Review: "A Bigger Splash"

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+

Review: "Trainwreck"

Director: Judd Apatow
Runtime: 125 minutes

Though by no means as sharp as her sketch show, Amy Schumer's leap to the big screen couldn't have come at a better time. Having finished up a third season of her acclaimed Comedy Central series (which featured an award-worthy 12 Angry Men send up), Schumer is one of the most talked about people on the comedy scene. Rightfully so, as her first feature Trainwreck (which she wrote and stars in), proves. Despite the softening around the edges that was perhaps inevitable in the leap to the big studio system, Schumer's voice has landed into the mainstream remarkably intact and genuine.

Billed as a subversion of the romantic comedy, Trainwreck isn't quite the radical comedy promised by the marketing, but that's not entirely a bad thing. Instead of firmly skewering the rom-com, Schumer and director Judd Apatow (Knocked Up) have simply applied the former's voice to a traditional comedy, and made a funny and sweet film in the process. 

In fact, the only truly rebellious aspect of Trainwreck's screenplay is that it does a bit of gender-swapping in its main roles. This time, it's a woman takes on the cinematic responsibilities of being highly promiscuous all while harboring an ingrained fear of intimacy and commitment. That woman is Amy Townsend (Schumer, obviously) a Manhattanite working at a GQ-esque men's magazine who's no stranger to boozy one night stands. Amy has followed in the footsteps of her rakish father (Colin Quinn), whose mantra is, "monogamy isn't realistic" (drilled in during the hilarious opening scene). Amy's feelings are challenged, however, when her boss Dianna (a spray-tanned Tilda Swinton) assigns her an article about a surgeon (Bill Hader) who cares for A-list athletes. 

To be blunt, the rest of the film doesn't exactly contain surprises. Whether judging by Apatow's other films or by rom-coms in general, there's nothing in the structure of Trainwreck that's designed to surprise. Where the film's success comes from is that it remains (relatively speaking) grounded in reality, offering scenes that are either very funny or quite touching (or both). Though Schumer's comedy often blends vulgarity with cutting commentary, Trainwreck demonstrates that she can create genuine moments of drama as well. With Apatow in the director's chair, the shifts in tone are surprisingly smooth. When Schumer and co. take a minute to really get "serious," the end result feels realistic and sincere, without becoming pretentious. This is not the next great American dramedy, but it is a winning mix of sass and heart often missing from studio comedies. 

The second biggest surprise of the film is that, in addition to its sincerity, much of the drama falls on Schumer's shoulders. Backed up by an excellent cast, Schumer does what Jenny Slate did in last year's Obvious Child, and shows off her skills as a comedian and as a convincing dramatic actress. Amy's Amy is, depending on the scene, either the goofball or the straight (wo)man, and she handles both roles effortlessly. Whether making drunken commentary during a movie or tolerating backhanded compliments from Swinton, Schumer is a consistently winning presence whose charm is only magnified on the big screen. 

Likewise, the supporting cast is full of effective performances, starting with Hader's love interest. The SNL alum steps up to the plate as a romantic lead, and delivers convincing and heartfelt performance. His rapport with Schumer is delightful, which only makes the weightier scenes register more deeply as well. Brie Larson, playing a role modeled on Schumer's actual sister, does lovely work too. As different as the two actresses look, Larson and Schumer have a believable chemistry as siblings who are bonded by love but separated by their drastically different outlooks on life. Swinton, meanwhile, is a delight in her too-brief role as Dianna, while a whole host of Schumer's comedian friends (Vanessa Bayer, Jon Glaser, etc...) fill out additional roles, each with solid contributions to their scenes. LeBron James (as himself) and John Cena offer riotously funny performances as well, using their limited screen time to maximum effect. 

So no, Trainwreck isn't the game changing rom-com that Amy Schumer easily could have concocted. And no, it doesn't have the stinging feminist commentary that Schumer's best sketches possess. But that doesn't stop Trainwreck from working as a highly-enjoyable means of pitching Schumer to the mainstream movie-going public. The studio system has a habit of squeezing the life out of distinctive voices. Thankfully, in Schumer's cast, the voice has remained intact. Under Apatow's guidance (or perhaps protection), Schumer has leapt to the big leagues not by compromising her voice, but by adapting to her surroundings. With this first step now out of the way, the door should be wide open for the comedian to really make her mark. And even if that means getting a few more Trainwrecks along the way, well, that's hardly a bad thing. 

