Some stories work from beginning to end; others begin at the end and work back to the beginning; rarely do they work out from the middle to the beginning and the end simultaneously.
That’s what Seven Pounds does.
So you feel thrust into this film. Right from the start, which is the middle, you’re confronted by events and behavior you don’t quite understand.
Will Smith transmits unsettled feelings and depending on your mood (I was a sitting duck) you will transition with him to somewhere he seems to be going, but where?
Minutes before I happened on Seven Pounds in my living room, I caught a news flash of Smith in the audience at Oslo, listening to the Nobel speech.
It kept the actor alongside the character in my mind throughout the film, and it made me wonder how much an actor can learn about life from the parts he plays.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Omnivoires by Ben Clawson
A telephone repairman went up the side of a mountain only to find himself involved in a drama he never expected. What may look like the hallway of a high school will lead you to unexpected drama when you sit down in the darkness of Playwright’s Theatre in Madison, New Jersey. Before the repairman arrives on the scene, a Broadway-like stage set presents itself, and the drama that follows is worthy of the same appraisal.
Omnivores, written by Ben Clawson, is expertly acted and directed. The dialog is taut and efficient, and so is the action it advances.
The feeling if not the particulars of the ongoing argument between brothers, played by Brian Parks and Joey Palestina, is familiar to anyone who is part of a family. Everyone has a crazy uncle, perhaps not as extreme as the one played by Thom Molyneaux but you get the idea. And the transgression at the heart of the play is believable, as is the perpetrator, played by Scott Cagney; in fact, it’s drawn from a newspaper story you probably read.
The dialog has Mamet-like stretches. The time shuffle, which represents the same story to the audience more than once beginning at different moments in the plot a la Pulp Fiction, is inventive. The ending offers you a choice. Take it.
Omnivores, written by Ben Clawson, is expertly acted and directed. The dialog is taut and efficient, and so is the action it advances.
The feeling if not the particulars of the ongoing argument between brothers, played by Brian Parks and Joey Palestina, is familiar to anyone who is part of a family. Everyone has a crazy uncle, perhaps not as extreme as the one played by Thom Molyneaux but you get the idea. And the transgression at the heart of the play is believable, as is the perpetrator, played by Scott Cagney; in fact, it’s drawn from a newspaper story you probably read.
The dialog has Mamet-like stretches. The time shuffle, which represents the same story to the audience more than once beginning at different moments in the plot a la Pulp Fiction, is inventive. The ending offers you a choice. Take it.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Something Precious
Precious was precious to someone once; somehow she got her name. But for most of this film, which is the story of her life, she is precious to no one, until she becomes precious to herself, which is late in the game. Surprisingly, this movie has the structure of a classical bildungsoman, or education novel, like David Copperfield, for example. In fact, education itself is a character in this story, the rungs of a ladder.
This film is marked by incredible performances by non-actors, especially Mo’nique, for whom a best-supporting nomination has to be in the offing.
As to the subject matter of this film, while we struggle to “fix” other countries, admirable as that may be, we seem to have forgotten our own, and by that, I mean something different than simply pumping money into a debilitating welfare system, certainly indicted by this movie.
There is an uplifting message here if you can endure your way to it.
This film is marked by incredible performances by non-actors, especially Mo’nique, for whom a best-supporting nomination has to be in the offing.
As to the subject matter of this film, while we struggle to “fix” other countries, admirable as that may be, we seem to have forgotten our own, and by that, I mean something different than simply pumping money into a debilitating welfare system, certainly indicted by this movie.
There is an uplifting message here if you can endure your way to it.
Monday, October 26, 2009
The Scariest Thing about Paranormal Activity
The scariest thing about Paranormal Activity is what it illuminates about normal activity. Yes, the audience screamed three times when I saw it – quite a reaction – but for the reflective viewer the really scary part comes later, when you realize that this movie could be about how into every relationship both partners bring their demons. Some are just more demonic than others.
The action is gritty and claustrophobic. The hand-held, wobbly camera angles (we saw this in Blair Witch as the reviewers will note) reminds us of our own home movies, the kind we used to make in the nineties before our phones became video cameras. This and the introductory text commentary on the screen and generally low production values put us into an amateur documentary mode which makes us feel that everything we are about to see is very real.
