A lot has been made of Phyllida Lloyd's treatment of the life of former British prime minister Margaret Thatcher: alternately described as conservative propaganda in disguise or a rose-tinted hagiography of the Iron Lady herself, with some who knew her attacking it as not realistic enough. Well, that's the whole point: The Iron Lady isn't a run-of-the-mill personal biopic or a political biography, rather a feminist viewpoint on the strengths and tenacity of a woman who wouldn't take no for an answer and, almost against her own better expectations, ended up breaking a glass ceiling.
Framing the film from Thatcher's present-day reclusion as a frail, absent-minded widow still incapable of letting go of her late husband's belongings is the key: it explains The Iron Lady as a time-shifting fantasia, theatrical in style and scope, telescoping everything towards Thatcher's refusal to be just another quiet mother and housewife and her drive to stand up for herself and show that England probably needed a good housewife's touch to get back in shape. By doing so, Ms. Lloyd and screenwriter Abi Morgan sidestep any fraught political issues to focus on the personal and on Thatcher as someone who chose politics and who chose thoughts and ideas: to ask what is the price of power for someone who breaks that many rules, how can you deal with your irrelevance once the work is done.
It ends up being frightening just how extraordinarily woman-centred the film is, its key scenes highlighting the outsider status of Thatcher within an "old boy"/"gentleman's club" culture of British Politics, her refusal to be seen but not heard, her endurance of the sly condescendence she was awarded, painting a portrait of someone whom you might love or hate but cannot ignore. That, precisely, is why the film disappoints so many people by refusing to conform to the idea of Thatcher as either Tory goddess or Tory nemesis: it's about Thatcher as a woman. Ms. Morgan's script isn't perfect - the telescoping and condensing can sometimes be far too drastic for comfort, and can leave far too much important context outside the frame - but its intuitive approach and Ms. Lloyd's fluid handling of the flashback structure certainly make a compelling case for viewing Thatcher not just as a politician but as a human being.
Regardless of the script's failings, though, it's fairly obvious that half the film would always rely on whoever would be chosen to portray Thatcher, and Meryl Streep's wondrous performance pretty much wipes away any reluctance the film might create. Hers is an astounding tour de force where the actress fully disappears beneath the character, an uncanny portrayal that is not merely an impersonation but a truly inspired performance that gets under the skin to underline her struggle to remain a woman in a man's world that demanded of her to be either "mummy" (as she herself says in a key scene) or a bully. Even with someone else playing Thatcher, though, The Iron Lady would still be an intriguing film. Maybe just not as gripping.
Meryl Streep, Jim Broadbent; Olivia Colman.
Director, Phyllida Lloyd; screenplay, Abi Morgan; cinematography, Elliot Davis (colour, digital intermediate and colour by DeLuxe, Panavision widescreen); music, Thomas Newman; production designer, Simon Elliott; costume designer, Consolata Boyle; editor, Justine Wright; producer, Damian Jones (Pathé Productions, Film 4, The UK Film Council, DJ Films in association with Goldcrest Film Productions), UK, 2011, 105 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, UCI El Corte Inglés 12 (Lisbon), January 25th 2012.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
LA CHAMBRE VERTE
THE GREEN ROOM
One of François Truffaut's least-remembered and least-known works, La Chambre verte was an intensely personal project, inspired by Henry James stories, that the director went ahead with knowing full well it would confound critics and audiences alike. It's a measure of Mr. Truffaut's awareness that this heightened, hyper-romantic requiem was an acquired taste that the film was indeed a flop upon release and remains pretty much a confidential, for-fans-only proposal. Set in the late 1920s, it follows widowed provincial journalist Julien Davenne's morbid, unhealthy obsession with the dead people in his life, brought on by his traumatising experiences in World War I in tandem with the sudden death of his wife a few months after their wedding.
