. 

To accomplish this, Edwards and DP Seamus McGarvey capture most of the mayhem from the ground level. We get a bit of a tail sliding away, a claw-like arm smashing into the ground, or a glimpse of Godzilla's scaly back. It's an inspired choice, and ensures that we, as viewers, look forward to seeing the monsters, instead of quickly growing bored of them. And when it comes time to let loose, Godzilla steps back just far enough to deliver the ridiculous action the character's legacy promises. 

Of course, in handling most of the action from the ground level, this means we have to pay attention to some humans too. Despite a stacked cast that includes (hi, Juliette Binoche) Bryan Cranston (bye, Juliette Binoche), Ken Watanabe, Sally Hawkins, and  David Strathairn the roles aren't terribly interesting or fun to follow. Cranston, at least, has a genuinely compelling emotional core that's effectively set up in the 1999-set prologue. Cranston's character is obviously a stock character (he's the mad man/conspiracy nut who's actually onto something), but the development the film affords his character puts the role far above similar characters. Meanwhile, Watanabe has some fun dispensing loony revisions of atomic history and spouting vague philosophical lines about nature's brutal ability to restore balance.

Everyone else mostly just does their jobs, with the exception being Aaron Taylor Johnson as Cranston's military-trained son. Johnson is also playing a stock character, but his feels totally empty, and even lazy; Charlie Hunnam's role in last year's Pacific Rim looks rich and nuanced in comparison. And, unlike Hunnam, Johnson has no fun characters to play off of. When the story is following Johnson around, the movie becomes a little less interesting, and makes you wish the monsters would hurry up and start causing mayhem again. 

With this human component left half-baked, Godzilla sometimes struggles to engage as it keeps teasing you with the history of the monsters, as well as the mystery of what they're doing now that they've been awakened. Most of the ensemble are also far away from the center of violence, leaving us with only terrified extras to connect with. 

Yet even with the deficiencies in the human roles, Edwards is still able to pull out some powerful visual moments as he keeps you waiting for the big finish. A scene of fighter jets losing power and dropping into San Francisco Bay is smartly used to build the vague sense of dread as the monsters approach. Even better is a freefall sequence that sends Johnson and other soldiers plummeting into the ruins of San Francisco from 30,000 feet. Red tracers streak behind them as they pass through layers of clouds illuminated by raging fires. The mix of painterly wide shots and claustrophobic POV footage is awe-inspiring, and there's not a creature in sight. 

And when the big fights start coming, they are appropriately big and clumsy. Here, Godzilla is a force of balance, meant to wipe out the insect-like creatures attacking human civilization. Yet his role as nature's proxy has no clear regard for human life. In his wrestling matches at the end, the big reptile does his fair share of property damage, all because it's a means to an end (how he's ever going to pay back the city of San Francisco, I have no idea). In between the epic tussles, Edwards finds room to insert moments of satisfying cheesiness. I'll avoid details, but there are certain gloriously over-the-top fight moves that are designed to leave audiences both cheering and laughing. 

Whether or not Warner Brothers decides to pursue a sequel, at the very least they've made an American Godzilla that can stand on its own (as well as erase the memory of the 1998 film). Most of that credit, however, belongs to Mr. Edwards, who has smartly brought the resourcefulness of his indie background to this big-budget extravaganza. The human elements get progressively weaker the further it goes, but Edwards still manages to hold our attention thanks to his inventive ways of never showing more than necessary. Faults and all, when this Godzilla roars, it's pretty damn hard to look at anything else. 

Grade: B-

Cannes '12 Review(s): "Cosmopolis" and "Mud"

 Cosmopolis dir. David Cronenberg [Competition]
A strong match of director and material, David Cronenberg's Cosmopolis, an adaptation of Don Delilo's novel, is an odd, icy film that remains compelling despite some intentionally brittle performances. Set over the course of a single day, we follows Eric Packer (Robert Pattinson), a 28 year old executive who wants to travel across town to get a haircut. For various reasons, the trip is delayed, and over the course of the day, Packer's life undergoes enormous personal and financial changes.


From the outset, Cosmopolis seems to be split in two. One half, the atmosphere, is quietly compelling, drawing you in even as the other half, the performances, seem designed to keep us at bay. The dialogue feels rigid, and the performers generally go along with the withdrawn oddity of the general tone. Trapped mostly in Packer's luxurious limousine, this is a surprisingly quiet film, one that mimics the protagonist's state of mind. Packer is part of the 1%, a man so dedicated to empty pleasure and wealth, that he pays almost no attention when he sees riots going on just outside of his car. The same is true of those who visit him, whether it's friend with benefits/art collector Didi (Juliette Binoche), or financial philosopher Vija (Samantha Morton). It's starts off oddly distancing, yet as it progresses, Cosmopolis' tone comes to the foreground, and the performances, appropriately, warm up. The non-1% characters, played by Mathieu Amalric and Paul Giamatti liven the film up considerably, knocking both Eric and the audience out of the stifling stillness of the limo. 


