Director: Luca Guadagnino
Runtime: 120 minutes
Watching wealthy, powerful people behave badly is one of the great pastimes of mankind. There's a whole subset of Greek myths that dedicated to Olympians using lesser beings to toy with each other (and that's just Zeus). The habit has only intensified in the modern age. Whether we're watching characters on Empire and House of Cards or enjoying an evening with some of the Real Housewives and some cheap Chardonnay, the bad behavior of the elite (and presumed elite) continues to fascinate just as much as it repels. People from all walks of life can be vicious and petty, but dress it up just enough and it can become a glorified guilty pleasure or even prestige entertainment.
Director Luca Guadagnino taps into this tendency of ours, albeit with reined in high art Euro gloss, deliciously in his new film A Bigger Splash. Set amid the sun-soaked, volcanic Italian island of Pantelleria, this loose remake of Jacques Deray's La Piscine (1969) is, for most of its two hours, a luxuriant treat for film lovers who like their melodramas with a bit of semi-serious restraint. Arriving stateside six years after Guadagnino's previous film, the labored, hermetically sealed I am Love, Splash marks a welcome change of course for the man behind the camera.
Early on, we learn that rock star Marianne Lane (Tilda Swinton) is hiding out and recovering from vocal chord surgery. As such, Swinton's performance is largely silent. While it seems criminal to purposefully craft a role that robs our Lady of Elfin Cheekbones of the gift of language, her silence becomes a vital part of the juicy dynamic that drives the story.
Or, more specifically, drives the set up of the story. After a brief opening that finds Marianne and her new lover Paul (Belgian hunk Matthias Schoenaerts, of Bullhead and Rust and Bone), they receive a rude and very loud awakening: Marianne's old flame and record producer Harry (Ralph Fiennes) has rolled into town with his laid back vixen of a daughter Penelope (Dakota Johnson). They exchange hugs, kisses, and a few awkward intros, and it's not long until they're all sharing living quarters. And from that point on, not much happens. They talk. They reminisce. They drink. They explore. They indulge in tastefully framed and edited sex. Never change, Europe.
Somehow the very aimlessness of it all works in Guadagnino's favor. Personalities click and clash, with the game central quartet treating the material with the right amount of seriousness. For all of the lush photography and snazzy editing, there are moments of subtlety that peek through, and add a veneer of depth to what it often a pretty vacuous exercise. Unlike I am Love, which featured a blink-and-you-miss-it flashback into the heroine's past, Splash builds its trips to the past into the narrative structure. The characters, especially Marianne and Harry, achieve greater complexity thanks to the juxtapositions of who they were and who they've become (or have pretended to become). "You're pretty domesticated for a rock star," says Penelope to Marianne. That sort of literalization could have easily been either a cop out of character development. Instead, it fits seamlessly into the drinking, sunbathing, and music that have all been poured into the film's storytelling cocktail.
And for a film that spends a lot of time gazing at beautiful, youthful bodies (along with food), it's the two older actors who really invigorate the proceedings. Swinton, even in her silent reservation, is given so much to work with that her gestures and facial movements make perfectly acceptable substitutes for actual words. On the other end of the spectrum is Fiennes, who is gloriously unhinged and profane. Watching him strut and dance around, shirt fully open, to a Rolling Stones song is one of the film's most purely enjoyable scenes. When Fiennes and Swinton are left alone with each other, wandering through seaside communities, A Bigger Splash resembles a fashion-conscious Before Sunrise. There is a rich history between these two that the two actors flesh out in ways that could have easily been glossed over on page. Guadagnino is a cinematic aesthete and understands the power of images, but it's Fiennes and Swinton who make those images worth being seduced by.
This is why it's such a disappointment when the film has to actually have a plot following its climactic moment. As A Bigger Splash winds towards its final frames, the script struggles to create a coherent point out of its boilerplate narrative wrap-ups. Ideas emerge, specifically those revolving around the bubble of privilege these people exist in, but the ending has an aftertaste of half-baked irony. Background details involving Europe's refugee crisis sporadically appear, but the script fails to develop the angle enough to drive the film's point(s) home. The sumptuously photographed frivolity of it all is basically the point of the film as is, and Guadagnino's attempts to make a statement come across as a lazy sketch rather than a fully realized concept. Fiennes' wild man puts it best: "Everyone's obscene...that's the whole point." No more, no less.
