Silver Tongues (2011)

I'm really glad I came across Silver Tongues, a cerebral little gem about the thin line between the games we play and the lives we lead.  It starts out in a similar vein, we think, to La Ceremonie or Funny Games or the less interesting The Strangers.  But it very very quickly moves into far more dangerous and original material as we watch the central couple flit from situation to situation making up stories and playing casually with life or death situations.  It is less physically violent, but far more emotionally violent and cruel. 

It's interesting that the film doesn't start with Gerry and Joan (and, honestly, I just had to look up those two characters' names) because, although they the entire film revolves around them, we really have no idea who they are or what they're trying to accomplish.  Still, the main actors are riveting, which is significant, because how else could we possibly continue to alternately sympathise with and revile two such alternately sympathatheic and repulsive human beings and have it feel so consistently genuine.  We know they are deceptive, but are, we, the audience, also being deceived?  (Not so spoiler alert: yes, most likely.)

Lee Tergesen has the poor-man's Alexander Skarsgard look about him that make him perfect for the role of Gerry, a chameleon you'll both hate and pity, even as you marvel at his essentially bland form of evil.   And Enid Graham is really striking as Joan, moving expertly from cruel to vulnerable to playful to What is going on here, Joan?!?  She feels like a slightly grittier Laura Linney, and Oh! She played the creepy agent's mousy wife on Boardwalk Empire.  She gives a gripping performance.  I think it's fitting that both of these actors have the 'that guy' persona.  We recognize them and we don't.  We feel like we know something about them that we probably don't.  We're willing to allow a certain kind of intimacy that may or may not be warranted. 

This is director Simon Arthur's first feature, based on a short he directed a few years ago.  The dialogue almost feels lifted from a stage play, with its economy and artifice of language.  It fits nicely, though, with the the visual minimalism of the film, very quiet in its execution, watching Joan and Gerry along with the rest of us.  But, it's clear by the end that Arthur has made some strong directoral choices, always giving his charactes the proper stage in which to play out their stories, and guiding us, the audience, to his desired conclusions all the while seeming dispassionate. 

I'm thinking now, of the multiple (motif alert) escapes the characters make and how they're each framed to rationally draw a conclusion that turns out to be not so rational after all.  How can you track what's rational when the context keeps changing?  And that, too, is part of the game.  It's a clever conceit. What happens when we play with what is real and what isn't real (like, say, watching/making a movie)?  If it's a game, what's the end game?  What does it mean for our actual lives? How do we escape?  And is escape leaving or arrival, as one character (whom I also want to kiss) aptly puts it?  Is fiction cruel or compassionate?  What stories do we tell ourselves and others and how responsible are we for the consequences?

Four stars.  Quiet and heady and devilishly enjoyable.  A provocative meditation on identity and morality with a nice frosting of suburban ennui.   

It Happened One Night (1934)

Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert glow as an odd couple on the road, and eventually, in love in this 1930's screwball rom-com. Colbert plays Ellie Andrews, a spoiled society girl (Gable dubs her "brat") who flees her overbearing father to marry a society playboy. Gable plays Peter Warne, a down-on-his-luck drunken newspaper reporter, who needs a good story to save his career. Naturally, the two find themselves on bus together to New York, and series of events prolongs their trip, forces them to stick together, and leads them to fall in love. But they don't even know it yet! And their stubborness just drives them apart!



The charm of the pair is certainly the draw of the film. Gable is dashing and witty and adorably intoxicated. Colbert glows with youthful obstinance and passion, and the chemistry between them is as exciting as it is inevitable.

True Grit (2010)

True Grit is the Coen Brothers latest genre masterpiece, a remake of a 1969 John Wayne film, which I haven't seen, but which I have added to my Netflix queue with the status of 'Long Wait'. So, neglecting any comparisons with the original - which, I'm sure, will add layers to the reading - True Grit 2010 was a stunning film, thanks in no small part to Roger Deakins' nearly poetic cinematography, and the incredible performance of my favorite new little spitfire, Hailee Steinfeld.