That Davenne is played by the director himself is appropriate, as the journalist wants to keep a tight leash on the world around him, holding out against all odds in the name of the dead who can no longer speak, becoming a fundamentalist keeper of the memory who does not take lightly to any deviation of the rigid moral framework he has set for himself. A man so driven to distraction by death and misery to the point he becomes devoted to memory, even when flirting tentatively with the charming auctioneer's secretary Cécilia (Nathalie Baye), Davenne can't help but try to bring her into his world where the dead cannot and should not be forgotten, but where Cécilia's desire to go on living has no place.
Tenderly photographed in nocturnal, drooping shades by the great Nestor Almendros, moving with the halting, abrupt cuts that Mr. Truffaut was prone to, La Chambre verte develops inexorably into a grandiose tale of unrequited amour fou, underlined by the lush, dramatic score assembled from unused material from the late composer Maurice Jaubert and the quasi-operatic scope and scale of this strange tale. A ghost story in everything but name, though by no means even a traditional horror movie, it's certainly a disturbingly haunted movie, but one borne out of the desire to honour and remember - which makes its setting between the two great World Wars that for many people destroyed Western civilization as it was known even more disquieting.
François Truffaut, Nathalie Baye; Jean Dasté, Jean-Pierre Moulin, Antoine Vitez.
Director, Mr. Truffaut; screenplay, Mr. Truffaut, Jean Gruault, inspired by the short stories by Henry James The Altar of the Dead and The Beast in the Jungle; cinematography, Nestor Almendros (colour by Eastmancolor); music, Maurice Jaubert; production designer, Jean-Pierre Kohut-Svelko; costume designers, Monique Dury, Christian Gasc; editor, Martine Barraqué; production, Les Films du Carrosse, Les Productions Artistes Associés, France, 1978, 94 minutes.
Screened: Cinemateca Portuguesa - Dr. Félix Ribeiro Theatre, Lisbon, February 4th 2012.
One of François Truffaut's least-remembered and least-known works, La Chambre verte was an intensely personal project, inspired by Henry James stories, that the director went ahead with knowing full well it would confound critics and audiences alike. It's a measure of Mr. Truffaut's awareness that this heightened, hyper-romantic requiem was an acquired taste that the film was indeed a flop upon release and remains pretty much a confidential, for-fans-only proposal. Set in the late 1920s, it follows widowed provincial journalist Julien Davenne's morbid, unhealthy obsession with the dead people in his life, brought on by his traumatising experiences in World War I in tandem with the sudden death of his wife a few months after their wedding.
That Davenne is played by the director himself is appropriate, as the journalist wants to keep a tight leash on the world around him, holding out against all odds in the name of the dead who can no longer speak, becoming a fundamentalist keeper of the memory who does not take lightly to any deviation of the rigid moral framework he has set for himself. A man so driven to distraction by death and misery to the point he becomes devoted to memory, even when flirting tentatively with the charming auctioneer's secretary Cécilia (Nathalie Baye), Davenne can't help but try to bring her into his world where the dead cannot and should not be forgotten, but where Cécilia's desire to go on living has no place.
Tenderly photographed in nocturnal, drooping shades by the great Nestor Almendros, moving with the halting, abrupt cuts that Mr. Truffaut was prone to, La Chambre verte develops inexorably into a grandiose tale of unrequited amour fou, underlined by the lush, dramatic score assembled from unused material from the late composer Maurice Jaubert and the quasi-operatic scope and scale of this strange tale. A ghost story in everything but name, though by no means even a traditional horror movie, it's certainly a disturbingly haunted movie, but one borne out of the desire to honour and remember - which makes its setting between the two great World Wars that for many people destroyed Western civilization as it was known even more disquieting.
François Truffaut, Nathalie Baye; Jean Dasté, Jean-Pierre Moulin, Antoine Vitez.
Director, Mr. Truffaut; screenplay, Mr. Truffaut, Jean Gruault, inspired by the short stories by Henry James The Altar of the Dead and The Beast in the Jungle; cinematography, Nestor Almendros (colour by Eastmancolor); music, Maurice Jaubert; production designer, Jean-Pierre Kohut-Svelko; costume designers, Monique Dury, Christian Gasc; editor, Martine Barraqué; production, Les Films du Carrosse, Les Productions Artistes Associés, France, 1978, 94 minutes.