Grade: B+
Director: Wes Anderson
Runtime: 100 minutes
When the first promotional materials for The Great Budapest Hotel arrived, many were quick to proclaim it, "the most Wes Andersonian movie ever." Though the connotation changed depending on the individual, this line of thought has largely remained unchallenged in the run up to the film's release. Anderson's films have always been highly stylized, but with Budapest, he seemed to be charging ahead into previously unknown levels of Andersonian-ness, for better or for worse. Level shot compositions? Check. Deadpan dialogue and performances? Absolutely. Quirkiness that's often in danger of slipping into cloying preciousness? Of course.
With so many prepared lines and jokes about how Anderson seemed on the verge of self-parody, all that was left was to examine the finished product. In a way, the joking gut reactions were right. The Grand Budapest Hotel is unmistakably an Anderson film. But this is hardly self parody. Building on the momentum of 2012's excellent Moonrise Kingdom, Anderson's latest is a culmination of his style, and his evolution as both stylist and storyteller.
Yet where his previous film took its time setting up its characters and only gradually pushed the narrative forward, Budapest finds Anderson hitting the ground sprinting. Split across three different time periods, the narrative unfolds in the manner of a Russian nesting doll, with flashbacks giving way to flashbacks, and so on. Unlike a nesting doll, however, the layers of Anderson's film grow larger as we're taken deeper into the narrative. The outermost doll, involving an aging writer (Tom Wilkinson) recounting an incident in his younger days (as played by Jude Law), is barely there at all. It would be tempting to label it superfluous, but it adds a nice accent to the the infinitely more eventful pair of layers that dominate the story.
The most important of those layers takes us to 1932, in the fictional nation of Zubrowska. In a lavish mountain resort (the titular hotel), we meet the promiscuous, eccentric concierge Gustave H. (Ralph Fiennes), and his new lobby boy Zero (Tony Revolori). Anderson has shifted his gaze from young love to the relationship between mentor and student, and it pays off rather brilliantly. The 1932 scenes dominate the film, with Fiennes and Revolori's unlikely chemistry acting as a lovingly silly anchor for the dozens of chess pieces moving around them. Fiennes, in particular, is outstanding, and proves to be a surprisingly adept match for Anderson's full throttle deadpan approach. His shifts from silky smooth calm to profanity-driven are perfectly timed, and only enhance the strength of Anderson's screenplay.
Outside of Gustave and Zero, however, Budapest is more concerned with its narrative and structural intricacies than it is with fleshing out the rest of the ensemble. Thankfully, that's (mostly) the right decision. The supporting cast is filled with nice turns from an exhaustive list of previous Anderson collaborators (Edward Norton, Bill Murray, and aged-up Tilda Swinton), all of whom make a nice impression without throwing off the film's focus. The standout, though, is Willem Dafoe, whose inherently unsettling face is used for perfectly executed bits of dark comedy.
With so many players, it's remarkable just how effortlessly Anderson juggles all of the pieces of his intricate screenplay. At 100 minutes, it's hard to find a wasted minute. Anderson's pacing is snappier than ever, and it's complimented nicely by the sharp editing. I counted only one instance when I felt a scene was going on too long, and it wrapped up shortly after I had time to even make note of it.
More importantly is that Anderson is able to retain his distinctive voice while still focusing so heavily on plotting. Whatever parts of the trailers and clips looked like self parody fit perfectly into place in full context. The screenplay is stuffed full of good lines and exchanges, and the perfectly in sync cast hardly misses a beat. Visually, the film is easily Anderson's lushest, with the decades of change marvelously chronicled with the shifting interior designs of the hotel's lobby, as well as the vibrant costumes. Returning composer Alexandre Desplat adds a nice bit of extra momentum to the zippy pacing with his balalaika-infused score, ensuring that even the quieter moments are kept up to speed.
