Get Out (2017)

Get Out (2017)

The Dark Humor of White Lies

“Ain't no lions or tigers ain't no mamba snake… Just the sweet watermelon and the buckwheat cake… Everybody is as happy as a man can be… climb aboard little one sail away with me”

-Sail Away, song written by Randy Newman, as sung by Ray Charles

“Have you forgotten, that once we were brought here, we were robbed of our names, robbed of our language, we lost our religion, our culture, our God, and many of us by the way we act, even lost our minds!” – Dr. Khalid Muhammad on Public Enemy’s ‘Night Of The Living Base Heads’

“If only we were amongst friends... or sane persons!”

-Janet, The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Jordan Peele of the TV sketch comedy duo, Key and Peele, has made an unlikely directorial debut on the big screen. “Get Out” has many funny moments. This is not surprising given Peele’s body of work. However he chose a genre not usually associated with comedians… horror. The director has an interest in the funny bone, but he is also focused on the smashing of skulls and blood spattering.  “Get Out” borrows from breakthrough films that expand conventional genre boundaries. “The Invasion of the Body Snatchers” can be seen as a parable of the 1950s McCarthyism. In 1975 “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” used standard horror film troupes to hilariously expound on sexual “normalcy”. The same year “The Stepford Wives” made monsters of the misogynist post war ideals of women. “Hannibal” gave a scientific veneer to the slasher flick. Imagine all these threads, and many more, coming together in a “black comedy” about race relations. The key to the films success is that it is a solidly crafted funny horror film, rather than a scold about our social deficits. 

Dave Chapelle just made the most financially successful comedy special ever recorded. He gives homage to Key & Peele for following in his footsteps. He also, casually, makes reference to the hard work of laughter. He told a short joke and mused how it was the best one OF THE 40 he had written on that minuscule topic. Note: this was merely less than a minute of a 4 part, multi-hour show. Yet, despite the substantial length, there was an effortless to every second of his performance. Peele has followed this rigorous attention to craft, albeit without the myopic attention to giggles. “Get Out” casually flows through the terror but with the added dimension of occasional laughter. It is only after reflection one realizes they are witness to an intricately detailed story that has careful exposition with many subtle jibes. Seemingly incidental references and props turn out to be part of a fine-tuned plot. A car collision with a deer on the trip to the parents house is tied to our protagonist’s loss of his own mother. Note: our hero uses mounted deer head as a weapon to slay his adversary.  The Jesse Owen’s mention upon meeting the overly friendly parents is another passing, yet vital, key to understanding the root of the white family’s relationship to African Americans. The father reveals: my grandfather ALMOST recovered from the loss to the great Olympian. The denouement of the story has a member of the nation’s most ridiculed police agency, the TSA, act as the “white” knight in shining armor.  Peele’s commentary on the cold foibles of the ruling class are etched with the knowledge of a keen observer. The writer/director knows that the race is a American is centered around a psychotic relationship.  People, literally, embody those they loath. All this speaks to someone whose mastery of the culture is pitch perfect to the point where racial question are merely a device, rather than the focus. This is a wonderful horror film, rather than a wonderful “black” horror film. 

The cast of  “Get Out” deserves credit for making the magic possible. Daniel Kaluuya and Allison Williams are exquisite in their roles as the lovers in an early stage of romance. Their fears and reactions to the strains of “meeting the family” are believable. The fact that they are an interracial couple meshes perfectly with the nervousness of making the “right” impression. The family has the benevolent upper class quirkiness of being educated elitists with a soft spot for underlings. The neurosurgeon patriarch, Bradley Whitford, has a funnyman/everyman quality akin to a white Dr. Huxtable. The therapist matriarch, Catherine Keener, has the warm friendliness of a den mother constantly apologizing for her overly social husband.  He says the right thing in a manner which makes it the wrong thing. The brother, Caleb Jones,  is the only overt hint that we might be on the sinister set of “Arsenic and Old Lace”, rather than the purely wacky world of “You Can’t Take it With You”. He’s a mean preppy drunk with an overt hatred of minorities. Then there are the servants, Marcus Henderson & Betty Gabriel. Not since Mrs. Danvers, in Hitchcock’s “Rebecca”, have house staff radiated such much pure creepiness. Danver’s is driven to cursing her new mistress before torching the mansion and leaping into the flames but at least she was fighting her own deranged battle. The element that makes Henderson & Gabriel so unsettling is a question of identity.

“Get Out” is about who we aren’t.  Race and class are vehicles for the horror/comic editorial on the state or altered state of America. The rigid caste system that undoubtedly exists is a subject that dare not speaks its name. This is perfect fodder for a dystopian comedy. There is only one character that is solidly lower-middle class. The protagonist’s best friend LilRel Howery, a TSA employee, is rooted in the black working class. He is chock-filled with bromides about race, class and acceptance that our “striving” hero chooses to ignore. Unfortunately Howery is, unintentionally, distanced from his friend’s narrative by a performance that is disjointed from the central narrative. He is playing a stand-up gig at home which is intercut with a carefully mannered parody. Howery is a wonderful as a singular performance. There is a jarring disconnect between his clear-headed, hard-nosed cell phone comedy club routine and the set-piece family nightmare. The audience is swept up in the bizarre twilight-zone antebellum country-club only to be whiplashed with a call from a brash stand up comedian. That sense of disconnect is also illustrated in the blood-soaked latter segment. “Get Out”  metaphorical verbal fisticuffs morph to, literally, breaking out the ax. The mind games turn to actual brain surgery.  Artistically speaking the audience is overcome by the turbulent mechanics of the narrative rather than the helter-skelter nature of the material.

Kaluuya, during the girlfriend family visit, is hit, full bore, with the schizophrenic love/hate of the ruling class toward, ‘the other’. How is he to respond to the family’s loss at the Nazi Olympics? Is the constant praise of African American physicality meant as a compliment? Would they WANT to be black? It is interesting to note that Jesse Owens, reflecting upon his moment revealed: "I wasn't invited up to shake hands with Hitler- but I wasn't invited to the White House to shake hands with the President, either.” The sequence in which our hero is forced into the Hades of submission by Keener’s hypnotic trance, has him seeing things from a bottomless abyss of powerlessness similar to another classic protagonist. Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man” ended in basement room filled with bare light bulbs. That hero knew the bitter truth that was revealed in the note he is told never to open as he goes from employer to employer.  He eventually succumbs to curiosity and reads: “Keep This Nigger-Boy Running”. Kaluuya endures a backyard garden party where he encounters another African American fellow traveler who never opened the note. He is a bizarre, castrated, sex slave whose identity has been erased by a white body snatcher. Kaluuya might not know the truth, but he senses something is off. The TSA agent channels the title of the film, “GET OUT!”. It is a hysterical warning of imminent danger, not a sardonic quip of disbelief. Howery, with all his jocular home spun charm, knows the DEADLY seriousness of the situation. 

Gazes and gestures tell a thousand stories. The genius of this film is that they are exactly who they aren’t. When Kaluuya tries to strike up a conversation with Henderson he is the middle of splitting wood. There is no telling where the ax will land next, despite the cool politeness of the interaction. Allison Williams is another odd monster who oozes madness beneath the preppy veneer. Her trophy collection of photos of past conquests is akin to Shelly Duvall in the Shinning discovering her husbands novel is one sentence repeated ad infinitum. The demur, polite Allison is actually a big game warden with the terrifying laissez-faire morality of Daisy Buchanan in the Great Gatsby. Daisy committed manslaughter and let her love be murdered rather than face the music. Allison murders with the same disinterest. She is the mirror image of Howery, who is all heart. The TSA hero who, in his ill-fitting uniform covering his Twinkie filled frame, become the metaphorical white knight. He slays the pretty monsters and the Oreo imposters. Then there is Gabriel’s moment with Kaluuya . If the film could be summed up in one facial expression it would be this domestic servants penetrating, tearful, wide-eyed, glare. There is a quixotic, Mona Lisa quality that projects terror and ambiguity. Should she be embraced as an ally, or scorned as another of the monsters? In reality her place in the orchard of strange fruit, she is both the produce and the purveyor.  Even if she had the ability to reveal the truth, Kaluuya’s response would have been an incredulous, “GET OUT!” as in, “you can’t be serious”. Her deadpan response would have been, “while you can”. There is a monster. Not under your bed but directly in front of you. The horror is there… it is question of choosing to see it and responding appropriately.

In our current climate of vastly opposing opinions about the the racial divide it is important to remember that half a century ago interracial marriage was illegal in most of the United States. In the same year those laws were struck down “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” had its debut. The plot centered around a young wealthy caucasian woman’s parents meeting her African American fiancée’s counterparts. The prospect of different colors in the family trees forces an uncomfortable introspections on all sides. Even the white family’s trusted African American servant is against the nuptials as she feels the young man, a doctor, is trying to “get above himself”. Contrast her with the black maid in “Get Out”’. They are both prisoners of their station, but Peele’s servant is a chimera of commentary on race and class. The former is merely a pawn in a set piece drama about the foolishness of bigotry. Early forays into this difficult conversations are important, but they appear stilted in an age where Harper Lee’s “Go Set a Watchman” can be read as a companion to “To Kill a Mockingbird”. The paradigm character of social justice, Atticus Finch, is revealed as a more nuanced person informed by his segregationist surroundings. “Get Out” reeks of such ambiguity. Racism is real but it is fiction to believe in Atticus Finch. It is more appropriate to grimace and embrace at all the unsettling contradictions. Andrew Jackson, overseer of the trail of tears, had his life saved by a Native American. Get out! Muhammad Ali, the embodiment of black power, based his public persona on a white 1950s professional wrestler. Get out! The Senate leader of the modern segregationists had an African American daughter. Get out! The pilgrims kept the decapitated head of a Native American on a pike on the outskirts of their village to ward off unfriendly tribes. Get Out!  Families were known to attend lynching and postcards were made of the events. Get Out! The nice, white, rich, progressive, country club family are, in truth, depraved, murderous slaveholders. Get Out! Atticus Finch won’t save you… you have to wait for the TSA. Get Out! 

