Director: Darren Aronofsky
Runtime: 138 minutes
When a director gets the chance to make the big-budget extravaganza of their dreams, it's difficult to ignore the offer. Yet large budgets have a history of being more restrictive than liberating when it comes to the studio system. For months, rumors have persisted that this was the case with Noah, Darren Aronofsky's long-awaited follow-up to Black Swan (a low budget smash hit). Talk of feuding between studio heads and the director caused worry that the latter had been forced to compromise his vision. Yet despite all of the thorny territory that comes with scripture-based films (Noah has been banned in several countries), Aronofsky's latest is undeniably his vision. It may be bigger and a touch broader, but Noah still fits perfectly in line with the rest of the director's filmography.
Like all Aronofsky films, Noah centers on a figure who is consumed by a driving goal. In Black Swan, it was the quest to become the perfect ballerina. In The Fountain, it was a time-spanning crusade to overcome human mortality. Yet all of these goals stem from human forces. Noah, obviously, finds its titular protagonist (Russell Crowe) receiving a task from none other than God himself (here referred to as The Creator). Noah lives a peaceful existence with his wife Naameh (Jennifer Connelly), and three sons (Douglas Booth, Logan Lerman, and Leo Carroll).
As the last descendants of Seth (brother of Cain and Abel), Noah and his kin live a life in harmony with nature. They use the land only for what they absolutely need, not even picking flowers. Unfortunately, Noah's way of life is often in danger of being swallowed up by the massive industrial cities filled with the descendants of Cain, who have figuratively and literally poisoned the world (can you spot the subversive environmental commentary?). So when the Creator gives Noah his famous task (communicated through a series of dreams and visions, rather than a conversation), he has no problem with the idea of humanity being completely destroyed.
Even amid some awkward establishing scenes, one of the strengths of Noah is how Aronofsky and co-writer Ari Handel cast Noah as a man whose obsessions lead to dark conclusions about his fellow men. Rather than consider himself superior to Cain's descendants, Noah sees himself as the last flicker of a race that deserves to be obliterated. His Old Testament fury is so strong that he considers it a blessing that his adopted daughter-in-law (Emma Watson) will be unable to bear his eldest son a child in the new world. As such, Crowe's casting helps bring the grizzled iteration of Noah believably to life.
Crowe's cast members, sadly, are less fortunate. Aside from Watson, the rest of Noah's family are largely inconsequential stock characters. Jennifer Connelly tries her best to be a moral counter to Noah's rage, but her big moment is undermined by stilted dialogue. Booth, as Noah's oldest son, is barely a presence at all (though at least he's scene doing things, unlike poor Mr. Carroll as the youngest son). Logan Lerman as middle son Ham is easily the worst served by the screenplay. The idea for his motivation on the ark (which I'll leave unspoiled) is solid, and helps play off the contrasting ideaologies of Noah and his family. Yet Lerman spends most of his scenes staring in angsty befuddlement, his mouth hanging open enough that you wish someone would let him know, lest he start drooling on himself.
In fairness, some of the blame lies with Aronofsky and editor Andrew Weisblum for constantly cutting back to these silly reactions, but Lerman certainly isn't doing anything to rise above the material. The last notable cast member, Ray Winstone's villainous king Tubal-Cain, isn't exactly good either, but at least he has overwrought dialogue to snarl through and a thoroughly off-putting beard.
It's the small scale parts, the characterizations, the emotional arcs, that give Noah trouble and keep it from being a full-blown triumph. Some significant developments are handled in a way that provokes unintended laughter. Some scenes do hit home, like an encounter between Crowe and Watson during the ark's construction, but otherwise the supporting cast simply drift around Noah like distant moons.
When it comes to scale, however, Aronofsky's film is much more successful. Though the visual effects aren't uniformly strong, they're enough to get the job done without taking one out of the moment. It's hard not to share Noah's awe when hordes of birds, reptiles, and mammals fly, slither, and crawl aboard the ark in droves. More impressive than any real animals are the Watchers, fallen angels encrusted in rocky shells who come to Noah's aid. Surely one of the biggest departures from the Biblical text (though such creatures are mentioned in some parts of ancient Jewish lore), these hulking creatures are put to good use in the film as Noah's superhuman construction workers and defenders. No single Watcher is given an individual history, yet their collective struggle works in a way that many of the human characters don't.
