MODEL SPOTLIGHT - Ulorin Vex

Got another chance to work with one of my favorite models, Ulorin Vex, a couple weekends ago. This is our third shoot together, and hopefully not our last. Check out the portfolio at

www.christophermalcolmphotography.com

MODEL SPOTLIGHT - Amanda Jones

Just completed my final shoot of the year with the lovely Miss Amanda Jones. Check out the series at...

www.christophermalcolmphotography.com

PHOTOGRAPHER'S FORUM BEST OF PHOTOGRAPHY 2011

One of my images is featured in the annual Photographer's Forum Best Photography of 2011 book now on sale. Check out more from the series at
www.christophermalcolmphotography.com

Steven Spielberg is not an edgy filmmaker.

In fact, he's the exact opposite. If you looked up the Hollywood style in the dictionary, you'd likely be shown a xerox copy of Mr. Spielberg's IMDB page.

Ever since defining the "blockbuster" with "Jaws," his own personal style has become the template against which big budget action films are judged. And he rarely misses a beat. I mean, how can you miss the mark when you are the mark, right?

Well, after a brief hiatus, Mr. Spielberg is back at it again. With two movies as a matter of fact. With "The Adventures of Tin Tin," he catches his colleague Robert Zemeckis' fever for CGI animation. And with the wonderful new work, "War Horse," he draws on all his experience and vast skill set to produce what Spielberg does best. Create a Spielberg movie.

Spielberg films to me always feel more like watching a moving storyboard than anything actually taking place in the real world. His characters leap forward from the screen as if drawn from comic books. If you watch it closely, even in Spielberg's Oscar winning "Schindler's List," you will see the same sweeping camera moves as you would in "E.T." or "Catch Me If You Can." And, as with all of his films, those sweeping crane shots float to the orchestral sounds of John Williams' sweeping scores.

"War Horse," the sweeping epic of one horse's journey during World War I Europe is perfectly suited for this approach. With it's sights set firmly on your heartstrings, the film doesn't pull any emotional punches. Told through episodic sequences, we follow the majestic horse and the lives of the humans who it comes into contact with. Set among vast English countrysides and massive battles, the film is oddly most effective when dealing in minutiae. The drama of an auction block. A fall harvest. The most efficient way to cut barbed wire. All these scenes work because we are fully invested in the lead character. Even if he does arrive on four legs.

"War Horse" is heroism in the face of great tragedy. Of beauty in a time of horror. You won't leave the theater thinking you've seen the reinvention of the wheel. But by the time Spielberg lays his late "Gone With The Wind" inspired final shot on you, you will find yourself wishing you had a war horse of your own. And your heart will once again be warmed over.

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO (David Fincher Version) - Film Review

Did the 2009 Swedish classic "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" really need to be remade?

No.

The brilliant tension of the original has hardly had a chance to grow stale in the whopping TWO whole years since it's initial release. Aside from a few small changes, the story hasn't changed much as laid out in the late Stieg Larsson's smash hit novel "Men Who Hate Women" (retitled for the film release). And even the presence of one of my favorite directors David Fincher is hardly enough to justify remaking an already exemplary movie trilogy just because of American's inexplicable reluctance to read subtitles.

I don't think I'm overstating things when I say that the character of Lisbeth Salander (here played by Rooney Mara but originated on screen by Noomi Rapace) is one of the most dynamic creations in recent literary history. Pint-sized in stature, she appears superhuman in her ability and ferocity. A goth hacker with a punk-rock hairdo who's never met a match she can't defeat, or an evil she can't out-duel. Okay, that's oversimplifying a bit. Actually, it's oversimplifying a lot.

You see, what makes the Salander character so interesting is not that she's invincible. It's that she only appears to be invincible.

Beneath the tattoos and piercings is a wounded girl. Some of the details of her wounds are better explained in later chapters of the trilogy and won't be discussed here. But the bravado is on display from the word go. The dark eye liner. The black leather. The snarl. Every minute of her existence is geared toward signaling to the world that she isn't to be messed with.

But what lies beneath that is a woman has been deeply messed with. A woman with a deep distrust of people, she instead keeps them at a distance. A woman so hurt be past relationships that, instead of misplacing her love, she decides rather not to give it at all.

So why let down her guard for Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig)? The weathered news reporter is coming off the public embarrassment of trying to tell the truth about someone wealthy enough to change what the truth is. Hired by a wealthy Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) to investigate a family so maladjusted as to achieve Shakespearean proportions, Mikael first engages Lisbeth as a research assistant. She's the best. He should know. She was the one they hired to investigate him.

The suspense that follows is just the icy scales of the story, while it's heart rests in the relationship between Mikael and Lisbeth and how each perceive exactly what that relationship is.

It's impossible to review this new film without comparing it to the old one. Since there's very little fundamentally different about this film other than it's clearly superior budget, the main point of conversation lies on the slender shoulders of... you guessed it, Lisbeth Salander.