Screened: Cinemateca Portuguesa - Dr. Félix Ribeiro Theatre, Lisbon, February 4th 2012.
Sunday, February 05, 2012
MADAME DE...
THE EARRINGS OF MADAME DE...
Lighter than air, elegant beyond reproach, Madame de... can lay claim at being Max Ophüls' final complete and unadulterated statement; the later Lola Montès, though technically his last film and for many his greatest achievement, was initially butchered upon release by its backers, gaining a deserved reputation as a blunted masterpiece, and the director died while shooting Montparnasse 19, completed by Jacques Becker. It's not difficult to see Madame de... as such, as this endlessly fascinating, sophisticated picture seems all of a masterfully handled piece as it glides effortlessly from the frothiest treat of French coquetterie into a feverish, desperate romantic tragedy, traced through the whirling dance of a pair of diamond earrings whose secret sale sets in motion a snowballing butterfly effect.
Mr. Ophüls' dazzling lightness of touch is evident from the very first shot, a playful pan that tracks the opulent possessions of the title character, the flirty and vapid Louise (Danielle Darrieux), whose elegant marriage to older military officer Henri (Charles Boyer) is more of habit and convenience than of truly love. The travels of the earrings, a wedding gift from the besotted husband, in a throwback to Mr. Ophüls earlier La Ronde, lead them into the hands of a seductive Italian diplomat posted to Paris, baron Fabrizio (Vittorio de Sica), who enters a chaste affair with the ever-elusive Louise - and the consummate flirter finds herself caught at her own game, her desperate, passionate desires for Fabrizio rendering her aware of the nature of true love.
What had until then seemed like a lighter-than-air confection suddenly reveals its gravitas, as the intimations of danger and playing with fire that Mr. Ophüls meticulously inserted through his sweeping pans and glides and the impeccably framed staging of the actors blossoms into full-blown, quasi-operatic drama (not surprisingly, Georges van Parys' score weaves themes from Viennese operetta composer Oscar Straus). For all that, Madame de... never raises its voice, keeping a hushed, subdued tone of exquisite elegance and refinement that is essential for its surface charms to hide the heightened, grandiose passions bubbling under the surface.
Charles Boyer, Danielle Darrieux, Vittorio de Sica; Jean Debucourt, Jean Galland, Mireille Perrey; Paul Azaïs, Josselin, Hubert Noël; Lia di Leo.
Director, Max Ophüls; screenplay, Marcel Achard, Mr. Ophüls, Annette Wademant, from the novel by Louise de Vilmorin, Madame de...; cinematography, Christian Matras (b&w); music, Oscar Straus, Georges van Parys; production designer, A. J. d'Eaubonne; costume designers, Georges Annenkov, Rosine Delamare; editor, Borys Lewin; producers, Henri Baum, Ralph Baum (Franco-London Films, Indusfilms, Rizzoli Film), France/Italy, 1953, 100 minutes.
Screened: Cinemateca Portuguesa - Dr. Félix Ribeiro Theatre, Lisbon, January 31st 2012.
Lighter than air, elegant beyond reproach, Madame de... can lay claim at being Max Ophüls' final complete and unadulterated statement; the later Lola Montès, though technically his last film and for many his greatest achievement, was initially butchered upon release by its backers, gaining a deserved reputation as a blunted masterpiece, and the director died while shooting Montparnasse 19, completed by Jacques Becker. It's not difficult to see Madame de... as such, as this endlessly fascinating, sophisticated picture seems all of a masterfully handled piece as it glides effortlessly from the frothiest treat of French coquetterie into a feverish, desperate romantic tragedy, traced through the whirling dance of a pair of diamond earrings whose secret sale sets in motion a snowballing butterfly effect.