Working with many regular collaborators behind the camera, Aronofsky has created an appropriately grand-looking film that still possesses the right amount of roughness one would expect in such an ancient time. The interior of the ark, though often shrouded in swaths of darknesses, is effectively designed as a boxy cargo vessel, rather than a traditional ship, which fits in well with this grimier, grislier take on the tale. The big visual effects moments are also quite strong, with the build up and arrival of the flood set on an overwhelming scale. Most impressive, however, is the aftermath, when the film takes a moment to show the last descendants of Cain screaming for their lives on a rock being pounded by waves. Though at times too big for its own good, Clint Mansell's score ensures that every grand moment sounds even grander.
For all its visual grandeur, Noah is caught between its epic ambitions and its character-based drama. Were the film a one man show for Mr. Crowe, the journey might have felt more personal and better focused. Instead, the drama feels halfbaked, especially when contrasted with the admirable effort put into creating Noah's world and mythos. As far as scripture-based films go, Noah deserves praise for making the ancient story work to fit another man's vision. It doesn't pander the faithful, and its heart of darkness is able to lend the story more dynamism than a traditional treatment would have provided. Like the ark straining against the waves, Noah is able to hold off the negative effects of its weakness long enough to accomplish its Herculean task, even if it runs aground rather than come to a smooth landing.
Grade: B-
Director: Akiva Goldsman
Runtime: 118 minutes
The IMDB plot synopsis for Akiva Goldsman's Winter's Tale reads as follows: "A burglar falls for an heiress as she dies in his arms. When he learns that he has the gift of reincarnation, he sets out to save her." Are you simultaneously intrigued and stifling a laugh? Then you're probably the ideal audience for Mr. Goldsman's directorial debut, an attempt at magical realism that wields unapologetic sincerity as a blunt instrument. Too bad that said sincerity wasn't in service of something more coherent and engaging.
Still coasting on the goodwill from his Oscar-winning screenplay for A Beautiful Mind, Goldsman's movie is more or less what its synopsis proclaims. Yet it is also so much more, often to a baffling degree. There are demons engaged in a vaguely defined spiritual war, a magic horse that turns into a Pegasus when convenient, and a cameo from a superstar actor as Lucifer that ranks as one of the stranger bits of stunt casting in recent memory.
The absurdity, however, isn't apparent right at the start. It's the turn of the century, and orphan Peter Lake (Colin Farrell) is on the run in New York City. He spends his time stealing small objects, and storing them in his home, the attic of Grand Central Station (very Hugo-esque, no?). Mr. Lake is in hiding because he's run afoul of his former thieves, led by the intimidating Pearly Soames (Russell Crowe, brogue-ing it up to high heaven). Things really get moving, however, when Peter is caught trying to rob the home of Beverly Penn (Jessica Brown Findlay of Downton Abbey fame). She has consumption, just like Satine in Moulin Rouge!, but without the dancing skills, and knows it's not long before she shuffles off of this mortal coil to keep the plot going.
In between its risible dialogue ("Is it possible to love someone so completely that they never die?") and bland performances (aside from Mr. Crowe, who is spectacularly bad), Winter's Tale spends most of its time being marginally interesting, albeit in the dullest way possible. The reason to stick with it is simply to see where the whole nonsensical journey goes. Goldsman's adaptation of Mark Helprin's acclaimed novel is crippled by one of the worst hallmarks of bad fantasy: the rules of its world are poorly established, giving off the feeling that Goldsman is making things up as he goes along. There's a convenient answer for everything, and it usually involves the magical horse (who is named, wait for it, Horse).
This leaves Winter's Tale without any stakes or tension. We have no sense of what's possible or not in this low fantasy world, so barely any of the pieces ever come together to produce a moment of legitimate interest. Again, the story is only interesting in so far as it leaves you wondering what sort of half-baked nonsense the script will churn out next. And this is before the time travel. Remember that reincarnation bit? Well, somewhere past the halfway point, Peter winds up in present day Manhattan, and I'm not sure I can go any further without slipping into a state of slack-jawed awe.
Even from a technical point, Mr. Goldsman's film is thoroughly lackluster. Despite a solid budget of $60 million, the entire film is shot and colored in murky shades of blue, grey, and beige. By contrast, something as sumptuous as 2012's Anna Karenina was made for a fraction of the cost. Other aspects, like costumes, sets, and music, range from bland to just slightly above adequate.
Yet the question remains: just how bad is it? Well, it's certainly bad. Very bad. But, I must confess, the film's total sincerity is its own weird saving grace of sorts. It commits to this mushy fantastical nonsense, dammit, and that's probably the reason I felt no anger towards anyone involved. Winter's Tale isn't decent enough to be a noble failure, but it doesn't quite stoop low enough to be a disgrace. It's a film that's trying, yet simply putting all of its effort in all of the wrong places.
