Movie Maven

I was flipping channels the other night when I caught a very old, rather funny episode of the pinnacle of '90s yuppydom, Friends. Oh look at them, I thought. All young and idealistic and of a normal body weight- it's touching. And it occurred to me that all of them at one time or another had made their way to the cineplex near you, with results varying from grand success to utter failure. So, at the risk of sounding like the screeching, peppy, j-school dropouts from Entertainment Tonight, I am compelled to ask...

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

David Schwimmer- a.k.a Ross Geller
"David Schwimmer- yes, he is attractive in an ugly kind of way."- Homer Simpson

Poor David. Condemned to be the despised, up-tight paleontologist, it seems our Mr. Schwimmer is a one-trick pony, appearing in craptacular films such as The Pallbearer and Six Days, Seven Nights. The one exception is the fascinating TV movie Uprising about the rebels who stayed in the Warsaw ghetto after the Nazi's began shipping them off to concentration camps. I wasn't sure about casting Schwimmer- I feared I'd be watching a Holocaust movie and be constantly thinking Hey, look, it's Ross! But I was pleasantly surprised by Schwimmer's steely portrayal of Yitzhak Zuckerman. But Schwimmer apparently seems content at being in films such as Madagascar and dubiously titled comedy Run, Fat Boy, Run which has just been announced, and which he is apparently directing. God help us all.

Courtney Cox-Arquette, a.k.a. Monica Geller

I always hated Monica- the anal, twitchy clean-freak sister of the Geller family. I think the Geller siblings were in fact the most universally disliked, and I always rather admired Cox for playing such an irritating personality. I have a bit of a weakness for this actress actually- I thought she was charming in the Scream trilogy as bloodsucking reporter Gale Weathers, and I even liked her in fabulously trashy Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. She's a "fun" actress to watch- comparable to eating an entire bag of Jolly Ranchers while watching soap operas- you know it's not healthy and is probably killing brain cells, but it has its own special charm. Not a lot of her new movies look terribly promising (one is Barnyard where she voices a cow, another is Zoom about romping teenagers stalked by a killer,) but they'll be good for a Saturday video night.

Matt LeBlanc- a.k.a. Joey Tribbiani

I have just three words for you, people- Lost in Space. 'Nuff said.

Lisa Kudrow- a.k.a. Pheobe Buffay

Kudrow as flaky new-age Pheobe was always under-used in this show, and she's clearly the most talented of the lot of them. From the sly and very funny Romy and Michele's High School Reunion to the dark Opposite of Sex, to her unholy portrayal of desperate sitcom star Valerie Cherish in HBO's The Comeback, Kudrow has consistently proven that she has the comedic grace, wit and timing of anyone. She hasn't announced anything new yet, but her last film was Happy Endings, which alas I have not seen yet, but got some killer reviews.

Matthew Perry- a.k.a. Chandler Bing

This one's a bit of a mixed bag. There was Serving Sarah and Fools Rush In, which were not bad, but not good either. But there was also The Whole Nine Yards, a decent screwball comedy, where the Bingster could use his rather limited range to great effect. To be sure, it was basically Chandler Bing if Chandler lived next to a hit-man (Bruce Willis,) but Perry pulls it off in style. According to the good people at IMDB, he's in an intriguing new film called The Beginning of Wisdom about "the unusual romance between an aged Montana rancher and a young hippie." I'm always interested when a predictable actor is about to work on something a bit unpredictable, and we'll have to see if that range can stretch just a little bit further.

Jennifer Aniston- a.k.a. Rachel Green

Probably the most successful of the bunch since leaving the show, Aniston, is probably also the most talented next to Lisa Kudrow. She's absolutely fabulous in Office Space (I hear the phrase 'pieces of flair' referenced at least once a week). And she showed she had real acting chops when she broke out with The Good Girl, playing one really desperate housewife. Unfortunately she has a dark past with skeletons like Picture Perfect and the truly ghastly Rock Star. But hey, everybody's got to make a buck, and there's still hope for redemption with her most recent, including one called Friends With Money co-starring Joan Cusack, Catherine Keener and Frances McDormand. Who needs Brad anyway?