Trying to replace Noomi Rapace as Lisbeth Salander is like trying to replace Vivien Leigh in a remake of "Gone With The Wind" (I only use that as an example Hollywood. Please DO NOT remake "Gone With The Wind."). Rapace so fully embodied Salander that it's really hard to imagine another actress ever playing the role. Miss Mara does an admirable job. However, where Miss Rapace seemed to BE Lisbeth Salander, I never shook the sense that Miss Mara was simply PLAYING Lisbeth Salander. And there's a lot to play with. The tough exterior. The wounded interior. The tattoo. Like Scarlet O'Hara, the role of Lisbeth Salander is pure gold. I think the difference between their two performances lies in the fundamental differences between Hollywood movies and those made in the rest of the world. The depth is there in both, it's just that the rest of the world is a little more comfortable burying things a bit deeper.

Rapace's Salander is a constant enigma. I know it sounds strange, but she's almost not human. More like a feral animal. Unpredictable. You have no idea what she'll do next. And she never telegraphs her motivations. When the original Salander climbs into bed with someone, you get the sense that she is asserting her power. She screws, she doesn't make love. Making love would be too personal.

When this Salander makes love, there is a kindness to it. When she meets a woman in a nightclub, there is almost a shyness to the initial encounter. Later, when taking a man into her bed, it directly follows seeing a picture of him as a happy couple, signaling to the audience that what she really wants is love.

Oddly, this may be true. For both versions of Salander. She's built up this unpenetrable persona to push the world away. But on the inside, all she really wants is for someone to pierce the shield. The difference between the two films is that Rapace's Salander would never be caught dead letting on to that fact. Whereas Mara's Salander projects an inner warmth just waiting to be uncovered.

It will be interesting to see what happens with this new series. The original trilogy, as good as it was, did trail off over the course of three films, with the third being the weakest (not coincidentally it's also the one with the least amount of screen time for the actual Girl With The Dragon Tattoo). Here, David Fincher has more openly introduced a possible emotional arc for the character of Lisbeth Salander that could potentially span the three films. While I would call a match up between the two versions of the first chapter a draw that slightly leans towards the Swedish version, I think Fincher's team has a chance to perhaps make a more effective complete trilogy. An extended epilogue in this film not present in the original, sets up a nice narrative conflict for coming episodes. And as much as I may dislike remakes, I'll definitely be on board for part two. Or, part five. Not exactly sure how to say that.

THE ARTIST - Film Review

It took me a while to see Michel Hazanavicius' new film "The Artist." Playing in limited release, I'd heard all the buzz and knew it was one of those films a person like me is "supposed to see" this time of year. But when I looked at the trailer, all I could see was an obvious mash-up of "A Star is Born" and "Singing in the Rain." True, bonus points go out to any filmmaker bold and inventive enough to make a silent black and white movie in 2011, but still, I felt I'd seen the story before. Like five times before. "Singing in the Rain." Three versions of "A Star is Born" which come immediately to mind. And even the original "A Star is Born" called "What Price, Hollywood?" So I wasn't sure I wanted to watch the same story again. Wouldn't it be the exact same thing? Well, in a word, yes. But like all five films before, the familiar story still did not fail to warm me over by the end.

You see, there's a reason filmmakers are repeatedly drawn to the rags-to-riches, riches-to-rags story of two lovers on opposing trajectories. It makes for damn good drama. And when you have a cast as winning as this, you'll find yourself in for a very good time.

A brief recap for those who haven't seen the story before. A dashing leading man, George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) is flying high in silent movies. At the same time, the scrappy upstart Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo) is just scrambling to get her foot in the door. After a meet-cute movie premiere, George and Peppy start the kind of whirlwind on again-off again romance that is the stuff of... silent movies. Well, with the dawning of sound, silent movie stars like George suddenly find themselves at the wrong end of the unemployment line. But the aptly named Peppy has just what it takes. As her star rises, his begins to fade, and the big time star becomes the small time failure.

I'm not sure what it is about this story that resonates generation after generation. Maybe it's the allure of fairy tale love in Tinseltown. Perhaps it's setting signals just the right amount of glitz and glamor.

But I tend to think it's something more basic than that. I think these films tap into something more primal. Man's need to be King of the Hill. Our basic need to provide for our family. Or, more importantly, to be powerful enough to be able to provide for those we love. It's often said, and proven, that women are attracted to confidence. Powerful men, often with few other redeeming qualities other than that power, tend to attract more women. A sociologist would do a better job of explaining why, but most of their rambling would likely amount to women's primal need to find a strong breadwinner. Literally in the cave man days. The man that is most adept at bringing home the bacon, brings home the most... bacon. He can provide for his woman, and therefore becomes desirable. Apparently not a whole lot has changed since the dawn of man. And Hollywood movie star is one darn good way of providing for your mate.

But what happens when you cannot provide for those you love? What happens when your best efforts fall on deaf ears? When she needs you, when she looks to you for support, but all you can offer her is your own failures. Many of us will know that failure. Few will know the success. And for those who know both, who climb great heights only to tumble from the mountain top, the fall is all the more precarious.

"The Artist," and all the films that inspired it, is essentially about a proud man's emasculation. About his ability, or often inability, to adjust to a world where he's no longer on top.