Grade: B

Review: "Snowpiercer"

Director: Bong Joon-ho
Runtime: 126 minutes

It's somehow fitting that a film like Snowpiercer opens on the same weekend as the latest Transformers product. Together, the pair represent opposite ends of a spectrum of would-be summer blockbusters, even if Snowpiercer's background and limited release dooms it to be confined mostly to art houses. Yet even though Transformers will rake in obscene amounts of money, it's Snowpiercer that really deserves to pack in the crowds at the theater. Chameleonic South Korean director Bong Joon-ho's English language debut is a resounding success, one that blends pulpy genre tropes with first class filmmaking. Transformers is what Hollywood thinks its blockbusters should be. Snowpiercer is what they should actually strive towards.

Though post-apocalyptic settings are hardly new by this point, Snowpiercer's main set-up certainly moves it far ahead of the pack. The year is 2031, and after a disastrous attempt to counter climate change, Earth has been completely frozen over. Humanity's last few remainders are stranded not in the icy wasteland, but on an advanced train designed to circle the globe in perpetual motion. 

Life on the train is good. That is, if you entered it as a member of the wealthy elite. While the 1% still live lives of comfort and luxury in their numerous train cars, everyone else is crammed into the slum-like tail end. For the downtrodden masses, including Curtis (Chris Evans), the gross inequality needs to be overturned. Unfortunately, that involves finding a way to break through the security forces and steel gates that prevent them from accessing the train's middle and front sections. 

English-language debuts can prove troublesome for foreign-born directors. For Snowpiercer, the results were almost disastrous. Harvey Weinstein fought with Joon-ho over a specific American cut that would be 20 minutes shorter, and include heavy voice-over work to fill in the plot gaps. Thankfully after plenty of sensationalized exchanges between director and distributor/producer, Joon-ho emerged victorious. Whether you take to it or not, it feels instantly like it belongs along side the director's Korean-set films, which run the gamut from police procedural to monster movie. 

Of course, when foreign sensibilities collide with the English language, there can be some bumpiness along the way. The current South Korean New Wave cinema is known not only for mashing genres together, but also tones. Gruesome violence and chaos is often puntuated by humor that ranges from darkly satirical to broad and slapstick. It's an easy thing to lose in translation (despite being a South Korean-American co-production, 95% of the film is in English). 

Yet Joon-ho and Kelly Masterson, in adapting the acclaimed French graphic novel "Le Transperceneige," have retained the former's sense of humor, while still making the whole enterprise quite accessible to average audience members. Joon-ho's style and vision may have been translated, but the finished product shows that such translation can occur without any watering down. 

This becomes apparent the moment Minister Mason (a thoroughly hagged-up Tilda Swinton) first enters the scene. While punishing a disruptive passenger, Mason delivers a monologue about the train's pre-ordained order that is both terrifying in its implications and rich with black humor. Swinton, decked out in fake teeth and ugly prosthetics, has an absolute bawl with the role. The actress turns her native Scottish accent up to 11, not so much chewing the scenery as swallowing it in a single lascivious gulp. It's smartly over-the-top work that inspires just the right amount of laughter and nervous familiarity. Whatever fantastical pseudo-science has been worked into Snowpiercer's world, the echoes of truth presented remain unnerving. 

The rest of the cast are, in their own ways, perfectly in tune with Joon-ho's vision. Yet rather than keep everyone entirely on the same wavelength, the director makes some go broader, while others stay more grounded. Evans trades in his optimisitic, clean-cut Captain America look for a grizzled, haunted stoicism, and proves he's up to the task of carrying more than just super-hero fare. While cast members like Swinton, Bremmer, and Octavia Spencer go bigger, Evans holds the film together without being left as a boring audience cipher. As the casualties mount and the scenario grows grimmer, the actor's more genuine acting style helps Snowpiercer stay firmly on the rails. His interactions with John Hurt and Joon-ho regular Song Kang-ho are a nice counterweight for the film's bigger, flashier moments. 

Yet when Snowpiercer gets to its claustrophobically entertaining stretches, Joon-ho  and his technical collaborators keep everything flowing along beautifully. Hong Kyung-po's cinematography and camera-work creates plenty of space within the various train cars, all of which are brilliantly conceived by Ondrej Nekvasil and Stefan Kovacik. The variation of the train cars, especially as the rebel masses push forward, is not only beautifully varied, but it plays nicely into the film's visual representation of how much the 1% have, while the rest are confined to cramped squalor. 

