Saturday, February 26, 2011

Feckin' Shite

Liam Neeson reacts to being panned by AARP magazine.

Full disclosure: I'm going to spoil some aspects of Unknown, so if you want to see it, skip this post until afterwards.

I know it was a big hit ($145 million), but I really hated Taken, aka Not Without My Daughter as re-imagined by Spike TV. Bone-crunchingly violent despite its PG-13 rating, it was the sound of one reactionary hand clapping as ex-CIA daddy (Neeson), heavily invested in the evil-that-men-do worldview, warns his teen daughter of the perils of international travel -- and naturally she goes to Paris and immediately gets kidnapped by white sex slave traders, shot up with drugs and auctioned off to rich A-rabs. (The worst things that have happened to me on trips to Paris are stepping in merde du chien and being ignored by waiters.)

Now comes Unknown, which is openly marketed as The Bourne Identity meets Taken (because he can't remember who he is in this one). Set in a wintery Berlin and shot in varying grades of white, gray and blue that often makes it look softly out of focus, which is either a kind of tell or crappy film stock (per one of my chums in projection), Unknown is told from the POV of Dr. Martin Harris (and he's really, really fond of the "Dr."), a botanist arriving to Berlin for some sort of Biotech conference, accompanied by his wife Liz, a role sleepwalked by January Jones.

But Dr. Martin Harris is a Ph.D., a doctor(!) -- and after going through Customs, he puts his passport in his briefcase (not his inner overcoat pocket, like anyone over the age of 12 who's traveled abroad would do) and then leaves the briefcase at the airport curb. The credits are barely over, and I'm already irritated by a plot device...good job, lazy screenwriters! (When you, and Dr. Harris, find out who's who at the end, this makes even LESS sense, because it happens before he bumps his head and gets all forgetful and shit.)

Dr. Harris hops in a cab to hightail it back to the airport, but it plunges into a river (the Spree?) to avoid hitting a motorcyclist, the botanist bumps his noggin and spends four days in a coma. He remembers his name and eventually why he's in Berlin, but when he goes to the hotel to reunite with what he assumes will be his frantic wife, she claims not to know him, and Aidan Quinn is pretending to be Herr Doktor You-Know-Who.

The remainder of the film features Neeson in grim action mode, finding the cab driver who fled to accident scene, getting creeped out by people staring at him and talking on cell phones (dude, it's Germany -- get used to it), being followed on the U-Bahn, driving and crashing a fleet of Mercedes cabs like he's to the autobahn born, hooking up with a former Stassi agent-turned-private-detective randomly recommended by a nurse shortly before her strangulation (because yeah, that could happen), being naked in a shower one minute and clothed and on a roof 30 seconds later, and punching, kicking and shooting people with sociopathic precision, all of which seems entirely unrelated to the study of botany.

By the end of the film, several of the characters are not who we think they are, but I had so little invested in the story I really didn't care, with one exception. Diane Kruger plays Gina, the Bosnian cab driver, who seems genuinely upset by perpetuators of violence who are pursuing Dr. Harris, likening them to the type of men who slaughtered her family. Why then does she go off with that type of man at the film's end? It's one thing for the guy to be ammoral enough to not judge himself (although even Dexter Morgan is not that ammoral), but for her to be okay with it is a loud, sour note.

On the plus side, as Bobby Sol Hurok (John Candy) on SCTV would say -- January Jones blow'd up. She blow'd up real good.

*Looking for an excellent thriller? Check out The Day of the Jackal, Fred Zinnemann's 1973 adaptation of the Frederick Forsyth thriller of the same title. It's set in 1963, and is about an assassination plot against Charles De Gaulle. Edward Fox is fabulous as the enigmatic Jackal, a clear antecedent to George Clooney's assassin in The American.

Casino Jerk...er, Jack

Stop slouching.

I wanted to like Casino Jack, what turned out to be director George Hickenlooper's final film (he died of an accidental drug overdose last October, at age 47, a few months before the film was released). I'm a big fan of Hickenlooper's The Man from Elysian Fields and of Hearts of Darkness, his classic documentary about the making of Apocalypse Now.

The Jack in Casino Jack is Jack Abramoff, conservative lobbyist who went to jail in 2006 (he was released in December of last year). He was big during the Clinton years, but really came into his fullest powers during the Bush Administration. He was also best buds with Ralph Reed, Grover Norquist, and Tom Delay. Business, as usual, with a big take-no-prisoners credo. He got his "casino" nickname from all the lobbying work he did for Indian tribes who set up gambling businesses.

