FAULT IN OUR STARS

   

     Yesterday was the anniversary of the death of my first love. It is normally a day that I find myself busying my way through a list that makes Santa’s pale in comparison, just to keep the thoughts at bay. But, instead, I burrowed in on my home world, and spent the entire day cuddling and talking with the true loves of my life, my children. Focusing upon them helped the thoughts of sadness that still trickle in, even after so very long, dissipate into the air. I pushed happiness of the now into all of the holes of emptiness from long ago. Then, like an intuitive little fairy who finds the path to your deepest feelings, my oldest, without knowing what day it was for the mommy, asked me to spend the evening with her at the movies. “Bring your Kleenex,” she said. It sounded like a perfect place to maybe burn off the excess emotional energy in a flourish, via a good old-fashioned sad ass love story.

      

 Once inside the theater, the buzz in the air sounded as though we'd been dropped into the core of a bee hive. Excited chatter gave way to a camaraderie that I only remember having witnessed during the initial screening of Sex In The City the movie. Looking around, we saw the hunormous movieplex audience of wall to wall girls and women, but for a stray male date here and there. Now, the Neilsen ratings folks handing out surveys at the entrance to the theater made sense. Twenty-one minutes of bad demographic-skewed previews later, we were dropped into the world of Hazel Grace Lancaster, a teen girl whose constant fashion accessories are an oxygen tank and her cancer. Hazel tells us right off the bat that this is not to be the happy-go-lucky love story we might be used to. She promises that what we will witness is The Truth. And it is assumed that is what we all want, and I like her for setting that out as the welcome mat. What unfolds over the next 125 minutes is the love story of Hazel and the plucky, cute boy, Augustus, who she meets after reluctantly attending a teen cancer support group. 

 

It’s based upon a book that flew off the shelves and into the hands of teen girls, and secretly, some teen boys, as well as a lot of women in the 18-55 demographic, and into the hearts of those very readers. Shailene Woodley expertly and sweetly worked her way into the hearts of her audience with a performance that was pitch perfect as she presented us with a girl who refused to fall into the sappy, maudlin mess that she was entitled to, given the fact that Hazel was dealing with Stage 4 cancer, and the inevitability of her death. That she falls in love with another cancer survivor,  makes it all the more impressive not to have fall into the maudlin.

It has been so widely read, and adored, that most of the people in the theater came in knowing that one of the young lovers would die. But that didn’t keep all of us from being swept up into the drama. Anyone who knows movies, or how scripts go, was able to predict the ups and downs of this particular ride before it ever began.

Plot Point 1:  Sick Girl is lonely. 

Plot Point 2:  Sick Girl meets Boy Who Used To Be Sick. 

Plot Point 3:  Sick Girl eschews Boy Who Used To Be Sick. 

Plot Point 4: Sick girl and Boy Who Used To Be Sick fall in 

                     love. 

Plot Point 5: Sick girl and Boy Who Used To Be Sick decide to 

                     just be friends. 

Plot Point 6:  Sick girl and Boy Who Used To Be Sick fall in 

                      love again. 

Plot Point 7:  One of them dies. 

Plot Point 8: Lesson learned--Love is worth the pain. 

The End.

With Robert McKee in my head, I saw the twists and turns before I even strapped on my seat belt. Even still, this movie got me. The universal language of young love and hope intertwined with our own ideas of love, either by personal experience, or dreams and hopes, and made everyone watching not mind so much that we all knew what was inevitable in the story of Hazel Grace and Augustus. This isn’t an “important” movie. It doesn’t deal with some looming geo-political issue. But it does say something about us. We crave stories of hope. We are willing to look into the abyss of sadness and pull out the love. Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber did a fine job on the script, but for the ending, that feels like an add-on once it was discovered that the story was taking too long to tell, and a Dave Chappelle Wrap-It-Up-Box was looming over Director John Green’s head. The ending lacked the depth or realness that the rest of the movie displayed. There’s a missed connection that I don’t think would have been there if they’d bothered to bring a woman on board to give some female juju to the very female-driven visual interpretation.

Final analysis is that it is a lovely story, and a lovely film that shows off the abilities of both Shailene Woodley, and Laura Dern as her mother. That they foot faulted in the final minutes, is a shame. But, I say it’s still worth it as a night at the movies. And for this particular moviegoer, it was a cathartic 4-Kleenex reminder that love is worth it, no matter what.