Grade: C-
Director: Zack Snyder
Runtime: 143 minutes
The great irony of Superman's status as a true all-American superhero is that he's not even from our world. As has been pointed out in more than a few essays over the years, Kal-El is a true immigrant from among the superhero pantheon. If anything, his immigrant status is what allows him to best rise to the lofty (and often unreachable) heights of American ideals. It truly takes an otherworldly, yet still characteristically human, figure to save the day, time and time again. The trick with Superman, however, is how much times have changed. Despite the relative levity of the current Marvel franchise, the shadow of Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight Trilogy still looms large over the cinematic landscape.
Nolan's influence is felt more strongly in Superman's latest outing for obvious reasons. Credited as executive producer and story creator (along with actual screenwriter David Goyer), Nolan has transfered some of his operatic doom and gloom to the world of one of the best known, and more typically upbeat, superhero worlds. Throw in Zack Snyder in the director's chair, and things start making more sense. Snyder's excessive stylization, as contrasted with the Nolan/Goyer method of writing and storytelling, largely balance each other out across Man of Steel, the latest and most epic Superman adventure committed to the silver screen to date.
The approach taken with the new Superman (The Tudors actor Henry Cavill), is a bit of a mash up of the approach that Mr. Nolan used in Batman Begins and The Dark Knight. The former was an introduction to a new vision of an iconic character, jumping around in chronology as it transformed Bruce Wayne into Batman for the first time. The Dark Knight, meanwhile, took Begins' foundations and used them to craft a bigger, more epic film, complete with a towering villain who pushed Batman to his very limits. The combination of these two arcs is the source of Man of Steel's greatest strengths and weaknesses.
For the most part, the film is broken up into three parts, beginning with a surprisingly extended sequence detailing the fall of Krypton. Wondrously designed (shades of H.R. Geiger are present), Krypton is on the brink of total destruction after aggressively exploiting its natural resources. Complicating things is a last-second military coup by General Zod (Michael Shannon). The planet's last hope is Jor-El (Russell Crowe), who sends his son off into space as the planet continues to violently fall apart.
Yet as much time as Krypton gets on screen, Man of Steel moves rather briskly though episodes of Kal-El/Clark Kent's young life. In a refreshing structural choice, Clark's childhood is largely seen through flashbacks, often triggered by small incidents in the adult (and insanely sculpted) Clark's life as a wanderer. On one hand, it lends the film a constant sense of movement. The editing across timelines is often quite slick, keeping the film eventful. The downside is that Goyer's dialogue construction isn't quite as effective as his plot structure. Snyder does his best to overcome this with some Malick-inspired camerawork, and more often than not he succeeds, although just barely.
All the same, Goyer's writing remains a problem across the highly eventful (and never, ever dull) runtime. All other aspects of the film seem so finessed and in control, and it's a shame to see the film occasionally stumble through Goyer's awkward dialogue exchanges. The result is a film that looks great (even with a slightly oppressive blue-grey tint flooding every frame), and is often entertaining, yet still not able to reach its full potential. Moments that should hit hard feel obligatory than genuinely emotional, even as the cast tries their best to make something out of thin material.
Whatever problems Goyer contributes, however, are frequently compensated for by engaging work across the ensemble, and Snyder's relentless storytelling. Cavill, though not given much to say, makes a nice, albeit understated, impression as the titular hero. Rather than make him a blank figure of simplistic patriotism, Cavill's Superman is a man torn between his two identities. Although not given much substance on paper in regards to this dynamic, Cavill does have some nice moments as he struggles to reconcile his split identity (even as some of these scenes end too abruptly). It's not big enough performance to be a true star-making turn, but the handsome actor does prove that he's worthy of donning the (smartly redesigned) iconic outfit and cape. He may not erase Christopher Reeve from anyone's memory, but as a more forlorn, wary Superman, he fits right in with the Nolan-ized aesthetic of the film.
More outwardly engaging is Amy Adams as Lois Lane. Though Superman does save her several times, Man of Steel's treatment of the character is refreshing. She's not just a spunky reporter who stands up to her boss. Rather, she's a journalist willing to go to great lengths to get what she wants. And, later in the game, she even plays a pivotal role in devising a plan to help stop Zod. And speaking of Zod, Michael Shannon deserves his share of credit for crafting a villain with a mix of bug-eyed fervor and understandable drive. His mentality may be inflexible, yet there is a (rather dark) logic to Shannon's character and performance that fits in with the mythology of the dying world of Krypton. His will is to ensure the survival of his race, no matter the cost. He may pose a threat to the humanity, but his destruction isn't just for kicks: it's to save a proud race that is sitting at death's door.