“Get Out” is a bloody, belch of uneasy truth. Peele’s gift is that he has shown us that the story of the American original sin lends itself to real tales of horror rather than the safe ghetto of polite conversation.  It is to be enjoyed from the slums of East St. Louis, to the art-houses of New York City, to the drive ins of San Diego, to the streaming feeds of Montana, Hawaii, Mississippi…. let horror ring. We can, as a big family…. squirm at last. We can squirm at last! Thank God Almighty we can squirm at last!   

Moonlight (2017)

Moonlight (2017)

Portrait of a Drug Dealer as a Young Man

We're all built up with progress

But sometimes I must confess

We can deal with rockets and dreams

But reality, what does it mean

Ain't nothing said

Cause Freddie’s dead

- Freddie’s Dead, lyrics from Curtis Mayfield song from the film “Superfly”

Barry Jenkins’ “Moonlight” is a tender, reflective film about a young man’s journey from an abused childhood in the tough streets of Liberty City Florida. There are moments of overt violence but the overall mood is one of melancholic reflection. The central players are good people caught in desperate circumstances.The authenticity of the storytelling is born of autobiography.  This story has much in common with both the director’s (Jenkins) and the writer’s (Tarell Alvin McCraney) childhoods. They both grew up in this notorious town near Miami. They both endured drugged addled mothers. The real revolution, however, lies in Jenkins telling this tale as a mirror image of blaxploitation films of the 1970s. “Moonlight” lifts the veil on “Youngblood Priest”, “Foxy Brown”, “ Sidney Lord Jones” and other African American protagonists who dominated the movie screens of the Nixon era inner city. McCraney and Jenkins were born nearly a decade after the zenith of this controversial film genre. Yet their work strikes a cord by giving backstory to the cartoon ghosts of a defining era in black cinema.

Blaxploitation films are remembered as comic book orgies of violence, mostly centered around the drug trade. Truth be told some of these movies made sincere attempts at documenting the African American experience in a sympathetic light. “Cornbread Earl and Me” shows honest hardworking families struggling against the blight of crime and the virulent racism of the authorities. “Moonlight”, whether intentionally or not,  obliterates the foundational troupes in these hallmark films. There are no “magic negroes”, “baaad gangstas", good grandmothers, super-charged macho men, prisons, basketballs, red-neck cops, hookers, pimps, gun battles, funky music……  Yet this is the EXACT hardscrabble black ‘hood of the exploitation world. “Moonlight”, unlike its antecedents, builds a ghetto of characters rather than a simulacrum with archetypes. This is a world of idiosyncrasy and ambiguity. Mothers don’t cry and gangsters do. 

The strange unspoken limbo of real life is captured in the taciturn gaze of Chiron. Throughout his childhood/adolescence/manhood his silent, inquisitive stare haunts the audience. “What is a faggot?”, is the question that quietly erupts from the mouth of this babe to his flummoxed mentor, Juan, a tough seasoned man of the streets. He is a Cuban refugee who swam to America’s shores to become an established drug dealer.  The response is delivered with a rough hewn wisdom. The father figure explains it a phrase used to make gay people feel bad about themselves. This is followed by more questions such as, “am I gay?”, “are you a drug dealer?” and “do you sell drugs to my mother?. It is doubtful Juan has faced anything harder in his brutal life than responding to the queries of this small quiet child. The father-figure is, metaphorically, knocked down and demurs to his spouse. She signals that he must be careful and gentle in his responses. The spare dialogue houses a galaxy of emotion. That is the heart of “Moonlight”. The searing honesty that illuminates the dark corners.

The love story between Chiron and Kevin embodies a terrifying tension. It is reminiscent of Martin Sherman’s Bent, a gay love story set in a Nazi concentration camp. The ironically named, Liberty City, is a brutal world where a false move can lead to certain death. Inner City neighborhoods are dangerous for the weak and potentially deadly for those who break taboos, such as homosexual love. This is a macho, misogynistic world. Cash-money is king. Men rule. Women are tolerated for sex. Tenderness is weakness. Those who show their vulnerability are brutalized. Yet behind the savage exterior are people living their lives. There is wonderful visual metaphor of children playing in a vacant lot with a ball hewn from found materials. It’s not a formal park. It’s not a real game. It’s not the right equipment. Everyone is dressed wrong. Nevertheless it answers the question posed by Cat Stevens many years ago when mediating on a dystopian world: Where do the children play?

The film oscillates between straightforward storytelling, isolated portraits and melanges of image and abstract sound. Those quiet moments of the protagonist sitting alone in a bubble bath as a child morph into an adult sitting on his bed staring at his cell phone. These give us the lonely measure of the man-child. He longs for the poetry of escape… on the beach at night for his first kiss or his mentor gently teaching him how to swim. Unfortunately the unceasing meanness of the story bursts the respite. His beating at the hands of his love. The constant betrayal of his mother. The fear of being exposed. He bears the blows with a dignity not seen on the screen since Montgomery Clift faced a platoon of bullies in “The Young Lions”. It is probable that the schoolyard fight scene is based on that film’s sequences of the young Jewish soldier facing his bigoted tormentors.  It is interesting to note that Clift himself faced being a closeted gay man in a violently hostile environment. In both scenes the actual protagonist of the altercation BEGS his victim, out of respect, not to stand up….. PLEASE STAY DOWN… but in both cases they rise and face more punches until the bliss of unconsciousness. 

Chiron rises. He becomes, like his “father” before him, the everyman neighborhood drug dealer. He also shares his predecessors negative self-image. Something the outside world is only too eager to affirm. This film shows the lack of confidence behind the flashy car and loud music. He drives to see Kevin who is working in a restaurant. The man called him out of the blue after many years. Chiron parks his car, the refurbished version of his mentor’s. He has flashier tire rims and a louder stereo that blasts fearsome sounding rap. This is distinct from the smooth latin boss nova and classic music that are the genuine score of this film. His friend is startled by the physicality of his formerly gangly, slight, high school friend. Chiron seems as intimidating as his ride. Curtis Mayfield’ sums it up in his description of the protagonist in “Superfly”:  “the man of the hour has an air of great power, the dudes have envied him for so long”. But’s, as his sweetheart knows, it’s all a front. Even gangsters love to be held. Especially by mommy. 

The least successful parts of “Moonlight” center on the mother’s emotional negligence towards Chron. Naomi Harris gives an exceptional performance, but as the film progresses the encounters become more specific and less effective. The wonderful amorphous

vignettes of his mother’s drug fueled rages culminate in a stiff proscenium arch set piece about forgiveness. There are several moments in the childhood sequence that show a woman battling a complex competing narrative born of addiction. In the beginning she still holds a job and can keep up appearances. Her acts of malice are followed by shows of love towards her child. Her physical deterioration twins with cruel indifference. All affection vanishes when she demands money. The overt jealousy towards his surrogate parents, her dealer, lead to horrific reminders that “he owes HER”. The adult sequences, when all this is parsed through the eyes of recovery, lead to cliche dialogue transmitting the rage. Film artistry is overcome by a need to “tell it like it is”. Unfortunately it appears the real world emotions, born of actual neglect, got the better of their art. This also might be said for the overall running time. This work shares the identical flaw as “Manchester by the Sea”. The passion for the material overcomes the cool judgement of being a writer/director. Less is more, even if it is your child.

The final sequences of the film illustrate the best and worst in “Moonlight”.  After many, many years, Chiron comes to visit Juan who now works as a cook in a diner. The chef summons the power of the empathic cook in “Like Water for Chocolate” and pours his tenderness into the preparation of a meal for his long lost love. This dinner is born of trying to absolve himself from past sins. He begs forgiveness in every tender pouring of a sauce or adjustment of a piece of lettuce. Unlike the final scene with Chiron’s mother all the emotion is beautifully conveyed by gestures and expression, rather than blunt force dialogue. This magnificent sequence, however, is followed by lengthy drawn out awkward silences. The moments themselves are compelling, but the duration undercuts the majesty of the reunification.  The dinner, the car ride, the apartment embrace, all begged for concision. Perhaps the the director might have borrowed the form he used in the ‘learning to swim’ segment or the poetic off-sync encounters with the mother. The “adult” segment contain some of the strongest moments in the film, and yet it seems deadened by a straightjacket approach to storytelling. The “child” and “adolescent” chapters are less rooted and more surprising. Whereas the audience was captivated by the serendipity of the younger self, the older Chiron was hamstrung by the weight of adulthood. It is tempting to believe the “reality” of the denouement of Chiron’s story would have demanded a clearer plot line - the opposite is true. This was the moment where the poetry should have soared. We needed more of the dreamy magic of Terrence Malick, rather than the deadpan reality of Jim Jarmusch. In this case the reality lacked the Jarmusch’s sardonic humor, making the pain less easy to digest. 

There is hope in these streets. It is born in the success of “Moonlight”. This is the rare American Feature, set in a contemporary setting, that does not have one Caucasian character… not even a cameo. This fact probably doesn’t occur to most audience members. That is where victory lies. “Moonlight” is neither black or white. This movie, about the coming of age of a gay black gangster, has a wide release and is being nominated for top awards… and yet no-one calls this a gay movie, a black movie or a gangster movie. It’s a quiet love story that soars above genre. Curtis Mayfield attempted to breath humanity into desperate characters in his score for “Superfly”, an unabashed celebration of blaxploitation. The fact that the music has outlived the original film proves the endurance of truth over gimmickry. This authenticity is rooted in shining light on the unspoken. Here is “Freddie’s Dead”. This is a homage to a heretofore forgotten character, a low level drug dealer murdered during the course of business:

Let the man rap a plan; 'said he'd send him home.