Steinfeld plays Maddie Ross, a self-possessed, self-reliant, no-nonsense kind of girl who hires a US Marshall to track down her father's murderer, Tom Cheney, a fugitive who is also being pursued across state lines by Texas Ranger LeBeof. Jeff Bridges shines, of course, as crotchety Rooster Coburn (I seriously can't imagine how John Wayne could do any better), chosen by Maddie because of his "true grit", and Matt Damon is super adorable and funny as LeBeof (my love for him has certainly grown exponentially since I hated him for ruining The Talented Mr. Ripley).

This trio travels into Indian territory to hunt Cheney and his criminal cohorts, their personal (and interpersonal) conflicts reflected in the hostile terrain and lawless justice of the untamed West they must traverse. Visually, the characters are dwarfed by the landscape. Beautiful, bold, broad shots set our heroes and villains in the middle of deep valleys, perceived as miniatures from our too-far-away vantage point on a nearby clifftop. Or the characters are entangled in the scenery, trapped or overwhelmed, struggling against the elements. And this combination of man vs. nature configurations really describes the dialectic of the film: for all the expansive surroundings, the story really anchors on the personal and intimate.

The core of the film is really the relationship(s) between Coburn, LeBeouf, and Maddie. Both Coburn and LeBeof have developed their coping mechanisms, their hard-lived life stories, their grit, if you will. Both are kind enough (or the writers are) to give us many of these back stories from the witness stand, while on the road, around the campfire. Both have clearly evolved into men with Grit, albeit down very different paths, and their interactions with one another, and in relation to Maddie, reveal nuanced meanings of tenacity, honor, and trustworthiness.

But Maddie is something different entirely. Her story is clear and simple and complete. More than the obvious grit of the Marshall, or the ranger, or the outlaws, Maddie embodies true grit - she represents unvarnished truth and absolute determinism. Also, any actress who can believably hold her own with Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Josh Brolin, and Barry Pepper is super kick-ass in my book any day.

A Single Man (2009)

A Single Man (2009) is Tom Ford's feature-film directorial debut based on the novel of the same name by Christopher Isherwood. Colin Firth stars as George, the titular single man, a college professor grieving the death of his lover. Matthew Goode plays the perished soul mate, very much alive for us in well-placed flashbacks that appear almost seamless with the present, as George must experience him as well. Nicholas Hoult, so adorably (and, it kind of feels, criminally) grown-up, plays a student with a crush on George, innocently unaffected by his burgeoning manhood (and fuzzy sweater!). And Julianne Moore - ah, Julianne Moore - is beautiful as always as a mess-of-a-drunken-divorcee-socialite who hopelessly pines for George's romantic affection. Oh, and Margene is perfect as a 50's mother. George's conversation with the daughter is priceless.



I'll admit, I did not walk into the film with especially high expectations. I expected it to be pretty, maybe something a la Bruce Weber, whom I love, don't get me wrong. I knew it had received some critical acclaim, but I was not expecting the emotionally compelling and visually stunning film I watched.



First, it was very, very pretty. Set in the 60's, each detail is impeccable. The clothes, the hair, the furniture, the faded technicolor - everything was perfect. In that capacity, it will most likely be compared with Mad Men. But unlike Mad Men (meta alert: Don Draper makes an uncredited appearance), where the world is perfectly staged to reflect the inevitable downfall from the status of pretty and privledged, the 60's of A Single Man is already cracked, already exposed for its bias, already faded from the shiny glitz of glossy-magazine-ready lives. Even the film stock seems faded and old, as if this were a home movie,



It's beautiful in both its human and natural landscapes. The exterior scenes are really lovely, but it's the interior scenes that are most compelling, long close-ups of human faces lined with age (or not, in the case of some barely-legal characters) and sadness, painted, both literally (in the case of Julianne) and figuratively (in the case of George), to become something they're not. The cinematograpy and visual concept of the film is gorgeous. Eduard Grau is to be commended. As is Tom Ford. Not only is the film fashionable and lovely to watch, it's well-acted, well-edited, and well-paced. Exposition is concise and scenes are nice sketches of what one imagines to be a much larger, richer life. It manages to be both meditative and suspenseful, and the characters are sympathetic and, failing that, very, very pretty.