So here they are- six people who were members of arguably the most famous cast in 1990's television. Some of them will shore up their reserves of talent and perhaps make a real contribution to cinema... some of them will do crappy half-baked spin-offs that make you want to beat whoever put up the dough to produce said piece of schlock. All of them will own their own small country some day and die richer than God.

But one wonders if perhaps as time goes by any of them will become like Kudrow's character Valerie Cherish: former sit-com stars desperate for the spotlight. Unable to break out of the role that defined them.

(Photo courtesy of Hollywood Auditions)

Unhappily holed-up in my apartment, absolutely covered in midterm storyboards, flashcards and analytical writings, it is safe to say I haven't seen a new movie lately. I am lucky enough, however, to be enrolled in a film analysis class, where I- get this- watch movies for homework. It's an excellent class, if only for the joy of understanding the true complexity of what goes into making a film. And I thought it might be interesting to name one or two people who don't get enough credit in this business.

Let's take a film I've been watching extensively for one of my midterms: the P.T. Anderson film, Magnolia. Most of the wonderful things I could say about this movie have already been said: a great ensemble cast, a positively stunning cinematic triumph, Tom Cruise is the man, two thumbs up, etc. etc.. And in my opinion, all these things are true (though I know many would disagree with me- this is a love-it-or-hate-it picture). But watching it now, I am stunned and impressed not by Tom Cruise, Philip Seymour Hoffman, or even P.T. Anderson.

It's Richard King who has my heart.

But who is King, you ask? He's the sound designer and supervising sound editor of Magnolia, a truly monumental task when you think about the ridiculous complexity of Magnolia's soundtrack. Each shot, especially in the beginning sequence played out under Aimee Mann's rendition of "One is the loneliest Number," has several layers of sound. One shot of Claudia in a bar has Mann's song, background noise, the sound of her jaw clicking, a voice-over from a TV commercial, and dialogue. In a nine second shot. All perfectly synchronized and constructed so that every layer is in harmony with the other, adding glorious, orchestrated dimension. Voice-over announcers, the sound of heavy breathing, and T.J. Mackey's strutting, profane sales pitch weave in and out of the opening sequence. The sound is only one aspect, of course, and it isn't necessarily the backbone of the film. But its seamless inclusion is matched with the acting, the setting, the cinematography- all the things that make the movie what it is. The melancholy sequence where all the principle characters sing along to "Wise Up," places the same importance on sound. Magnolia is about coincidence and commonality, and the music is many times the common thread that all the characters share. Whether you think it's beautiful or heavy-handed, you have to admit it's effective. And it's all thanks to Mr. King.

In the end I suppose it goes back to the idea of authorship of a film. To whom does Magnolia belong? The director? The writer? The production company? The first billed actor? Without any of these people the movie cannot be completed. So I think there really is no such thing as an "auteur"- an author or primary source. It works more, in my mind, much in the way a commune is supposed to. Yes, there is a leader of sorts, but without the staff as a whole, nothing gets done. In the end, whether a movie is good or bad cannot be put solely on one person. Its successes or shortfalls could be dependent on any number of people.

Like a sound designer.

(Photo of King courtesy of oscars.com)

I am busily surfing the web, searching for enlightenment, and have run across big, big news.

All the President's Men is coming out in a Special Edition DVD. Oh me, oh my.

The pivotal journalism nerd movie, redone and special featurized with commentary, etc., etc. Robert Redford, Dustin Hoffman and his floppy hair, and Hal Holbrook in that parking garage where it is always 3 a.m. and spooooooky. What more does anyone need?

Wait- what's that you say? The Oscar jokes may actually be funny this year?? Dare I dream it?

By now most of you have probably heard that the amazing Mr. Jon Stewart will be hosting this year's Oscars. My heart beats a little fast when I think that perhaps an entertainer's awards show may be, you know, entertaining. According to an article by the AP Stewart has his own writers working on his act as well as keeping up with The Daily Show. I'll be quite interested to see what they come up with. For now, here's a few hints to hold you until March 5:

"You're gonna see a ton of 'Munich' stuff. Lots of hilarity to be mined there," Stewart deadpans. "This would not be the easiest song parody in the world to pull off. Not a whole lot rhymes with 'Syriana' or 'Capote.' "

Freedomland (2006)
Starring: Samuel L. Jackson, Julianne Moore, Edie Falco
Written by: Richard Price
Directed by: Joe Roth
Official Website
(Photo: Moore and Jackson, courtesy of Movies Online)

Freedomland is not a pretty movie. It's designed to make one uncomfortable, to make one reconcile what we want to see and what we know to be true. But despite it glorious moments and performances, it is also an uneven movie that has to stretch a bit too far.