But his hope was a rope, and he should have known.

It's hard to understand; there was love in this man.

I'm sure all would agree, that his misery,

Was his woman and things.

Now Freddie's dead.

It is interesting to note that the powerful lyrics to this song were NOT included in the film. They were part of the soundtrack album. This intricate portrait of a human might have been too complicated for a film focused on flash and violence. “Moonlight” is about what is universally hidden and experienced. There are no drawn out gun battles. There are no prisons. There are no pyrotechnical effects. One might see Juan as a latter day “Freddie”. He followed his forebear’s lead with an timely/untimely trip to the grave. Juan died, but Chiron lives. That is the difference. “Superfly”, and its myriad of companion films, are a glamorized view of death though the veneer of the black experience. “Moonlight”  is about life… period. 

Manchester by the Sea (2016)

Manchester by the Sea (2016)

Love’s Austere & Lonely Offices

Everyone wanted to say so much that no one said anything in particular.

-Rudyard Kipling, “Captains Courageous”

No one can think of a gangster without calling to mind Marlon Brando’s husky mumble from “The Godfather”. I predict audiences will summon Casey Affleck’s performance in “Manchester by the Sea” when they encounter a taciturn blue collar worker. There is something universally penetrating about his curt answers and floor-facing gaze. Inevitably this leads his character, Lee Chandler, to unprovoked fisticuffs after a-few-too-many in the local bar. Is this a story of a wounded warrior enduring life’s many battles? Or is this merely a misanthrope acting-out?Kenneth Lonergan, the film’s writer/director, shows Lee to be a hero. Unfortunately he takes too much time making the point.   

Everyone is an expert in “family drama”. It is in our DNA. Pity the poor auteur who must present his work in front of a panel of experts. To be convincing one must illuminate the shadows of unhappiness with the perfect balance of individuality, sorrow and hope. The audience of professional family members will be repelled by formulaic troupes. The pain is universal but the sadness is, as Tolstoy would say, “in its own fashion.” Lonergan knows that endless attention to detail is required.  A true family portrait involves imbuing your work with the precision of the  Hubble Telescope, which can spot a candle from 7,000 miles away. The audience must be oblivious to the rigor involved in recreating these intricate portraits of routine/ritual. It might have taken Lonergan years to shape the two lines a brother speaks to a nurse who tells him of his beloved’s death. Ditto for the manner in which our hero rebuffs romantic advances, scolds his charge, punches a window, grabs a policeman’s gun.… These moments must appear “spur of the moment”; an uninterrupted note in a symphony of family dancing. Strangely the exquisite solos are, at times, drowned by the chorus. The artist has been smothered by falling in love with his subject. 

The first half hour of Lee Chandler’s tale is inauspiciously meandering. The superb virtuosic performances of the supporting cast (Michelle Williams, Gretchen Mol, Lucas Hedges) are absent. Casey Affleck’s embodiment of Lee, the handyman, is convincing but lacks resonance. He sulks while tending to a series of unglamorous tenements. The set design, dialogue and interactions speak of a brooding man punching the remaining time clock of his existence. This culminates in a dressing down from the landlord. The boss’ office, filled with the flotsam of small building paperwork, is yet another character in the tableaux. It is all first rate work. Unfortunately this film is not a Robert Altman panorama. “Manchester by the Sea” is a Eugene O’Neill paean to a family’s long days journey. So much of what is included in these segments, albeit exquisitely rendered, blurs the central narrative. Lee appears a congenital misfit rather than someone worth knowing. Redemption jumps to life the moment he receives the phone call - his brother is ill. The audience leaves the microscopic examination of diurnal lower middle class Massachusetts for the heartbreak and connection of the Chandler family struggle.

The physical journey from the dreary suburbs to scenic Manchester is marred by unfortunate editing choices. The film as a whole suffers from an extraordinary number of establishing shots and extended exit points. The rainy car ride sequence to the hospital seems to beg the question, “are we there yet?”. In addition this blight to an otherwise first rate film can be seen in the cinematography. The graphic giving the title of the film cuts during a pan of the ocean. This is cinematic equivalent of mismatched lapels on a blazer. Lonergan and his team demonstrate a mastery of their crafts that would seemingly eliminate such amateurish mistakes. Ironically it is the strength of the material combined with Lonergan’s theatrical training that hinders a crisper narrative. The gravitation to the big screen is a siren call to explore small paths but one must ensure they ride smoothly on the narrative’s main highway. The film fails to steer clear of presenting to the audience with the performers’ homework. Many of the extraneous moments work as acting exercises that build the actors’ knowledge base for their characters. Sadly showing this material obscures the Chandler family struggle. Lonergan understand actors and storyline, which makes for sublime moments. The challenge becomes threading the narrative to the precise size of the medium. Unfortunately Lonergan’s passion for the story leaves him to stay twice as long at the party. There is an unfortunate “twining” of sequences that half the enjoyment. There was no need for TWO scenes of Lee being extremely awkward with women; or TWO scenes of the band practicing with the lousy drummer; or TWO scenes of the nephew awkwardly trying to seduce his girlfriend; or TWO scenes of the nephew and his hockey coach…… Twining is not always bad. One can see Lonergan’s repeat action work wonders at times. The two funeral and morgue scenes both excel. The way one family member pauses and reaches out to the corpse. The abrupt exit of another. The pitch perfect choreography revealing complicated alliances. It’s all enough to forgive the extraneous wandering in the other moments. Unfortunately the overall effect is witnessing exquisite jewels emotional connection set amongst ponderous, well-rendered moments from a-day-in-the-life. 

Closeness to the family drama blinded the auteur to a more refined telling of the Chandler saga. The same person who meticulously drew the heart-searing interactions between the uncle and nephew is, ironically, the same artist who gave us the laborious introduction to the uncle and his children. Thirty second would have sufficed to portray an absent, insensitive father and a overwhelmed, emotionally neglected wife. Perhaps the director thought overdrawing this scene was necessary in order to build a foundation for the late encounter between these two characters. That moment, in which harsh truths are recognized, is a touchstone of redemption and sorrow. Casey Affleck and Michelle Williams, as performers, needed to experience the former in order to reach the dramatic heights of the later. The audience need only be privy to their heartfelt final meeting. The hard work of the earlier scene is already enmeshed and need not have been revealed. The meeting of the nephew and his biological mother also suffers from over-telling. It could have been a quarter the length and had four times the impact. Once again Lonergan felt the duration would aid in explaining the later impact of the step-father’s email or the nephew’s sensitivity about being abandoned. Once again THE PERFORMERS needed the experience to give gravitas to their work… but not the audience. The director needed to put more faith in the unseen/offstage preparation.  Unlike these “acting exercises”, the best sequences have a concision of movement and dialogue. When the the nephew gazes at the photos of his uncle’s children there is no need for words or even a reveal of the young faces. The previous scenes have set the stage perfectly. When the families’ embrace at the brother’s funeral, all the exposition is managed in the manner of the touch. The actors’ have managed to bring their past preparation to the moment at hand. When Lonergan shows trust he becomes the thoughtful writer/director. He knows how to deliver the economy of action as exhibited in the proscenium arch. When he over-explains he exhibits the callowness of thinking better surveillance leads to clearer storytelling. In short, just because film, unlike the stage, gives you the ability to travel (to the skating rink or ocean or hospital) doesn’t necessarily mean you should take the trip in public. What is de rigueur in preparation can be detrimental when showcased within the story. 

“Manchester by the Sea” is about family members shedding assigned roles of childhood for the unexpected burdens of adulthood. The real crime falls under the Buddhist concept of “grasping”…. refusing to let go… “Back ups” must shed their comfortable habits and become full fledged caretakers. Others must embrace their limitations. There are no “good guys” or “happy endings” just people struggling with the grist mill of bad choices or bad luck while serving time in self-made prisons. The heroic escapes are born of enduring, without abandoning, and accepting what everyone already knows is true.  Yes “Manchester by the Sea” is flawed…. but the director shares the same battle as the characters. The nephew’s mother, the uncle’s wife and the uncle himself, all know that the only way to be parents, guardians, spouses… is to stand at a distance and let their charges seek solace from others. Lonergan needed to step back. His creation would have stood taller without his needless pampering… but it still is a magnificent accomplishment. Caring too much and being over-involved are crimes of the heart and should be forgiven. The love shines through. The next time a middle-aged crank runs his mouth or acts inappropriately, the shadow of Manchester will inform my response. I’m sure many other audience members will feel the same way. Thank you Kenneth Lonergan for helping extend the boundaries of our compassion. What more can one ask of a mother, father, aunt, uncle, guardian?…. or a writer/director.

Weiner (2016)

Weiner (2016)

Of Pineapples and Weiners

You never had a camera in my head!

-Truman Burbank, Main Character in “The Truman Show”

The film “Weiner” documents the former Congressman exposing his private parts in public. The movie also shows this to be one of his least disturbing transgressions. The errant internet tweet of his bulging crotch, followed by his lying, cost him his job as a New York City Representative in Washington DC. “Weiner” begins as a triumphant showcase of his return after the fall. Josh Kriegman, a former chief of staff, convinced the former politician to allow a crew to intimately capture the excitement of his bold decision to run for mayor of New York City. From the candidate’s point of view even a close loss would establish his comeback. Anthony believed Kriegman and his co-director Elyse Sternberg, would sketch a testament to the tenacity of a flawed hero. Unfortunately for Weiner, and fortunately for audiences, this film tells a darker tale that goes well beyond election results. No doubt Weiner was envisioning a contemporary political hierography such as of Leacock’s “Primary” or Penneback and Hegedus’ “The War Room”. Instead “Weiner” is akin Andrew Jarekci’s “Capturing the Friedmans”, a searing portrait of a family gripped by psychological dysfunction. It is doubtful the filmmakers’ themselves could have conceived how much this film would drift away from a Phoenix-like narrative. This is the story of hubris, writ large. The genius of the movie is that it goes beyond being a portrait of a horrible man. Anthony, and his perverted behavior, fade into the background. It is the supporting cast, his wife, his aides, that come into focus. This film raises uncomfortable questions about loyalty and ambition.