Take a look:  Fault In Our Stars Extended Trailer

 

A Quick Return to TEQUILA SUNRISE

Film geek that I am, the only thing better than seeing a great movie, is re-visiting one you'd forgotten was such fun to watch.  Tequila Sunrise (1988), about a morally wavering cop and drug dealer and their unlikely friendship, soooo rises to that standard.  You've got Robert Towne (Chinatown) writing and directing, and Conrad Hall on the camera.  On screen, I was reminded why Mel Gibson and Kurt Russell used to make women (and probably many guys) swoon.  If they'd lit both sets of baby blues any better, no one would have heard dialogue. And Michelle Pfeiffer was pitch perfect as the rope in this game of love tug-o-war. I would have liked to have seen her be a little more "Did you just call me Slick?" and a little less "I love you!" but I refuse to let that dampen things.  What this all means for the viewer is dialogue is written as it should be in a multi-layered thriller, 1980s rapid-fire.  We're given just enough to let us know who each character is at heart, but still keeping us thinking to read between the lines.  Let's sit with that concept a moment...the viewer is not only expected to think, it is assumed they are capable in doing so in order to keep up and figure out the plot twists and turns. And how could I have forgotten Raul Julia's role???  Talk about brilliant.  I did have to laugh, though, because there was an over-the-top drunken/high singing bit that he did that seemed a spoof on the WB singing frog. Watching Julia and Gibson in scenes together, really makes me wish Mel would just go back to the days where he kept the best crazy for on screen.  And the cinematography?  The steamy, literally and figuratively, hot tub scene alone is reason enough for the Oscar nod; this was in spite of the non-chlorinated water in an un-sanded tub vessel that left both stars with rashes, splinters and scrapes that caused production delays.  There's another scene that encompasses a moment that any picture lover will appreciate.  The two friends, Gibson's and Russell's characters, sit on a sunset lit swingset against the ocean backdrop. It is as vital to who these men are to one another's lives as any of the dialogue.

Although the film got mixed reviews at the time it was released, I still say it's worth a re-visit.  There is much to be learned about the truly collaborative nature of making a film when the writing, acting, directing, and shooting are all working together...and are brilliantly topped off with an über-80s Nancy Wilson (Heart) and Robin Zander (Cheap Trick) theme song to boot.

I Am Love

I'm late to the party, I admit.  But, man oh man, was it worth circling back for.  I Am Love is so beautiful and lush in it's cinematography, that I had to step back and separate the feast for the eyes from the story, just to make sure I wasn't being falsely seduced by the pretty.  What I found was an operatic story, that in the hands of someone other than Director Luca Guadagnino, it would have turned into melodramatic mush.  But, along with the pitch-perfect reserve of Tilda Swinton, it truly delves into an inside look at the life of quiet desperation of a woman with everything and nothing.  She has wealth, a beautiful home in Milan, a house full of servants, three lovely children, and a successful husband.  But, again and again, she muses upon the fact that she traded in her identity and her passion for this privileged life.  She poignantly says to her lover that she doesn't even remember her Russian name, having lived so long with the name (and identity) that her husband christened her with when he chose her so long ago.

Many critics (especially those in the US) slammed the movie as melodramatic, and this was not meant as a compliment.  They noted the obvious wealth of the family as reason enough to dismiss the film as some fairytale having no meaning for the average soul, along with the super lush score and quasi-gothic coda.  I disagree with this take.  I think it hearkens back to the universal human quest for meaning in our lives, the concept of true love, and the costs of compromise and secrets.  While the setting of this film in Milan, Nice, and London may be well beyond the financial and socio-economic realities of most viewers, the emotions and conflicts can be found in any social stratum. The film is really old fashioned in this sense.  In fact, Guadagnino and Swinton co-produced the film together, and purposefully set out to make a film that would "modernize the old-fashioned melodrama," and somehow "rejuvenate the filmmaking style made famous in the 1940s and 1950s by the likes of Alfred Hitchcock ('Rebecca') and Douglas Sirk ('Magnificent Obsession')."  There were only a few moments where their efforts took me out of the moment of the story.  For most of the film, the John Adams score was amazing in lending the proper tone.  But, at other times it was a bit heavy-handed, such as the whole chase scene where Swinton's character is following her soon-to-be lover through the streets of Nice.  Similarly, the camera work was almost always beautiful and elegant, but when it wasn't, it was hugely distracting.  At one point, the two lovers are driving into the countryside, and oddly the POV is from the actual front bumper of the car, not the occupants.

It's interesting, story wise, that instead of the punitive cause and effect that is often the case in films where women follow their passions in lieu of duty, this piece deftly moves beyond that rut.  When tragedy comes after Swinton's character has found love outside of the stifling confines of her societal and familial ranks, she actually uses the pain of the loss of her son to launch her own freedom.  Likewise, when she discovers her daughter's secret love of a woman in lieu of the chosen young man she'd been with, she seems giddy at the thought that some spirit of individuality and passion that she instilled in her child has flourished.