I would argue that the best thing about Freedomland is its beginning. It starts in the working class, mainly African-American neighborhood in Dempsey, NJ. The neighborhood's inhabitants are out and about- playing basketball, sitting on their porch and talking. A pale, white woman shuffles past them, moving slowly but purposefully down the street. The woman, who we will soon meet as Brenda (Julianne Moore) walks out of the neighborhood, and into the local hospital- leaving a bloody handprint on the door. By the time the final opening credit rolls, as Brenda is showing her injured hands to the doctors, you will be hooked.

Brenda's story is that a black man car jacked her, with her son in the backseat as she was trying to drive out of Dempsey into the mainly white neighboring town of Gannett. The case is given to Detective Lorenzo Counsel (Samuel L. Jackson) and as he begins to investigate, long-standing racial tensions in the neighborhood erupt in violence.

Both Moore and Jackson are at their best, although I would say Moore's performance tends to go a little overboard. Visually she's the very form of grief- her hair is bleached out, lank and oily. Her eyes are like black pits, and she looks like she hasn't slept or showered in days. But she turns Brenda into a character instead of a flesh-and-blood human being, which gets a little grating. Jackson likewise makes Counsel loud and a little hysterical. As much as I love Jackson's acting in this film, his performance starts to mimic the parody of himself on Chappelle's Show. Edie Falco does a splendid turn as a search party coordinator, simultaneously kind and businesslike, maternal and steely. Her scenes are shorter and quieter, but they are some of the most affecting in the film.

While the story grips you and the performances are at times exquisite, there is still something not quite right about the movie as a whole. I haven't read the novel, also written by Richard Price, but I know it runs about 600 pages, which leads me to believe that the film might suffer from adaptation-itis. In other words, there's simply too much crammed into the film to be entirely effective. There is a real sense of hysteria in the movie, perpetuated in part by the hysterical performances and the sense that it is rushing to tell the story.

But there are also moments of perfection in Freedomland. There is one point, for example, during the riot where Counsel catches a boy, probably in his early teens, trying to light a box on fire. As Jackson yells at him, you realize the boy's eyes have turned completely dead. It is a chilling moment- we have witnessed the destruction of the boy's childhood, of his innocence. These little moments of introspection bring the film out of mediocrity and showiness, to create something genuinely fascinating to watch.

Sommersby (1993)
Starring: Richard Gere, Jodi Foster, Bill Pullman
Written by: Nicholas Meyer and Sarah Kernochan
Directed by: Jon Amiel
Official Website (IMDB)

(Photo: movie poster courtesy of IMDB.com)

Caution: A few little spoilers are in this review.
After my embittered former post on Valentine's Day, I feel I should talk about some real romance. Last weekend I had a DVD marathon as the Nor'eastah (as the locals say) gave us all here in Boston a good pounding. While working my way through my collection until the wee hours of the morning, I came upon Sommersby- a period gem I hadn't seen in a while. I curled up by the heater with some hot cocoa and a wooly blanket and popped it in with ecstasy.

Based on the French film The Return of Martin Guerre, Sommersby centers on a tiny Southern town and the return of the village's patriarch, Jack Sommersby six years after the end of the Civil War. He returns to an exuberant, but war-ravaged town, and his dubious wife Laurel who is none too pleased to see him. The man claiming to be Sommersby looks and sounds as he should, but his new kind and generous nature eventually casts suspicion on him and the life that he and Laurel have built together. When Sommersby is arrested for murder, he must choose between life (and death) as Jack Sommersby or admitting who he really is.

Believe me, there's some hot stuff going down under the humid Southern sun- Gere and Foster are amazing as usual, both as individuals and with each other. Bill Pullman, who I can usually only see as the President from Independence Day is actually quite fiendishly good as Laurel's jilted lover Oran. And James Earl Jones takes a cameo as a (gasp!) African-American judge, with his Darth Vader voice and fabulous delivery. It's classically filmed, which means lots of wide shots of hills and valleys, church steeples and people in wagons. It makes for a comfortable movie, rich and enthralling to watch.