The Weiner saga revolves around specific knowledge of NY politics and the East Coast media, yet this film is directed at a general audience. The challenge of weaving an enormous, intricate backstory into a lively narrative is daunting. Sternberg and Kriegman, with the formidable editing talent of Eli B. Despres, present an approachable, riveting story with concise uses of news footage, staged interviews and free-flowing tracking the people during the events. Often multi-screen excerpts are presented simultaneously. It is a testament to the skill of the filmmakers that juxtaposing the material, which shifts in both sources and duration, pushes the narrative forward without being overwhelming or boring. There are quiet, intimate ‘one on one’ moments which appropriately blend with fast moving deluges of information. Everything is in the service of telling Anthony’s story. This film should be studied by aspiring documentarians simply for the tour de force management of sources to render a taught narrative. Even if one loathes the subject matter, the crafting of the story is first rate.

In the beginning we are presented the firebrand liberal Congressman on the House floor histrionically screaming against the hypocrisy of his Republican opponents. He claims they are hiding behind a technicality in procedure. Desperate aid to 9/11 first responders is being denied.  He takes no prisoners and the expression on the presiding speaker shows anguish. Anthony is a fearsome adversary or advocate, depending on your politics. But he seems genuine in his fervor for justice for the underdog. Constituents, many elderly, minority, LGBT, working poor… shower him with genuine affection in many small moments at public events. His staff is equally zealous and this leads to a genuine feeling that victory in the Mayoral Democratic Primary is within reach. This redemptive introduction hints at what might have been. He is unexpectedly ahead in the polls against a well established group of adversaries. Then came…. Sydney Leathers. If this were fiction you would criticize the writer for overdrawing someone with a name that matches her temperament.  This woman exposes photographs of Weiner’s weiner. They were sent to her by text, AFTER HE RESIGNED FROM CONGRESS FOR SEXTING. She then agrees to film a porno movie based on his online fantasies. For those who disbelieve life is stranger than fiction you should view the NY Daily News “Weinergate Gallery” - the opening image in the photo-spread is entitled “Sydney Leathers films porn: The woman behind the Anthony Weiner Scandals” http://www.nydailynews.com/news/women-weiner-gate-gallery-1.21415  Did I mention that Anthony’s wife, Huma Abedin, is about to give birth to their first child?

At this point the film morphs from the political to the personal. There will be no comeback. The shift is staggering. It is as if Robert Redford from the feature film “The Candidate” and Alan Alda “From the Seduction of Joe Tynan” turned to their trusted staff and loyal family and said, “So the press knows about the OTHER time I took pictures of my junk for some online hookers… we need to join together so you can defend me and we can win this election”. Audiences would DEMAND everyone reject him. Furthermore the politician would need to spend the rest of his life  begging forgiveness from everyone involved. The idea that people would close ranks and his wife would remain by his side would be laughably implausible. This is exactly what happened in the non-fiction world. There is no harm in disclosing the plot point as the experience of watching his wife and communications director defend him must be seen to be believed. This is the crux of the drama. What was everyone thinking? 

The righteous bravado of the defender of the dis-enfranchised takes on a sinister air during a sequence in which Anthony decides be interviewed by TV political analyst Lawrence O’Donnell. The host, despite being politically sympathetic to the candidate, decides to speak plainly. He labels Weiner’s decision to stay in the race as a sign of severe mental illness. Weiner responds with a brutal riposte castigating O’Donnell and saying, amongst other things, he’d be happy to return to the show when he is mayor. Adding to the absurdity of the scene is the fact that the host is in a Washington DC  while Weiner is alone in the NY Studio. The filmmakers cleverly intercut the segment so it appears Weiner is speaking into thin air. The effect is the disquieting feeling of witnessing someone walking down the street mumbling and trying to ascertain whether they are on a cell phone, or bat-shit crazy. The later is confirmed when Weiner returns home to his partner. Huma, who is somehow still ensconced chez Weiner with their lovely son, comes to comfort her beleaguered spouse. She is appropriately solemn and sullen. He is triumphant and obsessively re-watches the O’Donnell encounter online. He turns to her for validation. Huma quietly tells him it does not put him in a good light. He ignores her and continues to watch and cackle while cheering on his perceived victory. She exits. There is a hope that she will pack her bags and leave the apartment. Unfortunately she returns as the dutiful, albeit chastened, wife. Things get…. worse.

The film’s chef d’oeuvre is the day of the election. Huma turns out to have a human limit to utter humiliation. She cannot face the ignominy of the walk to the polling station with her husband and young son in front of a crowd of reporters. This is understandable as any normal person would feel akin to taking part in a “perp walk”. Anthony, lacking any sense of propriety, is undeterred. He creates a fictitious story WHILE IN FRONT OF STEINBERG AND KRIEGMAN’S ROLLING CAMERAS. HE THEN REPEATS THE LIE TO THE PRESS WHILE SHOWCASING HIS INFANT AT THE POLLING STATION. The inner workings of politics has always shared the unseemly ambiance of a sausage factory. The film is an endless barrage of disingenuousness. It might have been palatable in the context of a realistic, redemptive narrative. Unfortunately, given our anti-heroes antics, one feels the desire to phone child protective services. But once again things get… worse. 

Sydney Leathers is in town for the election. Shock-Jock Howard Stern asks her to track down her old friend Anthony. The candidate is given the news of her proposed visit during a photo op with his young son at the playground. The heretofore loyal communications chief has been replaced by an earnest, callow newbie with lots of strategies and no common sense. The staffers have secretly nicknamed Leathers “Pineapple”. The aide explains, ON CAMERA, the reason the campaign created a moniker is to hide the fact that they are acknowledging her at all. This confession is followed by him turning to the camera and saying “I shouldn’t have told you that”. Anthony can be thankful he didn’t divulge the origins of the name "Pineapple" - although one senses that information would be forthcoming if the filmmakers had asked. “Pineapple” is planted in front of the venue where they’re having the post election gathering. The aide reassures the candidate that he shouldn’t worry. He has the demeanor of a second string high school quarterback who has been called up to save the game in the 4th quarter. The plan is to enter the campaign party via the adjacent building, which happens to be a McDonalds restaurant. On the way to the event Weiner makes a rare mammalian gesture to Huma as paparazzi swarm the limo in front of the Mickey D’s. He tells her she can remain in the safety of the car. The disturbing implication is that she might have followed him. Note: she said, ON CAMERA, she did not wish to be publicly humiliated by “Pineapple”.  Was this the origin of the noble gesture? Anthony bounds forth into the crowd as “Pineapple” tries to corner him. Our anti-hero escapes. “Pineapple” is left in the McDonald’s muttering to the press, “Why is he scared of a 23 year old girl?”. Did I mention the party is marking his finishing dead last in the crowded field? After all this, he garnered less than 5% of the vote. 

In the end we are left with the disquieting notion that Weiner was always Weiner. There is a, pardon the term, impenetrability to his persona. He was ALWAYS immutable. The things that drove him to the spotlight as a force of legitimate power were identical to the boss/father/spouse who threw everyone under the bus to gratify an urge to masturbate. Huma is the sphinx. She must have known his nature. It is always dangerous to speculate on the private parts of public lives but this movie begs the question. Who is Huma?  Claire Underwood in “House of Cards”?  Tina Turner in “What’s Love Got to Do With It”? Elizabeth Taylor in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolfe”? A post-modern Lady Macbeth?  There are tantalizing clues. Small moments when she gestures to the camera with a facial expression representing, “can you BELIEVE this guy?”…. No we can’t - so why are you still standing next to him? There is also the odd moment when she bestows some advice to Weiner’s communications chief. This woman is, literally, in tears after fending off countless press calls after Anthony’s second exposure revelation. In the emergency meeting at Weiner’s apartment she has mentioned that the fourth estate is clamoring for news. They are threatening to spread rumors that she is involved with the candidate if she doesn’t respond. Huma warns her not to leave the building without having pulled herself together. She then adds, “I’m telling you this for YOUR sake”. She isn’t.  Considering what she has endured who could blame her for wanting to guard her remaining dignity. Her decision to stay in the marriage and let Anthony use the prop/child are curious. Her ambitious nature is subtlety on display. She is still, despite everything, Hillary Clinton’s most important staff member. The film reveals Bill Clinton thought of her as a second daughter and presided over her marriage. No indication about his feelings now. This is one obvious topic this tell-all doesn’t tell. The other untouched area is the staffers’ feelings. Certainly there are tense moments when they are clearly pushed to limits by Anthony’s boundless narcissism. Given all the titillation about everyone coming to the same conclusion, it is surprising no one went on the record. Especially given the power couples’ willingness include everyone in the reality/horror show. The most the audience is given is tortured grimaces and curt expressions of disappointment.   

The very last scene in the movie is a wonderful metaphor for the entire story. Despite everything, Weiner has a fabulists’ charisma that is seductive. There is a quiet photo shoot in a nice neighborhood (upper west side?). A goofy grade school kid happens on the scene. Despite his nerdy private school demeanor, he is hip to the adult happenings around him. He immediately sizes up the situation and whips out his cell phone to tell his mother he is with ANTHONY WEINER!!!! There is no judgement - just pure, squealing (literally), joy about being a part of the scene. He poses with the politician, who makes a sardonic comment about how his mother might not want him to look up the details of his life. There is a crazed, bonhomie to the tableaux of the young boy taking a selfie with the disgraced pol…. despite the moral failings, the broken lives, betrayals, painful truths… this is SHOW BIZ!!! Who doesn’t like being in front of the camera. “Weiner” asks questions about the price of celebrity when there is no distinction made between fame and infamy. Even if you love someone… should you stick around? The movie seems to be a reenforcement of that old saw that parents give their children regarding the perils of joining the circus. 