And when the action sequences arrive, Joon-ho ensures that they pop. His use of slow-motion, particularly in one tableau-like shot of Evans wielding an axe, is put to smart effect. Some action beats are more frenetically shot, and the director knows when to slow things down to really let the viewer drink in everything that's happening in the frame. Marco Beltrami's score, though it lacks any distinctive themes, is a perfect compliment to everything going around, enhancing the atmosphere without drawing too much attention to itself. 

In Snowpiercer, Joon-ho and company have walked on quite the filmmaking tightrope, making the film's success that much more impressive. Snowpiercer provides the sci-fi thrills and bloody violence, yet it also has quite a bit on its mind regarding distribution of wealth, resources, and our treatment of the environment. Films like Memories of Murder and The Host (the monster movie, not the dreadful teen sci-fi romance) have some pointed commentary about South Korean officials. Snowpiercer's target is bigger, and smartly amplified by the occasional glimpses of the outside world; the failure at the top of the food chain to respond to climate change won't be selective in its victims. It may not be subtle, but that doesn't mean the handling of the execution here lacks elegance. 

And with a runtime just over two hours, it's hard to find a moment worth jettisoning. Snowpiercer is a film that knows how to use its time well to truly build up characters and tension, as brief as certain performances are. Editing ensures that the film's set pieces and contemplative moments are carefully paced, allowing neither to drag or throw things out of balance. One could have easily trimmed down a scene involving an elementary school for the wealthy, and their eerily enthusiastic teacher (Alison Pill), but the scene's inclusion only enriches the rest of the story. 

Despite the bleakness of Snowpiercer's message, however, the film never sinks into full blown misery. Joon-ho and Masterson have beautifully merged entertainment and message so that each compliments the other. In a way, Swinton's Mason character is onto something. Balance is key to success. Yet where Mason's idea of balance stems from nonsensical notions of a pre-ordained hierarchy, Bong Joon-ho's idea of balance involves actively working to achieve a much more equitable sense of harmony. Blockbusters don't need to be all razzle dazzle or all overly serious brooding. They can, in fact, take the best of both sides of the coin and merge them into something singular and spectacular. 

Grade: B+/A-

Review: "The Grand Budapest Hotel"

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-

Review: "Only Lovers Left Alive"

Director: Jim Jarmusch
Runtime: 122 minutes

While big budget vampire endeavors have mostly failed (critically and commercially), the independent and foreign circuits have been much more successful. 2008 gave us the Swedish Let the Right One In, and the following year saw the release of South Korea's Thirst. And, just last year, Neil Jordan's Byzantium, though hardly a consensus favorite, was still a success. These stories work because, despite their centuries old, supernatural characters, focus on character-driven intimacy, rather than grandiose battles. The same is also true of Jim Jarmusch's Only Lovers Left Alive, in which the hazy atmosphere takes precedence over bloodshed and fangs. 

That's not to say that there isn't a good deal of the red stuff seen on screen, but it's almost never accompanied by violence. Detroit-based Adam (Tom Hiddleston), a total shut in, gets his blood from a nearby hospital lab. Though the temptation to feed on a human (or "zombie," as Adam derisively refers to them) remains, Adam remains resolute in his isolation. On the other hand, his lover Eve (Tilda Swinton), though hardly a party-goer, spends her nights traversing the ancient, empty streets of Tangier. If nothing else, Only Lovers Left Alive is proof that slow motion footage of Tilda Swinton never gets old. Other than excursions to meet friends or acquire blood (O-negative is the drink of choice), however, the ancient lovers remain in their brilliantly conceived apartments listening to music.

If anything, music seems to be the last thing that really holds them together. Jarmusch and cinematographer Yorick Le Saux open the film with a series of spiraling shots: first the night sky, then a spinning record, and then overhead views of Adam and Eve in their respective homes. Yet while Eve seems content to lie back and let the music drift over her, Adam slouches on his couch. His conditional immortality has taken a toll on him, to the point where he commissions his lone "friend" (Anton Yelchin) to find him a wooden bullet. Sensing her lover's emotional despair, Eve travels to Detroit (night flights only, of course), to reconnect with her eternal beloved one.

