Director: Xavier Dolan
Runtime: 105 minutes
A tightly wound story of lust, desire, and control, Xavier Dolan's Tom at the Farm is the young Quebecois director's most accomplished film to date. Abandoning most of the film student tendencies of his previous features, the prolific artist's latest is a dive off the deep end into florid modern noir. Though Dolan still has plenty of room to grow, and it shows, his latest is a gay-themed, Hitchcockian psychosexual thriller that holds some truly magnificent pieces of acting and atmospheric tension.
As the film opens, Tom (Dolan) is bidding farewell to his boyfriend Guillaume, who has passed away in a tragic accident. Yet soon afterwards he's forced to conceal his feelings. Tom journeys to Guillaume's family's farm for the funeral. The family - mother Agathe (Lise Roy) and brother Francis (Pierre-Yves Cardinal) - remain unaware of Guillaume's sexual orientation. Under pressure from the vaguely menacing Francis, Tom continues to prop up the lie, and finds himself slowly sucked into life at the farm.
Dolan's first steps here are his clumsiest. Despite the moody photography, early scenes come front-loaded with Gabriel Yared's lush, bombastic score. As Tom meanders around the empty farm for the first time and Yared's strings flood the screen, it's tempting to write the whole thing off. Moments like these show Dolan struggling to acclimate to the genre trappings he so clearly wants to engage with (and indulge in).
Yet once the perfunctory first conversations are out of the way, Tom at the Farm starts to come alive with a Polanski-like attention to atmosphere. The style and content stop clashing, and come together to paint a fog-shrouded portrait of intimate, character-driven suspense and sexual tension. Yared's score, such an obnoxious distraction at the start, suddenly becomes wholly engrossing, even as it occaisionally threatens to recklessly upstage the drama.
Beneath Dolan's typical attention to style, however, he's also put together a tight ensemble of strong performances. The writer/director/star likely won't win new converts with his acting style (his biggest change is that he's decked out with a heinous hairdo), yet his technique lends itself well to the story and character. That said, none of it would work half as well without the stellar turns from Roy and Cardinal, especially the latter.
Roy's Agathe starts as a doddering and oblivious old lady, but through Dolan's script, the actress is able to peel back the layers and reveal surprising and unsettling facets. Best in show honors easily go to Cardinal as the hulking, gruff and controlling Francis. Whether simply hovering over Tom or trapping him in sinister emotional games, the actor is a force to be reckoned with. Both of these roles could have been frustratingly one-note, and it's exhilarating to watch Dolan and his cast pay such attention to them. Even though Dolan's atmosphere is purposefully over the top, the cast keep enough buried so that their emotional explosions never slide into hysteria.
But after so much excellent material throughout the majority of the film, Dolan's ending come off as a bit of a whiff. There's hints at a payoff of sorts, but nothing truly materializes. It's enough make the whole film seem like less than the sum of its parts, and it leaves you wanting more in the wrong ways. Tom at the Farm's beginning and ending are the albatross around its metaphorical neck. After recovering so beautifully from its clumsy opening, having the finale arrive with so little impact, as though Dolan's hyperactive mind needed to wrap things on to move onto his next project (he's currently writing his fifth film). Yet even if, upon reflection, the film isn't quite the success it could have been, the excellence that defines the bulk of the duration is too good to ignore.
Grade: B/B+
Director: Justin Chadwick
Runtime: 146 minutes
Despite its soaring shots of South Africa and a narrative that spans decades, the "epic" biopic Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom feels like it belongs on a small screen in a classroom. Specifically, one presided over by a teacher suffering through a hangover, and too tired to deal with teaching those damn kids. Despite handsome production values and Important subject matter, this sporadically compelling portrait of Nelson and Winnie Mandela is ultimately a history lesson disguised as a genuinely compelling prestige drama.
As biopics go, Justin Chadwick's film is appropriately titled. Nelson Mandela's journey was a long one, and Long Walk to Freedom is a long movie. Unfortunately, the two and a half hour runtime is exhausting, rather than exhilarating. Nelson Mandela's story is incredible, but as written by William Nicholson, it plays more like a history lesson that only momentarily comes alive as a drama. Stars Idris Elba and Naomie Harris are committed to their roles, but their roles mostly leave them with little to do other than emote bombastically.