Huma Abedin, despite her husband’s best efforts, has remained an important player in national politics.  Thankfully for her, the critically acclaimed “Weiner” hasn’t been a blockbuster. The storm has passed…. or has it? I read the news today… oh boy. Anthony is at it again. Soliciting a college girl (and Republican staffers) with boasts of his sexual prowess while at his post-film job as a PR consultant. He claims to have the sexual stamina of a mongoose and makes word play with the word “staff”. The college girl turned out to be a male troll.  He claims Weiner gave him his number and wanted to meet. Here is his reaction from the article in the NY Post:

Confronted Saturday morning outside his Union Square home, Weiner grew irate and offered up a bizarre conspiracy theory — that he had been framed by Rupert Murdoch, CEO of The Post’s parent company, News Corp.

“It was set up by you guys, obviously,” he told The Post as he clutched a Louis Vuitton bag in one hand and his son in the other. “It was totally busted, as well.”

“Another Murdoch setup!” he railed, as his wife walked stone-faced in sunglasses toward a parked Ford Escape SUV.

Asked why he gave his phone number over Twitter, Weiner said, “That was a way to bust you people,” before he got in the SUV and sped off.

-NY Post, Aug. 16th 2016, “Anthony Weiner saw no party lines when sexting 

http://nypost.com/2016/08/14/anthony-weiner-really-cannot-stop-sexting/

After seeing “Weiner” one imagines the former Congressman getting in the car and turning to Huma and his infant son for reassurance. One can hear him barking, “I showed THEM… didn’t I!”. That is the part of this entire story that is most disturbing. Reality television has real victims.

Coda: On Aug. 29, 2016 (a few days after I wrote this review) the press reported that Huma Abedin had decided to formally separate from Anthony Weiner. Once again… he was back to his old tricks. It gets worse. Anthony had joked with his sexting partner that someone was crawling into bed with him… he then sent a photo to his paramour of his infant son next to his bulging crotch. The NY Post ran the pictures and the text. One can only imagine Huma’s phone call informing her boss of the latest developments, not to mention the lifetime of torment her husband has wrought on her family and friends. The foibles of the rich and powerful usually generate a degree of schadenfreude… but in this case, even the most callous newswatcher must feel some degree of empathy, especially towards the child. This slow motion car wreck was utterly avoidable, utterly predictable and completely devastating. 

Coda: On Sept. 1, 2016  The New York Times reports Anthony Weiner confirming Child Welfare Services is investigation him. My quip at the end of paragraph 6 turned into reality. 

Jason Bourne (2016)

Jason Bourne (2016)

Bourne Identity Crisis

I expected this reception... All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life?
-Monster to Doctor Frankenstein

Jason Bourne has a new problem. He’s had an old problem for five movies. That’s his new problem. The journey of self-discovery is inversely related to an audience’s interest in his quest. The kicks, punches, cuts, explosions are becoming more exquisite… and less compelling. The key to this movie franchise was violence in the service of righteous discovery. It has become special effects to mask self-indulgent realization. It is ironic that the bookend to this quintet would be the eponymous “Jason Bourne”. It might have been a subtle hint that the franchise is running out of bullets.

 “The Bourne Identity” begot the “Supremacy” which gave rise to the “Ultimatum” which then left us the “Legacy”. It would seem this would be a fitting place for Jason to stand on his laurels… or disappear into the unremitting hell of being the Platonic ideal of a soldier who has lost the will to fight. Fittingly “Jason Bourne” begins with our hero attempting suicide via a series hand to hand combat encounters. He is a pick-up fighter pitted against desperate pugilists in the grim, war-torn ghettoes of stateless no man lands. There is a plot twist which brings him back to face his old creators/enemies. It involves a love interest who discloses that there is more to his family story. This is an interesting choice as audience veterans of the previous tetralogy would have thought this plot line was long past bearing fruit. Those suspicions were well-founded The denouement is as tiresome as watching the never-ending fisticuffs and pyrotechnics. 

Are you sitting down. This film revolves around a discovery about…. Jason’s FATHER. Not to divulge state secrets but it is less riveting than Luke Skywalker’s paternal surprise. If this series need a re-boot they should have stayed clear of the family closet. Jason is, once again, punching his way to answers about his tormented conception. The conceit is that somehow a thorough understanding of his history would alleviate his existential torment. This is a curious premise given that the spy business rests on fluidity of character and alliances. The film series lays out a bi-polar world in which Jason is good, albeit abused and troubled. His creators are a bottomless pit of mendacity. The drama has ossified around this divide. “Jason Bourne” is…. boring. There I said it.  The franchise creators needed to go undercover within Jason himself rather than reenforcing “the innocent duped” narrative. The freshness of Jason’s self-discovery and the revelations about his “origins” cannot be sustained through five feature length films. As family secrets become stale the fireworks get louder. This latest installment contains one of the most technically impressive car chase scenes ever filmed. It is a feast for the male adolescent audience member. Adults, however, yearn for the excitement of the human drama.

The Bourne films masquerade in the action/adventure genre but are a re-envisioning of Frankenstein saga. Men of power attempt to play God via the scientific method. They use technology to create perfectly programmed beings. This is an old story and the results are always troubling. Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Moreau, the prison reformers in “A Clockwork Orange”, the creators of the the $6 million man or the Stepford Wives, Dr. Nathan from “Ex Machina” are all members of this misguided fraternity of God-like scientists.  Sentient beings possess the ability to empathize. This trait is inconvenient for programmers. 

In the Bourne series the security chiefs discover this flaw when Jason goes off the grid in the first film. The event that prompts his breakdown is the unexpected appearance of a child on the lap of his target. This triggers the chase that has lasted for 5 feature films. Jason’s refusal to kill the innocent leads to his metaphorical parents wishing to commit infanticide. He is now the sacrificial lamb for national security. The cleverness of the plot revolved around Bourne’s recovering his amnesia while trying to gauge foe and friend. Unfortunately Jason has morphed from Frankenstein’s monster contemplating humanity to a combination of Rambo and MacGyver seeking revenge against horrible parents. Tragedy is now revenge fantasy. Romance is now pornography. 

Jason Bourne needs to be reborn. The only path is to shift his moral compass. This involves a re-visiting of the ‘road to Damascus’ moment. What is Bourne relationship with the dark side? The seeds for another conversion are already in place. Spies are nick-named ‘spooks’ for a reason. Their work is rooted in the un-human and inhumane. Their consciences can be eased by the canard that “it’s all for the good”. The series sees Bourne questioning the cause and re-discovering his selfless, patriotic, civic ideal. But what if that past is merely another cover? Would it be foolish to believe that the original Jason was without flaw? Might there be a trace of glory-hunting or an unhealthy desire to ‘neutralize’ the bad guys? Here is the key to breathing life into the moribund premise. The arduousness of life on the run leads to a full embrace of the material world. Some might see as antithetical to his character. It is the malleability of Bourne’s core personality, however, that is the true gristmill of the drama. Sadly the producers have lost themselves in the flash. In this last film Jason is not missing in action. He’s missing in the action. 

“Jason Bourne” needs to be acknowledged as technically first rate in terms of production value and acting. Alicia Vikander is wonderful as the kinder, gentler amoral intelligence executive. She has chemistry with Matt Damon who never fails to bring dignity to the role. Even after five features you feel for his character. Tommy Lee Jones is the embodiment of the self-righteous, fascist, paternalistic, security state. Strangely he seems to have over-played his hand in that his Southern charm was subsumed by a Rumsfeld bureaucratic swagger. It needed more of Tommy and less of Donald. The aforementioned Las Vegas car scene is a tour-de-force of automobile carnage. These sequence have their roots in Steve Macqueen’s  1968 “Bullitt” and are a mainstay of Bollywood and Honk Kong action films. The tradition continues in  “Jason Bourne” as there are a number of magnificent motorcycle and foot chases that proceed the Vegas bacchanal. If fists and fireworks are your bailiwick, “Jason Bourne” delivers. If you are interested in a drama that has resonance beyond the movie theater, you need to watch the earlier films in this series.

There is a final sequence which summarizes the emptiness behind the adrenaline rush. Bourne makes a point of unmasking someone he had trusted as an ally throughout the story. This occurs just as he returns to the oblivion (and safety) of anonymity.  He makes sure that they know “he’s on to them”. Unfortunately this amplifies Jason’s pettiness, rather than his sagacity. He, and the producers, have mistaken Bourne for an avenging angel. In truth he is Lucifer, the fallen one. The nuance in the relationship is the lifeblood of his story.  Pure good and absolute evil have no place in this struggle. Bourne has, single handedly,  murdered nearly 30 people that the State designated as expendable. Tommy Lee Jones’ character, in verbal exposition, reminds everyone of this fact. The audience should not feel sorry for Jason as he returns to his ghost world. Nor should Jason begrudge his ally for wanting to kill him if he becomes expendable. To quote the character Hyman Roth from the “Godfather II”, “This is the business we’ve chosen”. It is ironic that after all this time the makers of the Bourne series have forgotten Jason’s identity. The rage of a spurned child should not be masked in a shroud of decency, no matter the legitimacy of his struggle. Dr. Frankenstein’s treatment of his creation might have earned him the murder of his close relatives…. but the monster was never anything but… a monster. Jason Bourne became a designated killing machine, but what role was he playing prior to his brainwashing? How different was he from the bureaucrat who was willing to liquidate him when he lost his usefulness? Jason and the producers need to remember the Godfather’s words to the corrupt politician, “we are BOTH part of the same hypocrisy, Senator”. Recalling that realization won’t bring solace to Bourne, but it will endlessly reward fans of this film franchise. 

