Passengers

Passengers is a film that unintentionally condones stalking, domestic abuse, and a patriarchal approach to relationships. It’s a nefarious piece of work that squanders an interesting premise by distorting an ethical dilemma to excuse abhorrent behavior and, in the end, demonstrates the manipulative power of storytelling.

Jim Preston (Chris Pratt), a passenger aboard the starship Avalon, is traveling to a new planet many light years away from Earth when a malfunction results in him waking from hibernation 90 years too early. He is the only person awake and his hibernation pod won’t restart, so he faces the prospect of spending the rest of his life alone on board the ship and dying before anyone else is resuscitated. As he spends a year progressing through the stages of grief, he comes across the passenger profile of Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence), a writer with a famous father who plans to create her own legacy by venturing to the colony for one year before traveling back and becoming the first person to write about the experience first-hand. Haunted by loneliness and suicidal thoughts, and tempted by the prospect of a fantasized partner, Jim sabotages Aurora’s pod and wakes her up, attributing it to a malfunction like his own. Aurora struggles to cope at first but she eventually accepts her fate, and a romance develops between her and Jim until she discovers the truth about her awakening. But, by that point, the Avalon is malfunctioning in multiple ways with core systems shutting down. Laurence Fishburne appears as a third awakened passenger, a crew member whose health is failing but whose knowledge and access card gives them hope for fixing the ship and saving everyone on board.

The crux of the story is the morality of Jim’s decision to wake Aurora. What would you do if you were in his position? If you were in hers? Could you tolerate living a life of solitude? Could you forgive somebody for changing every facet of your life without consulting you? What’s unfortunate is that, rather than producing an equivocal film that wrestles with these questions and leaves them for the audience to answer, screenwriter Jon Spaihts and director Morten Tyldum twist the story to justify Jim’s unethical decision. They are sympathetic to Jim’s plight and ultimately turn him into the hero by putting him in a self-sacrificing position as the spaceship malfunctions to the point of destruction. Converting the story from an ethical dilemma to a (poorly conceived) adventure story makes it easier to redeem Jim because of the familiar tropes of storytelling.

The film is skewed from the start by casting Chris Pratt, possibly the most likeable actor working in Hollywood today, whose sweet, charismatic, and heroic characters from previous projects (Guardians of the Galaxy, Lego Movie, Parks and Recreation, Moneyball) carry over into this production. In building up his Tom Hanks-meets-Harrison Ford persona, Pratt has never even played a morally ambiguous character, let alone a straight-up evil one, so the audience automatically comes in with a compassionate perspective: Besides, what woman wouldn’t want to spend their life with funny, charming, and hunky Chris Pratt? Furthermore, Jim’s character is written to suit Pratt’s persona: he’s a regular guy with big dreams, an endearing sense of humor, and a deep bag of cute, romantic tricks he uses to woo Aurora. Consider how an audience might react differently if Jim was played by Tom Hardy, Johnny Depp, James Franco, or Jake Gyllenhaal, actors who are admittedly just as handsome as Pratt but can better convey a sense of danger and tap into the obsession and control that should be the true heart of this story. After all, the character stalked this woman while she slept, changed the course of her life without giving her a choice, and lied to her about it for a year. Yet the film justifies the way Jim exerts control over Aurora because his needs are so understandable, or because he knew that she was actually searching for companionship more than anything else. Men always know what women want, so never mind about that career, that family legacy, that independence, that self-actualization! Fishbone’s character judges Jim’s decision but is ultimately sympathetic to it and refuses to condemn him when Aurora broaches the topic, saying “It’s not my place.” He’s like the neighbor who hears the commotion next door and knows the husband is beating his wife but prefers to mind his own business.

Speaking of casting, it’s surprising Jennifer Lawrence chose this project given her penchant for playing strong female characters who take control of their lives (The Hunger Games, Joy, Winter’s Bone). In contrast, Aurora Lane has no sense of agency other than to accept the situation that Jim hands her. (*Spoilers*) Defenders of the film will counter by saying that she has a choice at the end when Jim offers to put her back into hibernation upon discovering that option on the medical pod, but he’s an artificially redeemed character by that point. The filmmakers have manipulated the story so Aurora would come across as the heartless one if she chose to reenter hibernation and abandon the man who just saved everyone onboard. Like many women trapped in abusive, controlling relationships, Aurora is a passenger on the ship of life.

It’s a shame, because the ethics of this story are ripe for fascinating science fiction, with any number of alternative approaches making for compelling drama. Perhaps the two characters had a relationship beforehand and one partner had to decide whether to wake the other one, which explores the extent to which we live for somebody else versus our own personal goals. Or both passengers wake up simultaneously under the same mysterious circumstances, which explores ideas of serendipity, and learning/choosing to love someone when you have no other choice. Or a similar story to the one we’re given but where Jim grows more aggressive and obsessive after Aurora rejects him and the story evolves into a horror film parable about abusive relationships. At least the latter would retain the project’s wider commercial appeal if the producers were dead set on a thriller, and it would also be foreshadowed by the homages to The Shining. Instead, Passengers is the least interesting and most repulsive version of the film they could have made.

Movie-going audiences are a lot like Aurora: we can react to what is presented before us, but we can’t change what happens. We are passive participants whose only degree of control is to not see the film in the first place. In this case, I suggest you exercise that choice.

Baby Driver

I liked Baby Driver, but I wanted to love it. It’s like a sharp-looking muscle car that initially impresses until you discover that the interior is uncomfortable, the gas mileage sucks, and the rear-wheel drive isn’t practical in slippery conditions. You desperately want to take it home, but you realize that the appeal is only surface deep. Still, it gave one hell of a test drive.

Baby Driver explodes off the starting line as director Edgar Wright unveils his vision for a car chase heist film mashed up with a musical. Wright’s specialty is injecting new life into well-trodden genres with an amusing combination of homage, remix, and humor, as he did with Shawn of the Dead (zombie + romcom), Hot Fuzz (buddy cop), and The World’s End (alien invasion + buddy comedy). Each of these movies was rooted in a familiar genre but Wright steered them in new directions with his off-kilter sense of humor, a dash of honorific parody, and a flair for the unexpected.