The real surprise of the film, however, are Superman's two fathers. The first 20 minutes of the film are basically a mini-action movie for Mr. Crowe, and he lends his role a palpable, but never overbearing, level of gravitas befitting of an alien lord. On the other end of the spectrum is Kevin Costner as Clark's Earth-bound father. Though he isn't afforded much screen time, Costner (along with Diane Lane as his wife) brings a comforting, low-key presence to the role. Despite Superman's foreign origins, his relationship with his adoptive parents is where his true character comes from. Thanks to Costner and Lane, that character rings true when it's displayed on screen.
And even as Goyer's script underwhelms, Snyder manages some stirring moments as a director, even though the impact is largely visceral, rather than emotional. Often criticized as prizing style over substance (to an extreme), Man of Steel isn't exactly a huge detour into hard-hitting character work. However, jarring product placement aside, the film does show Snyder as capable of effective self-control. Rather than become a slave to comic book frames (as he did in his adaptation of Watchmen), his imagery is energetic and muscular, resulting in an impressive, if exhausting, visual assault. Aiding him the whole way is a tremendous score from Dark Knight composer Hans Zimmer. Alternating between thunderous horns and delicate pianos, Zimmer creates a perfect compliment to Superman's humble humanity, as well as his larger-than-life abilities.
It might have initially seemed tired to show Superman's origins again. Bryan Singer's Superman Returns, didn't even bother with them (or Clark's childhood). Yet in laying such an extensive groundwork and mythology, the Snyder/Goyer/Nolan trio has created a rich new world for Superman to explore. Though the film's structure suggests rich themes and then jumps too quickly through them, the film does stick the landing in enough moments. It may not have an element as galvanizing as Heath Ledger's Joker, or as charismatic as Robert Downey Jr.'s Tony Stark, but Man of Steel and Mr. Cavill are certainly worthy of taking Superman into the 21st century. Superman Returns was too simple and reverential for modern audiences, while Man of Steel flies at warp speed into the future. And, despite some turbulence, this is a Superman film that truly flies, even if it struggles to completely soar to new heights.
Grade: B
Director: Tom Hooper
Runtime: 157 minutes
For as BIG as Tom Hooper's Les Miserables is - the music, the decades-spanning story, the emotions - this adaptation of the mega-musical also contains a surprising intimacy. Aside from the decision to shoot the musical numbers live/on-camera, no one directing aspect has received as much attention as Mr. Hooper's close-ups on his actors' faces. It's a decision that, like much of the material on display here, will likely prove divisive (not to mention the fact that the film is almost entirely sung, even outside of standard songs). As someone completely unfamiliar with the stage show as a whole (I know a few songs and some major plot points), I had reason to fear for the worst. Yet, some missteps that arise in the middle sections aside, Hooper's film soared enough to turn me into a Les Mis convert.
As far as plot goes, there's quite a bit (which is at times a slight problem). The basics are as follows: Jean Valjean (Hugh Jackman), released on parole after 19 years in prison, seeks to rebuild his life while avoiding the unwavering lawman Javert (Russell Crowe). There's also a wrongfully disgraced factory worker (Anne Hathaway) and her daughter (Isabelle Allen/Amanda Seyfried), a band of student revolutionaries (Eddie Redmayne, Aaron Tveit), and a pair of nefarious inn-keepers (Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham Carter). Even at 2 hours and 40 minutes, the show (and as a result, the film) wobbles when it comes to condensing Victor Hugo's mammoth novel. Thankfully, there's a game cast delivering some rousing renditions of the epic score. Ultimately, how you feel about Les Miserables could come down to the music. If the musical material isn't working for you (ballads, sung-dialogue, etc...), then it might be best to leave early on.
But not too early. Because at the very least it's worth staying around for what will inevitably become the film's signature moment: Anne Hathaway's rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream." Though the scene's power in comparison to others has been overstated, this is the scene that will likely win over the hardest hearts, even if said hearts hate everything else the film has to offer. Hathaway's time as Fantine is brief, but she nails what little material she has, turning her doomed character into a suitable icon to loom over Valjean for the remainder of the story. Watching Hathaway's big moment highlights all that works in Les Mis, and how the soaring moments overcome the smaller missteps. Yet to cite "I Dreamed a Dream" as the sole shining moment of the film does a disservice to so many other moments.