Note: a thank you to Erica Da Costa for drawing the link between Frankenstein’s monster and Jason Bourne. 

Brooklyn (2016)

Brooklyn (2016)

Encomium to Simpler Times

The Pause that Refreshes

-Coca Cola Advertising Tag Line, 1929 -1931

A few weeks ago in Burlington “Spotlight”, a dramatic film about the uncovering of a church pedophile scandal, was playing in the same multiplex theater as “Brooklyn”. The latter is the story of a young Irish immigrant who settles in New York City. Both films have the Roman Catholic Church as a pivotal player. One shows a malevolent force, the other, the mirror image. Strangely it is the upbeat rendering of this institution that is thematically more surprising. Non-violent feature films that avoid foul language are usually made for children or trapped in the romantic comedy genre. Although “Brooklyn” has a passing resemblance to this brand of love story, it is more substantive. The path of cupid’s arrow is secondary to the presentation a woman’s struggles in the wider world. She is making sense of the dynamic New York of the 1950s with the quaint customs of provincial Ireland. It is a gently told story of quiet triumph. This stands in contrast the standard offerings at todays movie theaters. “Brooklyn” is an argument that holding an audiences’ attention is based on solid craft, rather than spectacle or caricature.  

“The Choice”, a domestic film released at the same time as “Brooklyn”, illustrates the traditional approach to managing the ‘love dilemma' premise. It is an unabashed romantic comedy which centers on a young woman’s star-crossed love life. It pits a ‘proper’ suitor against less appropriate ‘fellow spirit’. “Brooklyn” shares an identical plot line except its focus is a woman’s empowerment, rather than the minutia of the courting process. Audiences will briefly cheer when the ‘right’ boy wins in “The Choice”. This contrasts with the longstanding, heartfelt upbeat resignation that embodies “Brooklyn”. The film eschews fairytale for real life decisions, without abandoning the mission of entertainment. Small moments build a veneer of playfulness that gingerly glides the audience along life’s bumpy road. The turbulence is never too severe. A modern moviegoer is hardened with the blunt force of betrayal, criminal activity, sociopathic behavior woven into most ales. The 24/7 news cycle makes us nothing if not worldly. Watching “Brooklyn” is a study in waiting for the shoe to drop. Every plot twist in this film evokes the inner pessimist. We expect the young Irish lass to be captured by the same morally bankrupt hustler that awaited the ingenue in “The Immigrant.” When she is ensconced in her new home, how long before that friendly “house mom” morphs into an agent for the depraved priests in “Spotlight”. The new job might become the nightmare exploitation  of “The Dreamlife of Angels”. The demons stay in check, save one mean-spirited town gossip. Ironically this lack of nefariousness drives the narrative. The cast of smiling supportive helpers, turn out to be…. (drum roll)… smiling supportive helpers. How can this be dramatic?

The director, John Crowley, melded the strong writing of Nick Hornby (screenplay) and Colm Toibin (novel) with well-cast, exactingly professional performers. In addition ,he placed the actors in pitch-perfect costumes and sets. This was all captured with beautiful, precise cinematography. Each sequences evokes a page from a glossy Look Magazine of the 1950s. One small vignette illustrates Crowley’s masterful blending of the all the elements. Eilis, played by Saoirse Ronan, has returned from New York. She casually walks down the main thoroughfare sporting a turquoise outfit with matching sunglasses. Heads turn as she violates the sartorial grays and browns of her small town. She is oblivious, in a nice way. This innocent act informs many dimensions of the story. Her manner during this display betrays an unawareness of her newfound sophistication. She is also deaf to the insecurity of her Irish suitor. Despite being a prominent member of the community, he constantly reminds her that he has the ability to travel and know the world. She reassures him of her interest. She is genuinely perplexed by his urge to be cosmopolitan, especially considering her, heretofore, low social status in their town. It is the unselfconscious integration of her old and news selves that makes her attractive as a person and and believable as a character. She takes pride in her roots but remain true to what she has become. Her confidence in melding the two extremes was born of the mentorships of her widowed mother and older sister. Seeing her sibling’s lack of opportunity, the elder child paved the way for her American expedition. This involved a great degree of sacrifice as the burden of the mother’s care fell on her shoulders. A lack of a personal life and an abandonment of a professional sporting career, is the cost of taking on the responsibility of both the mother and sister. 

This film showcases the best of the Church of Rome’s empowered sorority. Despite the religions’s official sanction of male-only power-brokers, all the “deciders” in this film are Catholic women. They forge their independent paths, despite legal discrimination. In addition to the sister-mentor, there is the matriarch of the boarding house. This older woman is a surrogate parent, in addition to her formal role as a landlord. The mandatory dinner sequences, in which the young women gather with the “den mom” holding court, have the makings of an outstanding ‘situation comedy”. It is a diverse group with a entertaining range of dispositions. There is a priceless moment when a callow newbie, a grasping twit of a human being, is taken under the wing of our heroine after being rejected by the “cool” girls. This is at the behest of the house-mom. Eilis manages to balance her duty but also acknowledging the shortcomings of her charge. There is a endearing honesty to her character. When having a family dinner with her Italian boyfriend she avoids hiding the fact that she practiced eating pasta with her roommates. This small detail illuminates not only her character but the very different world of mid 20th century. Spaghetti was an ethnic dish. The divide between cultures was wider. 

The sense of it being a larger world is emphasized during the family crisis which forces the newly married Eilis home. It is hard, in the age of Skype, to imagine that a trip to Ireland from NYC would be such a weighty matter. This harkens back to the beginning of the film where the sisters feel her journey to the Big Apple will mark the end of their intimacy. The director, Crowley, manages to illustrate the large gulf between both sides of the Atlantic. The Eilis character elegantly navigates the divide. There is a dignity knows no national boundary. The good-guy strapping energy of the young Italian is equal to the gentility of the local scion of the established merchant. “Brooklyn” gives deference to the idea that we do not live in a bi-polar world of good and evil. Making big decisions means accepting this uncomfortable ambiguity. Clearly there are those who will suffer no matter which road is taken. Family members and suitors may be broken hearted, but that is the price of living a meaningful life. This melancholy premise is cloaked in a very joyous film. That is a tribute to Crowley’s skill as a director. 

There were some minor blemishes to an otherwise outstanding effort. The editing might have been more concise. There were a number of sequences, especially around the courting, that were over-extended. In addition, the portrayal of two characters did not hold up to the rest of the, exquisitely drawn, cast. There is an evil woman who runs a green-grocery in Eilis’ home town. The film opens with this embodiment of small-town meanness, displaying her cruelty. She is forcing our heroine, a clerk at the store, to ignore a poor patron in favor of someone with economic means. There are two more scenes in which this woman’s awfulness grows exponentially. Her nastiness draws on no known slight or injury. Certainly such people exist, but it was out-of-step with the rest of “Brooklyn”. The actress more than hit her mark,  but the character lacked a dimension found in almost everyone else.  Her crime was standing out. The ultimate confrontation between her and Eilis, in which the store owner attempts blackmail, produced an unsatisfying ring in our heroine’s retort. She confronts the evil woman with the fact that her spite was simply for spite’s sake.  A life based on meanness lacks meaning. It is a fair assessment. However unlike the metaphoric grandfather of all such characters, Shakespeare’s Iago, her moral smallness rubs off on Eilis. Our level-headed protagonist responds by thanking the woman for reminding her of the town’s small meanness. Extending the Othello analogy, that eponymous character deeply regretted all the rage that the evil Iago had inspired. Eilis appears to use her tormentor’s venom as a roadmap. It is understandable that this taunt of disclosing a dark truth might break a logjam of indecision. It goes against the spirit of the film, however, to paint her hometown with the stain of provincial smallness. The movie shows her childhood friends as solid, furthermore there is nothing that give credence to this disavowal of her roots. The lack of delineation of the the saintly older sister ads to the opaqueness. It would have been in keeping with the spirit of the film to bookend “Brooklyn” with her rather than the demon shop-owner. These characters are mirrors of good and evil. The narrative should have sketched them in the same sensitive light as the rest of the cast. As it stands they belong in “The Choice” along with the overwrought mood music. The righteous sister, or the spirit of her legacy, should have been the touchstone for Eilis’ choice; sadly it is tinged with the acrimony of the green-grocer. This misrepresents the arch of the film.

There is one scene which captures the zeitgeist of “Brooklyn”. Note: There are no suitors involved - further proof this is more than a romance. Eilis accidentally walks in on one of her housemates who is doing her hair in the communal bathroom. They strike up a conversation where the young woman reveals why she is forced to live in the boarding house. She is a refugee of circumstance, rather than an immigrant from a new country. Henry James’ “Portrait of a Lady” documents the punishing penury and emotional toll on women who fail to choose their partner’s wisely. Unfortunately this film shows that the tradition of male privilege and cruelty was alive and well half a century later. This poor soul was divorced resulting in her loss of standing. There are questions about her regrets. The answers are the true hallmark of “Brooklyn”. The woman’s hardship, although grim, has led her to make the acquaintance of Eilis and the others in the boarding house. She reflects on the fact that being married would have prevented her from bonding with all these wonderful people. In fact, she adds, she would not be having this heartfelt conversation. Maybe this is worth more than a husband? This sagacity, akin to the accepting wisdom of a bodhisattva, permeates the film. Some might not be able to breath-in the quiet drama. The barrage of garish movies have numbed the collective palate. “Brooklyn” is entertainment those unspoiled audiences that have retained the ability to hear the dearer notes.  Their reward will be remarking on the small moments long after the screen has disappeared. Perhaps it might extend to taking stock of the strange pivots that impact life’s large decisions. If we are lucky our choices will resemble the actions taken by a young Irish immigrant, portrayed in a small, low budget dramatic film. LIfe can be funny in that way. Quietness looms amidst the “sturm und drang.” Cue the music: Listen to “Frankie’s Song” a Gaelic ballad. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UWone5aCUU It is sung by a homeless Irish man in a food shelter where our heroine has volunteered. You don’t have to know Gaelic to understand.  