To the film's credit, however, it does effectively communicate the level of violence faced by blacks under apartheid without becoming exploitative. Following depictions of the Civil Rights Movement (The Butler) and the horrors of slavery (12 Years a Slave), Mandela is the next in a line of films that actually take on issues relating to black people, which is certainly commendable. It's too bad, then, that unlike those other films (or the present-day Fruitvale Station), that Chadwick's film feels didactic, rather than wholly dramatic. Though arguably less episodic than The Butler, William Nicholson's screenplay lacks the necessary character examination needed to sustain a film for two and a half hours.
With Mandela's childhood glossed over in bad Terrence Malick-lite montages, we're dropped into the story with him as a young man in college. It's one of the few times the film actually skips over a significant portion of Mandela's life, although in this case more omissions would have been welcome. Mandela is swept up in the anti-apartheid movement so swiftly that his motivation (aside from the obvious desire for equality) as a character feels empty. We know he's going to join the struggle, and the film doesn't try to delve any deeper into the man's decision to risk being such an outspoken activist.
At least the side of the film focusing on Winnie Mandela gives a look at the source of her more militaristic mode of activism (albeit superficially). Yet as Mandela's complicated and equally galvanizing wife, Harris sometimes overreaches with her performance. A painfully tight close up of her face in a jail cell is made worse by the actress' tear-soaked mugging.
There's so much important, fascinating history covered in Mandela, but in this particular package it's difficult to get caught up in much of it. As a portrait of turbulent recent history it has some value, but as drama it only grabs you for only a few moments in its lumbering runtime. Like so many decades-spanning biopic films, less would have resulted in so much more.
Grade: C
Director: Alain Guiraudie
Runtime: 92 minutes
An excellent concept is betrayed by thin writing and misjudged direction in Stranger by the Lake. Following in the footsteps of Blue is the Warmest Color, Alain Guiraudie's sun-soaked psychological thriller is even more explicit in its depiction of gay sex (this time between men), eventually to the point of indulgence. Despite a few good jolts near the end, and all of the passionate coupling, Stranger is curiously bloodless as both a drama and a slow-burning psychological thriller.
Set entirely at a lakeside cruising spot, the film opens with Franck (Pierre Deladonchamps) arriving at the start of his summer. Though he's attracted to the fit, tan, and mustachioed Michel (Christophe Paou), he's unable to woo him away from his current lover. Bored, Franck befriends the quiet, closeted Henri (Patrick d'Assumcao), and the two form a platonic relationship as Franck continues to lust after Michel from afar.
Now add water, rinse, and repeat. Aside from one significant development, which I won't reveal, the majority of the film consists of shots of male bodies, frequently nude, either sunbathing or locked in passionate embrace. Guiraudie even mines some of it for humor, which is the film's lone saving grace.
Otherwise, the director's languid pacing proves to be detrimental. Once the fascinating psychological dilemma is laid out, Stranger by the Lake refuses to shift in any way. Within the conceit is the potential for an unsettling exploration of desire and our ability to rationalize anything to get (and keep) what we want. Rather than slowly ratcheting up the tension, Guiraudie's direction renders the narrative totally stillborn. The film runs just over 90 minutes, let it feels so much longer, and in the worst possible way.
Beyond the direction and the pacing, the characters aren't up to snuff either. The actors all seem perfectly capable, yet they are poorly served by the screenplay, which is as lazy with characterization as the directing is with atmosphere. Guiraudie wants to use sex to define these characters, and that's where Franck and Michel's interactions go wrong. The initial sex scenes, as graphic as they are, are acceptable in their uncensored depiction of rampant lust. Yet the longer the film goes on, and the less Franck and Michel's relationship actually progresses, the continued inclusion of the sex scenes becomes gratuitous. The duo's sex life develops gradually, while the psychological developments come in contrived fits and starts.
Admittedly, the abrupt finale marginally raises the pulse, but it's barely enough to undo the numbing sensation of all that came before. Concluding with a ludicrously drawn-out final shot, Stranger by the Lake frustrates and annoys, even when it momentarily engages. Ideas and ambition are important, but they're difficult to appreciate when coupled with misguided and lackluster execution. Though it ends in a flurry of motion, the majority of Stranger by the Lake is as listless and sun-dappled as the naked denizens of its titular setting.
Grade: D+
Director: Sebastian Lelio
Runtime: 110 minutes
Even behind a pair of massive glasses, it's hard to take your eyes off of actress Paulina Garcia's face. It's a beautifully expressive, ordinary, and affable visage, capable of communicating deeply felt emotions with the smallest gestures. And even though Garcia bares it all in the frank, bittersweet film Gloria, her face alone is more than enough to carry the whole movie.