Mr. Ophüls' dazzling lightness of touch is evident from the very first shot, a playful pan that tracks the opulent possessions of the title character, the flirty and vapid Louise (Danielle Darrieux), whose elegant marriage to older military officer Henri (Charles Boyer) is more of habit and convenience than of truly love. The travels of the earrings, a wedding gift from the besotted husband, in a throwback to Mr. Ophüls earlier La Ronde, lead them into the hands of a seductive Italian diplomat posted to Paris, baron Fabrizio (Vittorio de Sica), who enters a chaste affair with the ever-elusive Louise - and the consummate flirter finds herself caught at her own game, her desperate, passionate desires for Fabrizio rendering her aware of the nature of true love.
What had until then seemed like a lighter-than-air confection suddenly reveals its gravitas, as the intimations of danger and playing with fire that Mr. Ophüls meticulously inserted through his sweeping pans and glides and the impeccably framed staging of the actors blossoms into full-blown, quasi-operatic drama (not surprisingly, Georges van Parys' score weaves themes from Viennese operetta composer Oscar Straus). For all that, Madame de... never raises its voice, keeping a hushed, subdued tone of exquisite elegance and refinement that is essential for its surface charms to hide the heightened, grandiose passions bubbling under the surface.
Charles Boyer, Danielle Darrieux, Vittorio de Sica; Jean Debucourt, Jean Galland, Mireille Perrey; Paul Azaïs, Josselin, Hubert Noël; Lia di Leo.
Director, Max Ophüls; screenplay, Marcel Achard, Mr. Ophüls, Annette Wademant, from the novel by Louise de Vilmorin, Madame de...; cinematography, Christian Matras (b&w); music, Oscar Straus, Georges van Parys; production designer, A. J. d'Eaubonne; costume designers, Georges Annenkov, Rosine Delamare; editor, Borys Lewin; producers, Henri Baum, Ralph Baum (Franco-London Films, Indusfilms, Rizzoli Film), France/Italy, 1953, 100 minutes.
Screened: Cinemateca Portuguesa - Dr. Félix Ribeiro Theatre, Lisbon, January 31st 2012.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
CHRONICLE
What, on paper, looks like the latest twist on the "found footage" thriller vein (think The Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity) turns out to be a much more surprising and smarter proposition. Josh Trank's feature debut is an unusually thoughtful meditation on the growing pains of adolescence seen through the filter of a warped super-hero movie, as three very different Seattle high school seniors - popular student Steve (Michael B. Jordan), swot Matt (Alex Russell) and bullied weakling Andrew (Dane de Haan) - acquire telekinetic powers after a close encounter with a mysterious pulsing crystal. Though playing by the time-honoured rules of teenage movies, Chronicle uses them to good effect, to depict the way the awareness of these unexplained powers slowly affect the boys' outlook on life and forces them to grow up faster, though not necessarily better.
The story is told mostly through the footage that Andrew starts shooting just before the event to document the daily abuse he suffers at the hands of his drunken retired firefighter father (Michael Kelly), who will play an important part in the slow unravelling of Andrew's mind as he becomes aware of the opportunities opened up by his newfound powers. It may not be the most original of plotlines, and the regular shift from Andrew's footage to material shot through surveillance cameras or other people's cellphone or iPad cameras in retrospect stretches the credibility of the project a bit too much. But Mr. Trank handles it smartly enough, by coaxing excellent performances from his fresh cast of television actors, and in the way he builds up momentum and slowly moves the film from a realist, low-budget take on super-hero movies into a disturbingly surreal update of Brian de Palma's high-school nightmare Carrie, its breathtakingly surreal final blowout feeling for once entirely organic to the film and not a tacked-on ending.
It's that sense of organic construction that raises Chronicle well above its competition and makes it a much smarter film, better attuned to the feelings of its target audience without pandering down or condescending to them, than most major-studio attempts at blockbusters, even though there is still a certain sense of focus-group here (see the film's Twilight-ish Seattle setting). Chronicle doesn't take the teenage years lightly, it actually gives them the sense of life-and-death importance that going through them often means, and that's what makes the difference.
Dane de Haan, Alex Russell, Michael B. Jordan, Michael Kelly, Ashley Hinshaw.