The first twenty minutes of Baby Driver is jaw-dropping as the audience is treated to multiple scenes perfectly choreographed to music, where the character actions unfold in time with the beat, the background sounds (gunshots, police sirens, horn honks) merge with the instruments, and even the occasional song lyrics appears in a shop window sign. You expect it during the opening heist scene, where we’re introduced to Baby (Ansel Elgort) and other members of his crew as “Bellbottoms” by Jon Spencer Blues Explosion guides us through each shot of a bank robbery and the subsequent escape; after all, action sequences and car chases frequently have a pulsing soundtrack to generate excitement, even if they aren’t usually this synchronized. But the next scene, where Baby picks up coffee as his crew divides the loot, demonstrates how committed Wright is to this concept. Most filmmakers wouldn’t invest much energy into a simple transition centered around a mundane task, but Wright employs a precisely composed, single winding shot for this 1+ minute scene arranged to “Harlem Shuffle” by Bob & Earl. That’s when the film shifts gears from a chase film to a unique action-musical hybrid.

That blend continues for Baby Driver’s nearly two-hour running time, with almost every minute set to one of the 50 songs that race over the soundtrack. We hear snippets of some and longer sections of others depending on how they fit the mood of the scene and motivations of the characters. The tunes only relent when the audience is invited to experience the tinnitus that Baby is constantly trying to override with his ear buds, or when a few supporting characters interrupt his flow. Few films have used sound so extensively and deliberately – think Blow Out, The Conversation, etc. – and I can only imagine the storyboarding that was required to coordinate everything so thoroughly. No wonder the opening credits list a choreographer, a rarity outside of song-and-dance musicals or martial arts action films. The filmmakers should expect to receive some award nominations this winter for Editing, Sound Editing, and Sound Mixing.

The problem with Baby Driver is that far less time and effort were spent on its plot or characters, so the wheels spin in the second half when the innovation that dazzles us at first isn’t enough to support a full-length feature. The plot congeals rather than develops, with a primary conflict centered around Doc (Kevin Spacey) coercing Baby into a heist with the blood-thirsty Bats (Jamie Foxx) who destabilizes a previously successful crew featuring Buddy (Jon Hamm) and Darling (Eiza Gonzalez). Baby relents to keep his foster father (CJ Jones) and love interest (Lily James) safe, but he considers bailing out as the heat picks up. Unfortunately, many plot holes appear. Why wouldn’t Doc tell the crew more about his weapons contact? Why would the careful and superstitious Doc tolerate a loose cannon like Bats who draws unnecessary attention? Why does Darling suddenly think she’s Scarface? Why would Doc go back at the safe house after things go to hell? Answer: because the movie needs certain things to happen in order to progress a sputtering story.

Also, the characters are inconsistent. Doc vacillates between menacing threat and father figure, with a corny turn late in the film that ignores the events of the previous hour. Wright and Elgort can’t decide if Baby should be smooth or awkward, shy or a ham. At times, he’s spouting lines worthy of Elmore Leonard and lip syncing like he’s on a late night show; at other times, he’s quiet, unsure of himself, and indecisive. Perhaps they’re channeling the various and ever-changing aspects of teenage identity, but I get the sense it’s because the character is there to serve the songs and the scenes rather than the other way around.

Certain elements feel pulled from Guardians of the Galaxy: the memory of a dead mother driving the risks taken by the sentimental protagonist, the obsession with analog music technology, the prominent use of vintage music to establish a cool, nostalgic tone. Other components are derived from the similarly plotted Drive: a quiet, idiosyncratic driver protagonist, a love interest and father figure in jeopardy, a reluctant heist, another hip, vintage soundtrack. Although I hesitate to compare Drive and Baby Driver because they possess radically different tones and goals, the former possesses a cohesion that the latter could benefit from. Nicolas Winding Refn used his soundtrack, colors, sparse script, and wardrobe to evoke a very specific era and feel, whereas Wright is more scattered with his ingredients. There was obvious thought about how each song is incorporated into a scene, but was there as much thought about how the songs and scenes fit together as a comprehensive whole? In that way, this is more of a mix tape than a concept album.

Nevertheless, Baby Driver is abundantly entertaining and more clever than anything with Vin Diesel behind the wheel. Every chase scene is novel and exciting, with the centerpieces rivaling the best bits from Bullitt, The French Connection, Ronin, and other classics. Repeat viewings will reveal additional synchronizations and Easter eggs you didn’t notice the first time around. The dialogue crackles at times. You’ll laugh. It would have been superior as a short film or an extended car commercial, but I guess sometimes you gotta see how far you can go on a tank of gas.

Ghostbusters (2016)

“Ain’t no bitches gonna hunt no ghosts,” says a befuddled Erin Gilbert (Kristen Wiig), reading a comment posted on Ghost News that expresses doubt about the authenticity of a ghost-sighting video posted by the Conductors of the Metaphysical Examination, a group of scientists who are eventually referred to as the Ghostbusters by the media. It’s difficult to know how much of the film’s script was already in place before an internet troll army descended on the cast and crew for having the gall to reboot the franchise with an all female case, because it seems like a number of lines and elements were included to reference the controversial fan reaction to the production. Either way, it makes possible a layered reading of the film as a feminist response to the male chauvinism on display during the online assault, elevating an otherwise solid comedy to something more transcendent in the world of gender studies and interactive art.

First, let’s get the basics out of the way. On the surface, Ghostbusters is not an exceptional film. The plot is slapped together carelessly, lacks a compelling villain, and really drops off in the second half when ghosts starts possessing other characters and the heroines confront a ghost army summoned for a worldwide reckoning. The special effects are serviceable, but the action generally disappoints, perhaps because they’re sometimes poking fun at certain action film tropes, but probably because they’re just mediocrely staged. Overall, the cast is excellent, but Chris Hemsworth isn’t the best fit for his ditzy receptionist role, which is both written and played to extremes that are occasionally funny but more often feel pressed.