And to need the undying love and support of a woman, who will love you come what may.

That's the other half of the "Star is Born" equation and what takes the tale from tragic to timeless. Peppy Miller, with all her awkward angles and narrow frame, is exactly the kind of woman that can make the toughest man go all dough eyed. The kind of woman you want to reach out and protect. The kind of woman that you want to provide for. But she's also the kind with a hidden strength. The kind you suspect may need less caring for than your ego first imagined. The kind capable of providing you support as well. The who, when you cradle in your arms, somehow makes you feel more safe. She fills the room with her smile. She fills your heart with her love.

"The Artist" is more than just a retold story. It's a wonderful movie. And a reminder that when you've hit rock bottom and you have nothing left but the love of a good woman, you can still seem the richest man in the world.

SHAME - Film Review

There's nothing inherently wrong with pornography.

There, I said it. A little kinkiness every now and then never hurt anybody. Unless, of course, you're into that. Human beings are naturally curious. We're also, naturally sexual. So when you put those two things together, it's only natural that we should be curious about each others sexuality. That's a good thing.

But it is possible to have too much of a good thing.

Like alcohol, pornography has a way of sucking you in. You take one sip, you feel fine. You take two, even better. Pretty soon, you find yourself wanting more and more. Then needing more and more. Even long after you've forgotten how it even tastes, you find yourself using it out of habit.

And as with any narcotic, once you get used to a certain thing, you find yourself needing to find harder and harder drugs to keep the same high. Pretty soon, the pornography you started with just doesn't do the trick anymore. So you have to keep looking for different outlets. Different stimulus. You suddenly find yourself turning to images and fantasies you may never have even dreamt of just to get back to normal. Pretty soon, this sexual narcotic has taken an effect on your life. No, you're not likely to find yourself shaking in the corner without your daily dose, but it can have an affect on your relationships and how you see the world. And if you're not careful, there may be no turning back.

Such is the case with Brandon Sullivan (Michael Fassbender), a Manhattan suit who's so deep into pornography that his work computer is for a time confiscated for being "filthy."

As a side note, I've always considered that to be the true sign of addiction to porn. If you can't get through the work day without a little taste, it may be time to get help. Oh, and how good must he be at his job that this isn't a fire-able offense?

But I digress. The fact is that Michael's entire life could be termed "filthy." When not surfing the naughty web, he fills his days and nights with frivolous sexual encounters. Even though one of the perks of looking like Michael Fassbender is that those encounters are plentiful, he still can never seem to get enough. Like a hungry child, trying to stuff his face with sweets in an effort to get full, he's missing the main ingredient, sustenance. He's got the quantity, but not the quality. And that's how he likes it. Like the impersonal skin flicks which he uses for his arousal, Michael sees sex as a carnal expression devoid of emotion. His longest "relationship" has been four months. From what we see, most of his sexual encounters don't last more than four minutes. Just enough time to serve the purpose.

It be easy from that description to draw that Michael was a truly despicable guy. But if we look deeper, we understand the reasons for his erotic dependence. A fear of intimacy. Like an alcoholic tossing back shots to dull the pain, Michael sees sex as an emotional antibiotic. These brief sexual trysts are in fact the only vacation he has from the pain of simply being him. Sex with emotion robs him of that safety zone. Love is too close for him. Love means pain. So when people threaten to get too close to his heart, he pushes them away.

At least he tries to. But some people just can't take a hint. That includes Sissy Sullivan (a once again terrific Carey Mulligan), Michael's sister who appears in town to throw his life into chaos. Not that it wasn't chaotic before, but her sheer existence seems to make him angry. The cool and collected Michael is a raging bundle of emotions around his sister. When his sleaze of a boss, David Fisher (James Badge Dale) makes a play for Sissy, Michael can barely contain himself. In excess of brotherly protection, Michael's resentment from seeing Sissy with another man seems to run deeper. While it is never known for sure, we suspect that Michael's relationship with Sissy may be at the root of his intimacy issues. When she climbs into his bed at night to snuggle, his discomfort is palpable. When she stands before him bare in the shower, one can't help but wonder what is going through his mind. And in Carey Mulligan's affecting performance, we suspect that the same thing may be running through her mind as well. At times, it seems as if the adventurous black sheep is almost baiting him. As if she knows the effect she has on him and is constantly searching for more. Sissy has a way of using love to salve her own wounds. And Michael's affection seems to be the medication she seeks the most.

Have Michael and Sissy ever been intimate? We don't know. But her effect on him is undeniable.

So is the effect of this film. I suspect that at least half of the audience members at the screening I attended were sick to their stomachs by the time the story ended. They, no doubt, saw the film as just another cheap exploitation of taboo. It made them uncomfortable, and they no doubt resented it.

But if you look deeper, you'll see the beauty in the film, and especially Michael Fassbender's performance. It is a character study of addiction. A man who seems so in control, but all the time is spinning out of it. We understand the root cause, even if we don't know the exact details. And director Steve McQueen, definitely one to watch, allows us to linger inside Michael's emotions. Through mostly a combination of brilliantly chosen one-shots, he allows us to contemplate Michael's inner turmoil. Michael's actions are not those of a pervert. They are the actions of an addict. A man filled with pain who tries to cure himself in the best way he can. But will the very cure lead to his own destruction?