Horace and Pete: Episode 1 (2016)

Horace and Pete: Episode 1 (2016)

The Interiors of Louis C.K.

First serious dramatic film of Woody Allen and as such Allen's first film which was not a comedy. Woody Allen was known for comedy, and wanted to break the mold by having no humor at all in this picture. At one point the family is gathered around the table laughing at a joke which Arthur has just told, but we never hear the joke.

-Explanation in the trivia section of IMBD of Woody Allen’s film “Interiors”

Everything that’s difficult you should be able to laugh about.

-Louis C.K.

It has been said that being an artist is to embrace the idea that you might dedicate your life to being wrong. You will have faith in your work, but others might not. Pity the stand-up comic. Not only are they burdened with the artistic curse of forging a lonely path, they must do so in front of a never-ending assembly of critics. The comedian’s job is to polish a window into their soul in the hopes that a group of strangers will love them. That effort is often rewarded with scorn, rather than affirmation. Offstage, there are no happy comics. One might apply this adage to other artists except that their craft does not rely on the use of comedy clubs as incubator of their talent. This institution is the distant cousin of yesterday’s Roman forum. Our modern-day gladiators either kill or face death. Just as in ancient times their are a few warriors who survive battle and become recognized heroes. Even the winners bear the battle-scars of psychological abuse born years of facing rowdy crowds with their inner-most machinations. Louie C.K. is one of the chosen who has risen above the low-earth orbit of seedy venues to become an entertainment juggernaut.  The path to glory is to land your own TV show after making the rounds on the established talk shows. Louis has gone one better. He created is own virtual network. Basking in the knowledge that he conquered comedy, he stormed the wall of ‘legitimate’ theater. Louis’ latest work, Horace & Pete: Episode 1, is another journey into his soul. You’re not supposed to laugh. That is part of the problem.

After a failed gig on a sit-com Louie took matters in his own hands. Taking advantage of present day distribution options, he launched an extremely successful auteur series on cable; that was re-distributed via the internet. That show highlighted the best of his stand-up routines with an a dramatic storyline showing his struggles as a divorcee, parent and New Yorker. Broadcast TV networks might smile on the Manhattan based, qwerty nihilism of “Seinfeld.”  No such welcome for the dour, Brooklyn existentialism of Louie. It is as if Ralph Kramden’s great grandson embarked on a career as an entertainer after divorcing his wife and quitting his city job. One might imagine a “zany” episode of “Friends” in which Seinfeld shows up at the Central Perk for a cup of joe. If Louis was hired for the same guest spot the plot line would be different. He would be apprehended by the authorities after a frantic 911 call made by Jennifer Aniston taking refuge in the ladies room. Thankfully the real-life Louis knew what the network wouldn’t tolerate in addition to what the general public craved. After a few seasons of the success of the eponymous “Louie”, the comic returned to his standup performances, albeit in nicer settings. He also dabbled in other projects including cameos in feature films (including Woody Allen’s “Blue Jasmine”). Suddenly, without any publicity, he posted a new show on his website, available for $5 per episode. (As of this writing there is only one but the title hints that this will be part of a series). “Horace and Pete: Episode 1” is a departure on both the business and entertainment fronts. There are no middle men to vet the material. The writer/director/creator is selling his wares directly to the public. Regrettably the goods themselves are certified ‘dry’. 

Louis forcefully makes the case that he is a capable author and purveyor of art. Whether the work itself is serious… is an open question. The auteur, however, is the most important comic of his generation and this hour long, two act play, deserves respectful consideration. Charlie Chaplin’s tramp is a seminal icon; but is precisely because of his silence that everyone took note of Chaplin’s spoken word when he played the great dictator. The fact that “Horace and Pete” lacks the genius of Louie’s foundational comedy should not relegate it to being written off with a Bronx cheer. One might expect a dark Louie C.K. drama to bear a resemblance to the sardonic New York humor found in Jules Pfeiffer’s “Carnal Knowledge”. That poignant study of a misanthropic misogynist had some strangely light moments scattered amongst searing social commentary and bitter recriminations. Louie certainly channels the anger but his muses are the standard bearers of the American Theater, Arthur Miller and Eugene O’Neil. “Horace and Pete” has smatterings of the gothic family in “Long Days Journey” meshed with the impossible transition to modernity in “Death of a Salesman”.  The spare storyline is predictable. A family business, Horace and Pete’s saloon, is facing a crossroads of the next generation ownership. The old proprietor, brilliantly played by Alan Alda, is at odds with his niece who wants to sell to outsiders. The play takes numerous side journeys. Louie dabbles in punditry about the current state of affairs. This is the least successful portion of the play. Although the comments are contemporary, they bear a tired, sophomoric resonance. Ditto for the forced generational conflict with customers. Yes, Brooklyn has been invaded by hipsters. Yes, they can be callow and annoying. Yes, Trump supporters can sound brutish and barroom philosophers can hold the floor for a few rounds. The play fairs better with the family conflicts. This is something near and dear to the author.

As a child, Louie was abandoned by his father. He made an interesting 2 minute animated short about managing the rage towards the old man. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTzyudfuUtk) Interestingly the subject matter is never mentioned in the title. The cartoon father-figure bears a physical resemblance to the Alda character in “Horace and Pete”, including large awkward glasses. He shares the same habit of uttering inappropriate responses that are designed to provoke and divide. There is also a parallel powerlessness of the victim-child. The animated film is about the possibilities of acting boldly, albeit in a ‘Walter Mitty’ world. This heroism takes the form of confronting his father. This suggests the impossibility of such actions in the real world. “Horace and Pete” shows Louie to be equally stymied. He has no agency over Alda and a distant relationship with his daughter. She confronts him as being a feckless, out-of-touch, narcissist. That is confirmed by Alda. It is also indirectly proved by his sister. Her push to sell the saloon-business stems from Louie’s mismanagement. It is difficult to blame the erstwhile bar-owner as the inheritance of the building/business is a burden, rather than viable enterprise. In addition to the grumpy uncle Alda, “Horace and Pete” employs Louie’s mentally ill brother. If those people are impediments to effective management there is also his father’s ex-girlfriend/spouse. She is the resident barfly. We learn that drinks are and much more are… “on the house”. The fictional Louie, in terms of career, might have stuck to his knitting as an accountant. His general demeanor, however, hints that his is too emotionally damaged to thrive at any vocation.

“Horace and Pete” has a repellent quality that is built on the back of the inept central character. Louie’s choice of ignoring comedy is fatal to the enjoyment of the narrative. This decision is rooted in fear of rejection. The audience’s blind love for the established “funny-man” will snuff out hope of accepting the “new” Louie. Unfortunately being dour prevents the audience from establishing a connection with the material. Woody Allen faced the same conundrum when stepping out the comedy enclosure. Ironically he made the same missteps in trying to remedy this imaginary problem. In the mid 1970s, the heretofore bawdy slap-stick gag-man, turned to… Ingmar Bergman. “Interiors”, the forgotten feature film produced after the smash success of “Annie Hall”, is inspired by the master’s “Cries and Whispers”. Allen’s version should have been titled “Moans and Whimpering”. Allen even attempted to secure Ingrid Bergman for a leading part. She was committed to working with Ingmar in “Autumn Sonata”.  Instead of imitation Scandinavian angst, the film renders inauthentic Brooklyn neuroticism. A lack of confidence in an American ‘long days journey’ spurred a hagiographic re-enactment of a European style family break-up.  Unlike Louis, Allen did not appear in the film and stayed, safely, behind the camera. Maybe an unconscious act of distancing himself knowing the inauthentic quality of the drama?  Louie, in “Horace and Pete”, shares this lack of sincerity, despite being front and center. The wonderful ensemble cast, featuring a host of pitch-perfect veteran performers, failed to move the heart. They were unable to break the gravity of badly drawn characters locked in a uninspired premise. Unlike the portrait of the patrons, the family friction has some resonance. (Write what you know); unfortunately not enough to evoke pathos. The moment when a dark family secret is revealed it triggers a grimace, rather than a tear. In this light the struggles of the uncle-daughter-sister-brother never really stand a chance. Louis strangely embodies the failure of his dramatic character in bringing forth a strangely ineffective production. The acting is as wonderful as the writing is lacking. One trick he might have learned from Allen is to take advantage of the film medium. Gordon Willis’ photography made the slog of watching “Interiors” an  
aesthetically pleasing two hours and ten minutes.  “Horace and Pete” adopts a surveillance camera approach to cinematography. The claustrophobia of a security guard booth does not add to the audience experience. Fortunately all these missteps are merely a passing moment. "Stand-ups" are the masters of resilience and reincarnation. No doubt great things will be forthcoming from this important artist. Maybe even in the coming episodes. 

The comic, Rodney Dangerfield, was famous for yelling, “I get no respect”. It is the plight of any stand-up who mounts the boards to face a lifetime of a snarling and disinterest. Masters of this craft, not surprisingly, hunger for legitimacy; hence Louis’ craving for “legitimate” theater. The fantasy is that cantankerous, rude audiences are replaced by erudite pillars of society. This give birth to the dangerous notion that respectability can be born by killing the inner-jester. The self-hating clown can morph into the polished cultural icon. In reality audience craves artists who play the entire orchestra of human emotion. Louis needs to wear Dangerfield’s lament as a badge of honor. He needs to recognize the seriousness of being funny. It is a craft that resists formal training and is bestowed on a very select group. As Mr. Rogers would say: 'You've made this day a special day by just your being you. There's no person in the whole world like you. And I like you just the way you are.' Some people made fun of this children’s TV host. In the end, the dignity of his art gave him the last laugh. Be serious, but never forget: you are Louis C.K.. Be true to yourself. This is the only path for successfully resolving ownership of Horace and Pete’s bar. 