From that point on, Only Lovers Left Alive doesn't really change much. Even the arrival of Eve's wild sister Ava (Mia Wasikowska), doesn't shake up the film's routine too much. There are conversations about past friends (Lord Byron, Schubert), drives around the most desolate parts of Detroit, and music to liven the mood. On paper, it sounds like it shouldn't work. There's so little that happens in Only Lovers Left Alive, which is why it's a good thing that Jarmusch and his collaborators nail the dreamy atmosphere from the opening frames. The pacing is hardly taut, but the combination of the photography and music is steadily engaging in its own laid back way. 

Atmospherics aside, the real draw here is Swinton. Known for her ice queen roles, it's refreshing to see her take a break and play a lighter, fun-spirited character. A lover of literature, Eve's apartment is practically overflowing with books from across the centuries. She thrives on her immortality, while still feeling the pangs of mortality when they hit (her scenes with John Hurt's sickly vampire version of Christopher Marlowe are among the film's best). Whether trying to dance for Adam and drag him out of his funk, or mourning the loss of a loved one, Swinton is the film's clear standout. 

By contrast, Hiddleston is something of a disappointment. Though the role calls for brooding intensity, there doesn't really seem to be a lot going on behind his eyes. We get a better sense of him based on his interactions with Eve, rather than Hiddleston's own performance. Though the actor certainly has the look for the role (vampires tend to come from chiseled, high cheek-boned stock), his presence here is curiously (pardon the pun) bloodless. Supporting turns from Hurt, Yelchin, and Wasikowska punch up the film, but it's still a bit disappointing that only half of the central couple is genuinely compelling to watch. Yet Hiddleston's role is so often passive, that there's little he can do to hold the film back. If anything, his flat work gives more breathing room to the rest of the ensemble. 

Aside from Swinton's lovely work, the second best performer of the lot is Jarmusch in his roles as writer and director. Only Lovers Left Alive could have easily drifted into repetitive tediousness, but I found myself caught up in every jam session, blood drinking, and nighttime drive. The techniques used in the film, like the slow motion, are smartly used, and never outstay their welcome. 

The artistic and technical aspects are also first rate, making smart use of the modest budget. Le Saux works low key wonders with scenes shot entirely indoors or at night, highlighting the immaculately designed apartments that house the titular lovers. The art direction functions as a smart interpretation of the minds of the characters: Adam's apartment is dingy and cluttered, while Eve's is ancient and beautiful. The former is bored of immortality, while the latter is at peace with it, and thrives on it. Only Lovers Left Alive may not have a lot to say, but it does know how to say it well.

Grade: B/B+

Cannes '12 Review: "Moonrise Kingdom" [Competition]

If you gave up on trying to like Wes Anderson a long time ago, his latest, the Cannes opener Moonrise Kingdom, will do nothing to change your opinion. If you're a fan or somewhat indifferent, however, the New England-set coming of age comedy will likely prove to be, at the very least, a charming outing, whether or not it sticks with you long after the credits roll. Set in New Penzance Island at the end of summer, Kingdom follows two children - Sam (Jared Gilman) and Suzy (Kara Hayward) - who decide to run away together. This, of course, doesn't go unnoticed, and soon the island's quirky residents, old and young, are off to find the duo. 


As is common in Anderson's films, the images are calm, steady, bright, and colorful, and the characters all seem to be various incarnations of their upfront and deadpan writer/creator. This upfront attitude carries through the entire narrative, as Sam and Suzy decide to leave together without a moment's hesitation, their faces stoic and determined. As is common with comedies like this, the children are acting like spontaneous adults, while the adults are often stuck acting like big cartoonish children.


 Under Anderson's guidance, the film's pleasures come more from the scenes with the younger actors - Gilman and Hayward have natural introvert oddball presences - and their adventures. In addition to Sam and Suzy's pre-teen romance, the story also follows a group of young boys (Sam's former camp-mates) who go off to find the duo claiming that they don't intend on embarking on the search unarmed (cue the one laugh-out-loud moment: the group of boys marching into the woods with ludicrous makeshift weapons). Leave these adventures mostly on their own, and you have the potential for a bizarre and oddly winning story of childhood romance and adventure. Distinct as Anderson's voice may be, enough of the material resonates enough to ensure either laughs or general amusement. And, by downplaying the nature of Sam and Suzy's statuses as outsiders, certain moments that are strikingly adult come as genuine, well-earned surprises that further enforce the children-as-adults dynamic.