However, this Ghostbusters is funnier than the original, with writer/director Paul Feig and stars Kristin Wiig and Melissa McCarthy (Bridesmaids) teaming up again to deliver many laugh-out-loud moments. The dialogue has a nice combination of razor-sharp scripted jokes and looser improvised scenes, boosted by the clear chemistry of the stars, all of whom have worked together on Saturday Night Live or in previous films. Wiig and McCarthy are strong, but Kate McKinnon shines, stealing almost every scene she’s in with her wild hair and oddball demeanor. Ultimately, the weaknesses of Ghostbusters are easier to swallow when you view it as a comedy above all else.

The fanboy fury surprises me because the original Ghostbusters isn’t an immortal franchise; it consists of one very entertaining film following by a disappointing sequel, a comic book and cartoon television series of no significance, a commercialized toy line, and a Hi-C beverage. That’s a mixed legacy. Also, while the original Ghostbusters may be a classic, it’s not a masterpiece. It was successful because it was funny, starred likeable actors as likeable characters, and managed to uniquely blend comedy with supernatural action. Using that template, I can’t imagine how one could approach the reboot better than this. Like the original, it features a cast of SNL stars, it was created with Dan Aykroyd and Ivan Retiman as producers, includes cameos by all the familiar faces, and pays considerable homage to the original while adding its own spin. Feig (wisely, in my opinion) doesn’t convert Venkman, Egon, Ray, and Winston into female characters, instead drafting new ones who are similar in spirit but aren’t as beholden to the archtypes memorably embodied by the original actors. This version amusingly one-ups the original with pseudoscience lingo that attempts to explains various phenomena and equipment, and it has some fun with the intrusive nature of product placements that were also featured heavily in the original.

Nevertheless, the trolls began their cyberassault when the project was first announced, ramping up their vitriol when the (admittedly underwhelming) trailer was released, and culminating with the social media harassment of Leslie Jones that led to Twitter banning alt-right provocateur Milo Yiannopoulos for leading a campaign of racist and sexist hate speech against her. Ironically, the film becomes infinitely more interesting when viewed through the lens of this sexist reactions, especially because the film was still being created when the criticism started, thus providing the rare opportunity for Feig and company to color their text with a counter-reaction and ultimately get the literal and figurative last laugh. Swipes at the patriarchy abound, so much that I must compile them in list form:

• There are multiple references to the comments section of the in-film website Ghost News, apropos given how much venom was discharged on YouTube in response to the reboot’s trailer. In reaction to the “Ain’t no bitches gonna hunt no ghosts” line, Abby Yates (McCarthy) tells her colleague, “You shouldn’t be reading this stuff – you’re not supposed to listen to what crazy people write in the middle of the night.” She further adds, “It’s really easy to just sit there and be the naysayer when you don’t actually do anything.”

• When Patty (Jones) attempts to crowd surf at a concert during a ghost encounter and isn’t caught by the people in front of the stage, she quips, “I don’t know if it’s a race thing or a lady thing, but I’m mad as hell.” While this couldn’t have been scripted as a response to her Twitter harassment – because that ordeal only happened after the film’s release – the character’s line transforms into a commentary about what happened to Jones in real life.

• “Can you tell us what it’s like to walk around in those [high-heeled] shoes all day?,” Holtzman playfully asks Gilbert as she videotapes her during their first ghost exploration. “It’s not fun.” Gilbert replies, alluding to the fact that being a woman sometimes means having to countenance different social expectations than men. Would a reboot with an all-male cast been subjected to this much skepticism?

• The first mockup of the familiar Ghostbusters logo has breasts on it.

• The foursome invert and riff on a secretary stereotype by hiring a ditzy but dreamy male receptionist (Hemsworth) whom they openly objectify.

• Primary villain Rowan is a bullied social pariah who channels his discontent into destroying the world, which teases at the possible background and motives of the film’s loudest detractors, who themselves have demonstrated a social maladjustment and desire to dominate the world, albeit through cyberspace.
• Rowan says, “I am a genius. I see things that no one else does and for it, I am rewarded with nothing but scorn and mockery.” On the Internet, ego-inflated instigators are convinced they are the smartest people in the world and their opinions are the only ones that matter. Commenting on his evil turn, one Ghostbuster says, “Hate it when the smart ones go bad…it’s always the pale ones,” teasing at the stereotype of a basement-dwelling cybernerd.
• When confronting Rowan as he unveils his evil plan, Yates says that they like the world the way it is (ghost free). Rowan says, “Then you must have been afforded the basic dignity and respect of a human being, which I have been denied.” Deadpan, she responds with, “Not really, people dump on us pretty much all the time.“ As evidence, check out the record-setting 1,000,000 dislikes racked up on the YouTube for the trailer.
• Upon initially trying out their proton packs, the ladies suggestively grab them as if they are phalluses, perhaps just like the trolls metaphorically clutched their threatened masculinity when hearing about the reboot’s gender switch.
• Another phallic wink appears as Holtzman exaggeratedly uses an extinguisher to put out a fire in their laboratory.
• When Rowan transforms into a giant ghost near the end, the first place the ladies target is the crotch, signifying an attack on the most obvious symbol of a patriarchal system.
• As a condescending debunker of paranormal claims, Martin Heiss (Bill Murray) visits their laboratory and comments how they “lack the proper equipment.”
• When Gilbert wants to show Heiss the ghost he doesn’t believe they captured, Yates says, “We have finally succeeded at doing the thing we’ve talked about doing since we were kids, and you want to risk it all for him? Who cares if you impress him?” Gilbert opens the trap anyway, which comically leads to Heiss’s death, a symbol of female accomplishment destroying the pall of male judgment.

As mentioned, it’s difficult to distinguish between what was intentionally written to address the misogyny and what we now can read into existing scenes and dialogue. Regardless, it takes an otherwise funny but forgettable film and converts it into a subversive feminist gong that will ring for decades within feminist film theory.

More power to you, ladies.