The Revenant (2016)

The Revenant (2016)

A Great Bad Movie

Once I take this view I am in a position to ignore the actual wishes of men or societies, to bully, oppress, torture in the name, and on behalf, of their ‘real’ selves

-Isaiah Berlin, Four Essays on Liberty

A state is a human community that (successfully) claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory… The state is considered the sole source of the ‘right’ to use violence….” 

― Bernard Bailyn, Sometimes an Art: Nine Essays on History

The first twenty minutes of Alejandro Inarritu’s “The Revenant” shows a brilliant filmmaker producing a magical confrontation. The art form requires an army general’s ability to coordinate vast teams of technicians and performers. This director is commander-in-chief of a violent choreographed battle that seamlessly meshes actors, animals, camerawork, special effects, costume design…. The primal dualism of the film, brutal modernity vs. prelapsarian majesty, is painted with a master’s hand. Ironically when the dust settles, the artistic troubles arise. A wonderful meditation of mankind’s plundering of Eden morphs into a exquisitely rendered, albeit soulless, revenge western. This is a metaphoric, as well as literal, tragedy. The director's original sin was seeing embellishment as the path for better drama. He needed more faith in the foundation story.

Hugh Glass, the real-life 19th century frontiersman, who was attacked by a bear and abandoned by his compatriots, embodied the ambiguous forces of America's “Manifest Destiny”. He owed his life to friendly Native peoples who bandaged him after the mauling. Decades later, however, he was murdered by native Americans while hunting on their land. This is not revealed in the film. Although not pertinent to "The Revenant’s" storyline, this knowledge might have given a more nuanced view of the Glass tale. Inarritu, however, felt the need for boldly delineated motives in order to heighten the action. Ironically it had the opposite effect. Desperate people in impossible situations are better dramatic foils than finely rendered players locked in a predictable drama. Glass’ real-life comrades committed the sin of manslaughter- abandonment, not cold blooded murder. The latter SEEMS more dramatic but fake monsters fail to compete with real men in morally vague circumstances. Consider Inarritu's embellishments. The make-believe Fitzgerald murders Glass' beloved son in front of Glass after failing to kill him. This fiction APPEARS to heighten the tension by legitimizing Glass’ revenge-quest. The invented, mixed race, son, also narratively embodies of the impossibility of peace between the native and european. The historical Glass is more opaque. There are no reports of children, although he may have married a Native American. He tracked down those who left him to die, but chose not to resort to lethal violence. The reasons behind abandoning retribution are complicated. Once again the director eschews nuance for clear narrative falsely believing the audience would be confused and bored by actual events. 

In real life Glass was genuinely forgiving of one of the pair who wronged him but not the ringleader, Fitzgerald. Glass reportedly would have killed him but never took action due to fear of prosecution. His nemesis had joined the US Army, giving him privileged status. Fitzgerald's murder would lead to Glass facing capital charges. Glass and Fitzgerald were pragmatists, rather than angels or demons. In real life their surroundings, not the people themselves, were bifurcated into heaven and hell. Their lack of agency in this dualistic world is the real drama. These men lived in a Mad Max world of clashing civilizations. This is an apocalyptic story set in a pristine setting. They acted under the laws of the... forest.  Leaving someone who is gravely ill to die of exposure might be viewed as de rigueur, rather than criminal. The real life Glass did not participate in a comic book conception of frontier justice. Inarritu embraces it. It's unfortunate the director failed to dramatically explore the link between the real men's logical choices. Instead the film basks in the popular misconceptions of the Wild West.

The film Fitzgerald wears a metaphorical black hat. He is the embodiment of mendacity. He brings to mind the biblical verse about the coming of Ishmael: And he shall be a wild ass of a man: his hand shall be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and he shall dwell in the face of all his brethren. The fiction Fitzgerald re-tells a dystopian creation myth passed down by his father. The old man was starving in the wilderness and faced God, who took the form of an overweight squirrel. The father shot the animal and devoured him. Fitzgerald, in addition to sharing Daddy’s wisdom, also relates a childhood encounter with Native Americans. He was scalped and left him for dead. There are many moments where he runs his hands across the mass of scare that replaced his hair. No need to wonder why the make-believe Fitzgerald lacked empathy for the mythical white-hatted Glass. Inarritu sketches the bad guy with precision, but in the end he shares the emotional of the terrifying bear.  Glass encounters ursula minors with predictable results. Ursula major, momma bear, is a “special effects” tour de force. The hyper-realism combined with the unpredictable movements of the beast make for a adrenaline filled few minutes. Unfortunately the pyrotechnics stir the spleen, rather than the heart.  Film Fitzgerald conveys the identical emotional resonance. He fails to haunt the audience and emotionally fades into horizon with the closing credits.  The movie aboriginal people, however, are more boldly drawn. Thankfully the film ignores the classic trope “cowboys and Indians” trope. There are distinct rival groups of Native Americans with their internecine struggles. The United States and French Canadian factions, whose brutality towards each other equals their boundless hatred of the native peoples, are ringmasters of the horror show. The film casts the European descendants as villains. It cleverly chooses NOT to objectify Native Peoples by painting them as angelic primitives. "The Revenant" shows conflict and brutality amongst sophisticated first nation peoples. They are in competition for resources and territory.  The Western contribution was the metamorphosis of tribal friction into industrial scale ecocide and genocide.  The central storyline, Glass’ phoenix-like rise fueled by revenge, trivializes, rather than epitomizes, a parable of destruction. The fault of the film lies in embracing clarity rather than poetry. This movie is at its best when it breathes-in the eternal beauty of the place. It is difficult to convey the primal Eden-like setting. It is a world of piercingly clear rivers that cut between virgin forests and soaring, white capped mountains. God’s majestic creatures, moose salmon elk deer bear beavers, share paradise with warring tribes of men, who never miss an opportunity to sow devastation and horror. That real world contrast, rather than manufactured slights, should have driven the narrative. 

There is sequence in “The Revenant” when our protagonist befriends a fellow refugee. Glass is nursed to health by a native who has lost his tribe to a massacre and is in search of allies.   There is a whimsical moment when the two fierce men bond in the rugged winter landscape. They stick their tongues out, to catch the virgin snowfall. This stylistically is joined by other moments of repose such as Glass rummaging through the ruins of a Spanish colonial church. This hints at what might have been if not hamstrung by a rigid narrative. There is a laborious quality to Glass resuming his quest. The film breaths in quiet reflection which is quashed by the march for justice. 

Leonardo DiCaprio was the wrong choice to play Glass. There is a quality to his work that, despite dogged professionalism, never rises to the sublime. (with the exception of his childhood role of in the film “Gilbert Grape”).  The talk in the press is that “The Revenant” will finally give DiCaprio his coveted statuette. That would be appropriate. It will affirm a solid career as a very capable leading man. This film, however, required a unquantifiable magic that would channel the holiness of the Old West's terroir. DiCaprio is merely flawless. His compatriot, Fitzgerald, played by Tom Hardy, is also a consummate professional. It is a more memorable performance than DiCaprio’s Glass. To be fair it requires less range. DiCaprio is a protective father, a loving spouse, a capable frontiersman, a trusted companion, a man on the verge of death, a man in recovery…. Fitzgerald is a sociopathic one-note song. The film builds to the final Glass vs Fitzgerald battle. Sadly there was nothing at stake that went beyond the merely personal.  Inarritu’s addition of a Native American band of warriors was another failed attempt to give the struggle a larger meaning. They are also on a revenge quest in search of the Chief’s daughter. Rather than giving dimension to an epic tale, it drags the audience further into the vortex never-ending grievances that spur private wars. In the finale, the blood splattered smallness was overshadowed by the majesty of the setting. The real life avalanche filmed in the background during the denouement, had more dramatic truth than the hand to hand combat. 

“The Revenant” is actually two films that never mesh: A meditation on the birth of a nation awkwardly mixed with a tale that begins, “once upon a time in the west…..”. Unlike “Birdman” Inarritu is unable to bend the story to match his poetic oeuvre. The heartfelt artistic flourishes, such as the opening and sundry moments of repose, clashed with the need to fill the narrative. Every sublime landscape seemed to metaphorically end with an assistant director yelling, “Okay now we need to get back to the main event”. The problem is the director is more at home with Terrence Malick’s dreaminess, rather than Sergio Leone’s storytelling. This film gives us the inverse. The audience is herded into the OK Coral for the shoot-out when they would have felt more at home riding into the sunset.  One imagines passing the bands of desperadoes and dispossessed, of all races, taking refuge behind the trees of life and knowledge. Instead the audience is presented two professional actors battle in a set-piece. There are hints that Inarritu could have delivered the former; the opening raid on the fur traders, those landscape shots, the quiet wandering moments... Mankind's epic struggle is displayed in its sylvan glory. The movie versions of Glass and Fitzgerald obscure the view. The audience is straightjacketed into loving Glass and loathing Fitzgerald. Read the history. How does this square with Glass NOT killing Fitzgerald? Do we hate the Native Americans for murdering our hero? Is it important to know THE TRUTH.

Inarritu’s “Birdman” was actually named, “Birdman or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance”. To quote the Birdman character, “People, they love blood. They love action. Not this talky, depressing, philosophical bullshit”. Unfortunately the director does not have the luxury of ignorance. He knows the Birdman is wrong. It is ironic that “The Revenant” ignores the major theme of Inarritu's last film. Strangely missing obvious lessons is the unifying characteristic of ALL the humans who are fated with roaming the wilderness of the Old West. No one considers the lilies. DiCaprio sticking his tongue out to catch the snow; that’s worth more than an Oscar. In fact, it might even get you one. Truth is dramatic. Let's hope Innaritu regains his faith in it.