Yet, it would all be nothing if not for Colin Firth. What a pleasure to see him playing something more complex than the inevitable beloved in a romcom. He plays George with an impeccable dignity and a quiet sadness erupting barely below the surface. The sorrow etched onto his face is both strangely beautiful and oddly calming. He is at peace with his anguish, if you will, and is slow to realize the possibility of a different future for himself. The ending is bittersweet and charming and poignant. Not a comedy. You'll probably want a drink after. But authentically moving and beautiful.

Choke (2008)

Choke (2008) is Clark Gregg's adaptation of the Chuck Palahniuk novel, starring Sam Rockwell and Angelica Huston. The film is Gregg's directorial debut, though he's been in just about everything as an actor, usually as the semi-loser, semi-smarmy, all-harmless authority figure: the police chief, the protagonist's ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend, the annoying middle manager. Here he plays the boss at the Colonial Williamsburg theme park where Victor Manicini (Rockwell) works, alternately romancing the main milkmaid, and trying to banish Victor and his best bud Denny for anachronistic infractions.

The movie follows the novel pretty closely, and is well-cast. Sam Rockwell is a pretty good representation of Victor, the sex-addict and con-artist who may or may not be the son of God, and manages to capture the simulatenous love and disgust you have for the character. Angelica Huston is amazing and gorgeous, as always, and manages to add layer upon layer to her crazy mother character, with just brief snippets of backstory. Who wouldn't want Angelica Huston as your crazy, quirky, kidnapping mother? Besides Victor, of course. The relationship between these two is crucial to the emotional progression of the film. Sam is pretty good, but Angelica is better.

Kelly MacDonald is adorable as usual, and I was happy to see her cast as the unconventional Doctor Marshall. She's quietly quirky and sweet, and plays cute with Rockwell's Victor. Brad William Henke as the adorably stupid best friend is also pretty perfect. And, he's on Lost! One of the good guys! Even Gillian Jacobs as Cherry Daiquiri ("not her real name") is funny and memorable.

So, cute, clever, well-acted adaptation of a pretty good book. What's missing? I'm not sure. Tim Orr, the dp, was already on my list for Pineapple Express and All the Real Girls, and the cinematography is fine, good. The acting, direction and editing are all fine, good. And though Choke isn't my favorite of Palahniuk's novels (that honor probably still goes to Survivor), the movie didn't improve upon my experience of the book. Maybe it's too much like the book. It didn't really add to my imagination. Still, a promising debut and a set of lovely performances.

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Inglourious Basterds (2009) is Quentin Tarantino's World War II revenge fairy tale, a majestic fun-ride through a violent fantasy-land of good and evil, heroism and justice. Many critics have suggested that this is Tarantino's Spaghetti Western, his Dirty Dozen. But, I think, more aptly, it's part 8 1/2 and part Intolerance: his creative self-reflection and filmic self-defense. It is both an homage to the cinema he so obviously adores and emulates and an unapologetic reveling in the cartoonish, dialectic violence of his own filmmaking. There is plenty of the 13-year-old-aesthetic we've come to know and love with Quentin, but Tarantino also brings a real maturity to his storytelling here. Far from being simply a redux of Kill Bill with Nazis, as the previews may have suggested, Inglourious Basterds is a suspenseful and witty thriller and a sophisticated movie about movies.

Like most Tarantino films, this one has a clever structural set-up, divided into 5 titled chapters, and beginning, of course, with "Once upon a time...". The setting of the story has less to do with Jewish retribution and more to do with moral certitude. We know, before we even meet a single character, which guys are the good ones and which ones are the bad. We know the situation, the motivations, the conflict, the expected outcome, before any of it even begins. And this is the film's true Western heritage. No need to get up to speed historically or deal with pesky character layers, just jump right in and enjoy the ride. As Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) notes to an unfortunate captive, "We like our Nazis in Uniform. That way we can spot 'em, just like that." Hitler is bad; Brad Pitt is good.

