Review: "Jackie"

Director: Pablo Larrain
Runtime: 99 minutes

Though it features only the briefest moments of blood and gore, there is something so deeply immersive and unsettling about Jackie that made me queasy. The lives, legacies, and tragedies of the Kennedy clan have been in the public consciousness for decades. Movies, miniseries, plays, novels, and conspiracy theories about the Kennedys have congealed into their own industry, and that industry has taken hold as its own sub-genre of American culture (Kennedy Kitsch? Kennedy Camp?). Yet none have pierced through shield of the Kennedy mythos quite like director Pablo Larrain. A native of Chile, Mr. Larrain's English language debut, despite centering on American royalty, feels as fresh and urgent as his film's directly tied to his homeland's socio-political conscious.

Even though Jackie opens with a familiar framing device (the subject is being interviewed, with length flashbacks filling in the gaps), Larrain is quick to distance himself from decades' worth of mythologizing and hagiography. Before Jackie O (Natalie Portman, astounding) even appears on screen, the viewer is jolted by the otherworldly strains of the score. There are no patriotic tunes of either the upbeat or mournful variety. Instead, avant garde composer Mica Levi (who also wrote the haunting music for Under the Skin) floods the soundscape with a swirl of alien notes and tones. The score, which seeps out like a frozen, enveloping embrace, is disorienting to brilliant effect. 

The Kennedy brothers (Jack is Caspar Phillipson, Bobby is Peter Sarsgaard) make their appearances throughout Jackie, but Larrain and screenwriter Noah Oppenheim keep the focus on the titular First Lady of Camelot. With whole life thrown into chaos, Jackie finds herself being unravelled at all angles, and Levi's music does an overwhelmingly powerful job of communicating her emotional discord. There are no elaborate swooping camera moves in Jackie, but Levi's music and Stephane Fontaine's images mix like vodka and Xanax. It's off-putting, then hypnotic, and climaxes with a sense of dissociation that leaves your nerves exhausted, your mind numb, and your innards hollow and tumultuous.

Jackie sustains its limited premise through its craftsmanship, but it's thanks to Portman that it transcends. It's a brilliant example that proves finding the right actor to play a historical figure goes beyond (and can even exclude) exact likeness. Portman's features have some glaring differences, and there appears to have been no use of padding or prosthetics to bridge the gap between artist and subject. Yet the instant those rounded words glide out of Portman's mouth, all doubt vanishes: it's her. 

Of course, vocal inflections and the right hair do not a rounded performance make, and Portman and Larrain are well aware of this. Oppenheim's screenplay, aided by Sebastian Sepulveda's editing, positions the various flashbacks like an orchestra of mirrors. They reflect and refract, with Portman functioning as the story's anchor more so than the scenes involving the journalist (Billy Crudup). Even if everything had been handled with an emphasis on linearity, it would do nothing to diminish Portman's work, which takes Jackie O through so much complex emotional territory and distills it into a character both deeply empathetic and not quite of this world (often at the same time). In short, it makes Portman's Oscar-winning performance in Black Swan look like amateur hour. 

The driving thesis of Jackie, which is pointed out early on, concerns reality's relationship with historical narratives and fairy tales. Portman, Larrain, and Oppenheim repeat the idea a few times (perhaps one too-many), but consistently find new ways to play it out in scenarios that feel possible and plausible, even if some liberties are taken in the name of drama. Did Jackie O ever try on a bunch of her clothes, sashay through the White House in a drug-and-booze addled stupor with the soundtrack to Camelot blasting out of the record player? I'm perfectly content never knowing the answer. Reality and history make strange bedfellows, and that discomfort lies at the heart of what makes Jackie sing so beautifully as a film. Larrain, whose dramas sometimes squander great set-ups on drawn-out, overwrought execution, could not have been a more inspired choice. 

Larrain's perspective is a thrilling compliment to the American iconography on display, and he guides Jackie's journey with masterful control of timing and tone (Oppenheim's script includes some welcome moments of mordant and mournful wit). Few scenes this year will merge great writing, acting, and directing the way Jackie does when the First Lady appears to break the news of JFK's death to her children. It is mesmerizing, stomach-churning, white-knuckle intense, and ultimately shattering. Larrain's guiding hand, Portman's face, and Oppenheim's words (and silences) take two horrendous moments (one personal, one political) and blow them up to operatic proportions: The President is dead...My husband is dead...My husband the President is dead. Those unspoken statements hang there through all of Jackie, and their weight only increases with time. When Crudup's journalist asks Jackie if she has any advice, she replies, "Don't marry the President." After spending just over 90 minutes in Jackie's head, you'll understand why.