MELANCHOLIA - Film Review

I suspect we all know it.

As artists, we all feel it.

For creative people, life isn't so much a linear journey towards the dream. Instead, for dreamers, life can often seem more like a constant pendulum swing between euphoric hope and utter despair. The absolute high that arrives when art surges through our veins, escapes from our fingertips, and take on a life of it's own. The totalitarian low that we succumb to when we realize that, despite the achievement, in the long run it may mean nothing at all. Our script may never get made. Our photo never seen. Our novel never read. Our lives becoming a chronic civil war between our inner optimist and the encroaching, inevitable, melancholia.

You don't have to be an artist to understand the feeling. You simply have to be alive. To wonder, if at the end of the day, any of it really matters.

Such was clearly on the mind of Danish filmmaker Lars von Trier when making his new film "Melancholia."

One of the leaders of the Dogme '95 film movement which championed the return to basic storytelling over unnecessary artifice, von Trier begins this film indulging in a bit of the latter. A long slow motion sequence compiled of some of the most innovative images you'll ever see on screen primes us for the story to come. It also establishes the film's slightly operatic tone which doesn't diminish, even when he returns to his Dogme roots to tells the story of two sisters.

The first of the two sisters, Justine, is played by Kirsten Dunst. Bringing new meaning to the word "bipolar," Justine swings wildly from happiness to depression as she and her soon-to-be husband (Alexander Skarsgard) arrive at a divine country estate for their wedding ceremony. But despite the apparent opulence, there is a thinly veiled aura of torment running just beneath the surface. While her sister, Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), and brother-in-law, John (Kiefer Sutherland), treat her with kid gloves, nothing seems to ease the onset of Justine's pain. Constantly trying to run away. Always in search of an escape from the pain. Justine seems to have the world on a string but yet still find herself unable to pull it.

Her sister, Claire, on the other hand, seems to be far more well adjusted. The disciplined wedding planner in the first section of the film, so keeps herself occupied with keeping everyone else occupied. She holds herself together, by holding everyone else together. But as Justine's story plays out in part one, and we learn more of Claire's story in part two, things are not always as they seem. Claire too may need support. And we are forced to wonder, are Justine's antics truly madness? Or genuine clairvoyance?

Both women inhabit their roles with brutal honesty. These are not glamorous parts. Their characters are raw and unnerving. They both live their lives under the constant threat that it can come crashing down on them at any moment. Literally. I won't explain that last word just yet. I'll leave you to watch the film to know what I mean by it.

And watch the film you must. The opening ten minutes alone is worth the price of admission. The two leads hold your attention throughout. And the excellent supporting services of Sutherland, Skarsgard, Skarsgard's famous father Stellan, the always dependable John Hurt, and the ever alluring (even when behaving badly) Charlotte Rampling fill the film with nuance. All of it stewarded by the curious hand of Lars von Trier. A man not afraid to take chances. A man not afraid to fail. A dreamer willing to try to make his dream come true. Even while knowing that melancholia may come again and leave him wondering if anything is really worth it in the end.

At least one thing we know. This film certainly is.

MY WEEK WITH MARILYN - Film Review

"First love can be such despair."
Dame Judi Dench as Dame Sybil Thorndike

I'm not sure if it's because I love film history. Or because I currently find myself falling for someone way outside my league. But Simon Curtis' new film "My Week With Marilyn" was just about one of the best films I believe I'll see all year.

Part historical document, part coming-of-age story, this beautiful work of non-fiction stars the wonderful Michelle Williams as the radiant Marilyn Monroe and Eddie Redmayne as Colin Clark the still wet-behind-the-ears third assistant on Sir Lawrence Olivier's (Kenneth Branagh) 1957 directorial effort "The Prince and the Showgirl." Like most of the world, then and now, Colin falls in love with Miss Monroe on first sight. But unlike most of us, Colin's admiration gets to extend beyond the silver screen.

Rita Hayworth was famous for saying of men who courted her attention that "they go to bed with Gilda, but wake up with me." The point being of course that people fall in love with the legend, not the woman. And that the woman herself in inevitably a disappointment. In the case of Marilyn Monroe, the real Norma Jean was so racked with insecurities that she spent her life trying to fill the void left by the gaping hole which should have easily been filled by a self confidence to match other's adulation. She tried to fill the void with drugs. With men. Already one of the most famous "stars" on the planet, she still clamored for the respect that is afforded to great "actresses" knowing full well that being a star and being a great actress are hardly the same thing. Yet, as much as she pushed for artistic respect, the world pushed back with it's own expectation. She was a sexpot, pure and simple. And try as she might, the world at large refused to accept her as anything else. At one point during the film, a bewildered Lawrence Olivier, exhausted from the effort it takes simply to deal with Monroe's eccentricities blurts out what was just beneath the surface on the mind of many, "why don't you just be sexy. Isn't that what you do?"