When you focus on two people in a relationship in a closed place for a period of time with very little distraction, except, of course, the major one, you begin to see things:
A relationship that seems simple and straightforward at first grows increasingly complex and troublesome over time. I don’t think you need extraordinary events like the ones depicted on this screen for this scary phenomenon to be believable.
What some might consider a typically male reaction to a situation stands out in greater relief as events progress. The male character wants to “solve the problem.” He enlists technology ranging from cameras and computers to a Ouija board. He rejects the opinions of “experts,” insisting on direct engagement. Naïve, well- intentioned and fearless, he turns the drama into a contest of egos with an unknown force.
At least that could be the position of what some might consider the usual female reaction to that male reaction. In other words, “he just doesn’t get it.” The female character is in tune with a reality of greater dimension than the one the male character sets out to conquer; in this film, that’s an understatement.
The contrast between these two views, forget male or female, and their inability to understand each other in everyday life is scary. There is something positive, charming and deeply American about attacking daunting problems with confidence and optimism, which we cannot give up without reducing our national character. At the same time we hope that such an approach would be informed by a reasonable though not paralyzing sense of limitations, otherwise the prospect of whatever we call success when the target is as large as a global financial crisis or a fourteenth-century conflict in a faraway country, our “success” will indeed be limited. That’s scary.
This is a sighting, not a review. It’s not about how good or bad the film is, but about what insights we can draw from it. Imagine a time before photography when the only images of ourselves were paintings and sculptures; the static visual arts of that time had great power, inconceivable to us who peruse photos on Facebook every day. Go back beyond the cave paintings to the constellations; left on their own, the earliest stargazers searched for meaning and human patterns in the night sky. Our images are on electronic screens; think of these as raw materials. They reflect our preoccupations, values, anxieties, hopes to a degree that those who process them – producers and directors – may not even be aware.
So, do we feel today increasingly preoccupied with forces that operate mysteriously in ways that we cannot understand or control? What do you think?
Visit www.movieisghtings.com and comment.
The action is gritty and claustrophobic. The hand-held, wobbly camera angles (we saw this in Blair Witch as the reviewers will note) reminds us of our own home movies, the kind we used to make in the nineties before our phones became video cameras. This and the introductory text commentary on the screen and generally low production values put us into an amateur documentary mode which makes us feel that everything we are about to see is very real.
When you focus on two people in a relationship in a closed place for a period of time with very little distraction, except, of course, the major one, you begin to see things:
A relationship that seems simple and straightforward at first grows increasingly complex and troublesome over time. I don’t think you need extraordinary events like the ones depicted on this screen for this scary phenomenon to be believable.
What some might consider a typically male reaction to a situation stands out in greater relief as events progress. The male character wants to “solve the problem.” He enlists technology ranging from cameras and computers to a Ouija board. He rejects the opinions of “experts,” insisting on direct engagement. Naïve, well- intentioned and fearless, he turns the drama into a contest of egos with an unknown force.
At least that could be the position of what some might consider the usual female reaction to that male reaction. In other words, “he just doesn’t get it.” The female character is in tune with a reality of greater dimension than the one the male character sets out to conquer; in this film, that’s an understatement.
The contrast between these two views, forget male or female, and their inability to understand each other in everyday life is scary. There is something positive, charming and deeply American about attacking daunting problems with confidence and optimism, which we cannot give up without reducing our national character. At the same time we hope that such an approach would be informed by a reasonable though not paralyzing sense of limitations, otherwise the prospect of whatever we call success when the target is as large as a global financial crisis or a fourteenth-century conflict in a faraway country, our “success” will indeed be limited. That’s scary.
This is a sighting, not a review. It’s not about how good or bad the film is, but about what insights we can draw from it. Imagine a time before photography when the only images of ourselves were paintings and sculptures; the static visual arts of that time had great power, inconceivable to us who peruse photos on Facebook every day. Go back beyond the cave paintings to the constellations; left on their own, the earliest stargazers searched for meaning and human patterns in the night sky. Our images are on electronic screens; think of these as raw materials. They reflect our preoccupations, values, anxieties, hopes to a degree that those who process them – producers and directors – may not even be aware.