The movie's a tad superficial in some ways, especially when attempting to deal with the complex issues of Reconstruction, race relations and the birth of the Klan. The problem with this kind of historical fiction is that the primary plot line is a love story completely detached from world or nation events. Then these events are diluted and simplified, and thrown in the mix almost as an after-thought. The one exception is Sommersby's scheme to grow tobacco in the fields and sell portions of his land to anyone who can pay- no matter what color their skin is. As the townspeople debate this, they are revealed as a cross-section of most of the South- happy to be alive, but broke, war-weary, unemployed and caught in a world that is strange and unfamiliar. They want to keep to the old ways, but they are beginning to realize that it's impossible.

But as I said, this is primarily a love story, and a good one at that. Both Gere and Foster specialize in sultry, longing gazes, and grand declarations of love. The courtroom scene where Sommersby must prove his identity (and by doing so, cementing his guilt), is especially swoon-worthy in the best, most Hollywood-like manner. Jack puts Laurel on the stand who claims that he is not her husband. He berates her, asking her repeatedly how she knows, until finally, spent, she cries out, "I know because I never loved him the way that I love you!"

Oh Lord, I do believe I'm going' to faint.

Diary of a Mad Black Woman
Starring: Tyler Perry, Kimberly Elise, Shemar Moore
Written by: Tyler Perry
Directed by: Darren Grant
Official Website

(Photo: Tyler Perry and Kimberly Elise, courtesy of cinemaeye.com)

On this Valentine's Day, the day of lovers, chocolate manufacturers and weepy single girls gorging themselves on Haagen-Dazs, I would like to post on the subject of commitment. Commitment, that is, to a movie. Whenever I go to see a movie I form a bond with that movie for the next two to three hours. I have paid exorbitant amounts for my ticket, snuck in my Big Box of Raisinettes and Diet Pepsi, and perused the coming attractions posters in the lobby. I have settled myself in the perfect seat in the back of the theater, so I'm not that tall girl with the big head that the person behind me can't see around. Plus, if someone answers their cell phone during the movie I'm in prime position to pelt them mercilessly with Raisinettes.

In short I have formed a monogamous, committed relationship for however long the movie lasts.

Now I've had wonderful, engaged relationships with many movies based on this perseverance, which have enriched my life and eventually enlarged my DVD collection. Unfortunately this commitment also attracts the losers, the betrayers, the liars- the "scrubs," if you will- in cinema. I have been taken advantage of by bad editing and crappy dialogue- I have been cheated on and stolen from by lousy mise-en-scene. These movies are the bad boyfriends of the film world.

And yet, I have sat through them. The train wreck that was The Ring 2, the deadbeat, no-good trash of A Guy Thing. The cheesy, overwrought Harry Potter adaptations (only the ones Chris Columbus laid his filthy hack paws on), and the depressing and neurotic Jack and What Dreams May Come. The list goes on and on. I have sat through them all, whether it was because my friends dragged me to it, or a date paid for me, or I honest-to-God had thought it would be good. Because I believe in monogamy. I believe in commitment to one's movie-going experiences.

Save for one.

The only movie I ever walked out on is Diary of a Mad Black Woman, the comedy by Tyler Perry. It was one I thought would be good. A friend and I were bored, and it looked funny. And the first twenty minutes weren't so bad. I eased myself into cheesy movie mode. Helen (Kimberly Elise) is kicked out by her evil rich husband (Steve Harris) who's having an affair, and is forced to move in with her kooky grandmother Medea (Tyler Perry), and meets the poor but ruggedly handsome moving man Orlando (Shemar Moore). Romance! Laughs! Men dressing up as crazy fat old women! Fun for the whole family, etc. etc.

I don't remember the exact moment when it hit me. Maybe it was during one of the many scenes where Helen's pothead grandfather (also Perry) makes a fool of himself. Or during the bizarre, gag-inducing session Helen has with her mother about the awesome power of God's love and how it will heal her pain. Or maybe during the extensive bouts of voice-over, meant, I guess, as diary entries, but really more like the ignorant jaw-flapping testimonials on the Real World. I'm not sure when, but at some moment it dawned on me that this was the worst movie I had ever seen. It was intolerable- I was so disgusted that people actually spent money to make this movie I knew I had to leave. My relationship was tainted. Commitment just wasn't enough.