Less satisfying are the adults, who, despite being given equally vague characters, somehow feel weirdly distanced from the movie. A subplot involving Suzy's mother (Frances McDormand) and her affair with a nerdy cop (Bruce Willis), feels too minor, even as they play into the film's themes of growing up. The story ultimately belongs to the kids, so as fun as it is to see McDormand, Willis, Edward Norton, Bill Murray, and Tilda Swinton (only referred to as Social Services and nothing more) on screen together, not much comes of it, even at the literally stormy climax. 


But if the adult-starring scenes are the weakest, the film does build to a strangely affecting climax. It's both eccentric and quietly touching, even as it also registers as completely superficial, which is both a good and bad thing. Even for those left unmoved, however, there are other things to enjoy, like the meticulous production design, warm summery visuals, a killer soundtrack, and Alexandre Desplat's rousing score. The constant pacing, efficient but never rushed, is also a plus, and helps the story maintain a nice momentum over its clean 90 minute duration. Few will be blown away by Moonrise Kingdom, save for the most diehard Anderson devotees, but there is more than enough here, both technically and emotionally, to ensure that many will at least have an enjoyable experience.


Grade: B/B+

The Netflix Files: March 19 - 25

Caravaggio (1986) dir. Derek Jarman:

Among one of art house director's more straightforward efforts, Caravaggio is still a Jarman film down to its core. From the dark, stagey (yet in a good way) set design filled with anachronisms, to the touches of homoeroticism, the late auteur's depiction of the famed painter's life is a lush film that beautifully does for Caravaggio what Julie Taymor would do nearly 20 years later for Frida Kahlo with Frida. Told in a series of flashbacks, the film's main focus is on the love triangle that develops between Caravaggio (Nigel Terry) and a young couple (Sean Bean and Tilda Swinton). The way Jarman lyrically moves between episodes is fascinating to watch. And though the film does touch on Caravaggio's youth, it avoids trying to depict his entire life. By focusing on the non-traditional love triangle (it begins between Caravaggio and Bean's Ranuccio), Jarman is able to contrast the painter's struggles in work (which are somewhat downplayed) with the more volatile struggles in his personal life. It's a rich, sumptuous vision, with, filled with lovely costumes (often against minimalist sets that still speak volumes) and gorgeous photography that does a low-key, yet still effective job of using an episode in a person's life to somehow capture them as a whole.

Grade: B/B+

Review: "We Need to Talk About Kevin" (2011)

As has previously been pointed out elsewhere, if 2010 was a year in film remembered for its words, then 2011 will be remembered for its lack of words. From The Tree of Life to Melancholia to The Artist, films this year have made their mark while being quite the opposite of verbose. The latest from last year to join the ranks of the above-mentioned is Lynne Ramsay's We Need to Talk About Kevin, a loose adaptation of Lionel Schriver's novel of the same name. Revolving around a mother dealing with the horrific aftermath of tragedy, Ramsay's film is filled to the brim with style, from its red-flooded visuals to its sound design. Yet even though it has some effective stretches and strong acting, Ramsay's film doesn't quite measure up to its ambitions, and could, in all honesty, use a bit more talking (about Kevin).

As it charts the before and after of the tragedy at the core of the story, Ramsay's film plays fast and loose with the timeline of events. The first half hour in particular is jumpy and vague, richly captured by Seamus McGarvey's cinematography. So even though Swinton carries the look of an exhausted, drained woman with great skill, the first portions of the film don't seem to really challenge the actress. It's not simply that Swinton is making the whole affair look easy. The film simply doesn't give her much to work with other than stoic gazes. Things improve for the actress considerably as the film progresses, but because Ramsay and co-writer Rory Kinnear leave the beginning so verbally sparse, it's hard to get to know Swinton's Eva.

Which is more than a shame, because like Young Adult's Charlize Theron, Swinton is clearly giving the role everything she's got. The problem is that Ramsay and Kinnear aren't quite pulling their weight. As fascinating as Swinton is to look at, she's infinitely more compelling when given a role that allows her to do more than stare. And by jumping around so much in time so early on, Kevin feels a little too fractured for its own good. The film's central question revolves around the old nature vs. nurture debate in regards to the titular Kevin (played as a teen by Ezra Miller). And when the film settles into the more linear middle and end stretches, it actually achieves a sense of menace and tension. Ramsay's style, which emphasizes just about every possible sound in a given room, does an effective, if at times over the top job of planting us in Eva's head. The presence of red is effective as well, though it too has moments where it feels overdone. Still, these aspects, in conjunction with Swinton's committed turn, do build to an effective series of conclusions (though the absolute end feels cut short and frustratingly indecisive).