Manchester by the Sea

Manchester by the Sea opens with one of many flashbacks, depicting an uncle on a fishing boat teasing his nephew about having to throw him overboard to some (nonexistent) sharks in order to avoid a feeding frenzy on the hull. It’s a joke that sets the stage for a relationship centered on humor and ribbing rather than emotional intimacy, and also for a story about a man who may need to sacrifice a boy’s well-being in order to save himself.

Flash forward a decade and the boy’s father Joe (Kyle Chandler) has died due to congenital heart failure, leaving adolescent Patrick (Lucas Hedges) in the permanent custody of his uncle Lee (Casey Affleck), much to the surprise of them both. Years earlier, Lee left Manchester-by-the-Sea for Boston for reasons that gradually become more apparent, and he wants to quickly return to his basic life as a maintenance man far away from his hometown. Patrick, on the other hand, has two years remaining in high school and wants to stay in Manchester for his hockey team, garage band, and two (yes, two) girlfriends. Other possibilities include the boy living with a family friend or his estranged alcoholic mother, but no situation presents itself as an easy fit.

The story’s chronology is scattered across this ten-year period, jumping in and out to give us glimpses of the events that preceded Joe’s death. Although it doesn’t evoke considerable suspense, Manchester by the Sea is structured like a mystery, slowly unfolding past events to reveal more about the characters and their motivations. In the first act, it’s easy to dislike Lee for his apparent selfishness, drunkenness, and desire to shirk his family obligation. He initiates bar fights he’s destined to lose, expressing his grief as anger, or perhaps seeking the punishment that he thinks he deserves but never received. As we come to realize, the rationales he cites for wanting to move the boy down to Boston aren’t entirely honest, but it’s easier to displace and hurt his nephew than to manage the ghosts of Manchester that confront him at every corner. We become more sympathetic.

“We have to talk about this now?” Lee says to Patrick toward the end of the film, in a line that epitomizes a character who at all costs avoids talking about the tragedies that befell him earlier in life. Instead of discussing his grief, Lee prefers to focus on the aftermath logistics of his brother’s death – the hospital, funeral home, lawyer, house, boat, and his nephew’s custody. In working as a counselor, I’ve witnessed a great many people who refuse to express their emotions openly. They don’t say what they feel, or perhaps aren’t capable of articulating their inner world because they lack the introspective ability, the vocabulary, or – most often – the willingness to be vulnerable. It’s easier to don a publicly neutral face and ignore the pain, or drown it in the distraction of alcohol and busyness. “I can’t beat it,” is the closest we get to a verbal disclosure from Lee, and he uses the most generic pronoun possible to describe a complex layer of pain.

This is a subtle film that focuses on what’s going on behind a person’s eyes rather than what’s coming out of their mouth. The brilliance of Casey Affeck’s performance is that he almost never says exactly what he’s feeling yet, by the end of the film, we understand everything. I got to thinking about the inevitable award nominations coming his way, and I’m not sure what 10-second scene they’ll show when the telecast reaches Best Actor because this is a film bereft of showmanship. It may even unsettle some viewers who expect an explosion, a catharsis, or a speech during which everything comes pouring out. Such is the stuff of Oscar bait, but Affleck and writer/director Kenneth Lonergan avoid the grandstanding that might appeal to an audience that wants resolution and redemption. That approach would have been removed from the heartbreak of real life, where some feelings are too big to name and some wounds too deep to heal.

Win Win

Win Win is a genuine, slice-of-life dramedy without the excessive quirk found in more commercial indies like Little Miss Sunshine, Charlie Bartlett, Sunshine Cleaning, and other movies which disingenuously play substance abuse, mental illness, and generalized dysfunction for both laughs and insight. While these latter projects are still enjoyable on many levels, they are detached from the real world of most audience members, unless the audience consists of Dave Eggers, David Sedaris, Augusten Burroughs, and others who have leveraged their unique upbringings into outrageous bestselling memoirs. Most people’s lives aren’t so idiosyncratic, however. Most of us have run-of-the-mill jobs, spouses, children, responsibilities, stresses, hobbies, health concerns, etc. Yes, the kids will say something cute from time to time and we all have relatives who are slightly off, but daily life for the masses is so…normal compared to the characters we often encounter in this type of film. Instead of casting us off as boring, writer/director Thomas McCarthy prefers to examine our quotidian existence to see what results from seemingly everyday decisions and occurrences. He writes and directs feel-good films that are distinguished by their lack of contrived setups and maudlin resolutions, figuring (rightly) that there is enough in this world to captivate and amuse us without having to artificially prop it up with ridiculous characters and situations.

Win Win tells the story of Mike Flaherty (Paul Giamatti), a lawyer whose practice is at risk because of insufficient business, and the circumstances surrounding his ethically questionable decision to become an elderly client’s guardian. He agrees to the arrangement primarily to earn the monthly commission that accompanies the responsibility but, rather than letting the old man stay at home per his wishes, Mike moves him into a retirement home where care will be easier. The man’s teenage grandson Kyle (Alex Shaffer) shows up needing a place to stay because his drug-addict mother is in rehab so he temporarily bunks with the Flahertys and enrolls in the local high school to inject some life into Mike’s struggling wrestling team. The stable environment benefits Kyle and, in turn, he brings a greater purpose to Mike’s guardianship, one that will eventually outweigh the initial financial motivation.

This movie is about a fundamentally good man who makes a decision for the wrong reasons but winds up being the right person for job after all. It reminds me of my freshman year in college when I volunteered to tutor low income schoolkids because I had a crush on a classmate who invited me to join her. Flash forward a few months and I’m changing my major to education and proceed to earn a teacher’s certification. It doesn’t always matter what gets us through the door as long as that place turns out to be home. Mike’s friend Terry (Bobby Cannavale) half-jokingly mentions the role fate has in bringing a wrestling phenom to Mike’s doorstep as a reward for taking care of a practical stranger. Mike is naturally uncomfortable with that idea since he knows his actions haven’t been altruistic but, by story’s end, things have panned out as best they can and it’s fair to say McCarthy doesn’t believe in chance. As can be inferred from title of this film, McCarthy is also an optimistic filmmaker, one who believes in the transformative power of positive relationships. He frequently brings together slightly isolated or needful characters into makeshift support networks who persevere because of what they are able to give and receive from one another. Sure, the title could be interpreted as ironic if read as Mike’s doomed perspective on the initial guardianship arrangement, but I think a literal reading more accurately reflects the mutual benefits reaped from the characters’ interaction and intervention. We encountered similarly searching characters in McCarthy’s Station Agent, although at times that film felt as aimless as its protagonists. McCarthy is wise to insert a weightier plot crux this time around, which gives Win Win more conflict focus.