I glanced at my friend, who looked about as happy as I was with the proceedings and asked if she'd like to go. She looked like I had just offered her water in the middle of the Sahara and nodded enthusiastically. We left during the "pivotal" love scene between Helen and Orlando (Will they kiss or won't they- Oh, I'm on the edge of my seat!!). I have never seen the end of that movie- apparently Charles almost gets killed or something, and Helen must choose between crappy, but rich and repentant ex-husband and hot, romantic but poor Orlando. I think her grandfather might also get high and stumble around a lot, but don't quote me on that.

Commitment to one's movie is a beautiful thing. It keeps us watching even after we've figured out how it's going to end, and keeps us in tune with the good bits even a bad movie can include. But like all relationships, we shouldn't ever fear walking away if that's what's required for our mental health. Because someday you might find the hot, romantic Orlandos of the film world. And you don't want to have wasted your ten dollars on a scrub.

Just found this whilst wandering about the blogosphere- a very good article by our friend Lance Mannion. While it mainly pretains to nudity in film, it also addresses necessity vs. gratuity of sex and violence. Enjoy!

Some Like It Hot (1959)
Starring: Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis
Written by: Robert Thoeren and Michael Logan
Directed by: Billy Wilder
Official Website

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)
Starring: Jane Russell, Marilyn Monroe, Charles Coburn
Written by: Joseph Fields
Directed by: Howard Hawks
Official Website (IMDB)

(Photos: Left: Monroe, courtesy of suetuthill.com. Right: Lemmon, Curtis, Monroe courtesy of flickr.com)

I've had the distinct pleasure of viewing two Marilyn Monroe films lately and decided to speak a bit on my woefully incomplete knowledge of her work and life. She's always fascinated me, in the way that all tragic characters fascinate- with a mixture of glorification and hero-worship and morbid curiosity.

The first movie I saw was Some Like It Hot- an old favorite of mine. For those who have seen it (and shame on you if you haven't) it's more like a security blanket or cup of hot cocoa than a film, from the first shot of the grim-faced gangsters to the last unforgettable line- "Well, nobody's perfect." It surrounds two musicians (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon) during the 1920s who have to flee Chicago after witnessing the St. Valentine's Day Massacre. They decide to dress as women and hide out in an all-female band headed to Florida. On the way they meet Sugar Kane Kowalczyk (Monroe,) the band's beautiful lead singer and ukulele player. And then the fun begins.

I could ramble at considerable length about all the things that are fabulous about this movie (the sheer comic genius of Lemmon and Curtis, the plot that's both satisfying and engrossing, and the great music are just a few things that come to mind) but what really struck me watching it this time around was Monroe's talent. I mean, real talent. Some could consider her part a throwaway bit- the gorgeous, if ditzy blonde romantic interest- but Monroe takes it on with grace, sweetness, and surprising wit. She keeps pace perfectly with her two co-stars and all three play off of each other beautifully.

The second film was Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, a musical which I had never seen before (I know, I know, shame on me). This one has two lounge singers Dorothy and Laralei (Jane Russell and Monroe) on a transatlantic cruise to France... and then the fun begins. Monroe is again the scheming dumb blonde, while Russel is her intelligent, sensible friend. Zany and predictable and giddily sexist, it's an example of classic '50s movie making, and the humor stands up pretty well today.

It's a little painful to watch Monroe now, years after her tragic (and common) demise; after hordes of biographers and historians and enthusiasts have unearthed every torrid detail of her short, brutal history. I hadn't known much about Monroe, besides the fact that she was a size 14, married Joe Dimaggio, and killed herself in her mid-30's. But just reading down the mini-biography in her IMDB profile is depressing.