This makes Kevin a film that alternates between stretches of frustration and stretches of eerie, magnetic power. When the big moment (or rather, moments) arrive, it's hard not to be chilled to the core, even if you can guess them long before they occur (a look at the film's IMDB synopsis will tell you the film's most important event). Yet even the effective moments can prove frustrating in hindsight, because it becomes apparent that Ramsay could have made them hit harder and with greater authenticity had she simply toned down the stylistic flourishes. Some of the most interesting parts of the film come from Swinton and Miller's interactions, but they feel too brief, when they should be (of all of the "stages" of Kevin) among the most important.

And it's at this point that I, regrettably, have to draw a comparison to Swinton's last cinematic outing: Luca Guadagnino's I am Love (2010). Like Ramsay's film, Love put Swinton front and center, yet also held the puzzling desire to suffocate her work in execution that oscillated from brilliant to overwrought. Thankfully, Ramsay's style isn't nearly as overbearing, so Swinton does get more room to shine. The flip side of the coin, however, is that those moments for her to shine don't always feel as compelling. I am Love was easily the more flawed of the two films, yet its best moments afforded Swinton with better moments as well.

Grade: B

Trailer: "We Need to Talk About Kevin"

We Need to Talk About Kevin Bande-annonce by toutlecine

One of my most anticipated of the year, if for its leading lady alone, is Lynne Ramsay's We Need to Talk About Kevin, based on Lionel Shriver's novel of the same name. While the subject matter may be, er, unpleasant (troubled kid goes on Columbine-esque rampage), the cast's credentials are certainly a draw. The film also picked up very strong reviews at Cannes, and the film's US release of December 2nd (limited) indicates that its distributors plan on pushing this one for the Oscar race. Swinton has yet to receive a second nomination since her first, for which she won, in 2007. She's been passed up completely for two recent acclaimed performances (Julia and I am Love), but this could be her chance to return to the Oscars as a nominee, which feels long overdue, considering the excellent work she's done both before and after her surprise Oscar triumph 4 years ago.

The Netflix Files: May 20-29

It's been way too long since I've added another entry to either the "what I watched this week" or "best of the month" series. However, with summer in full swing, I figured I ought to get both of these running again while I have free time. First thing's first: what I watched this week is now going under the name The Netflix Files. Now that that's out of the way, it's time to play catch up:

Solaris (1972) dir. Andrei Tarkovsky:

Often considered something of a Russian answer to 2001: A Space Odyssey, Tarkovsky's adaptation of Stainslaw Lem's sci-fi novel deserves to stand on its own. It may be set largely in space, and feature mysterious and difficult concepts, but it couldn't be any different from Kubrick's masterpiece. Solaris uses its sci-fi trappings and setting to explore memory, grief, and loss, often offering answers as challenging as the questions it poses. It can be a difficult watch based on length alone, and it probably demands a second (and third, and fourth, and fifth, etc...) viewing, but even on a first watch, it's hard to not be impressed. There are times when the pacing can grow tiresome; a lengthy sequence involving showing a car driving on the highway goes on and on without any purpose or direction. It's magnetic to watch at first, but it doesn't take long before it falls victim to too-much-of-a-good-thing syndrome. Still, I'd be hard-pressed not to label Solaris, my first venture in Tarkovsky's filmography, something of a masterpiece in its own right, as difficult as it can be.

Grade: A-

Hour of the Wolf (1968) dir. Ingmar Bergman:

Bergman, for me, is one of those beloved auteurs who oscillates between hypnotically brilliant and frustratingly obtuse, sometimes within a single film. Hour of the Wolf is one of those entries in his canon that is both. The closest that Bergman ever ventured into horror territory, it's a consistently interesting film, one that uses small details to slowly create a sense that all is not well on the island where Johan and Alma live (Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann). As things become more overtly disturbing and surreal, the layering of symbolism throws some bumps in the road, obscuring the point(s). Von Sydow and Ullmann give committed performances as a couple facing a potentially malevolent group of wealthy neighbors, played by an ensemble of actors committed to creating a perfectly unsettling atmosphere. Like Solaris, it probably deserves a second viewing, but unlike Tarkovsky's film, Hour of the Wolf's initial impression is equally memorable, but not nearly as satisfying.