The performances go a long way in making this project effective. Paul Giamatti maintains his strong track record of playing lovable schlubs while Amy Ryan’s stretches her wife role well beyond the mere support it could have been, finding a nice maternal fierceness to her character. Bobby Cannavale, who is a carryover from Station Agent, returns in a similarly endearing role that benefits from his comic timing and earnest deliveries. Amateur actor Alex Shaffer brings an authentic adolescent element to Kyle, mumbling through most of his lines and putting forth an understated facade that occasionally fades to reveal the emotional turmoil of a distrusting, abandoned child. His affectless demeanor may grate on your nerves but then again, so can most 17-year-olds. Shaffer’s rawness as a performer only lends the role greater credibility.

Win Win is a funny drama grounded in the everyday lives of everyday people. The movie poster may look like it belongs to a Wes Anderson film, but this is a celebration rather than a parody of the American family. It believes we play an important role in the lives around us by helping, nurturing, teaching, encouraging, apologizing and forgiving. Unlike many films in this genre, you will recognize the people you see onscreen. One of them may even be you.

Green Zone

As foolishly obvious as it may sound, war is confusing, especially in a modern age where conflicts are characterized by regime changes, insurgencies, and guerilla tactics rather than formal declarations of war between openly clashing nations. The lack of one single agenda, as well as hazy distinctions between enemies and allies, thickens the fog of war and leads to potentially counterproductive actions that serve political rather than military goals. It almost makes one long for the 18^th and 19^th century convention of colorfully uniformed soldiers lining up in rows and taking turns firing single shots across the way. It may have generated bloodbaths but at least it provided clarity. Green Zone is most effective when portraying the nuances and ambiguities of a modern, politically-inspired war fought halfway around the world against a culture we don’t understand in an attempt to achieve an uncertain goal. Unfortunately, instead of just depicting the morass and letting the chaos speak for itself, the film sinks under the weight of the script’s preaching.

Matt Damon plays Chief Miller, an Army Sergeant who leads his unit around Baghdad during the early weeks of the war in search of potential WMD storage sites. He grows frustrated after repeatedly coming up empty, reporting to his supervisors that there is an obvious disconnect between intelligence records and what actually exists in the field. These officers dismiss his concerns, telling him to carry out his orders rather than worry about where the information comes from. CIA operative Marty Brown (Brendan Gleeson) witnesses Miller’s dissatisfaction and recruits him for an “off the reservation” mission in which he must hunt down a top source of WMD intel to find out what’s really going on. As we all know, WMDs were never found after the 2003 invasion; Green Zone explores what may have unfolded as participants began to realize the impetus for war was false, and perhaps falsified.

This film lives in the crevices of war. While there are gunfights aplenty, the soul of this story lies in the government’s organizational flowchart rather than on the battlefield. It shows us how competing viewpoints cross swords in a warzone and reveals the bureaucratic power plays that occur behind the scenes. This prioritization of the organizational side of war over the operational side is one element that makes Green Zone more Syriana than The Hurt Locker. It’s less a war film than a political thriller.

Green Zone also treats its soldier protagonist differently than most military characters. Many combat films depicting Middle East conflicts focus on the everyday lives of soldiers and their motivations: camaraderie, serving their country, getting home. These depictions are common because they reflect the human side of war and because it’s the truth; those motivations are indeed prevalent among members of our military. This perspective is represented in the film, briefly, by one of Miller’s peers who appeals for him to focus on their orders rather than veering off on an extemporaneous and self-assigned mission based on a local man’s unsolicited tip. This fellow soldier is ignored because, although he doesn’t state it directly, Miller aims to serve a higher purpose, one that exists outside the chain of command. He is inspired to make the world a better, safer place and views military service as a means to that end. There is no talk of enlisting out of economic necessity, a girl waiting for him back home, a younger sibling he wants to see grow up. The man is on a mission and he takes individual ownership of goals that far exceed his rank, striving to do something altruistic and more productive than just “his job”. But he isn’t naïve either. He’s fighting to uncover the truth, but he’s ultimately a pragmatist willing to do whatever works for the situation. Miller is the type of man who would thrive in a less ossified organization that looks at the world through a wider lens, hence his recruitment by the CIA agent.

Green Zone is a technically proficient film, the type of production we expect from director Paul Greengrass, who helmed the second and third installments of the Bourne franchise. He knows how to put you in the middle of the action while telling a compelling story that trusts the intelligence and attention span of its audience. Known for his handheld camerawork, journalistic zooms, and rapid-fire edits, few filmmakers can better create an atmosphere of urgency. Baghdad truly comes alive in his hands (even if Morocco is the stand-in). Additionally, the cast is strong, even if Damon sports the same affectless, mission-oriented, human-Terminator persona that he brought to his Jason Bourne character. Greengrass and screenwriter Brian Helgeland err, however, by cramming in awkward sermons about the war’s justification and mismanagement. Scenes in which Miller shames a journalist and confronts a political manipulator belie the intelligence and subtlety that generally characterize Greengrass stories. When an Iraqi civilian takes matters into his own hands in the third act, his reflective comments are the type of message overkill that is rare in a Greengrass film. When there’s only one conclusion to draw, it doesn’t need to be said explicitly. I expect more from a director who, with United 93, managed to tell an exceptionally heroic story while avoiding the maudlin beatification that could have easily accompanied that depiction. It was a less obvious and surprisingly unHollywood approach, but one that enabled him to craft the most powerful film of the last decade.