Where The Grand Budapest Hotel will likely prove divisive comes down to its darker elements. While Anderson has never exactly shied away from darkness, he certainly never dwells on applies it in a heavy-handed manner. The main flashback, though set in a fictional country, still takes place between the two World Wars, and there are hints of the oncoming destruction scattered throughout. There's also the nature of the violence that pops up in brief moments. Though the film is gorgeously designed and shot with the look of a fairy tale, it is punctuated by incidents of violence that are jolting. Not because they're particularly graphic, but simply because it sticks out and suggests a darker undercurrent to an otherwise charming world. Gustave uses the hotel to keep the changing world at bay, yet the moments of violence and darkness still find their ways in. It's not so much a battle between old and new as much as a test to see how long Gustave's old "civilized" world can hold out before caving.
These darker moments, however, are handled so efficiently that it's easy to understand why some would find Anderson's approach shallow. There's a lot going on at the surface of The Grand Budapest Hotel, but whether or not one connects to it will likely determine how much one feels is going on underneath the gloriously decorated facade. Personally, I found nearly everything about Budapest to be successful, even as I longed for a touch more of the humanity that Anderson brought to Moonrise Kingdom. But, of course, they're two very different types of films, and each demands a different combination of Anderson's expected ingredients. If Moonrise Kingdom was a small but shockingly satisfying dinner, then The Grand Budapest Hotel is his elaborate attempt at a desert. How much nourishment it provides will be up for debate, but you can't deny the thoroughly original level of thought that went into its execution.
Grade: B+/A-
Director: Sam Mendes
Runtime: 143 minutes
One of the main complaints against the Daniel Craig 007 films is that, well, they don't really feel like 007 films. Starting in the early/mid 2000s, grittiness has become the defining trait of most action films (especially those involving superheroes). Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy best exemplifies this. The operatic darkness Nolan brought to the world of Bruce Wayne and the Joker made for a satisfying contrast to the campy Batman films of years past. Yet unlike Batman, 007 has always been a character built on charisma and suave sexuality. And yet Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace both turned Bond into a more restrained, Jason Bourne-type action hero. Even the villains were tame, with the most outlandish character trait being a bleeding eye. What makes Skyfall, Craig's third outing as 007, stand out is that it takes still takes the dark and gritty approach to Bond, yet mixes in elements that seem to put the secret agent on path to being something resembling his former self.
Opening with a superbly executed chase in Istanbul, Skyfall is perhaps the most intimate Bond film yet. A secret from M's (Judi Dench) past has come out from hiding, launching a vicious cyber battle against MI6 and its agents. After MI6's headquarters are badly damaged, Bond and his cohorts find themselves using limited means. When Bond first meets Q (Ben Whishaw), he is only given a DNA-encoded gun, and a radio transmitter. Casino Royale may have been the stylistic reboot of the Bond films, but Skyfall truly takes 007 back to basics. Even the locations are scaled down. Bond's globetrotting is all contained in the film's first half, with the only significant trip after Istanbul being Shanghai/Macau. Once back on the British mainland, the film settles in and gets cozier and cozier, eventually leading Bond to the remote Scottish Highlands.
It's an interesting story choice, and it pays off by giving the film a sense of focus, despite its 2 hr 20 min duration. Complimenting this is Sam Mendes' direction. The closest thing to an "art house" director to ever helm a Bond film, the choice pays off in spades. More than any Bond film in recent (or distant) memory, Skyfall is built on a sustained atmosphere, rather than on broad humor and over-the-top action. Aside from the opening and closing battles, the film's action feels relatively contained, save for a bit in the London Underground that is left hanging in thin air.
In large part, the credit also belongs to cinematographer Roger Deakins, who has created the best looking Bond film ever, by a considerable margin. The master DP's work here, from the foggy Scottish hills to the neon and steel of Shanghai is lush, textured, and varied. A sequence set in a room full of glass doors and panels is a masterwork of playing with light, lines, and reflections. It's a sumptuous film, and the visual pleasures help smooth out the occasional odd or underwhelming moment (a scene involving a hungry Komodo dragon is particularly shrug-inducing).