Grade: A

Review: "No"

Director: Pablo Larrain
Runtime: 118 minutes

The muted visuals of Ben Affleck's Argo work on an aesthetic level in part because they call to mind the faded footage and photographs of the time period. Yet that film still possesses a certain Hollywood sheen (I don't mean this as an insult). If you're looking for a film that really goes all out in recreating a certain aesthetic, then look no further than Pablo Larrain's No. Currently nominated for Best Foreign Language Film (it hails from Chile), Larrain's third film won't ever win any awards for its visuals, and that's entirely on purpose. Shot like a home movie from the time period (the late 80s), it is easily one of the ugliest films to come along in quite some time. Yet once one adjusts to the choice Larrain made, the craftsmanship still comes through to create a stirring political drama.  And while it may not be quite the triumph it's been billed as, No is still worth a look, even if it sometimes feels too simple and safe. 

Larrain wastes no time in setting up the historical backdrop. After 15 years in power, Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, under international pressure, calls for a vote on his regime. If the majority votes 'Yes,' Pinochet will remain in power for eight more years, and if the reverse happens, then Pinochet's regime will end. The campaign will last a mere 27 days, during which the Yes and No sides will be allotted 15 minutes of airtime per day. Joining the No campaign is advertiser Rene Saavedra (Gael Garcia Bernal), who we first meet as he presents a borderline satirically cheery ad for Coca Cola. What starts off as a seemingly simple assignment soon takes over Saavedra's life as he tries to balance somber honesty with pandering emotional appeals. 

In one sense, No shares a central thematic arc with, of all things, Zero Dark Thirty. The protagonists enter into an assignment thinking of it merely as work. Yet as time progresses, they grow more and more invested, only to be left uncertain once their goals have been accomplished. Yet for Saavedra, the shift is more unsettling, because unlike Zero Dark Thirty's Maya, he isn't really prepared for how much his life will potentially change, and how extreme his opposition will become. Hired thugs show up outside of his home. Pinochet supporters vandalise his house and brand him a Marxist intent on selling out his fellow countrymen. And the opposition doesn't just stop with the No campaign's political rivals. Even within the No camp, there are those who question Saavedra's tactics. When Saavedra pitches an idea to a room full of No supporters, and explains that he is fully intent on using the language of advertising, one man leaves in disgust. 

As much as No is about a very specific moment in time, it also hits on a more universally important shift across the world: the increase of flashy, sensationalist advertising in political campaigns. Larrain has tapped into something special with his subject matter, because he never has to stretch to get the larger point across. This is a film that tells its story, and has the integrity to let the larger implications brew in the backs of people's heads, without ever becoming heavy-handed. Almost. 

What throws No off is that it engages with its compelling subject matter in a rather safe way. Despite a few bursts of low-key humor, No's script has very little bite in its commentary, satirical or sincere. And as enjoyable as Bernal is in the central role, the film gets wishy washy when it comes to focus, and can't seem to decide whether it's more interested in Saavedra as a man, or only in so far as he relates to the No campaign. There are mild links between the two, but they feel tenuous at best. When Saavedra's big, internal moment comes, it almost feels out-of-left-field (contrast this with Maya's final scene in Zero Dark Thirty, which fits perfectly both narratively and thematically). It's not that these scenes are jarring. Larrain's direction ensures that the whole film feels perfectly cohesive. The problem is that they don't all feel entirely fleshed out or even compelling in the moment. Bernal (and the rest of the cast) handle it all well, but once No reaches its stirring climax, the aftermath can't help but feel a little empty. 

Ultimately, No's subject matter ends up being more compelling than the actual film. For all that Larrain accomplishes as director, he is unable to bring anything more to the surprisingly light script. The easy way to close out this review would be to say that No is "definitely a YES," but I can't go quite that far. It's a worthwhile film with efficient storytelling (it feels roughly 20 minutes shorter than the actual length), and nice performances. However, No's execution rarely digs beneath the surface of its rich material. So say "Yes" to No, but not without a few reservations.

Grade: B/B-