-Mother was a deranged film cutter at RKO that abandoned her to a sequence of foster homes. She never knew her father.
- She was nearly smothered to death at two, nearly raped at six.
- She was paid a nickel a month at the LA Orphans home for kitchen work- they took back a penny every week to go to the church.
- She married three times, with no marriage lasting more than four years. When she married playwright Arthur Miller she didn't own a veil to match her beige dress and dyed one with coffee.
- She was also smarter than anyone gave her credit for: she owned more than 200 books, including Tolstoy, Milton and Whitman, loved Beethoven and studied at the Actor's Lab in Hollywood and took literature courses at UCLA. This really interested me. In my mind it goes along with the fact that she struggled all her life to become a "serious actress"- she wanted to be respected, not just gawked at.
- Four months after being dropped from the movie Something's Got to Give, she was found in her Bentwood home lying face down, nude on the bed, dead apparently from a drug overdose.

All these facts seem inconceivable when watching Monroe. She's known for her sex appeal, but what always struck me was the childlike enthusiasm and innocence she brought to her roles. I think for many people this translated to "dumb blonde," but it was more subtle than that. In many ways it was a complete departure from who she actually was. It takes a lot of talent to pull that off.

There's a moment at the end of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes when Loralei explains to her beloved's millionaire father Mr. Esmond (Taylor Holmes) the practicality of her wish to marry a rich man. "If you had a daughter," she asks, "wouldn't you want her to have everything she wants?"

"Say, they said you were stupid," says Mr. Esmond. Loralei flashes him a smile and tellingly confides, "Oh, I can be smart if it's important. But I know men don't like it very much." It's the secret that Monroe lived her life by- the reason she never got the career she wanted. And it's the reason she's still viewed only as a sex goddess, no matter how many shelves of Milton and Tolstoy she may have possessed.

Irreversible (2002)
Starring: Monica Bellucci, Vincent Cassel, Albert Dupontel
Written and Directed by: Gaspar Noe
Official Website (in French)

(Photo from left to right: Albert Dupontel, Monica Bellucci, Vincent Cassel, courtesy of Exclaim!)

I'll begin today by saying that I am not a squeamish girl. From P.T. Anderson to Tarantino, I've been able to watch most violent or sexual films without flinching. While watching Requiem for a Dream, I was the only one in my group who wasn't bothered in the slightest by the scene where Jennifer Connelly does very bad things to get a fix.

So when I say that watching the film Irreversible ruined my day, I want you to get my full meaning.

The French Memento-like film follows the fates of three friends (Monica Bellucci, Vincent Cassel and Albert Dupontel) in reverse chronological order, as one is brutally attacked and the other two go on a rampage of revenge. The film is infamous for its graphic violence and seven-minute rape scene. My film analysis professor showed the movie yesterday, adding a long disclaimer about the nature of the film and said she would understand if we couldn't handle it and needed to step outside.

I've received such dire warnings in the past and have never really heeded them. I take any graphic film I see as a challenge to view it and decide for myself whether the content was necessary to the meaning of the film, or merely gratuitous. But in this case I am loathe to make a decision.

Stylistically, the film works. Swooping camera movements and pulsating music serve to disorient (or, as my professor put so delicately, induce vomiting.) It's well-acted and edited, etc., etc. Since it is shown in reverse, the denouement serves as the set-up, and the climax is followed by a steady downgrade of action. Unlike Memento, there is no "other climax"- no great revelation, just a simple fading away of the momentum of the movie. From this standpoint it is sincerely interesting to watch.

But the film is "problematic," as critics are so fond of saying. The rape scene, unlike most of the film, is shot straight on, without cuts for approximately seven and a half minutes. What this means is that there is absolutely nothing distracting the audience, even briefly, from the action. The scene is horrible, endless, and terrifying- it is every woman's worst nightmare played out on the screen. This is in addition to a few other scenes of grotesque brutality (the one that stands out to me is when a man's head is bashed in with a fire extinguisher.) The film in general violent tone, perpetrated by the camera movements and hysteria of the film's protagonists. The film left me with a bad taste in my mouth; I felt uneasy and a little sick the rest of the day. I don't think a film has ever affected me emotionally to this degree.

So the question is, is it a good film? There's no doubt that it's effective, but was it necessary? Is it good simply because it evokes extreme emotions from its audience? Does it's admittedly well-executed style outweigh its content? I honestly don't have an answer to that, because what it ultimately boils down to is the age-old cinema question, how much is too much? And everyone has a different answer to that quandry. So I'll just say this:

Irreversible is a good movie.
I never want to see it again.