I think the reason I couldn't get into Casino Jack is that Kevin Spacey plays Jack Abramoff. People who like Kevin Spacey like him very much, but for me, he just seems too much. He's like an ingredient that has an overwhelming flavor, or a seasoning that can take over a dish. If a dish has green peppers or rosemary in it, those are the only ingredients I can taste. I'm not saying that's true of everyone else, but it's true for me. (I suspect that it takes a very strong director to get Kevin Spacey down to a tolerable volume.) I haven't been able to watch a Kevin Spacey performance in which the "Kevin Spacey factor" didn't get in my way since he was Verbal Kint in The Usual Suspects. In Casino Jack, I couldn't see "Jack Abramoff" because he was wearing a Kevin Spacey suit.

I think a better choice on the subject would be Alex Gibney's documentary, Casino Jack and the United States of Money. Gibney made that fantastic Enron doc, The Smartest Guys in the Room, and also last year's well-received Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Elliot Spitzer. He's in post-production on a doc about Lance Armstrong (I love that The Onion sells "Cheat to Win" bracelets -- I'm curious to see what Gibney's doc finds out about the performance-enhancing drugs in cycling) -- and Gibney's in pre-production on a Wikileaks doc. Can't wait -- but please, don't let Kevin Spacey narrate either of them.

Oh, I Wish I Was an Oscar Meyer Winner

The Academy Awards have successfully managed to become the Super Bowl of awards shows. They mean so much to some, and yet so little to me. If I love a film, I love a film. I don't need the validation of an outside body. For people who are less plugged-in to films in general, awards seem to point them in a direction to see something that they might not have otherwise. But no award can ensure that a film will withstand the test of true quality -- that future audiences will watch and respond to a film. No one who's taking a film history course will ever have to watch 1968's Best Picture winner, Oliver!. They'll be watching and studying Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, which was released the same year and not even nominated.

Awards mean extra business to a film still playing, such as The King's Speech or Black Swan, but a high-quality winner that isn't rolling in box office gets slighting postscripts -- can we ever read that The Hurt Locker won Best Picture last year without some asshole adding that it was the lowest-grossing winner? What should that have to do with a film's merit? Oh wait, I keep forgetting that this is a business, and that it's fair and reasonable to pit artistic endeavors against each other and decide what's "best." For whom, for whom?

The show itself is another aspect of the carnival -- this year it's being hosted by Anne Hathaway and James Franco, for some random reason. It'll be too long and have crap, time-wasting musical numbers, just like any other year. Someone will wear something weird or say something strange, just like every year. Everyone sitting in the audience will either be frightened or will have been Botoxed into looking that way, just like every year in the past decade. Audiences at home with high-def TVs can now speculate on who's had work done on their faces. West Coast audiences can enjoy watching it live, and early in the evening, which helps make it less of a slog.

For what it's worth (and I would argue, not much in the historical, long-view sense), here are my thoughts on who and what may win tomorrow night.

Best Picture: The King's Speech. What I'd Vote For: The Social Network. The King's Speech is a fine film, but it feels like it could have been made 30 years ago. The Social Network feels like now, and represents a greater challenge in dramatization. Just my opinion.

Best Actor: Colin Firth. Who I'd Vote for: Javier Bardem or Jesse Eisenberg. Firth is widely considered a lock, as much for this role as for his general excellence -- last year's A Single Man might have been a wee bit too gay for the aged Academy members. And Firth was excellent, but so was Bardem, as a dying man with a complicated life and Eisenberg as the blank (or is he?) creator of a communication watershed. How do you decide who's the best unless they're all playing the same role?

Best Actress: Natalie Portman or Annette Bening, but I'm leaning towards Bening for the win. Black Swan was a polarizing film, and older viewers, who may have a greater awareness of the distinction between art and camp, were cool to it. Bening's been nominated (but not won) three times before, and this fourth time might be the charm. Also, she was excellent in The Kids Are All Right.

Best Supporting Actor: Christian Bale. Who I'd love to win: John Hawkes. A study in contrasts -- Bale's performance is so large it overshadows the film that it's in, and Hawke's is small but integral to Winter's Bone.

Best Supporting Actress: Melissa Leo in The Fighter. I don't have any problem with Leo winning, provided that she doesn't allow her stylist to render her unrecognizable, as was the case at the Golden Globes. Very, very scary.

Best Director: David Fincher, The Social Network. He's supposed to be a prick to work with, but it's always about the work. I respect that.

Adapted Screenplay: Aaron Sorkin, The Social Network. Full stop.

Original Screenplay: The King's Speech may whisk it away on the feel-good vibe, but wouldn't it be cool if Inception won? But would the top stop spinning at the end, or not?

Animated Film: Toy Story 3

Documentary: Inside Job. But really, this year's crop are all good, I'd be happy for any of them. I'm especially glad the nominees does not include Waiting for Superman, which was a weak doc, despite the attendance bump it got from all the pious hand-wringing on the subject.

Cinematography: Roger Deakins, True Grit. Another veteran owed his due.