The cast are also on their game as well. Craig seems to be having a little more fun as Bond, especially now that his turmoil regarding Vesper Lynd's death has been resolved. Judi Dench, who winds up being the film's true "Bond girl," turns in strong work as well, as she tries to keep up a steely front while her past wreaks havoc on her world. The scene stealer, however, is a lip-smackingly evil Javier Bardem as Silva. His introduction, a lengthy back-and-forth with Bond in a cavernous room, is a nifty mix of Bond villains old and new. Menacing, but also somewhat flirty and campy, Bardem is Skyfall's spark, even if his later material is somewhat generic and prevents him from becoming iconic. By tying the villain's motives directly to major characters of the Bond universe, Silva lends Skyfall an old-fashioned glossy appeal. Coupled with some references to characters and objects from the previous Bonds, and you have a film that mixes modern gritty action stylings with some good old retro fun.
And even though the film ventures into some dark places, its conclusion gives rise to the hope that emotionally lighter days may be in Bond's future. Though less expansive than some previous films in the franchise, Skyfall's smaller focus is handled in such a way that it still feels epic. The cast is strong, the direction is elegant, and the atmosphere, mostly through the visuals, is all first rate. Even when a particular scene ends on an iffy note, the film immediately recovers with some new intriguing sequence of beautiful visual composition. In a sense, Skyfall is the most complete Bond film to date. It represents a marriage of Bond's past and present, and combines the two to pave the way for more complex, but also more fun, films to come.
Grade: B/B+
That's the best I could do as far as April Fool's jokes are concerned.
Now, onto the actual review. The last thing most of us really cared about was a sequel to 2010's Clash of the Titans remake, but that sure as hell didn't stop the studios. The '10 film was a surprisingly unenjoyable action-adventure fantasy, made worse by some stiff looking 3D VFX work. So it comes as quite a surprise that the completely unnecessary sequel is actually better than its predecessor and has some enjoyable parts to it, even if they don't necessarily justify a trip to the theater (wait for the DVD).
Picking up a decade after Clash, Perseus (Sam Worthington, whose acting seems to have plateaued at an unfortunate level) now lives with a young son in a seaside village. Unfortunately, trouble is brewing again. The gods are losing their power as fewer people pray to them, thereby weakening the bonds that have kept the titans imprisoned in Tartarus. When Hades (Ralph Fiennes) and Ares (Edgar Ramirez) betray Zeus (Liam Neeson) and Poseidon (Danny Huston), they set the world on a path towards destruction that only Perseus can stop.
Let's get a few things out of the way. The writing isn't deep at all, characters go through roughly no development, and most of the story feels quite minor before the massive finale. That said, there's something oddly enjoyable about Wrath. It's obviously not good, but it's no train wreck, and even though some of the action is only adequately handled, some of it is quite fun. A lot of this has to do with the technical aspects, which are aces across the board. The visual effects team and props department deserve quite a bit of praise for all of the detail they've put into everything. Watching Cronos, seen here as a semi-humanoid mound of molten lava, burst out of a mountain in rage is spectacular. Other creatures, like a set of siamese-twin demons that wreck havoc on Queen Andromeda's (Rosamund Pike) army, are equally impressive. The film also boasts some wonderful design, namely in a killer sequence where Perseus and company navigate into Tartarus via a massive, constantly-shifting stone labyrinth.
And as little development as there is, the film does contain one surprisingly nice moment involving Zeus and Hades. Considering the scene that follows, I began wondering how much more fun both Clash and Wrath would have been if it had focused entirely on this relationship. But what ultimately saves Wrath of the Titans is that, despite having all the hallmarks of bloated-yet-hollow schlock, it's not offensively dumb or trashy. It's silly, but there's a sense of fun present that makes it a decent enough viewing experience, especially when it reaches its epic climactic battle. It doesn't happen often, but there are times when sequels surpass originals, and this is one such case. Not that the bar was set high by Clash, but it's nice to know that when Hollywood makes a sequel to a bad movie, they can still redeem themselves...sort of.
Grade: C+