Grade: B

Orlando (1992) dir. Sally Potter:

Gender roles is the name of the game with Sally Potter's adaptation of Virginia Woolf's time traveling short story. Considered a break-out performance for Tilda Swinton, Orlando traces the 400 year life of Orlando, a young nobleman in Queen Elizabeth's (Quentin Crisp) court. Playing Orlando as both a man and a woman, Swinton's work is both mesmerizing and more vulnerable than the ice queen roles she's known for. Aiding the film, spectacularly I might add, are the art direction and costume design, which gorgeously capture four centuries worth of clothes and castles. It's a visually ravishing journey across time, filled with lush colors and intricate designs courtesy of Oscar favorite Sandy Powell. The beautiful music only adds to this quietly mesmerizing journey. Dialogue is occasionally stiff, but Swinton's compelling work and the immaculate design help lend this odd little gem some heft, creating an impressionistic look at one person experiencing both genders.

Grade: B/B+

La Ceremonie (1996) dir. Claude Chabrol:

Considered to be Chabrol's finest work from the 90s, this domestic drama-turned thriller is the sort that slowly lures you in, only to throw you for a loop with a chilling climax. Led by stellar work from Sandrine Bonnaire and Isabelle Hupert, this tale of a soft-spoken maid and her relationship with a coarse mail woman is consistently interesting. It throws details out slowly, keeping the viewer on edge. We get the sense that something more has to happen than these two women befriending each other, but it's quite hard to tell where it will go. When the film arrives at its ending, you'll likely feel the temperature drop. Chabrol's execution is so matter-of-fact, and La Ceremonie achieves its impact because of it. Coupled with a strangely poetic ending, this domestic thriller is one you won't soon forget.

Grade: A-

Cannes Review Round-Up Redux: "We Need to Talk About Kevin"

With the maintenance that took place on Blogger yesterday, I seem to have lost my most recent post (and also a comment posted on my CRR for Midnight in Paris). Blogger says that it plans to restore the removed posts, but seeing as I have yet to have mine returned, I'd rather just go and do the damn thing all over again as best I can.

One of the films I've been looking forward to the most from this year's Cannes line-up comes from Scottish director Lynne Ramsay, whose last feature film - Movern Callar - hit theaters back in 2002. She returns this year with We Need to Talk About Kevin, an adaptation of Lionel Shriver's acclaimed novel about a woman dealing with the aftermath when her son goes on a Columbine-style rampage. It's the sort of subject matter that doesn't promise easy viewing, or easy answers, as issues of parenting undoubtedly come into play (along with the ever-tricky nature vs. nurture debate). However, by shedding large chunks of the text in favor of her more impressionistic style, Ramsay's film was received as a most welcome return after nearly 10 years:

**A good number of these will be different reviews that those cited in the original post.

The Guardian - Peter Bradshaw: (4/5 stars) "...a skin-peelingly intimate character study and a brilliantly nihilist, feminist parable." "Producer-star Tilda Swinton brings her A-game to the role of Eva."

Salon.com - Andrew O'Hehir: (N/A) "Indeed, there are so many great things happening on almost every level of this movie, from Swinton's haunting, magnetic, and tremendously vulnerable performance...to the many unsettling individual moments."

The London Evening Standard - Derek Malcolm: (N/A) "Without Swinton, often seen in close-up, the film might have sunk without trace under the weight of its morbid subject matter."

Movie Line - Stephanie Zacharek: (N/A) "The filmmaking is extraordinary; it's the story that gets in the way." "Swinton is terrific - this is one of her less mannered performances."

Variety - Leslie Felperin: (N/A) "...Swinton delivers a concrete-hard central perf that's up there with her best work."

The Telegraph - Sukhdev Sandhu: (4/4 stars) "...with no resolution or redemption on offer, it's remarkable how easily Ramsay sustains our interest right to the very end."

Digital Spy - Simon Reynolds: (N/A) "This is a bleak and traumatic drama marked by a blistering performance from Swinton."

Rope of Silicon - Brad Brevet: (B+) "Haunting, sophisticated, and rippling with tension." "Once it begins, you're in Ramsay's hands, and it doesn't take more than a minute for her to gain a tight grip."

InContention.com - Guy Lodge: (4/4 stars) "If We Need to Talk About Kevin is to be labeled any one person's triumph, however, it must be Lynne Ramsay's."