Editing: The Social Network. I haven't seen a film this well-edited for speed since Goodfellas.

Original Score: I'm hoping for the spare, mood-enhancing music of The Social Network, but we may get stuck with The King's Speech. Chin up.

Original Song: Randy Newman wrote a song for a Pixar movie? Yeah, whatever's from Toy Story 3 will win.

Foreign Language: the Danish film, In a Better World, is supposed to be the front-runner, but Biutiful, from Mexico (but set in Barcelona) was excelente.

The "Throw 'em a Bone" categories -- awards considered to have less prestige in the public's eye, but often given to big, noisy moneymakers so they too can claim critical validation:

Art Direction: The King's Speech or perhaps Inception
Costumes: Alice in Blunderland
Makeup: I hope it's The Way Back, which did an excellent job showing the ravages of Gulag living and continent-crossing on the actor's faces, but it'll probably be the dude with fur on his face -- The Wolfman.
Sound Editing: Inception
Sound Mixing: Inception
Visual Effects: Inception

Short Films: Don't know, don't care. These are the categories that cost you the Oscar pool every year. Poke around online if you care enough to handicap the choices. The only one anyone in the at-home audience is likely to have seen is Pixar's Day & Night, a short that ran before Toy Story 3 and which I found pretty meh. The folks who vote on them actually have to watch them all, so they are a smaller subset of the Academy.

The Oscars, like everything else on the planet, are largely political -- and you and I don't get a vote in this election. Just remember to love what you love, despite what "wins."

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Movies in the Present Tense: All the President's Men and The Social Network

Movie Bernstein & Woodward, 1976
Movie Zuckerberg and someone irrelevant to him, 2010

Zeitgeist, n. German. the spirit of the time; general trend of thought or feeling of an era. (From my trusty Random House College Dictionary. I don't know its year of pub -- my cat has ripped that page out.) From Wikipedia: The term zeitgeist is from German Zeit- 'time' (cognate with English tide and "time") and Geist- 'spirit' (cognate with English ghost, without being really translatable into English - this is why the German term is used).

In America, one of the things the 1970s came to be defined by was an event that occurred on June 17, 1972: a break-in at Democratic National Headquarters, located in the Watergate office complex in Washington, DC. In the first decade of the 21st century, a social networking site launched in February 2004 achieved global membership of a million users only two years after its launch, and now has an estimated 600 million active users, worldwide, changing the way we communicate. "Facebook me" is shorthand the way that American political scandals have been given "-gate" suffixes since the 1970s.

Alan J. Pakula's All the President's Men was released in 1976, a mere four years after the American history-altering newspaper story it depicts. David Fincher's The Social Network was released in 2010, seven years after its real-life storyline began. Both films were adapted from nonfiction books and depict events that have come to define the zeitgeist of the decades in which they were both set and made, doing so ways that are nuanced and visceral and which find the universal stories underneath the events. It is no easy feat to recognize the 'time ghost' when you are living inside it, but it's even more amazing to document it with the kind of verve found in All the President's Men and The Social Network.

All the President's Men is about the loss of innocence of the American voter. It's a different kind of loss than what the nation experienced with the Kennedy assassination, because the events were so cynically engineered by people who wantonly abused the trust of the electorate to maintain their power. That this may or may not have always been the case in American politics is not the issue -- this was the moment that the blindfold was permanently ripped off. These domestic covert ops were a secret held closely by the entire U.S. intelligence community (Deep Throat, Woodward's appropriated name for his famously unnamed source, was revealed in 2005 to have been the number two man at the FBI, W. Mark Felt). It took months of hard work and white-knuckle nerve to crack the story and it ended a presidency.

All the President's Men was adapted by William Goldman, considered to be one of the best screenwriters of his era (and perhaps of more than just that). He also scripted Marathon Man and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid prior to All the President's Men and The Princess Bride after it. Alan J. Pakula directed the darkly moody Klute in 1971 (the film that won Jane Fonda her Oscar) and The Parallax Viewin 1974 -- a taut, paranoid thriller with Warren Beatty playing a journalist trying to unravel an assassination story -- that no doubt served as a calling card for when Robert Redford was looking for a director.

The story has a Shakespearean arc, as one in power falls from grace (Tricky King Richard, the one without the hump), brought to justice by some lowly commoners (Woodward & Bernstein). All the President's Men plays as a highly suspenseful detective story, but in a world where being a detective, or a reporter, involved shoe leather, not Google. This was the fruit of collaborative work between two young reporters, Bob Woodward (portrayed by Robert Redford) and Carl Bernstein (played by Dustin Hoffman), who are shown as bringing out the professional best in each other.