Much has been made of the food porn nature of the cuisine, and of the beyond beautiful wardrobe.  Once again, Swinton and Guadagnino were deliberate in their choices in making these elements an integral part of the storytelling.  They brought in Carlo Cracco, the Milanese chef as an advisor to the director so that the food became "a tool to express the utter giving that a lover can display to the other without words."  The fashion was designed by Fendi and Jil Sander specifically for the film, and the red dress Swinton wears in the scene when her character falls in love is classic costume design success at it's best.  

Much has also been made of the explicit sex scenes in the film. Different than most American films, though, is the fact that it never feels gratuitous.  It is spot-on, and right in the moment, utilizing the characters' passion for one another, the nature surrounding them, and the music that fits perfectly.  It is a reminder of how un-real so many Hollywood "love scenes" are written and shot.  It is also a reminder of how the American "male gaze" has formed the norm for the depiction of sex in film.

A fun aside that, for me, ties together all of this ode to classic film, fashion, and la dolce vita was the addition of 70s fashion model/icon Marisa Berenson as the matriarch of the family.  Every time her character was onscreen, I was struck by the fact that her fabulosity seemed to allude to her character having lived in a previous life the real life of the actress playing her.  I've included a few shots from her from her heyday:

Limitless

After a week of film viewing, I sat this morning mulling over what had worked, and what had not, in each film.  I never go to a movie with the expectation of it being a masterpiece.  Instead, I go into it with my mind open to seeing what creative collaboration was birthed from the efforts of the writer, director, and all of the other talents who placed their imprint upon the production.  That's not to say I don't see and call a shitty production when I see one.  I so do.  But a shitty movie can be hugely instructive, so I appreciate those as well.

Here's the roundup (Spoiler Alerts):

Limitless

Yes, we pretty much knew where the sci-fi plot was going to take us, and what ethical dilemmas that may raise.  But the premise and acting was still interesting, and visually, it was a fun ride.  Director Neil Burger actually gave the lighting in the film it's own story arc with the shifts when Bradley Cooper's character was taking the pill, and when he wasn't.  Also, the use of graphics/effects with the stock ticker on his apartment tin ceiling tiles, letters raining down while he whizzes through writing a book in four days' time, or the glitch in his character's time sequencing all lend to an uptick on the straight narrative form.  Some proactive camera work also lent to the film's message of being off kilter, playing with speed, POV, and time.  They used Fuji camera stock for the off-drug gritty life scenes, which always lends well to greens and reds, and gives a "photographic" and grittier feel.  For the on-drug, polished too-perfect scenes, they used Kodak to give a more luminous feel.  The RED camera was used for the über fast street-tracking scenes, that lend to the feel of a brain on amphetamines.  There's even some questioning on the internet boards of whether the color of Cooper's eyes were enhanced to feed into the different modes of his body off and on the drug. In the final scenes, is it possible that they also had him in a wig to subtly suggest that the drug use is still in effect?  Overall, a interesting mix of the fun toys and tools of the storytelling and filmmaking trade. Once you have your story, dive into the filmmaking sandbox and 

see what toys can be used to take the premise to a new level, to build a new layer of the story.

Next up, Adjustment Bureau.

SUCKER PUNCHed!

I had every intention of writing a dissection of Sucker Punch after seeing it this weekend.  But when I read this one, I figured, "Why re-invent the wheel?"  Read on:

http://www.lunalindsey.com/2011/03/analysis-of-sucker-punch-feminist.html

The Extra Man--worth checking out (Except for the Katie Holmes character--more on that later--this was a lot of fun to watch)

http://www.variety.com/index.asp?layout=print_review&reviewid=VE1117942004&categoryid=31

To print this page, select "PRINT" from the File Menu of your browser.

Posted: Wed., Jan. 27, 2010, 3:37pm PT

The Extra Man

A Wild Bunch presentation of a Likely Story/3 Arts production. (International sales: Wild Bunch, Paris.) Produced by Anthony Bregman, Stephanie Davis. Executive producers, Jonathan Ames, Stefanie Azpiazu, Agnes Mentre, Vincent Maraval, Robert Pulcini, Shari Springer Berman. Co-producer, Rebecca Rivo. Directed by Robert Pulcini, Shari Springer Berman. Screenplay, Pulcini, Jonathan Ames, Berman, based on the novel by Ames.

Henry Harrison - Kevin Kline
Louis Ives - Paul Dano
Gershon - John C. Reilly
Mary - Katie Holmes
Vivian - Marian Seldes
Lagerfeld - Celia Weston
Katherine - Patti D'Arbanville
Aresh - Dan Hedaya
Lois - Lynn Cohen
George - John Pankow

By TODD MCCARTHY

An imperious older New York eccentric mentors a promising young one in "The Extra Man," a highly entertaining character comedy exemplified by the same virtues the titular leading man ascribes to himself -- wit, intelligence and joie de vivre. Kevin Kline soars in one of his best screen roles, that of an impoverished self-styled aristocrat who contrives to live the high life as an escort to wealthy old ladies. Although too devoted to matters literary, theatrical, operatic and sexually outre to make it with general audiences, this adaptation of Jonathan Ames' novel exudes the sort of smarts and sophisticated charm specialized audiences seek.