It’s unfortunate to see a well-made film descend into cynical grandstanding that, while possibly grounded in truth, is ultimately fiction. Green Zone doesn’t exactly rewrite history, nor does it claim to be a documentary or “based on a true story”, but because the script is adapted (loosely) from a nonfiction book, and because of Greengrass’ verite style, audiences are led to believe that what happens on screen is a reasonably accurate portrayal of what took place in the weeks following the Iraq invasion. Yet the script fills gaping holes in the historical record with conjecture, making it guilty of the exact veracity crimes condemned by its protagonist. Greengrass similarly constructed United 93 but that story differs in that we will never know exactly what happened on that plane, which gives the filmmakers greater license to use best-guess fiction in its depiction. What responsibility does Hollywood have in this arena? If Miller chastises a Wall Street Journal reporter for not seeking verification before running with a WMD story handed to her by a hawkish administration, what would he say about a piece of entertainment that passes off a hypothetical as quasi-historical?

Interstellar

I love Christopher Nolan’s ambition. While some of his peers are content to churn out predictable, repackaged sludge that caters to the lowest common denominator, Nolan proves that you can bring an independent mindset to the world of Hollywood studios and, in turn, produce heady action-dramas filled with ideas that entertain audiences but also requires them to put on their thinking caps. Only 44 years old, his resume already reads like a career’s greatest hits: Memento, Insomnia, The Prestige, the Dark Knight trilogy, and Inception. With Interstellar, however, Nolan’s ambition gets the better of him, and he has bitten off more than he can chew.

Interstellar takes place in the near future, when Earth’s declining food production requires humans to consider other planetary options in order to maintain the species. A NASA project involves traveling through a newly discovered wormhole near Saturn that may connect to a galaxy with life-sustaining possibilities. Joseph Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) is a pilot-turned-farmer who is recruited into the project after his daughter Murphy decodes some messages that are mysteriously communicated via a “ghost” in her bedroom and lead them to the secret NASA headquarters. Cooper leaves his family behind to join Amelia Brand (Anne Hathaway) and a handful of other astronauts to explore the best options, hoping to return home and begin the massive resettlement. Not everything goes according to plan, a black hole called Gargantua exists on the other side of the wormhole, relativity leads to temporal dissonance, and an adult Murphy (Jessica Chastain) is bitter about her father’s departure but remains committed to working at NASA to solve the scientific and logistical challenges of resettlement while Cooper’s team struggles to find a suitable planet and/or return to their own.

Nolan’s gift is to weave art into commerce, exploring big ideas through blockbuster entertainment and thereby pleasing both critics and audiences. This is perhaps his grandest attempt to date, with the film discussing themes as varied as the meaning of time, the role of truth, the instinct to survive, and love as a physical force. This is an excellent foundation for character-driven science fiction that hopes to stimulate conversation about human nature. However, it amazing to me that, at 165 minutes, Interstellar feels too short. Nolan is trying to pack in so much material that he barely has time to develop it all. The pacing blows through the most dramatic moments of the story without giving the audience an opportunity to absorb the gravity (no pun intended) of the situation. This would be a great 1000-page novel or 4-hour cinematic epic, but instead it’s a potential masterpiece handcuffed by bloat and rushed editing. I would hypothesize that a few connecting shots and scenes were left on the cutting room floor due to studio pressure about the long running time, but Nolan probably gets more leeway than almost any other filmmaker today, and he’s not known for shooting excess footage and deleting a lot of scenes. In other words, I think this is a problem of his own making.

Interstellar has the misfortune of coming one year after the technical triumph of Gravity, another film about survival in outer space, albeit on an individual scale. Interstellar has a much wider scope than Gravity, but is less effective in creating an immersive experience that gives the audience both a sense of wonder about the universe, and a sense of terror at our tenuous place within it. I was also reminded of Danny Boyle’s Sunshine, another flawed movie but one that ponders man’s connection to the cosmos in a more philosophically satisfying way.

After redefining himself with turns in Killer Joe, Mud, Magic Mike, Bernie, and Dallas Buyers Club, The McConaissance has stalled somewhat. His Interstellar performance has bright spots, but sections of it feel like outtakes from True Detective, with a muttered, world-weary delivery that doesn’t feel right for this character. Given that the two were filmed back-to-back, I suspect that Rust Cohle bled into Joseph Cooper. I don’t know whether to blame McConaughey’s acting or Nolan’s writing/directing, but Cooper is an emotionally inconsistent character, at times displaying grief and joy openly, like when he watches a series of videos from home, while other times coming across as unaffected, like when he leaves his children behind on Earth for at least 5 years (but possibly forever) or when he reconnects with one character later in the story. This is the least attached I have ever felt to a Nolan protagonist. Problems pervade other performances; David Gyasi displays little affect throughout the film and is rather casual about the fact that an incredibly long period of time elapsed since his two colleagues left to visit the surface of a planet. Jessica Chastain hits all the right emotional notes, but she doesn’t handle her clunky scientific dialogue in a convincing manner.

(Spoiler alert! Please do not read the following paragraph if you haven’t seen the movie.)

Instead of spending so much time on the supermassive black hole, Nolan should have spent more time addressing the supermassive plot holes. Muscle atrophy is ignored as a symptom of hibernation, which could be ignored if it wasn’t for one astronaut’s homicidal turn after thawing out the previous day. How does a future human civilization in another galaxy open a wormhole in Earth’s solar system if that same wormhole is what allowed humans to leave our galaxy in the first place? Cooper is amazingly skilled for somebody who has never before piloted in outer space. Cooper, who has gathered his colleague’s data about gravity and the black hole singularity, transmits this information to Murphy across the space-time continuum in Morse code via a wristwatch. That’s reaching enough, but Morse code takes 10-20 seconds per word, which means transmitting something as simple as Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time (200 pages) would take thousands of hours. The movie would have us believe the secrets of the universe are conveyed after a few minutes of recording dots and dashes. Besides, Cooper ejected from his capsule after entering Gargantua, so how was the computer TARS even with him to convert the data to Morse code? Inception had its plot holes too, but it made sense 95% of the time, and the remaining 5% was at least attributable to the multi-layered mind trip of a story. Here, they just seem like oversights or shortcuts.