Despite the generally melancholy tone, it's easy to see why Chile submitted Sebastian Lelio's character study for the Foreign Language Film Oscar. The movie is almost entirely dependent on Garcia's central turn, so investment in the titular character's journey is paramount. While the layers are pulled back slowly, Garcia is radiant throughout Gloria's minor triumphs and failures.
Outside of Gloria and Garcia, there's not much else, which is the source of the film's best and weakest moments. When we first meet Gloria, she's casually dancing at a bar, hoping to snag a man for the evening. Having been divorced for over a decade, she's surprised when her one night stand with Rodolfo (Sergio Hernandez) starts to bloom into something more.
As this second chance at romance takes off, Lelio deftly takes us through Gloria's other relationships, highlighting her general loneliness. Her children have lives of their own, and her ex-husband (with whom she remains cordial) has already remarried. The initial shots of Gloria dancing to techno music transform from simple fun into quiet longing for human connection. Rather than use these strained relationships for tortured melodrama, Lelio, like Gloria, sits back and lets them play out with gentle understatement.
With such a limited plot, Gloria does start to sag a bit in the middle, even as Garcia's performance continues to charm. At nearly two hours, it could easily use a trim; some smart cuts would actually make the film more impactful. If anything, the first act reveals Gloria's loneliness too efficiently, which gives way to repetition before Gloria's relationship with Rodolfo becomes more dramatically engaging.
That said, it's hard to get too irked at the film when the central performance is so beautifully compelling. The slightly tragic nature of Gloria's life may be too consistently present (it practically lurks around every corner), but the eventual pay off is outstanding. Lelio may get a little lost during the journey, but he knocks the finale out of the park, delivering a conclusion that empowers its leading lady without sugar coating anything. With its sensitive characterization and a beautiful performance from Ms. Garcia, Gloria is able to work as both an honest character study and a rousing crowd-pleaser.
Grade: B
Director: John Wells
Runtime: 130 minutes
It may seem odd, but the first film I thought of after seeing August: Osage County was Steven Spielberg's Lincoln. They have virtually no similarities when it comes to tone or subject matter, but they're noteworthy in how they downplay more noticeable "directing." Film is said to be the director's medium (auteur theory and all that jazz), but films like August and Lincoln are more content to reign in the cinematic techniques and simply let the acting and writing grab the spotlight. Both films are that much better because of this decision, even though August lacks Lincoln's distinguished sense of subtle finesse.
Adapted by Tracy Letts from his own Pulitzer-winning play, the film takes the Hollywood route and shears off roughly an hour's worth of material (much like Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd). While this decision does create the occasional pacing issue, such a considerable loss of material isn't enough to wreck the film. As 'directed' by John Wells, Letts' story is still an bitterly funny tale of a family get-together in the wake of tragedy.
At the center of the film is Violet Weston (Meryl Streep), the cancer-ridden family matriarch. To say that Violet has complicated relationships with her daughters is an understatement. The reasons are best left unsaid (the story has a few surprising twists), but suffice it to say that this isn't just another big and loud family. The Westons are a particularly dysfunctional lot, capable of bickering and manipulating each other and then suddenly sharing in blackly comedic jokes about suicide.
Like most family get togethers, real or cinematic, the early sections are where things struggle to take off. Letts' considerable cuts from his play are commendable, yet he leaves in some establishing scenes that are but empty stage business that would allow someone to change their costume. Wells doesn't try anything 'cinematic' or abstract, but some scenes - like Margo Martindale and Chris Cooper wandering through a dim, humid room - are as painfully stage-y as they come.
The initial focus on Streep's Violet is also something of a divisive choice. While there are plenty of effective big and broad moments, Streep's capital-A acting sometimes clashes with the choices of her co-stars. Some of this is likely intentional - Violet comes off as a coarse, upper middle class Norma Desmond - but the performance is in need of some reigning in. When Streep does hit her mark, however, she's near the top of the ensemble in her ability to bring acid-soaked wit to Letts' tangy dialogue.
Yet as Streep chews the scenery with reckless abandon, two of her co-stars (one famous, the other not so) steal the movie out from under her. As Violet's youngest daughter Ivy, Julianne Nicholson is superb in one of the film's quieter, introspective roles. This is the sort of supporting turn that immediately makes you wonder why Nicholson hasn't risen to greater prominence by now. She's effortlessly emotive, capturing Ivy's struggle with being the subservient youngest child without ever feeling pathetic.