Director, Josh Trank; screenplay, Max Landis, from a story by Mr. Landis, Mr. Trank; cinematography (colour, prints by DeLuxe, digital intermediate by Foto-Kem), Matthew Jensen; production designer, Stephen Altman; costume designer, Diana Cilliers; editor, Elliot Greenberg; producers, John Davis, Adam Schroeder (Twentieth Century-Fox, Davis Entertainment Company, in association with Dune Entertainment), USA, 2012, 84 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, UCI El Corte Inglés 11 (Lisbon), January 30th 2012.
The story is told mostly through the footage that Andrew starts shooting just before the event to document the daily abuse he suffers at the hands of his drunken retired firefighter father (Michael Kelly), who will play an important part in the slow unravelling of Andrew's mind as he becomes aware of the opportunities opened up by his newfound powers. It may not be the most original of plotlines, and the regular shift from Andrew's footage to material shot through surveillance cameras or other people's cellphone or iPad cameras in retrospect stretches the credibility of the project a bit too much. But Mr. Trank handles it smartly enough, by coaxing excellent performances from his fresh cast of television actors, and in the way he builds up momentum and slowly moves the film from a realist, low-budget take on super-hero movies into a disturbingly surreal update of Brian de Palma's high-school nightmare Carrie, its breathtakingly surreal final blowout feeling for once entirely organic to the film and not a tacked-on ending.
It's that sense of organic construction that raises Chronicle well above its competition and makes it a much smarter film, better attuned to the feelings of its target audience without pandering down or condescending to them, than most major-studio attempts at blockbusters, even though there is still a certain sense of focus-group here (see the film's Twilight-ish Seattle setting). Chronicle doesn't take the teenage years lightly, it actually gives them the sense of life-and-death importance that going through them often means, and that's what makes the difference.
Dane de Haan, Alex Russell, Michael B. Jordan, Michael Kelly, Ashley Hinshaw.
Director, Josh Trank; screenplay, Max Landis, from a story by Mr. Landis, Mr. Trank; cinematography (colour, prints by DeLuxe, digital intermediate by Foto-Kem), Matthew Jensen; production designer, Stephen Altman; costume designer, Diana Cilliers; editor, Elliot Greenberg; producers, John Davis, Adam Schroeder (Twentieth Century-Fox, Davis Entertainment Company, in association with Dune Entertainment), USA, 2012, 84 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, UCI El Corte Inglés 11 (Lisbon), January 30th 2012.
Friday, February 03, 2012
THE MUPPETS
You would be forgiven for fearing the Muppets were long forgotten, pushed to the back of some dusty shelf in the Disney vault of underused characters, for lack of interest from both audiences and the studio's head honchos. It is therefore a relief and a pleasure to report that Jim Henson's sweetly subversive felt puppets are back in fine form in this update-cum-resurrection, masterminded by diehard superfan Jason Segel - Disney, thankfully and to their credit, seem to have been hands-off enough for the project to not look as corporate as it could be. This tale of the long-disbanded vaudeville gang getting back together for one last show to save their theatre from being sold to a greedy oilman manages not only to recapture the whirling anarchy of the original series, but also to put its own conundrum in the dead centre of the plot dreamt up by Mr. Segel and his regular writing partner Nicholas Stoller: how do you make the Muppets relevant in this day and age?
The answer is very simple: you don't. The Muppets are pretty much given up as dead and buried by nearly everyone in the movie except by the lead, new muppet Walter (voiced by puppeteer Peter Linz), who's grown up in Smalltown as the younger brother to man-child Gary (Mr. Segel himself) and is the prime mover behind getting the gang back together. And the charm is that the Muppets, of course, don't really need to change to be relevant since they never were of their time to begin with - they were always out of time, so to speak, even back in the 1970s; that's the trick of the movie, seesawing between the wide-eyed innocence transported wholesale from their television heyday and the charmingly subversive comedy inherited from their cartoonish origins.