Pattinson, known mostly for the Twilight films, finally has his moment to prove himself, and he acquits himself adequately. At times he seems too hindered by the tone at the start, yet he really does improve as the character gets drawn out of his catatonic state. The show, however, belongs to Giamatti, who delivers a lived-in performance as a man filled with bitterness and philosophical resentment. Just as the movie starts to flag, Giamatti comes in and helps drive Cosmopolis through to its finish. Bolstered by Howard Shore's subtly mixed-in electronic score, there remains a quiet, pulsating energy throughout, although I suspect many will be left completely turned off by the chilliness of the entire enterprise. For those with whom the film actually connects, however, there exists a very good, perhaps not quite great deconstruction of the financial elite, as only David Cronenberg could present it.


Grade: B/B+

Mud dir. Jeff Nichols [Competition]
Thought it feels decidedly broader and more commercial than the incredible Take Shelter (2011), Jeff Nichols' Mud is a touching and effective coming-of-age story that should open the talented director up to a wider art house (and possible mainstream) audience. Set in Mississippi, two young friends, Ellis (Tye Sheridan of The Tree of Life) and Neckbone (Jacob Lofland), discover a fugitive named Mud (Matthew McConaughey) living in their favorite secret hangout. 


The hangout in question is a small boat that has, somehow, wound up lodged in a tree, and the image brings to mind the whimsy of films like Tim Burton's Big Fish, as well as classic stories like "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn." This is a film predominantly focused on one boy's experiences with love and betrayal, and all of the right ingredients are there on paper. What Mud is lacking, however, is a sense of surprise. Nichols feels comfortable with the material, but it doesn't feel like he's really pushing himself. It's good to know he can write this sort of indie crowd pleaser, but also disappointing in terms of how unremarkable (and occasionally repetitive) the plotting is. At 130 minutes, the film certainly isn't dull, but there are times when the nature of the story keeps it from being as taut or compelling as it could be. Then there's the climax, which, though handled well on its own, starts a little too abruptly, and borders on deus ex machina. 


That doesn't mean that there isn't a lot to like about Mud, because there really is. From the opening shots, including some lovely overhead shots of the Mississippi River, the nostalgic (but never sappy) tone comes through beautifully, thanks to Adam Stone's richly textured cinematography and David Wingo's lush, ambient score. The performances also help drive the story. McConaughey turns in his best performance in quite some time, devoid of his usual acting tics. He brings the sort of charming (but not smug) quality to Mud that makes you understand why people would be drawn to him, even if he might have ulterior motives. Reese Witherspoon is solid as well in a small role as the love interest Mud is hoping to reconnect with. Ray McKinnon and Sarah Paulson deliver strong turns as Ellis' parents, even though some of their material is among the weakest (one big fight scene turns uncomfortably on the nose). 


The standout, however, is young Mr. Sheridan, who really carries the film with his presence. He's an inherently watchable, likable screen presence, and Nichols extracts a performance from him that doesn't feel overly mannered or coached. When he finally gets his big moment, an outburst at Mud, he brings it home, cementing himself as a powerhouse. He captures Ellis' journey through romantic and idealistic disappointment with such naturalism, that I think it must be one of the best child performances to grace the screen in some time. For all its imperfections that keep it from greatness, Sheridan is excellent and, above all else, the best reason to stick through Mud all the way through its predictable, yet still touching finale.


Grade: B

"Certified Copy" - REVIEW

I sincerely hope that multi-national productions can be submitted for the Best Foreign Language film Oscar, because even though the year is young, competition is already fierce thanks to the French-Italian-Belgian co-production that is Certified Copy. The film, which includes dialogue in French, Italian, and English, picked up strong reviews at last year's Cannes Film Festival, in addition to a Best Actress prize for Juliette Binoche. Finally seeing the film, almost a year since its Cannes bow, I'm glad to say that both sets of accolades were richly deserved.

Opening in Tuscany, the film begins with writer James Miller (opera singer William Shimell) at a signing for his latest book, which argues that copies of original artwork are every bit as valuable as the original. Soon after, he stumbles into a dimly lit collection of artwork owned by Elle (Juliette Binoche). Tired of being stuck in hotels and conference rooms, James suggests they get some fresh air, and Elle decides to drive the pair to the nearby town of Lucignano. While there, a woman mistakenly refers to James as Elle's husband, and Elle never corrects her.