(Spoilers over.)

Movies with lofty ambitions can be frustrating because they generate high expectations that are difficult to meet, unlike formulaic films with minimal aspirations that are less likely to disappoint. I also tend to be most critical when I see greatness on the horizon, just out of reach, where a handful of changes could have uncovered something spectacular. However, Interstellar is still an above average, thoughtful space thriller that’s worth seeing. At the end of the day, I’ll take a film that aims for the stars, even if it falls short.

Black Swan

The desire for perfection drives human beings to do the most senseless things. Athletes push their bodies to the point of collapse, musicians rehearse pieces until they loathe every measure, actors reach for emotional depths at the expense of their own psyche. Is the achievement worth it?

Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan tells the story of good-but-not-great dancer Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) who is selected by manipulative director Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) to perform the dual role of White Swan and Black Swan in the New York City Ballet’s new version of Swan Lake. Nina’s chaste and perfectly executed technique is an excellent match for the White Swan character but her lack of fire is a handicap when she attempts to embody the seductive Black Swan. Leroy pushes and presses in an attempt to release the fierceness he sees in her when she rejects his initial sexual advance with a bite. Nina already suffers from neuroses common among performers – weight obsession, excessive preening – but they are exacerbated under the pressure of Leroy’s antagonizing and her officious mother’s vicarious desires. She rips her cuticles and scratches her shoulder blade raw – or so it appears – and soon experiences possibly hallucinatory episodes that reach a vicious depth on opening night.

As a psychological thriller, Black Swan is impressive. Nina’s unraveling elicits genuinely frightening and cringe-worthy moments without having to resort to trite tricks. Is the film a touch ostentatious? Yes, but so is ballet, so the form fits the subject in this case. Special recognition is deserved for the exquisite dancing of Portman and company, without whose impressive execution the story and its consequences would fall flat.

The casting is pitch perfect with Natalie Portman as the coddled, frigid Nina who struggles to embrace the darkness of the Black Swan while Mila Kunis plays the smoky Lily who exudes the eroticism Nina lacks. This role capitalizes the glass-like fragility that characterizes Portman’s persona, using her typical ingenuousness as Nina’s foundation but in a truer and more effective manner than we are used to seeing in her films. Portman is generally a satisfactory actress, but Nina is one of the few roles where her qualities work perfectly with the character. Aronofsky has a knack for this, demonstrated most recently in The Wrestler where Mickey Rourke the man evoked the all the requisite heartbreak of forgotten glory days. John Frankenheimer said casting is 65 percent of directing, a maxim Aronofsky takes to heart. Vincent Cassel makes excellent choices for Leroy, with whom he could have gone overboard and turned into a shamelessly libidinous caricature, but he and Aronofsky wisely keep the philanderer’s motivations centered on the ballet production. He doesn’t so much want to bed Nina as he wants her to realize the power of the Black Swan and become worthy of his sexual interest. It destroys her all the same, but the source of her collapse is artistic rather than phallic.

Aronofsky’s trademark mania returns here after the comparatively quiet The Wrestler, but Black Swan is still tamer than his earlier projects. It shows that Aronofsky has learned to let his kinetic style inform his work, but in a more restrained way, reeling in and focusing his ambition rather than having it run wild as he did with Pi, Requiem For a Dream, and the inspired but overreaching The Fountain. I wondered whether the critical and commercial failure of the latter fostered a personality crisis in Aronofsky, driving him to the unexpectedly conventional (but no less excellent) The Wrestler. If that was indeed the motivation, his verve is back and here he finds the best application for his skills.

My only reservation with the film is the misogynistic streak demonstrated by Aronofsky’s use of the female orgasm as a mechanism for Nina’s descent into madness. Her sexuality is treated as though it is commensurate with self-mutilation, delirium, and murder, no doubt piquing women’s liberation activists everywhere. Shortly after he selects her as the Swan Queen, Leroy asks Nina if she enjoys sex. Her non-answer tells us everything we need to know about her lack of sexual experience but why must her exposure to and enjoyment of sensual pleasure represent an adulteration rather than an awakening or empowerment? I don’t recall this current in any of his previous work so for now I’m comfortable presuming it’s an aberration specific to this character and this story.

If perfection can only be achieved through self-destruction, are those who pursue it noble or insane? Aronofsky believes the latter and I can’t entirely disagree, but I think we’ve all sacrificed part of ourselves for the sake of accomplishment at some point in our lives. Hopefully your black swan was worth it.

The Happening

Nobody can set up a story better than M. Night Shyamalan. Unfortunately, nobody can derail one as quickly either. Shyamalan is clearly a gifted filmmaker, as evidenced by the multiple commercial and critical successes at the beginning of his career. With The Sixth Sense, Unbreakable, and Signs, Shyamalan demonstrated his gift for taking simple themes – faith, love, vocation – and weaving them into thoughtful, layered narratives that put well-developed characters into dire and sympathetic circumstances. Unlike many who work in the horror/suspense genre, he’s always understood that what happens is not nearly as important as who it happens to. The Happening tries to adhere to that principle but, unlike those earlier films, this one lacks a human story as compelling as its gimmick.

The movie begins with the sexy premise that something in the Northeast is bewitching people and forcing them to self-eliminate in a variety of convenient and gruesome ways. Consider me hooked, even if Shyamalan errs within the first few minutes by straying from the deliberate pacing that makes his early films so effective. The Jaws rule reigns supreme: don’t show too much too early or else the suspense doesn’t build. Shyamalan exhibited great patience in his first projects, giving the audience only a morsel at a time – usually in the form of a noise or quick cut – and allowing our imaginations to fill in the rest. But the opening scene of The Happening puts its R-rating on gory display, courtesy of a hair pin and a hungry lion, that immediately diffuses the tension that could have gradually built over the first act. Instead of seeing the early violence up close, I would have preferred reaction shots that generated even more questions and boosted the creep factor. Shyamalan also makes mistakes later when he opts to pile on mystery for the sake of mystery rather than to serve the larger purpose of his story. Red herrings (i.e. “it’s just a cat”) aren’t his style yet he relies on them here, as if he doubts his own talent and compensates by dipping into the conventional bag of tricks so often utilized by his peers.