On the flip side is Julia Roberts as oldest daughter Barbara. Stripped of virtually any movie star ticks or persona, Roberts tears into the role, albeit in a more naturalistic manner than Streep. Watching Barbara's simmering contempt grow into a wrathful boil is among the narrative's most satisfying emotional developments. By the time the dramatic centerpiece - an early dinner featuring the whole Weston clan - comes to its knock-out ending, Roberts seals her status as best in show, just as Barbara finally claims her dominance in the household.
For all of the antagonism on screen, Letts' script never forgets to make these characters feel human and relatable, albeit in uncomfortable ways. Among the film's best scenes is a conversation among Barbara, Ivy, and Karen joking and drinking together. Despite their drastic differences, the (admittedly warped) sisterly bond of the trio comes together with remarkable clarity.
While the women are out dominating the screen, the men (none of them Westons by blood) are less successful. There's a subplot involving Barbara's husband Bill (Ewan McGregor), as well as one involving Karen's (Juliette Lewis) sleazy boyfriend (Dermot Mulroney), but they're used more to develop the great women around them. Only Chris Cooper makes much of an impact as his own individual, and it's a testament to his talent that he communicates so much with so little. Meanwhile, Benedict Cumberbatch, while certainly a talented actor, is a minor disaster as Cooper and Martindale's son Little Charles. The brief moments with Charles making his way to the Weston home are the lowest of the films lows. It's too bad that his character has such a pivotal connection to the underlying plot.
Thankfully, the men are mostly afterthoughts, with the women allowed to take center stage in a way that's far too uncommon. Wells' direction ranges from bumbling to bland, but Letts' voice comes through so powerfully thanks to the clear emotional investment of just about everyone on screen. August: Osage County won't be remembered as high art years down the line, but as a vehicle for some superbly written and acted dark comedy, it certainly gets the job done. While I doubt it fully captures the greatness of the source material, it's certainly not a bad place to start.
Grade: B/B-
Director: Hayao Miyazaki
Runtime: 126 minutes
Shortly after the Venice premiere of The Wind Rises, legendary animation director Hayao Miyazaki announced his retirement, to the dismay of fans across the world (including yours truly). For years, Miyazaki's animated creations have dazzled and thrilled. I still remember, at a young age, having my mind warped by the magic of Princess Mononoke. Yet given what Miyazaki's has churned out for his apparent swan song, perhaps it's for the best that he gives retirement a shot. Despite typically gorgeous animation, the master's farewell film lacks the inspired touch that drove all of his best work.
Unlike Miyazaki's most famous films, The Wind Rises has no magical creatures. The flights of fancy are contained to a series of dream sequences revolving around Jiro Horikoshi (Hideaki Anno), the designer of Japan's WW2 aircraft, and his desire for greatness. Miyazaki's passion for the story is evident, yet the underlying notion that most of the flight scenes are dreams hinders the film's ability to engage. All of Miyazaki's most outlandishly designed creatures feel alive because they're real in regards to the story. Here, the number of dreamed or imagined flights vastly outnumber the real ones, and it causes the film to stumble where it should soar.
There's also the matter of Jiro as a protagonist. For all the time he spends working and dreaming, he's such an introverted (and even passive) figure that he proves difficult to root for. The film's most compelling figure is actually Caproni, the Italian engineer who acts as Jiro's dream guide and inspiration. Caproni spends the entire movie leading, acting, and boasting. Jiro, meanwhile, mostly watches. It's a testament to the film's missteps how Jiro feels passive even when he's doing innovative work in the real world.
And rather than pick up as it goes along, The Wind Rises sticks to the same old pace as it languidly moves from incident to incident. The film's low point comes when Jiro vacations in a quaint resort and meets his eventual wife. It's the stuff of bland, boring romantic comedies, except that here it's directed, designed, and animated with a masterful flair for movement. With respect to the title, at least the use of wind throughout the film is well handled.
Yet the film's fatal flaw, and it's an odd one, comes in the form of the sound work. Or rather, the lack of sound work. Even when a massive, devastating earthquake strikes Toyko, one is left straining to hear (and thereby feel) more of the chaos. Despite the widespread destruction of such an incident, the limited nature of the sound gives the impression that only a few dozen buildings and/or people have been affected. The same approach is used with other scenes involving large crowds, and the effect is frustrating and distancing. It's almost like watching a silent film that has no added musical accompaniment; your ears are left begging for something more.
Only in one of the final flight scenes does The Wind Rises briefly come together. But, in a film that runs roughly two hours, the scene is hardly a fraction big enough to outweigh the negatives. With its thin characters and ambling plot, The Wind Rises feels both lazy and indulgent. One would think that a director like Miyazaki could make a film that's more style than substance work on some level. Instead, the result is more like one of Jiro's earliest test planes: it hints at greatness before spiraling out of control and disintegrating into scraps. But hey, at least it looks pretty.