And once this happens, and the level of casual mystery enters Abbass Kiarostami's film, the film picks up considerably. Its opening moments can feel lagging and even tedious, if anything because it feels like a cousin of Before Sunrise/Before Sunset, only without the youth, vitality, or inherent charm. Kiarostami's film is considerably less romantic and much more melancholic, and this can be off-putting initially. However, the more time the pair spend together, the more quietly engaging the film becomes. Its pace never quickens, yet thanks to the sharp contrast in its characters, the material and subject matter, which could have easily become wildly pretentious, becomes something special, even if it can be a bitter experience.

As James and Elle continue their conversations, some meandering, some pointed, what starts out as a conversation on art evolves into a conversation on life, specifically the relationships between men and women, and their perceptions of the world. However, none of this would be worth it, though, without a compelling 'couple' at the center. This is where Certified Copy starts to get interesting, for better and for worse. To be clear, I have no complaints about Binoche, who is absolutely radiant throughout. Like the film, she grows more and more complex as the film progresses. She mixes emotional outbursts with restrained moments of sadness and anger under pressure, and masterfully executes a handful of crying scenes by barely crying at all. Her ability to emote so fluidly, in three languages no less, is impressive and rewarding to behold. Unfortunately, her acting partner is not quite as consistent. Despite a compelling, sonorous deep voice, Shimell can come off as either stiff or overly dramatic. The opera star's tendency to sprinkle his dialogue with pauses can sometimes come off as detrimental to the film's more free-flowing, casual style. It works in scenes with more heightened drama, specifically a fight at an otherwise empty Italian eatery. Yet compared to his co-star, it's hard not to feel ever-so-slightly let down by the realization that Binoche's primary acting counterpart can't always match her. The film also has a tendency to linger too long on shots, namely the almost agonizingly long opening credits.

Even so, it's hard not to be impressed with the way Kiarostami weaves his simultaneously simple and complicated story of a man and a woman testing the limits of their relationship over the course of a day. It can be meandering, and in spots a little unsatisfying, but it's hard to deny the overall strength of the director's latest. It may lack the feel good romanticization of similar films, but makes up for it with astute writing and a good deal of superb acting. It's not a perfect film, one that teeters between being 'very good' and 'great,' but at its best, it is unquestionably a work of art, regardless of how many copies of it exist.

Grade: B+

What I watched this week: June 6-13

After a delay last week (unfortunately the first week after I promised to start this series), I can finally get this post underway. To sum it up, these posts are meant to recap any films/TV series I've seen either on DVD or on TV, since it's easier to go through a lot of films at home than make a bunch of trips to the theater (films seen in theaters then, are left out). So, what have I been watching at home this past week (well, two weeks for this post)? Let's take a look.

The Sweet Hereafter (1997) dir. Atom Egoyan: Before Atom Egoyan was making Amanda Seyfried snog Julianne Moore (and much more), he was making delicate dramas about human relationships. In this critically acclaimed film (a rare modern picture that holds a 100% rating on RottenTomatoes), Egoyan's focus is on a small town in the aftermath of a tragedy, and the lawyer who tries to profit by launching a class-action lawsuit. Though it's compelling and well-acted, I'm not sure exactly why it merits such stupendous acclaim. It has its moments of honest insight into people's reactions to tragedy, as well as the way people relate to one another, but a subplot involving the lawyer's (Iam Holm) daughter at time feels like it's trying to break away and become its own film. Strangely, the film's most riveting scene concerns the lawyer recounting a near-miss with death. It's mesmerizing thanks to the sparse editing and Holm's delivery, but after the movie was over, it was hard to look back and the moment without thinking "so what did that really add to the main story?" The moment works as a sort of look into the lawyer when he's not a man driven by profit, but feels shoe-horned in considering the movie around it. Again, this is the sort of scene that seems to beg for its own film, rather than one that flows and/or enhances with the main narrative. That said, it's still a quietly compelling watch, particularly for the acting (Holm, Sarah Polley, Bruce Greenwood) and delicate score. It just doesn't feel like best-of-all-time material.