It must be said The Muppets isn't a great movie: the nature of the puppets themselves, stubbornly analog in this CGI era, creates limitations to what first-timer James Bobin (a Brit schooled in television) can do, so he plays it far too safe without much inventiveness, and the Mickey-and-Judy let's-put-on-a-show plot can look a bit lazy. But Mr. Bobin makes up for it in the manic, cheerful energy and tempo that turn the film into a hugely enjoyable ride filled with love for the characters and the sense that their brand of offbeat, giddy humour, if handled right, never really goes out of fashion. And guess what? It doesn't.
Jason Segel, Amy Adams, Chris Cooper, Rashida Jones; Muppet performers, Steve Whitmire, Doug Jacobson, Dave Goelz, Bob Baretta, Peter Vogel, Peter Linz.
Director, James Bobin; screenplay, Jason Segel and Nicholas Stoller; cinematography, Don Burgess (colour by DeLuxe); music, Christophe Beck; production designer, Steve Saklad; costume designer, Rahel Afiley; editor, James Thomas; producers, David Hoberman, Todd Lieberman (Walt Disney Pictures), USA, 2011, 101 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, Zon Lusomundo screening room (Lisbon), January 27th 2012.
The answer is very simple: you don't. The Muppets are pretty much given up as dead and buried by nearly everyone in the movie except by the lead, new muppet Walter (voiced by puppeteer Peter Linz), who's grown up in Smalltown as the younger brother to man-child Gary (Mr. Segel himself) and is the prime mover behind getting the gang back together. And the charm is that the Muppets, of course, don't really need to change to be relevant since they never were of their time to begin with - they were always out of time, so to speak, even back in the 1970s; that's the trick of the movie, seesawing between the wide-eyed innocence transported wholesale from their television heyday and the charmingly subversive comedy inherited from their cartoonish origins.
It must be said The Muppets isn't a great movie: the nature of the puppets themselves, stubbornly analog in this CGI era, creates limitations to what first-timer James Bobin (a Brit schooled in television) can do, so he plays it far too safe without much inventiveness, and the Mickey-and-Judy let's-put-on-a-show plot can look a bit lazy. But Mr. Bobin makes up for it in the manic, cheerful energy and tempo that turn the film into a hugely enjoyable ride filled with love for the characters and the sense that their brand of offbeat, giddy humour, if handled right, never really goes out of fashion. And guess what? It doesn't.
Jason Segel, Amy Adams, Chris Cooper, Rashida Jones; Muppet performers, Steve Whitmire, Doug Jacobson, Dave Goelz, Bob Baretta, Peter Vogel, Peter Linz.
Director, James Bobin; screenplay, Jason Segel and Nicholas Stoller; cinematography, Don Burgess (colour by DeLuxe); music, Christophe Beck; production designer, Steve Saklad; costume designer, Rahel Afiley; editor, James Thomas; producers, David Hoberman, Todd Lieberman (Walt Disney Pictures), USA, 2011, 101 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, Zon Lusomundo screening room (Lisbon), January 27th 2012.
Thursday, February 02, 2012
YOUNG ADULT
It's really not surprising that screenwriter Diablo Cody and director Jason Reitman's reunion after the extraordinarily successful Juno, while far superior, has failed to strike a chord with filmgoers, Academy voters and many critics. This artful subversion of the rules of romantic comedy picks apart at the formula of, say, My Best Friend's Wedding to rip it to shreds in a blizzard of well-observed despair and self-loathing, as the clichés of happy-ever-after rose-tinted glamour are revealed for the faked facade they are, hiding a harrowingly fragile humanity.
It is also the story of a woman in crisis whose present seems so hopeless that she decides to recapture her past in a desperate last-stand action: Mavis Gary (Charlize Theron), a divorced ghost-writer of teenage novels whose cash-cow series is reaching its end, return to her Minnesota hometown to conquer her old high-school flame (Patrick Wilson), happily married and father to a newborn baby. But despite her outward appearance, the glamour queen high school days are long gone, and the only person she can fully trust and truly connect with turns out to be the one guy she never paid any attention to: class freak Matt (Patton Oswalt), whose bullying at the hands of the local jocks left him physically crippled for life, and whose sharp awareness allows him to see through Mavis' shtick to realise she is as much a misfit as he is. Mavis and Matt bond in an unlikely brotherhood of outsiders, as she finds herself forced to face her life in shambles and the inability to hide any longer behind her looks.