The real center of the film - and one I completely didn't expect - is film itself. Our heroine runs a cinema, where the premiere of a new Joseph Goebbels film is about to take place. The film is a propaganda piece starring an actual war hero, who happens to be pursuing the cinema owner, who happens to be a Jewish girl in hiding. The movies, used expertly by the Third Reich to appeal to the masses, also becomes the vehicle for retaliation against them, both literally and figuratively, as the cinema owner, her black boyfriend, a German film actress and British film critic working undercover, and the Basterds plot to take down Hitler. In the 5-act play of Inglourious Basterds, "Operation Kino", emerges as the falling action, 'the moment when the conflict between the protagonist and the antagonist unravels', the space where all of the story threads come together for - forgive me - a glorious denouement. Along the way, Tarantino gives us nods to Hitchcock and The Wizard of Oz; discusses German cinema, UFA under the Nazis, and auteur theory; and - bless him - devotes a full scene to dissecting Hollywood politics in the guise of a secret agent interview. Brilliant.

The cast is fun and eclectic as always. Brad Pitt looks like he's having a blast (and probably is), and falls in step pretty perfectly with Tarantino's diner dialogue. He's Rusty Ryan, except from the Smokey Mountains, with some "Injun' in him", now fighting Nazis! A pleasure as always. His kids must think he's pretty damn cool. Diane Kruger, as the German actress working for the British government, is glowing. Joshua Jackson is a lucky guy. She's, of course, actually German, playing a German, working for the British. While Michael Fassbender as Archie Hicox is a German, playing a Brit, pretending to be a German, whose poor German accent nearly gives them away. It's very meta. Indeed, many of the actors are German and French, speaking in their native languages. Daniel Bruhl, for instance, as the adorable and adored (and, unfortunately for his love life, the Nazi German) war hero Fredrick Zoller. Much of the film is subtitled as well, and language is often used as a chess piece, brilliantly so in the opening act.

Our protagonist is played Melanie Laurent, as sole survivor Shoshanna, who later assumes the identity of Emmanuel Mimeux, French cinema owner. She is lovely, and kind of reminds me of Juliette. She carries intense fear, cunning, and duly earned survival instincts with equal grace and authenticity. Our antagonist, Col. Hans Landa, or "The Jew Hunter", in case there was ambiguity, is played by Christoph Waltz with such lighthearted menace, you can't help but love and hate him at the same time. He's a joy to watch, the perfect villain. The two of them match one another well, and their showdown over strudel is perfectly crafted.

In fact, pretty much everything is perfectly crafted. The opening scene is spectacular, and I wouldn't take away any of his staged antics, even the pre-antics discussion about the locale of the imminent antics. It's a long film, but it's all necessary. Even the cartoonish violence, which generally has me hiding being my hand and cringing, is appropriate, in the way that something can only be appropriate to Tarantino. Confrontations are well-staged and, dare I say, cinematic. And let me just say, the red dress is fantastic.

Robert Richardson as DP does a really nice job. The palette is dark and rich and perfectly reflects the fantasy wartime Europe as Wild West I think Tarantino was going for. The women glow beautifully; and the dark, smokey restaurants and bar and, ultimately, the cinema are well-chosen set pieces for Tarantino's operatic choreography. Whether or not it's his "masterpiece", as he so humbly suggests, remains to be seen, but it made me love him all the more as a cinephile. You can practically feel his glee behind the camera as he pieces together grand scenes.

And yet, while it definitely has the self-reflexive "This is a Quentin Tarantino film" vibe, it frequently evolves into an absorbing and suspenseful narrative. The soundtrack pieced together from old Spaghetti Westerns didn't hurt either. As much as he is reflecting on film, here he also achieves that transcendent quality to which film aspires - the chance to get lost in a story, to root for the good guy and cheer when good triumphs over evil.

In between scalpings, of course.

Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye (1950)