Grade: C
Director: Jean-Marc Vallee
Runtime: 117 minutes
As a film, Dallas Buyers Club is competent and effective. This isn't the sort of film that wows with writing or directing (especially the former). Instead, it's a simple, issue-driven drama that serves as a vehicle for some first-rate performances. Dallas Buyers Club isn't likely to stand the test of time, but it does provide an effective platform for Matthew McConaughey's continuing career renaissance, as well as a return to the silver screen for actor/singer Jared Leto.
Any number of films have covered some aspect of the AIDS crisis, including last year's documentary How to Survive a Plague. This true-life story, however, tackles the topic with a protagonist who's anything but what one would expect. Ron Woodroof (McConaughey) is a free-wheeling, hard-living Texas good ole boy, as heterosexual as they come. In the opening scenes, he drinks, fights, participates in the rodeo, and throws a few homophobic slurs at Rock Hudson. Suffice it to say that he's far from an ally to the LGBTQ movement.
That doesn't exactly change when, after collapsing in his trailer park home, he's diagnosed with HIV. Initially offended by the mere idea that he could even have the virus, Ron eventually comes to grips with his situation. The fire in his eyes, initially a lust for life, suddenly becomes a burning desire to survive. Of course, obstacles abound, namely the medical establishment. Even kind-hearted doctor Eve (Jennifer Garner) is initially determined to make Ron stick to a trial medicine that seems to do more harm than good. Ron, not content with the timeline of his so called treatment, decides to take things into his own hands with a trip into Mexico.
At its core, Dallas Buyers Club is a classic story of a rebel railing against part of the establishment. With conversations about healthcare taking up so much space in current public discourse, the film couldn't feel more contemporary, even though it begins in the early 80s. Having the AIDS crisis as a backdrop proves to be fertile ground for director Jean-Marc Vallee and writers Craig Borten and Melisa Wallack. Neither the writing nor directing handle the setting with histrionics or melodrama.
This is a gritty, efficient film, and a complete 180 from Vallee's last film, the stuffy and unremarkable The Young Victoria. Proving himself an adept chameleon of a director, Vallee lends a (sometimes overeager) energy to the proceedings that gives the story a sense of urgency. With its handheld photography and reportedly brief shoot, Dallas Buyers Club certainly feels kinetic and alive, even as it tackles a story with painful, life or death consequences. Every now and then Vallee's energy threatens to overwhelm the film - as in a montage of Woodroof traveling abroad - but by and large he gets the job done with just enough flair, all while leaving room for his actors.
Whatever Dallas Buyers Club may be lacking in its overall execution, it makes up for with McConaughey and Leto's committed performances. McConaughey lost a frightening amount of weight for the role, but his appearance is dealt with so matter-of-factly that it's never used as lazy characterization. So many films involving body transformations fail to provide actors with anything to really do beneath their transformations.
Dallas Buyers Club, at the very least, gets the transformative aspect out of the way without any pretense. McConaughey is allowed to be active, physically and emotionally, and the film is better off for it. While I'm still partial to his terrifying turn in last year's Killer Joe, his work here is another excellent addition to his current critical resurgence. Leto, as the cross-dressing Rayon, is also effective in his sheer commitment to his character's mannerisms. Just when the film seems ready to leave Leto with nothing to do on an emotional level, the script throws out some material to give the actor a chance to show why we should be glad that he's acting again. There are tears and pained expressions in Dallas Buyers Club, but they're all a far cry from cheap, manipulative melodrama.
Ultimately, part of what keeps the film from being more than a performance showcase is its reticence to dig deeper into the far-reaching consequences of Woodroof's illegal ring of unapproved HIV medication. Other "buyers clubs" are mentioned, but for the most part Borten and Wallack's script is almost entirely focused on Woodroof's world. The man's story, and his gradual adjustment from his worst homophobic tendencies and attitudes, is compelling, but it also feels as though it needs to be grounded in a fuller context.
Admittedly, it's a difficult balance to strike, but in this case the small focus does rob the film of deeper, more lasting impact. As a story of righteous anger and rebellion, Dallas Buyers Club has enough heart and intelligence to make it recommended viewing. But as a look at a major social movement in a turbulent decade, it can't help but feel like a footnote, despite the excellent performances leading the way.
Grade: B-/C+