To a certrain degree, he was right. That is what she was known for. But the real Marilyn was so much more.

Of course, there's always the question of who really was "the real Marilyn." And trying to get at the heart of that point is the brilliantly layered portrayal by Michelle Williams. I suspect Miss Williams, about the same age now as the real Marilyn Monroe in the film's timeframe, knows all too well the trappings of being a actress in Hollywood. Introduced to much of the world as Jen Lindley in the soapy teeny bopper TV drama "Dawson's Creek," Miss Williams film career has been far more ecclectic. A notable sense of risk marks her choices as an actress. Whether playing the loving wife of real life husband Heath Ledger in the drama "Brokeback Mountain," or matching Ryan Gosling's brilliance step-for-step in last year's bitter sweet romance "Blue Valentine," Miss Williams is clearly one for bold choices. And she makes all the right choices here playing Marilyn Monroe. Her Marilyn is sexy yet vulnerable. You want to reach out and cradle her in your arms. Yet, at the same time, you begin to suspect that the vulnerability itself may too be part of the act. A concious way of drawing in new protectors. Of filling the void. Olivier points out in the movie that no actress, no matter who she is, gets to the level of success that Marilyn achieved without a certain level of strength. She may seem to the outside world to be all over the map, but don't think for a second that she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.

Matching Miss Williams in the tight rope act necessary for portraying real life people in a fictional world is a tremendous supporting cast. Kenneth Branagh sparkles as the aforementioned Sir Lawrence Olivier. He's able to play Olivier's incredible vanity without allowing him to become a caricature. Olivier has an ego for sure. He's the most acclaimed actor in the history of the English stage, who wouldn't like themself in that situation. But he's as smitten with Marilyn as the rest of us. Even if she does drive him to the point of insanity. Dame Judi Dench plays the less well known Dame Sybil Thorndike. She portrays her with the necessary English stoicism, but also with a knowing warmth. She serves as both Marilyn's co-star and protector. Even more of a protector than those claiming to be the title bearers of the position, her manager Milton Greene (Dominic Cooper) and personal acting teacher Paula Strasberg (Zoe Wanamaker). Both see Marilyn more as a meal-ticket than human being. Yet still, the film is wise enough to allow each their own moments to suggest they too once had their own week with Marilyn at one point that affects their actions.

As for the current one-weeker, Colin Clark, Mr. Redmayne plays him with such wide-eyed optimism that we never have a moment to doubt his intention. Marilyn flies into his heart with reckless abandon, and he returns to her his affection with the furvor reserved for those just learning what it means to be in love. He cares for her nakedly and openly. Unafraid of being hurt, he pursues her without fear, which I suppose is evidence of a life yet to be lived. At one point, Lucy, a costume designer on the production played by Emma Watson, asks if Marilyn has broken his heart. Why does she ask? "Because it needs breaking."

I guess maybe this adage is as true in real life as in this movie. Sometimes we need to be hurt to know what it is that we are missing.

One thing that is for sure is that you shouldn't miss this film. A wonderful picture sure to be a major factor come awards season. And a loving reminder that first love can feel so good. And hurt so bad.

New Fashion Photography Series With Kelly Cunningham

Got to shoot a fashion series with the beautiful Kelly Cunningham over the weekend. You can check out some of the images at my website.

www.christophermalcolmphotography.com

THE DESCENDANTS - Movie Review

Alexander Payne makes average movies.

And that’s a good thing.

Maybe, more accurately, he makes brilliant movies spun from the webs of average lives. More than any other director, he celebrates the seemingly mundane. A drug addict considering an abortion. A high school election. A retiree going to his daughter’s wedding. A trip to wine country. And now the story of a grieving father trying to hold together a family he himself has been disconnected from for far too long.

None of these are the scenarios from which Hollywood blockbusters are made. None of these concepts scream out to the creatively challenged corporate board members that now run movie studios that they demand to be released. But somehow Payne continues to get them made. Each one better than the last. Plugging away at the mundane. And in the process, creating the miraculous.

How does he do this? Simple, he can write. Not the paint-by-numbers anybody can be a screenwriter kind of typing mostly done in this town. No, Alexander Payne can write. He creates compelling central characters and is able to see them through deceivingly difficult journeys.

And Matt King’s journey is no less trying.

Played with spectacular honesty by the consistently entertaining George Clooney, Matt’s life is thrown into turmoil in the opening minutes. After his thrill seeking wife is badly injured during a speedboat race, he is suddenly thrust into an unfamiliar role. Father. A strange thing to say about the parent of two young girls. But you see, Matt, as he describes himself, is “the back-up parent.” Like many fathers, he brings home the bacon, but leaves the parental heavy lifting to his wife. So when suddenly appointed the main caregiver, Matt has to quickly adjust to the new demands.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be a good father. He just doesn’t know how. And life is made both easier and incredibly more difficult by his daughters, especially his eldest daughter Alexandra (Shailene Woodley) who is at the age where she’s no longer a child, yet not quite an adult. Capable of carrying responsibility but not yet emotionally prepared to process all that comes with it.
It’s Matt’s relationship with Alexandra that is at the heart of the film. A shaky relationship that is tested by unexpected events that make average lives into compelling entertainment.