(Both Woodward and Bernstein inspired young people to pursue careers in journalism, a once-noble profession that has become yet another victim of the bottom line. "Woodstein" became celebrities themselves, Bernstein marrying and famously cheating on Nora Ephron, a tale brought to the screen in Mike Nichol's adaptation of Ephron's roman à clef novel, Heartburn, with Jack Nicholson playing Carl to Meryl Streep's Nora. Woodward remained with the Washington Post and is part of the Washington Establishment and has written breathlessly-close-to-power books about the last three presidents. The worm does turn.)

Although it depicts the lives of very young men, The Social Network is the collaborative work of older, creatively mature men, namely screenwriter Aaron Sorkin and director David Fincher. The Social Network has strong dramatic underpinnings, telling a story of betrayal, class warfare and cutthroat creation, with a complex barrage of dialog. A key difference between the two films is that although the script of The Social Network "feels" true, it is not dependent on facts, and finding factual truths is at the core of All the President's Men. In an excellent, in-depth article about the film published on Sept. 17, 2010 in New York magazine, screenwriter Sorkin came clean about his approach: "I don’t want my fidelity to be to the truth; I want it to be to storytelling."

The story is ostensibly about Mark Zuckerberg, a Harvard undergrad who gets dumped by his girlfriend one night and goes back to his place and cooks up Facemash, an online site to rate real women at Harvard, a site that generates enough traffic to crash Harvard's server. Not much is known about the real Zuckerberg, who is famously unforthcoming, but Jesse Eisenberg manages real dimensionality with what could have been a flat, robotic Aspberger's poster child of a character. Movie Zuckerberg is a study in aspiration who wants to join the highest eschelons of Harvard without having been to the manor born. Turns out the best route was to plow right over them (and your best friend) and redefine success.

Aaron Sorkin is best known for his scripts of A Few Good Men (adapted from his own play), The American President and the television series he created, Sports Night, The West Wing, and an upcoming HBO show set behind-the-scenes at a news network. He is held as high in regard as William Goldman (higher, if you count his opinion of himself). The source material Sorkin loosely adapted The Social Network from was not even fully published when he began work on the script, so although the script contains elements of actual events, it seems best to regard it more as a work of pure fiction that shapes events into much neater arcs than they have in real life. (This is the technique "reality" television also uses, but with non-union writers and more gullible viewers.) This fictionalization didn't detract from the impact of the film for me, and I think that structuring it in the mode of Kurosawa's seminal Rashomon by using the framing device of multiple, contradictory depositions also bought a huge degree of wiggle room.

Director David Fincher began his career in music videos, something Alan Pakula never got around to before his death in 1998 (Fincher directed Madonna's "Vogue," among others). Fincher made his first splashy film directing Brad Pitt in 7even (although his debut was the third installment of the Alien franchise). Some of his other films include a killer adaptation of Chuck Palahniuk's novel, Fight Club, and Zodiac, the story of the real-life serial killer in 1970s San Francisco. (David Shire, who composed the music for All the President's Men, was also hired to compose the score for Zodiac. I can't help but think that Fincher was looking for an authentic seventies sonic feel.) Fincher is known for being a very exacting director (aka a prick), but he is working at the top of his craft in this film and got outstanding performances out of all the cast and crew (Justin Timberlake -- who knew?), and the sparsely complex score, by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, layers on an aural ache to the proceedings. I now have very high hopes for Fincher's adaptation of Stieg Larsson's The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, due to be released on December 21.

On the box office side of things, All the President's Men has made $70.6 million domestically, about $275 million in 2010 dollars if the calculator on this site is to be trusted, and The Social Network is about to cross the $100 million domestic mark theatrically, thanks to a strategically timed re-release to coincide with its Academy Award campaign. The film is already out on DVD, and it still made another $0.4 million last weekend on 367 screens. I can tell you anecdotally that a lot of older people who may have not been keen on (or aware of) the subject matter are coming to see The Social Network now that it's been nominated for Academy Awards.

All the President's Men won four of the eight Academy Awards it was nominated for in 1977 (Best Supporting Actor for Jason Robards as Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee, Best Art Direction-Set Decoration, Best Sound and Best Adapted Screenplay for William Goldman), and a collection of film critics prizes that seem to track along the same lines as The Social Network is for this year. I expect that Sorkin's screenplay will win, and I suspect the score and Fincher's direction will as well. With three weeks to go, it appears that The King's Speech is gathering momentum for Best Picture, and the Best Actor prize has widely been regarded as Colin Firth's to lose for months.

Not to knock any of the other nine contenders, but The Social Network is my non-voting choice for the Academy Award for Best Picture this year. But I won't lose my mind if it doesn't win: The 1968 award for Best Picture went to Oliver!, a musical adaptation of Oliver Twist, but the zeitgeist belonged to a film not even nominated, 2001: A Space Odyssey. History tends to correct the slights of today, even when those of vision can recognize their times in the present tense.