Bleak House (2006)
Starring: Gillian Anderson, Denis Lawson, Anna Maxwell Martin
Written by: Andrew Davies
Directed by: Justin Chadwick (Episodes 1-4); Susanna White (Episodes 5 and 6)
PBS, Sundays 9 p.m. Eastern
Official Website

(Photo: Gillian Anderson, courtesy of PBS)

Normally I would not delve into the magical world of TV, simply because I am such an addict there would be too much for me to talk about. But I feel the inescapable need to tell about my new obsession:

Has anyone been watching Bleak House? If you haven't, please TiVo it, put it on the calendar, write it on your hand right now, because this lush new miniseries from Masterpiece Theater is too good to miss.

The series, based on Charles Dickens' classic, has a magnificent host of characters. Among others we meet cold and beautiful Lady Dedlock (The X-Files's Gillian Anderson, looking like she's been through the ringer, but still fabulous), corrupt lawyer Mr. Tulkinghorn (a snakelike Charles Dance), charitable aristocrat John Jarndyce (Denis Lawson), and his sweet, sensible housekeeper Esther Summerson (Anna Maxwell Martin). The plot centers around (among other things) an interminable inheritance case that, if won, will make Jarndyce's ward Richard Carstone (Patrick Kennedy) rich beyond his wildest dreams. All the characters appear to be in some way connected to the case, as well as a mysterious vagrant known only as Nemo, who dies in a boarding house in the first installment. In Dickens' world, everyone has something to hide, and skeletons appear to be bursting out of every closet from London to the ironically idyllic "Bleak House," where the Jarndyce's live.

I'll admit I began watching the series because of Anderson, who I enjoyed greatly in her work on The X-Files. And Dedlock does end up being the most interesting one to watch; she glides across the screen like a wraith, and is never fully present in the scene- she's completely consumed by a past not yet revealed. But all of the actors in Bleak House (and there is a mob of them) are interesting to watch in their own right. Dickens' specialty was always accurately portraying every class and personality of Britain with ease, and it's translated very well to the screen. Even the obligatory street urchin Jo (Harry Eden) is satisfactory.

I've never been much of a Masterpiece Theater gal; prior series I saw were too stiff, the camera shots were long and uninteresting, and the droning British dialogue a little stupefying. But Bleak House is different. Most of the installments take place in London, where everything is dirty and diseased, and all the extras look just a little miserable. There are jerky montage cuts which snap noisily between different shots of the same scene, throwing the audience off-kilter and keeping heart rates up. The characters are completely engrossing, and the plot is more scandalous than a modern soap opera, and far more well-acted.

Davies' patience in plot-development is reminiscent of the developments of the hit show Lost- he isn't worried about giving too much away, opting instead to allow the story to reveal itself at a steady, languid pace. Instead of making the audience lose interest, it captivates them. I've been staring impatiently at the clock the last few Sunday afternoons, tapping my foot and waiting for 9 o'clock (in fact, that's what I'm doing right now). And when it ends I always want more. In many ways the very fact that it's a miniseries is homage paid to Dickens' work. Salon film reviewer (and much more talented writer than myself) Stephanie Zacharek explained it very well:

"Bleak House" will be available on DVD on Feb. 28, almost immediately after the series completes its TV run. But nearly everyone I know who has begun to watch the show prefers to see it the old-fashioned way, on successive Sunday nights, as it airs -- a way of approaching Dickens' work that's not far off from the way his earliest reading public would await each installment of his newspaper serials. Dickens' biographer Edgar Johnson has written about how American fans waited at the docks in New York, shouting out to the crew of an incoming ship, "Is Little Nell dead?"

So while the rest of the world will be eagerly awaiting the outcome of the Super Bowl tonight, you can catch me sitting by the docks of my television set, hollering at the crew of the USS PBS "Tell me, who is Nemo?!"

Junebug (2005)
Starring: Embeth Davidtz, Alessandro Nivola, Benjamin McKenzie, Amy Adams
Written by: Angus MacLachlan
Directed by: Phil Morrison
Official Website

Left: Embeth Davidtz and Alessandro Nivola in Junebug (www.cinemaeye.com) Right: Benjamin McKenzie (www.yahoo.movies.com)

In a Hollywood dazzled by CGI, and based almost entirely on film’s value as a product rather than as a work of art, it is a rare pleasure to find a movie that’s understated and genuine, and almost devoid of “star power.” And that is precisely what Junebug is- a movie about the beauty, joy and heartache that can be found in simple, everyday things.