Speaking of average lives, it’s worth pointing out that while Alexander Payne’s protagonists would often be considered side characters in most big budget bonanzas, they often find a way of being played by some of the biggest actors in Hollywood. Clooney, Broderick, Witherspoon, and Nicholson aren’t exactly names to sniff at. But perhaps his greatest skill as a director is being able to make these superstars seem somewhat… ordinary. Off screen, you’d be hard pressed to find someone who would think George Clooney could ever have trouble with women. But on screen, you suddenly believe that Matt King could face such a dilemma.

This is due to the major talents of the underrated George Clooney. Yes, he’s famous. Yes, he’s an international superstar. But sometimes I don’t think he gets enough credit for simply being a tremendous actor. Like the stars of the studio system like Cary Grant, Humphrey Bogart, or Clark Gable, Clooney is well aware of his brand. You are always able to get a small glimpse of George behind the veneer or any of his characters. But, like a seasoned character actor, he’s also able to sink so deeply into a role that you believe for a minute that he is that person.
And “that person,” flawed and humane, strong but weak, honest and vulnerable, and yes average, is what makes “The Descendants” such a terrific film.

It’s a story about everyday people doing their best to make it through each day. After all, isn’t that all any of us are trying to do. And perhaps that’s why this film is so affecting and so worth the price of admission.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER - Movie Review

For the first 123 minutes of the surprisingly good “Captain America: The First Avenger,” I had somehow forgotten I was watching a Marvel Comics movie.
While lining their pockets with cash through an endless procession of their comic book heroes onto celluloid, Marvel Comics, more than any other company over the last few years, has spearheaded the overwhelming stupification of the American public. Yes, I’m aware that’s not a real world. What can I tell you, I’ve been watching too many Marvel Comics movies.

They started out well enough. The first Spiderman movie with Tobey Maguire was quite good. The second even better. Despite the stories cartoon origins, they took their stories seriously and spun a nice web (apologies to Spidey for the pun). But like Starbucks, the world only needs so many superhero movies. So even though some of the X-Men films have been mildly entertaining, hardly any of the films resulting from Marvel’s multi-picture distribution deal have really served any cinematic purpose at all other than to line the pockets of their investors.

The “Iron Man” series is loud and bright and gives Robert Downey Jr. a franchise of his own. But ultimately you’ve forgotten the entire story as soon as you leave the theatre. The X-Men franchise is steady, but has yet to ever rise to the level of greatness. They’ve tried twice to make “The Hulk” work. They’ve failed twice. And “Thor.” Oh, “Thor.” I imagine one day when Natalie Portman looks back on her long career while polishing her multiple Oscars, her great grandchildren will run into the room and sweetly ask her to pop in the “Thor” Blu-Ray for the thousandth time at which point Miss Portman will have to fight very hard from smacking them, or worse, smacking herself for ever signing up for such a monumental piece of junk in the first place.

So, along comes “Captain America: The First Avenger” starring Chris Evans as the patriotic soldier tasked with taking on a renegade Nazi (Hugo Weaving of “Matrix” fame) hell bent on world domination. Honestly, after the two hours of endless torture I suffered at the hands of “Thor” I don’t even know why I bothered to give this one a chance.

But I’m glad I did.

Like the early Spiderman movies, here the storytellers get back to, duh, telling a story. And like those early Spiderman films, our hero in the full body spandex is a regular guy. In the case of Steve Rogers (the real name of our tri-colored hero), he may even be less than regular. Height-wise at least. Repeatedly turned away from servicing his country during World War II due to his physical limitations, Steve constantly tries to make up for it by having the biggest heart. He never backs down in a fight. Proves during a training exercise that he has more courage than even the most striking soldiers in his unit. And shows that while not big on stature, he’s the best soldier in the Army.

Of course no one else can see that except the scientist Dr. Abraham Erskine (played with usual charm by Stanley Tucci) and the tough but beautiful British agent Peggy Carter (played by Hayley Atwell). Not sure if it’s the British accent or not, but I haven’t fallen this hard for a Marvel Comics heroine since Kirsten Dunst in “Spiderman.”

This all makes the events of “Captain America” that much more compelling. The hero of the film isn’t a Scandinavian God whose only real trouble in the world is wondering when he will ascend to the throne. Instead, Steve Rogers has to spend life wondering whether he’ll ever measure up at all. When will he get his chance to fight? Will he ever be the one who gets the girl?

So when he runs into danger to save civilization, on a basic level he’s getting a chance to prove his own worth and repay the faith of the one woman who actually believes in him. Forget the superhero angle, this is a solid love story. A rags-to-riches tale of a small town boy who makes good.

And then…. Marvel steps in.

The first 123 minutes of the 124 minute movie were wonderfully and honestly rendered. For a second, I’d forgotten I was watching a comic book.