The film could survive this problem if it eventually delivered on the human element, but the troubled marriage angle involving the two leads (Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel) is flat, primarily because the source of that trouble is so vague that their whole relationship feels contrived. This is worsened by the actors minimizing their emotion and reactions, a feature so common in Shyamalan’s films that I wonder if he hands out lithium on set. Sometimes the tactic works – see Mel Gibson’s wonderfully understated performance in Signs – but it backfires in the hands of lesser actors, and this is his weakest ensemble next to The Last Airbender. Wahlberg in particular is a major handicap. Shyamalan always peppers his scripts with humor, but Wahlberg is unintentionally hilarious as a science teacher leading his wife and his friend’s daughter around rural Pennsylvania to escape this unexplainable pandemic. An early scene puts him in front of his biology class, leading the type of inane classroom discussion that only takes place in movies, and I had to blink because I thought I was watching Andy Samberg doing his famous impersonation. The Wahlberg-isms on are full display as he reads every line with a slyness that undermines dialogue meant to be genuinely funny. Wahlberg can be effective in movies with directors who know how to use him (Martin Scorsese in The Departed, David O. Russell in Three Kings and The Fighter), but he’s not a natural actor with a gift for sniffing out the best approach. So while the movie tries to focus on the characters, the tone-deaf performances and lack of sufficient conflict/change push the gimmick back onto center stage, but it runs out of gas and tacks on a clunky environmental message that would make Al Gore blush. We’re left with an anticlimactic conclusion that leaves us dissatisfied with both the people and the premise.

Yet part of me wonders whether we have started to take M. Night Shyamalan for granted. Do we still appreciate the qualities he brings do a project? Despite being an ineffective film overall, The Happening still delivers a number of tense, memorable scenes that make you believe something innocuous – like the wind – is frightening. And even in his failures, Shyamalan is keeping his focus in the right place – on the characters. He just happens to be churning out some blah protagonists and exacerbating the problem by recruiting unsuitable actors to play them. With some inspiring source material (written by someone else for once, or at least with a collaborator who keeps him in check?) and a team of actors who “get it” (a la Bruce Willis, Joaquin Phoenix), perhaps Shyamalan can once again deliver the consistent chills and the thoughtfulness that were so plentiful in his early career. I only hope his brand name doesn’t become too damaged in the meantime.

Dazed and Confused

At first glance, Dazed and Confused seems like a typical nostalgia piece, an opportunity for writer/director Richard Linklater to open a window into the summer of 1976 and commemorate the exploits of his youth. However, this movie isn’t about what was; it’s about what could have been, a celebration of youth’s potential had it been given free reign. Memoirs often view the past through rose-tinted glasses, remembering mostly the good times and failing to recall why everyone felt so miserable at the time. Dazed and Confused, rather than revising history and pretending things actually happened that way, produces an obvious utopia in which the school hallways are never monitored, joints are smoked regularly in public, all the girls put out, and muscle cars – well, of course everyone drives one. How many high school days do you remember where you successfully bought beer as a freshman, buddied up with the school bullies at a party, made out with an older girl, and stumbled home at sunrise where Mom catches you but lets it slide with a “just this once”? This isn’t exactly realism. But that’s okay because Linklater isn’t picking over his past and polishing the good parts for entertainment purposes. This is a sincere letter to a younger generation urging them to take advantage of their carefree days because he – like all adults – knows this period will disappear faster than a blunt in a weed circle. The idealization is a way of illustrating what life should be like for teenagers who are just starting to wade into life’s surf. Even in our imperfect real world, Linklater wants teenagers to take the advice Foghat blares over the end credits: “Slow ride, take it easy.”

As a coming of age story, Dazed and Confused is good, not great. The characters are varied but, because we don’t spend enough time with any one protagonist, they wind up falling into fairly predictable archetypes: jocks, nerds, stoners, cheerleaders, and the big curveball: jock-stoners. This panoramic approach would hinder lesser productions but the script and actors elevate these characters beyond the cardboard cutouts they could have easily become. The conflict I have with the film is that it depicts an unidentifiable lifestyle for me. While I certainly know people like these characters, I personally was never a pot smoker, didn’t go through a hippie phase, never really bucked responsibility in favor of a party. I was – and continue to be – a square. This creates a barrier preventing me from fully connecting with these characters emotionally and, truth be told, I would rather not live in the idealized world Linklater creates. However, the embracing of one’s youth is a pretty universal principle so while the hedonism on screen may have tempered my enthusiasm, it didn’t overly diminish my appreciation for the movie.

I saw Dazed and Confused in its entirety for the first time in 2010 at a Sound Opinions event at Chicago’s Music Box Theater. The audience consisted of mostly twenty and thirty-somethings who remember the film from their adolescence, recited some of the lines, and cheered the appearances of Ben Affleck and Matthew McConaughey in their 70s duds. The movie, which was released in 1993, clearly hit its target audience: contemporary youth, as opposed to reminiscent adults from the era depicted on screen. As mentioned, this film is not a nostalgia piece for the director’s generation; it’s a message film for future generations. I attended the screening with one person who, basking in Linklater’s world, said, “Man, I was born at the wrong time,” a comment that got me thinking about how the audience, having grown up in the 1980s and 1990s, may walk away from the film believing that this romanticized vision is an accurate depiction of that period. Doing so might foster a viewer’s resentment of their own youth and/or time period because it doesn’t – and can’t – measure up with what’s on screen. As a result, a legion of teenagers think they missed out on the best time ever and will either try to recreate a previous generation’s lifestyle (reflected in the trend of recycling trends) or just wind up hating their own. But doesn’t lamenting the times of one’s own youth and/or hearkening back to an idealized, nonexistent time undermine the film’s message? How can you seize the day if you keep wishing it was yesterday?