Grade: B

Three Colors Trilogy: Blue, White, and Red (1993-1994)

When we think of triologies these days, we tend to think of "big" films. Big budgets, big stories, big stars, and big special effects. However, Krzysztof Kieslowski's Three Colors trilogy proves that trilogies can work equally well with experimentation, intimacy, and barely connected characters. The working premise of the three is that each film examines the symbolism of a color of the French flag, albeit with some sort of irony. Blue, the first, examines liberty, followed by White (egality), and finishing with Red (fraternity). Such a set up had all the potential to be a pretentious exercise in tedium, but instead, Kieslowski's trilogy is an intriguing, beautiful examination of several lives in the modern world. Blue is probably the least accessible of the three, and certainly the slowest, but it is anchored by a quietly stirring performance by Juliette Binoche as a grief-stricken woman who seeks to liberate herself from human relationships. The occasional musical cues, somewhat plot related, can be jarring at first, but upon closer examination serve a well thought-out purpose; I wouldn't be surprised if Blue improved the most on a second viewing. Next is White, generally considered the "weakest" of the three (hardly an insult). Something of a dark comedy, it's the story of a man who has easily the worst day in his life, only to return to his native Poland to plot emotional revenge on his ex (Julie Delpy). A much brisker picture than Blue, White does occasionally lose some narrative focus (though I suspect certain details are left out on purpose), and the ending isn't as satisfying. However, it does provide a refreshingly light perspective after Blue, albeit at the risk of depth. Thankfully Kieslowski saved the best for last. The Oscar-nominated Red, combines the best of the previous installments: Blue's psychological depth with White's crisper pacing and twisty story-telling. Irene Jacob and Jean Louis-Trintignant form the compelling center of the story of a woman who befriends a judge who likes to listen in on his neighbors' phone calls. What starts as something potentially creepy becomes an engrossing, layered film that is both tragic and hopeful, with a magnificent ending bringing it all together. Think of it as proof that not all trilogies need to bottom-out in their third chapters.

Grade(s): Blue (B+), White (B), Red (A-/A)

All That Jazz (1979) dir. Bob Fosse: Though most people remember Bob Fosse (in the film world) for Cabaret, All That Jazz is nothing to shrug off. Fosse's reinterpretation of Fellini's 8 1/2 is a striking, energetic depiction of an artist whose life enters a free-fall as he struggles with his latest project. The best thing that Fosse did with All That Jazz is make it his own. One of the chief criticisms of Nine (a film which I do like, however) is that it lacks the spark of Fellini's original, and that comes down to one reason: Rob Marshall does not have the same personal life as Fellini. The story that Fellini created in 8 1/2 is so deeply connected to the director, that in order for it to work, it can't be re-told; it must be personalized and even updated, rather than try and totally mimic. Fosse's protagonist, for instance, is a director of stage and screen, like Fosse himself, and though there are women in his life (the wife, the mistress, the muse), some have been sacrificed and replaced (out with the whore; in with the daughter). The film also owes much to the staggering performance of Roy Scheider as Joe Gideon. It's not just in his expressions, but in his movements, that Scheider is able to communicate so much, so well. And then of course, there's the choreography. From the test-performance of a nudity-laden number to the parade of performances during the surgery sequence, to the finale, each song and dance is a stunningly constructed piece of work that only enhances the story. And even though Scheider is obviously not a vocalist (he never belts any notes, or tries to), his performance during the finale is sensational, as is the film itself. It's an interpretation that Fellini himself would be proud of.

Grade: A- /A

Well, that's all for now. See you next week (by that time I will have hopefully seen The A-Team and Toy Story 3 in theaters too).

Cannes Review Round-Up: "Certified Copy"

Next in the Cannes Review Round-Up is Abbas Kiarostami's Certified Copy starring Juliette Binoche. I know I said more or less the same thing yesterday about A Screaming Man, but Cannes may now have a new front-runner. Though it's difficult to glean plot details, what I've been able to gather sounds something like a more melancholy version of the Richard Linklater's brilliant Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. Awarding the film a grade 'A,' Film.com lavishes praise on the film, summarizing it as "An amazing film, and one worthy of our adoration." Eric Kohn of indieWire is quite kind as well, although he does stress the heavy amount of ambiguity, though praises the film in his conclusion by saying "Certified Copy wanders a bit but never loses focus, with the only certainty being that its gimmick is genuine." Time Out London, awarding the film 4 out of 5 stars, heaps further praise on the film, calling it the new "best film at Cannes so far." The reviewer, Geoff Andrew, goes on to say that the film builds to a beautiful climax "by way of a seemingly meandering but in fact very focused narrative held together by meticulous mise-en-scene," and concludes his review with a single word: "Superb." While still positive, Rope of Silicon is less enthusiastic, giving the film a 'B,' and saying that the amount of ambiguity in the film will be "a problem for a lot of people." Finally, The Hollywood Reporter's Deborah Young says that the film is a "sardonic reflection on marriage [that] is playful, engaging Euro art cinema under the Tuscan sun."

[current] Cannes Verdict: Uses its meandering structure to ask insightful questions that engage the head without ever forgetting to engage the heart.