But, sadly this is Hollywood. And, for the money men, this film is never going to be anything else than a prequel for the upcoming “Avengers” movie that joins Captain America with his Marvel brethren Iron Man, Wolverine, The Hulk, and damnit, Thor!
So after an effective and emotional climactic scene, it’s a tremendous letdown when we are treated to an epilogue that completely undoes all the goodwill engendered by the first 123 minutes. I won’t tell you what happens in that last tacked on scene. Actually, if you’re quick enough with the remote, you may want to just press stop on the DVD player after the initial fade out so you won’t even have to see it. Because what happens in the scene not only cheapens the authenticity of what comes before, but adds an unnecessary level of sadness while simultaneously nullifying the emotional truth of the scene that comes before.

But Bravo for those first 123 minutes. This is a comic book movie that works. Take that, you stupid Thor!

LIKE CRAZY - Film Review

Why do we go to love stories?

Is it to escape the reality of our own romantic entanglements, if only for two short hours, and revel in a love that we've always dreamed of yet never knew? Or is it to see an honest reflection of the way love really is? Messy. Unpredictable. And without the guarantee of happily ever after.

Some of the greatest screen romances ever told have taken the latter route. From "Annie Hall" to "Once," filmmakers have been taking honest looks at both the ups AND downs of modern romance. And while the new indie romance "Like Crazy" may not reach the same stratospheric level of success as those two films, it clearly aims to occupy the same territory.

In this present, we are concerned with the fortunes of Jacob and Anna (Anton Yelchin and Felicity Jones). The two meet in college and have one of those whirlwind romances that are usually only reserved for the under 25 set. But like all solid movie romances, their courtship comes with an obstacle. While Miss Jones' British accent may have had both Mr. Yelkin and myself at "hello," it seems as though United States Customs and Immigration agents aren't so charmed. As if conspiring to keep these two apart, the laws of the land keep throwing speed bumps into their fairy tale and threaten to tear the two apart.

Not that this film is an indictment or deep comment on immigration. If you want that, you're better off going for Thomas McCarthy's excellent "The Visitor" from 2007. Come to think of it, that film may also offer more in depth perspective on unspoken love as well.

But, as often is the case, the problem for Jacob and Anna isn't the number of times they verbalized their feelings. Or even the strength of them. It's the fact that in the movie, like outside of it, life too often gets in the way.

I've often compared love to launching a space ship. Simply everything has to go right for it not to end in tragedy. First, you have to meet the right person. Then, you have to meet them at the right time. Then, that person has to actually like you too (therein lies my own usual stumbling block). So, let's say you've miraculously met all the first three requirements and somehow fallen in love. Now, immigration comes along and takes them away and your too poor (or I suspect in the case of Jacob's character too selfish) to fly to England to be with them.

It sucks.

This film asks a number of poignant questions. Why is it that Jacob can't move to England? Doesn't it seem like she's always the one making the sacrifice. Amazingly enough, it's the beautiful Miss Jones that even makes the first move. Talk about things that only happen in the movies! Just because you have an amazing love with someone, does this mean that you're really meant to be with them long term? Can a love like this even survive forever?

This film gets so many things right. That is, if you're one of the people who prefer their fairly tales with a touch of reality. If not, there are plenty of the alternative. "Jerry Maguire," "Notting Hill," "When Harry Met Sally," or any other love story that ends with either one or the other partner literally running to catch the other. And if you prefer those, that's okay. All three are among my favorites and have made me cry on more than one occasion.

But if you're looking for something to remind you of the soul crushing roller coaster ride of love in the real world, this film is for you.

IN TIME - Film Review

We are the 99 percent!!!!

Such is the theme of Andew Niccol's latest mash up of futuristic thriller and cautionary tale, "In Time." Mr. Niccol has a knack for such films with a resume that includes Gattaca, S1m0ne, and The Truman Show. And this is one of his best efforts to date.

Staring Justin Timberlake and my wife, I'm sorry I mean Amanda Seyfried, the story concerns a futuristic present where money has been replaced by time itself. Seconds are literally the currency in a land where only one year past the age of 25 is guaranteed.

Timberlake stars as Will Salas, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks and a hero streak. My wife, I mean Seyfriend, plays Sylvia Weis, the wealthy heiress of the richest man in town.

The untitled town, by the way, is played admirably by Los Angeles itself. And as an Angeleno I'm proud to say that LA remembers all it's lines and hits all it's marks. From the fabled LA reservoirs to the new CAA building standing in for at least two locations, the director makes positive use of his surroundings.

The film veteran also teaches new Hollywood a thing or two about the power of NOT using CGI.

While watching this films excellent production design, I was reminded of the great Terry Gilliam film, "Brazil." While this film is by no means in the same league as that, they share the same passion for taking everyday objects and making them seem somehow otherworldly. The cool cars, sleek black wardrobes, and designer digs are all things within our reach in the real world. Well, at least within the reach of those with an American Express Black Card. But by using these accessible items to accent his world, Nicol also makes the world itself accessible as well.

That's an important thing, because this is clearly a world of its own.