So, do we feel today increasingly preoccupied with forces that operate mysteriously in ways that we cannot understand or control? What do you think?
Visit www.movieisghtings.com and comment.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
A Serious Man: The Coen Brothers Get Serious
Visit www.moviesightings.com to see the whole blog and make comments.
Uz is not Oz, but then Oz was not Oz either, which is a very brief description of the Coen brothers’ newest movie, possibly the most serious comedy ever written for the screen.
Uz was the land inhabited by Job of biblical fame, where every manner of misfortune was visited on a just man. And Oz was, well you know… the promised land where no promise is kept, and pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
I heard an astonishing radio interview of an American GI who had just returned from tours in Afghanistan to find himself unable to pay the mortgage on his house. He complained about the stress. When asked to compare it to dodging bullets, he said it was much more stressful, because he knew what to do in the field.
It seems wrong to minimize life-threatening situations by putting them in the same paragraph with domestic challenges, but there you are.
Every movie deserves its time, and now we have this one.
None of the main actors is recognizable, which makes for easy identification for the audience. Only Adam Arkin and Richard Kind, who plays Uncle Arthur, do we know from other roles. Michael Stuhlbarg does such a great job as the central protagonist that throughout his trials and tribulations, we keep wondering where else have I seen this guy.
Thousands of reviewers will focus on the Job reference and spend time telling us that the Coen brothers grew up in an intensely Jewish community in the Midwest. Every realistic story about social interaction must plunge into a world, with believable specifics, and this happens to be one the Coen brothers know very well (but they’ve already shown us so many others). More important than the colorful language (the website for A Serious Man includes a Yiddish glossary), is the way this particular world outlook and this film articulate simultaneous struggles: how to deal with the demands of the world while searching for meaning while trying to be a good man. This story is universal; it’s for everyone, especially in this country at this time.
The characters surrounding Larry Gopnik are as helpful to him as Job’s neighbors who do nothing more than blame him for his troubles. In the midst of all, Job cries out: “My days are swifter than a runner, they flee away.” See this movie.
Uz is not Oz, but then Oz was not Oz either, which is a very brief description of the Coen brothers’ newest movie, possibly the most serious comedy ever written for the screen.
Uz was the land inhabited by Job of biblical fame, where every manner of misfortune was visited on a just man. And Oz was, well you know… the promised land where no promise is kept, and pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
I heard an astonishing radio interview of an American GI who had just returned from tours in Afghanistan to find himself unable to pay the mortgage on his house. He complained about the stress. When asked to compare it to dodging bullets, he said it was much more stressful, because he knew what to do in the field.
It seems wrong to minimize life-threatening situations by putting them in the same paragraph with domestic challenges, but there you are.
Every movie deserves its time, and now we have this one.
None of the main actors is recognizable, which makes for easy identification for the audience. Only Adam Arkin and Richard Kind, who plays Uncle Arthur, do we know from other roles. Michael Stuhlbarg does such a great job as the central protagonist that throughout his trials and tribulations, we keep wondering where else have I seen this guy.
Thousands of reviewers will focus on the Job reference and spend time telling us that the Coen brothers grew up in an intensely Jewish community in the Midwest. Every realistic story about social interaction must plunge into a world, with believable specifics, and this happens to be one the Coen brothers know very well (but they’ve already shown us so many others). More important than the colorful language (the website for A Serious Man includes a Yiddish glossary), is the way this particular world outlook and this film articulate simultaneous struggles: how to deal with the demands of the world while searching for meaning while trying to be a good man. This story is universal; it’s for everyone, especially in this country at this time.
The characters surrounding Larry Gopnik are as helpful to him as Job’s neighbors who do nothing more than blame him for his troubles. In the midst of all, Job cries out: “My days are swifter than a runner, they flee away.” See this movie.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
The Weight of Water
I was driven back to The Weight of Water by the Hurt Locker, simply because, different as they are, they had the same director. I am as guilty as Rich in his exchange with Adaline when he expresses doubt that a woman would be capable of choosing an axe for a murder weapon. She responds with Lizzie Borden, and he responds that she was acquitted, and she responds yes, by a jury of men who could not conceive of a woman wielding an axe. I was first surprised that a woman had directed Hurt Locker, and then doubly surprised that she had also directed The Weight of Water, a film I had already seen three times. I went back for a fourth time.