Bouncing back to form impressively from "The Nanny Diaries," "American Splendor" writer-directors Robert Pulcini and Shari Springer Berman have made a sort of timeless New York story, one centered on a relative innocent who comes to the big city and ends up being tutored in ways he could never have expected by an idiosyncratic gentleman of high style who expresses cracked opinions with such eloquence and authority that they brook no argument. There have been many such tales, but this one brings to mind "My Favorite Year," primarily for the theatrical flamboyance of the older characters and for the brilliance of the actors playing them, then Peter O'Toole and now Kline.

One key difference is that the young man here is not a total blank sheet waiting to be written upon, but a genuine oddball with his own extreme eccentricities. Louis Ives (Paul Dano) is a gangly, polite, formal, dough-faced prep school English teacher whose twin obsessions -- old literature and cross-dressing -- are expressed in a dream he has of "The Great Gatsby" in which he appears in drag.

Let go from his job, Louis arrives in New York to explore new horizons and, answering an ad for cheap accommodations, is confronted not only with a shabby apartment and very Spartan quarters, but with its occupant, Henry Harrison, who's offering the extra room. A college literature teacher himself and allegedly a playwright, Henry is a throwback in style as well as perspective; he speaks in the British-tinged stentorian tones of early 20th century actors, has a wardrobe almost that old, and polishes his gray hair with black tint when he goes out on the town. Admitting to views about sex and women that are "to the right of the Pope," he believes that American education started declining when females were admitted to colleges and will not allow Louis to bring visitors to the apartment. "No fornication!" he bellows.

Not that there's much imminent danger of that. Other than his discreet visits to a tranny bar and to a couple of women who assist him with his cross-dressing wardrobe, Louis seems almost unformed sexually; his "bipolar fantasies," as he puts it, are to become a young gentleman and to see a girl when he looks in the mirror. While he tries to work that one out, he begins accompanying Henry on his social rounds -- at dinners where the acerbic older man tries not to insult his hosts so he'll be invited back to Palm Beach for the winter season; and to the opera, where Henry teaches his protege his technique for getting in for free.

In due course, Louis gets a job at a small environmental magazine, where he sort of befriends co-worker Mary (Katie Holmes), whom he may see as a "Gatsby" Daisy -- and whose lingerie he covets. There's also a subplot concerning Gershon (John C. Reilly), a building weirdo with giant hair and beard who, despite his frightening appearance, speaks in a very odd falsetto, as well as one involving Henry's former boarder, whose arrival on the scene precipitates the somewhat arbitrary and indifferent wrap-up.

But the core of the film remains the interactions between teacher and student. Henry and Louis have major differences -- there's no one who could possibly agree with all of the curmudgeon's outrageous views -- but Henry likes Louis because they speak the same language. For all the aggravation, Louis knows he has a lot to learn from his unique host, who has such a commanding presence that it's hard not to come under his sway, even when looking askance at the substance of his remarks.

The same holds true for the viewer, given the mesmerizing allure of Kline's outsized but impeccably calibrated performance. Perhaps no contemporary American actor can carry off the sort of classical stage enunciation he can, and here he applies it to a character who uses it both for the effect he knows it creates but, even moreso, out of personal affinity. Henry has a tremendous sense of style, only it's a style of 80 years ago, which is what makes him so funny, an effect compounded by Kline's exceptional sense of timing.

By contrast, Dano soft-pedals his characterization to excellent effect; Louis seems like a rather calculated sort of misfit on paper, but Dano's underplaying and innate physical oddness make him not only palatable but oddly sympathetic. The actresses playing the women in the men's social orbit, including Marian Seldes, Celia Weston, Patti D'Arbanville and Lynn Cohen, are all delights.

Terry Stacey's lensing is vibrant, production designer Judy Becker has poured considerable detail in Henry's worn apartment, Suttirat Larlarb's costume designs show real wit and Klaus Badelt's score is a vigorous asset.

Camera (Deluxe color), Terry Stacey; editor, Pulcini; music, Klaus Badelt; music supervisor, Linda Cohen; production designer, Judy Becker; art director, Charles Kulsziski; costume designer, Suttirat Larlarb; sound (Dolby Digital), Damian Canelos; supervising sound editors, Julia Shirav, Kent Spalding; re-recording mixer, Lora Hirshberg; assistant director, Mariela Comitini. Reviewed at Sundance Film Festival (Premieres), Jan. 25, 2010. Running time: 108 MIN.

Read the full article at:
http://www.variety.com/story.asp?l=story&r=VE1117942004&c=31

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