Carrying the bulk of the narrative is Jackman's Jean Valjean. Though his songs are some of the least melodically compelling, the actor compensates by marvelously acting through them. One of his earliest moments, the expositional "Soliloquoy," pales in comparison to nearly every song, yet succeeds thanks to Jackman's ferocious commitment. Jackman blasts through the screen as Hooper and cinematographer Danny Cohen hone the camera in on his face, allowing himself to falter with words, his voice breaking on carefully chosen words to bring a sense of character to the discordant music. Jackman is forced to stick to his upper register, where his voice starts to veer towards shrillness, but the power he brings to the numbers remains compelling.
The rest of the cast fare equally well, even though some have less material to work with. Eddie Redmayne, among the cast's stronger vocalists, makes the potentially bland Marius an engaging presence. His work opposite his fellow student rebels (led by a magnetic Aaron Tveit as Enjolras) resonates, and his one time to shine as a soloist reaches the same emotional magnificence of Fantine's anguished cry in the dark. His pair of romantic interests handle themselves well, even as the material lets them down compared to the ensemble. Amanda Seyfried does her best to turn adult Cosette into a compelling presence, but ultimately the role doesn't have quite enough weight to it. Then there's Samantha Barks' Eponine, who sings quite well, but lacks the screen presence of those around her.
Less immediately entertaining are the story's comedic relief cast members, the nefarious Thenardiers (Cohen and Bonham Carter). For those not acquainted with the material, the Thenardiers' "Master of the House" could prove awkwardly stitched together and jarring, considering the material that comes before. The Thenardiers' presence is something of a mixed bag throughout, and the might have better served the film with fewer, more carefully chosen, scenes.
Last, but not least, is Russell Crowe as Valjean's tireless nemesis, Inspector Javert. Crowe has become the single most divisive element of the cast, yet I have to confess that I found the actor compelling, despite his thinner vocals. Crowe's limited range fits into an interesting rock opera range, yet thanks to the close-ups, he's able to make it work. Both of Javert's big solos, vocal rough patches and all, managed to give me the right kind of chills. Redmayne is the vocal star of the supporting cast, but as far as acting is concerned, it is Crowe who truly makes every moment count.
With the cast generally turning in strong work, however, there's still the matter of everything around them. And thankfully, despite some shortcomings, Hooper and his behind the scenes collaborators have brought their A game. The cinematography, wide angle lenses and all, gives the songs a sense of immediacy. These are not the prettiest renditions of the score, yet thanks to the use of close-ups, they are guided from their lofty pedestals down to a much more human and visceral level. And Cohen's camera also captures the often dark scenes with a surprising richness, and the scenes set in daylight possess a painterly texture that fits wonderfully with the time period. Technical aspects, despite the inherent dreariness of the setting, are also aces. The stylized sets and costumes are bold and textured, and the makeup ranges from wonderfully subtle (Valjean's aging) to appropriately cartoonish (Mme Thenardier in particular).
Yet for all that Mr. Hooper gets right as a director, he does make some decisions that get in the way of his cast, rather than helping them. Given the magnetism of the performances, Hooper's framing can be overlooked. Less forgivable is his staging of certain numbers, which isn't helped by the occasionally fussy editing. It's going too far to say that the film succeeds in spite of Hooper's direction, but some of his choices do provide some unnecessary hurdles. However, Hooper does allow the camera to settle in enough places to create some stirring (and stable) imagery.
And when Les Miserables soars, it does so magnificently. The songs of the student rebels are among the most rousing, and lend the film a new sense of energy as new characters and arcs are introduced. Even when characters appear as though the entire cast was living in a shrunken version of Paris, the music's power in the hands of the ensemble remains undeniable. The richness and grandeur of this musical epic remain fully intact, despite the deliberately unpolished vocals. Whether you weep or find yourself lifted in triumph, Hooper's shamelessly epic treatment of the material, coupled with the bracingly intimate treatment of the performances, manages to rise to the occasion over the technical bumps in the road. It may take some time to adjust (I have seen the film twice now), but even for the uninitiated, there is potential for this extremely faithful version to win you over. Or, at the very least, you can hear the people sing, and hopefully like some of what you hear. Les Miserables is full throttle in its sincerity (there's no Sweeney Todd-style black comedy) and devotion to the musical/operetta form. As such, it will undeniably turn off plenty, whether they be those driven away by the music, or Hooper's direction. Yet for those with whom the film even partially connects, there will be moments that register with a level of old fashioned majesty that's worth singing about.
Grade: B+/A-