Two bravura performances from Ms. Theron and Mr. Oswalt are made all the more remarkable by Ms. Cody's sharp-tongued but never gratuitously mean dialogue, and by Mr. Reitman's pitch-perfect, self-effacing handling of the script. And therein lies the tricky balancing act everyone involved successfully pulls off: there is nothing mean-spirited, sanctimonious or condescending in this tale of the pains of growing up, no matter how late; merely a rich sense of humanity, of flawed characters who don't necessarily learn the lessons they need to learn, of people stumbling along in life trying to make the best of whatever it is they're given to work with.
By refusing to reduce its characters to stereotypes (even if the supporting characters skirt them, at times dangerously, through sheer lack of screen time), Young Adult steps well out of both romantic comedy and contemporary Hollywood's comfort zones. You laugh, yes, and you laugh a lot, but the laugh ends up strangled in your throat as you realise just how desperate is the underlying emotion. Juno was merely a teaser - Ms. Cody has grown in giant steps since then, and her script brings out the best in Mr. Reitman too. Young Adult is a small jewel.
Charlize Theron; Patton Oswalt, Patrick Wilson, Elizabeth Reaser.
Director, Jason Reitman; screenplay, Diablo Cody; cinematography, Eric Steelberg (prints by DeLuxe); music, Rolfe Kent; production designer, Kevin Thompson; costume designer, David Robinson; editor, Dana E. Glauberman; producers, Lianne Halfon, Russell Smith, Ms. Cody, Mason Novick, Mr. Reitman (Paramount Pictures, Mandate Pictures, Mr. Mudd, Right of Way Films, Denver & Delilah Films), USA, 2011, 93 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, Zon Lusomundo Colombo 9 (Lisbon), January 24th 2012.
It is also the story of a woman in crisis whose present seems so hopeless that she decides to recapture her past in a desperate last-stand action: Mavis Gary (Charlize Theron), a divorced ghost-writer of teenage novels whose cash-cow series is reaching its end, return to her Minnesota hometown to conquer her old high-school flame (Patrick Wilson), happily married and father to a newborn baby. But despite her outward appearance, the glamour queen high school days are long gone, and the only person she can fully trust and truly connect with turns out to be the one guy she never paid any attention to: class freak Matt (Patton Oswalt), whose bullying at the hands of the local jocks left him physically crippled for life, and whose sharp awareness allows him to see through Mavis' shtick to realise she is as much a misfit as he is. Mavis and Matt bond in an unlikely brotherhood of outsiders, as she finds herself forced to face her life in shambles and the inability to hide any longer behind her looks.
Two bravura performances from Ms. Theron and Mr. Oswalt are made all the more remarkable by Ms. Cody's sharp-tongued but never gratuitously mean dialogue, and by Mr. Reitman's pitch-perfect, self-effacing handling of the script. And therein lies the tricky balancing act everyone involved successfully pulls off: there is nothing mean-spirited, sanctimonious or condescending in this tale of the pains of growing up, no matter how late; merely a rich sense of humanity, of flawed characters who don't necessarily learn the lessons they need to learn, of people stumbling along in life trying to make the best of whatever it is they're given to work with.
By refusing to reduce its characters to stereotypes (even if the supporting characters skirt them, at times dangerously, through sheer lack of screen time), Young Adult steps well out of both romantic comedy and contemporary Hollywood's comfort zones. You laugh, yes, and you laugh a lot, but the laugh ends up strangled in your throat as you realise just how desperate is the underlying emotion. Juno was merely a teaser - Ms. Cody has grown in giant steps since then, and her script brings out the best in Mr. Reitman too. Young Adult is a small jewel.