Additional Comments: Critics praise the craft of the film, with standouts going to Seamus McGarvey's cinemtography and the sound design. Ezra Miller and the two other actors who play Kevin all earn praise, and are compared to non-supernatural Damiens. Some are unsure about some of the soundtrack choices and/or parts of Jonny Greenwood's score. John C. Reilly's limited role is given generally positive, but slight, notices.

Cannes Verdict: A harrowing and mature drama with an excellent performance from Tilda Swinton that marks a welcome return for Lynne Ramsay.

"I am Love" - REVIEW

As much as I hate to say this, and as much as I'm not going to enjoy writing this review after roughly three months of skyrocketing anticipation, I feel the need to start off with this statement: Luca Guadagnino's I am Love is everything that A Single Man's (2009) detractors accused it of being. For a film that Swinton and Guadagnino spent 11 years trying to bring to the big screen, it's amazing that it's so thoroughly lacking in such key departments. Set at the turn of this century, Guadagnino's film tells (well, tries to) the story of a wealthy Milanese family, and the wife whose affair causes chaos.

The biggest problem above all in Guadagnino's film is one of my least favorite techniques in film making: the themes/symbols/metaphors/etc are given emphasis to the point that they end up fighting the actual narrative, instead of supporting it, enhancing it, and giving it nuance. Case in point: Emma's (Swinton) affair with young chef Antonio arises over a supposed connection via food. While the scene where Emma has a near-erotic reaction to Antonio's prawn dish is wonderful, it ends up making no sense. This is tied into problem #2: thin characters. Antonio has absolutely no charisma, and no spark with Swinton, and what little they're given to do together doesn't exactly burn with passion. We have nothing to feel for either of these people, even Swinton, which makes the sexual-liberation angle collapse. And since there's nothing about Antonio that's remotely compelling, it kind of makes you wonder: how on earth did she fall for him through his food? Emma is extremely wealthy and lives in ITALY; something tells me that great food really isn't in short supply. I could understand if perhaps Guadagnino had added a slight element of fantasy/magical realism (a la Like Water for Chocolate), but he doesn't. And Swinton, always fascinating to watch, almost becomes slightly boring simply because there's little for her to really do amid the hollowness of the whole thing. The only character that has any emotional depth is Edoardo (Flavio Parenti), Emma's oldest son. Unfortunately, given the lack of passion in the love affair (John Adams' music can only stir you so much when the material on screen is this empty), nothing else really holds together, culminating in a ridiculous ending. After giving us too little to work with and remaining rather distant emotionally, Guadagnino suddenly rushes everything in the last five minutes in a ridiculous climax that wastes Adams' music even further, indulging in almost laughable silent close-ups. The conflict between narrative and themes finally launches off the rails at the end, leaving an ending that really doesn't make sense, especially given the lack of character depth. Even the photography ceases to impress after a while, save for a few tracking shots of Emma through her home. But the biggest crime of it all, especially with A Single Man still relatively fresh in my mind, is that unlike that film, Guadagnino and company are unable to take a limited narrative and turn it into something compelling. I'll admit, perhaps purely on the music I was left slightly shaken when it was over, but in an unfortunately unsatisfying way.

Grade: C

I wanted to like or love it, I really did...

But...not so much. More tomorrow.

I don't need a reason

Kudos to Nathaniel R from The Film Experience for digging up the most bizarre, delightfully amusing image from Cannes in recent memory. I love how Swinton is just there, unintentionally photo bombing Turner and Tarantino's embrace. Her expression is so simple, yet priceless.

New theatrical "I am Love" trailer

Yep, I think "ravishing" about sums it up. The images, the music, the color, the food, the people...it's all gloriously operatic in the best sense. I just don't want to have to wait until July (when it will finally expand to Texas) for this!

Side note: Tilda Swinton really ought to keep her hair long; it's incredibly flattering on her (especially compared to her preferred androgynous-elf short cut).

Italian teaser trailer for "I am Love (Io Sono L'Amore)"

First, I looooove this new footage, and how it manages to intrigue without giving away a shred of plot. I do wish I could understand those critics' blurbs, although the fact that there are so many of them should be encouraging enough. The only problem? I kind of want to fly to Italy just to see this as soon as possible; it's been out there since March 19!!!

New "I Am Love" poster and TRAILER

Sadly the trailer was not available for embedding. You can watch it HERE.