The film centers around art dealer Madeleine (Embeth Davidtz) and her new husband George (Alessandro Nivola) who travel to backwater North Carolina, both to see a brilliant but eccentric folk artist (Frank Hoyt Taylor) and to meet George’s family. At face value it seems like a very ordinary plot: the family attends a church social and a holds a baby shower for George’s sister-in-law Ashley (Amy Adams). Madeleine tries to convince the artist to sell his art to her. George’s surly brother Johnny (The OC’s Benjamin McKenzie) goes to work. Ashley goes into labor. But the plot becomes riveting purely by the characters that inhabit it.

Much of the cast are relative unknowns, and their on-screen chemistry with each other is terrific. But while Davidtz and Nivola may play the film’s protagonists, it is Adams and McKenzie that steal the show. You can’t take your eyes off of Adams as sweet, naive Ashley, nor McKenzie as seething, explosive Johnny. Their presence completely draws you in. McKenzie’s movements are especially captivating- his tense, jerky motions and shuffling stance show a man uncomfortable in his own skin and surroundings. George’s parents, played by Celia Weston and Scott Wilson are similarly suited to their roles. Weston plays the dubious mother-in-law with subtlety and ease, never beating the viewer over the head with her character.

The simplistic nature of the film is obtained by cinematographer Peter Donahue. The individual shots are longer than usual for a modern film, allowing the viewer to ruminate on the visual, and they create a sense of a slow deliberate existence. There’s also an emphasis on environment- shots of the house where they’re staying are used as ellipses between the scenes, as well as shots of the quiet neighborhood outside. The shots outside are especially wide and inviting, a view of an America uninterrupted, noisy only with the world of the woods beyond their back door.

What also really struck me was how familiar all of these scenes were to me. The scene at the church social brought me back to my own dry, florescent-lighted church basement, permeated with the smell of cheesy potatoes and rolls bought in bulk at Gordon Food Service. And I also know that house, covered in kitschy knick-knacks like porcelain birds on the walls and stuffed ducks on the old worn couch. A place drowning in Americana which is both absurd and yet strangely comforting. Junebug brings everything that’s wonderful, and terrible, about family and small-town life into sharp, inescapable focus.

There's a lovely post by Neddie Jingo today... it's mainly about his experience listening to John Barry's theme from Midnight Cowboy, but he expanded to talk about Movie Music in general, and the sounds that define a film. Here's a juicy little excerpt:

When was the last time you heard Movie Music? When I was a sprout, it was completely ubiquitous. "Moon River." "Che Sera, Sera." "Lara's Theme" from Doctor Zhivago. "The Godfather." "Suicide is Painless." "The Sound of Music." "Born Free." "The Look of Love," from Casino Royale. "Never on Sunday." "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head." A major studio release was simply not made unless some hummable, radio-friendly, but ultimately adult -- what was then considered commercial -- piece of music could be identified with it. Poking around in preparing this post, I do find orchestral theme music associated with contemporary flicks, but can you hum a single bar of anything from, say, A Beautiful Mind? A hundred clams say you can't. There they all are. Say hi.

Neddie's enthusiasm led me to find more of Barry's work, which included the scores for Out of Africa, Casino Royale, and several Bond movies, including the original score from Dr. No. Unfortunately I am not a girl who can truthfully describe herself as a "music person." I am shamed to admit I haven't paid much attention to songs in film in the past, even though there are many who helped define the film. After all, what would Casablanca be without "As Time Goes By?" Or Star Wars without its pounding Darth Vader theme? Or, a bit more recently, High Fidelity without Jack Black's rendition of "Let's Get it On," or Magnolia without Aimee Mann, Fiona Apple and Jon Brion? But frankly, I remember High Fidelity because the film is about music, and I remember Magnolia because I have an unhealthy obsession with Aimee Mann. The only other recent films I remember the music from are biopics about musicians- Walk the Line, Ray, etc., which don't really count.

Just a thought to chew on along with your overpriced popcorn and Big Gulp.