Charlize Theron; Patton Oswalt, Patrick Wilson, Elizabeth Reaser.
Director, Jason Reitman; screenplay, Diablo Cody; cinematography, Eric Steelberg (prints by DeLuxe); music, Rolfe Kent; production designer, Kevin Thompson; costume designer, David Robinson; editor, Dana E. Glauberman; producers, Lianne Halfon, Russell Smith, Ms. Cody, Mason Novick, Mr. Reitman (Paramount Pictures, Mandate Pictures, Mr. Mudd, Right of Way Films, Denver & Delilah Films), USA, 2011, 93 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, Zon Lusomundo Colombo 9 (Lisbon), January 24th 2012.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
PAÍS DO DESEJO
Creatively muddled and dramatically clumsy, Paulo Caldas' melodrama of love and religion in rural Brazil is an ill-advised take on an interesting premise. Starting off as a mosaic drama interweaving two different characters - an ailing concert pianist (Maria Padilha) and a progressive, humanist Catholic priest (Fábio Assunção) - Mr. Caldas and his co-writers make them collide through the inspired-by-true-events story of a teenage girl raped by her own uncle and excommunicated from the church for having aborted the resulting child. Despite that alone being enough for a full-length movie, the director never moves that story out of the background and it soon becomes obvious it's merely an excuse to focus on the unlikely meeting it engenders between the pianist and the priest.
The result is a film whose desire for a transcendent romanticism is thwarted at every level: the acting is mostly indifferent (no one really has characters to develop, only archetypes), poor scripting (the dialogue is shockingly trite), clumsy handling and editing (wasting too much time setting up characters, like the nurse fascinated by Japanese pop culture, that never really serve any purpose), all of it wrapped up in the sense that Mr. Caldas never really decided which of the stories he really wanted to tell. The only saving grace is the music - impressionist piano pieces from Satie or Debussy that signpost the romanticism this ill-advised enterprise strives for without ever reaching.
Fábio Assunção, Maria Padilha, Gabriel Braga Nunes, Fernanda Vianna, Germano Haiut, Nicolau Breyner.
Director, Paulo Caldas; screenplay, Amin Stepple, Pedro Severien, Mr. Caldas; cinematography, Paulo Jacinto dos Reis (colour, processing by Labocine do Brasil, widescreen); art director, Karen Araújo; costume designer, Bárbara Cunha; editor, Vânia Debs; producer, Vânia Catani (Bananeira Filmes in co-production with Fado Filmes, 99 Produções Artísticas, Cena 2 Produções), Brazil/Portugal, 2011, 88 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, Zon Lusomundo Colombo 5 (Lisbon), January 23rd 2012.
The result is a film whose desire for a transcendent romanticism is thwarted at every level: the acting is mostly indifferent (no one really has characters to develop, only archetypes), poor scripting (the dialogue is shockingly trite), clumsy handling and editing (wasting too much time setting up characters, like the nurse fascinated by Japanese pop culture, that never really serve any purpose), all of it wrapped up in the sense that Mr. Caldas never really decided which of the stories he really wanted to tell. The only saving grace is the music - impressionist piano pieces from Satie or Debussy that signpost the romanticism this ill-advised enterprise strives for without ever reaching.
Fábio Assunção, Maria Padilha, Gabriel Braga Nunes, Fernanda Vianna, Germano Haiut, Nicolau Breyner.
Director, Paulo Caldas; screenplay, Amin Stepple, Pedro Severien, Mr. Caldas; cinematography, Paulo Jacinto dos Reis (colour, processing by Labocine do Brasil, widescreen); art director, Karen Araújo; costume designer, Bárbara Cunha; editor, Vânia Debs; producer, Vânia Catani (Bananeira Filmes in co-production with Fado Filmes, 99 Produções Artísticas, Cena 2 Produções), Brazil/Portugal, 2011, 88 minutes.
Screened: distributor advance press screening, Zon Lusomundo Colombo 5 (Lisbon), January 23rd 2012.