This conversation between Rich, playing the brother of Thomas (Sean Penn), is light fare compared to the one between Adaline (played by Elizabeth Hurley) and Jean (Catherine McCormack), wife of the Sean Penn character. It is presumably about poetry (Thomas is a poet), but both women know it goes much deeper.
Early in the film, Thomas makes this comment: “Women’s motives are always more concealed.” I suppose those words could set off a raging debate, which I would not mind staging here if anyone has read this far.
This movie interleaves two stories better than any other I can remember. Jean is a photographer commissioned by a magazine to take pictures of the scene of an unsolved crime that took place more than a hundred years ago. Like many journalistic types in many movies she involves too much of herself in the reporting, and the juxtaposition of the past and her present simultaneously illuminate and destroy each other.
There is only one word for how the action reveals the truth – visceral.
This conversation between Rich, playing the brother of Thomas (Sean Penn), is light fare compared to the one between Adaline (played by Elizabeth Hurley) and Jean (Catherine McCormack), wife of the Sean Penn character. It is presumably about poetry (Thomas is a poet), but both women know it goes much deeper.
Early in the film, Thomas makes this comment: “Women’s motives are always more concealed.” I suppose those words could set off a raging debate, which I would not mind staging here if anyone has read this far.
This movie interleaves two stories better than any other I can remember. Jean is a photographer commissioned by a magazine to take pictures of the scene of an unsolved crime that took place more than a hundred years ago. Like many journalistic types in many movies she involves too much of herself in the reporting, and the juxtaposition of the past and her present simultaneously illuminate and destroy each other.
There is only one word for how the action reveals the truth – visceral.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Cold Souls
Facebook Friends: visit www.moviesightings.com to see the entire blog.
What is a soul? I happened to be reading a brilliant book about religion as a human manifestation. In the hunter-gatherer stage of our existence, it was believed that the souls of other people could inhabit our bodies. Cold Souls is not the most riveting Giamatti performance. He mesmerized us as John Adams in the HBO Series. Some people list Sideways as their favorite movie.
There are two moving portraits in this film – that of a woman poet with a soul too big for her own life and that of the woman at the center (or just off-center) of Cold Souls, the transporter of souls. In the beginning, she seems as cold as the picture this film gives us of a mechanized, industrialized Russia, but she wins our sympathy by the end; we cannot leave the theater without feeling deeply for her.
In this film, a soul is that without which we would not be ourselves. Losing one’s soul creates a feeling of emptiness, turns us into something neutral and barely alive; we’ve seen this theme in so many movies where the word soul is never mentioned. The Visitor comes to mind. This soul is our life-force, the thing that animates us to be ourselves. It’s an old thing, our hunter-gatherer soul.
Great acting, especially the portrayal of a historical figure – a living, or once-living, breathing human being – is the successful absorption of another person’s soul into the actor’s body. As John Adams, Giamatti does it.
What is a soul? I happened to be reading a brilliant book about religion as a human manifestation. In the hunter-gatherer stage of our existence, it was believed that the souls of other people could inhabit our bodies. Cold Souls is not the most riveting Giamatti performance. He mesmerized us as John Adams in the HBO Series. Some people list Sideways as their favorite movie.
There are two moving portraits in this film – that of a woman poet with a soul too big for her own life and that of the woman at the center (or just off-center) of Cold Souls, the transporter of souls. In the beginning, she seems as cold as the picture this film gives us of a mechanized, industrialized Russia, but she wins our sympathy by the end; we cannot leave the theater without feeling deeply for her.
In this film, a soul is that without which we would not be ourselves. Losing one’s soul creates a feeling of emptiness, turns us into something neutral and barely alive; we’ve seen this theme in so many movies where the word soul is never mentioned. The Visitor comes to mind. This soul is our life-force, the thing that animates us to be ourselves. It’s an old thing, our hunter-gatherer soul.
Great acting, especially the portrayal of a historical figure – a living, or once-living, breathing human being – is the successful absorption of another person’s soul into the actor’s body. As John Adams, Giamatti does it.
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