Though the screenplay can be a bit heavy handed in its exposition, it moves along at a brisk pace. Sometimes literally as Will and Sylvia run through the city, an action reserved for the poor. The rich have all the time in the world, why would they run?

As a sidetrack, allow me to pose a question. Perhaps you have the answer. How is it that movie stars can still look cool when running at top speeds? I caught a glimpse of myself jogging the other day in an overly reflective mirror and it looked something akin to a perspiring Woolly Mammoth with some kind of apparent rhythmic foot condition laboring to a sure and ugly death every time I attempted a new step. Here, Timberlake and Seyfried run around and still manage to appear to be fresh out of an advertisement for Louis Vitton.

But I digress. As he's proven in a recent string of films, Justin Timberlake has charisma to burn. We like him instantly and Re willing to follow him through preposterous events and far more preposterous dialogue.

And as for Miss Seyfried? Sigh.

The movies are an amazing thing. Despite having never met Miss Seyfried, I walk out of every one other movies feeling the same way. I'm so in love! Pitiful? Probably. But she's one of the few actresses working today whose work I will see simply because she is in it. Like "In Time," these films rarely rise above the level of simply good. Watchable, but not "great." Yet admittedly her presence puts a smile on my face. I fall in love with her every time. And I feel like she could be mine.

Then I wake up.

All in all, a fun diversion. An enjoyable film, even if not a great one. And a filmmakers who deserves beau coup credit for proving you can make a Hollywood thriller just as exciting without the use of obvious and distracting special effects. All you need is an interesting premise. A charismatic leading man.

And... Miss Seyfried.

Film Review - Martha Marcy May Marlene

The difference between a good movie and a great movie is often the same as the difference between a good and bad relationship. Attention to detail.

From the opening frames of the wonderful new film "Martha Marcy May Marlene," it's the attention to detail that lets us know that we're in for something special.

Case in point. There's a scene midway through the film where Martha (alternatively known as Marcy May or Marlene), overhears a conversation between her stiff but patient older sister Lucy, played by Sarah Paulson, and her new, increasingly less patient husband Ted, played by Hugh Dancy. The mysterious Martha has just reappeared after a two year absense. What the couple doesn't know, and the audience only learns piecemail through a series of flashbacks is that she's spent this lost two years living on a commune in upstate New York as the willing captor or a menacing patriarch Patrick, played by the brilliant John Hawkes (more on him later). The happenings of the commune more than explan her behavior (well, most of it) but, at the moment, all the charming but frustrated Ted can think about is how do I get her out of my house. As the couple bickers in the other room, the eavesdropping Martha turns away as if to block out the sound. Sounds fairly straight forward, right? But here's where the detail kicks in.
Rather than simply giving us a standard shot of the tear streaming down her face as she wails audibly over the sounds of soarin harps, instead director Sean Durkin, making his feature film debut, allows us only a narrow angle of her face. Enough to read the emotion. Not enough to make it the same cookie cutter shot we've seen a thousand times. When the tear gently emerges from the corner of her eye, it's perfectly placed. As is the back of the couch where Martha lies. Just in frame enough to obscure our view and add interest to the frame.

It is with this level of attenton with which Durkin and his cinematographer Jody Lee Lipes infuse every frame of this film. It's also a level of detail demands from the film's performers.

Most of the attention for this film's success will undoubtedly be focused on the elfin titular character, played with aplomb by Elizabeth Olsen. Yes, that last name does sound familiar for a reason. In fact, we should probably just go ahead and get it out of the way up front. Yes, she IS related to the Olsen twins. No, she is not actually an Olsen twin. Instead she's the 22 year old younger sister of the "Full House" twins turned media magnets, which I imagine is both a blessing and a curse. Surely, being related to billionaires doesn't hurt your chances of meeting the right people on your path to Hollywood. However, it surely takes a little doing before people start to recognize you on your own and not just as Mary Kate and Ashley's little sister.

After this film, I don't suspect she'll have that problem for very long.

Seeing Miss Olsen's performance in the movie is nothing short of a revelation. She may share her sisters' high cheek bones and large beautiful Joan Blondell-style saucer eyes. But Olsen Part Three puts her gawkers to work as a canvas for emotion. She's able to convey feelings without the use of words. Love. Jealousy. Anger. Fear. All role out of her without having to roll her tongue. When she does speak, it's with a natural cadence which lends her character and situation added authenticity. Combined with excellent direction, photography, and production design by Chad Keith (who helped give 2008's excellent "Goodbye Solo" such a lived in feel), she makes you feel as if you're in a real place. That's what makes the events of the film feel so harrowing. They are so absolutely plausible.

If this is your first time seeing Miss Olsen, I can guarentee you it won't be the last. This is the kind of star is born movie that Hollywood was made for. I liken it to when Scarlett Johansen burst onto the scene after "Lost In Translation." You knew you were watching something special and that the next few years of your life would be filled with trips to the movies to see an endless string of movies featuring this new discovery. The last time I felt that was with Jennifer Lawrence in last year's "Winter's Bone." A young actress, built for stardom, standing opposite... that's right, John Hawkes. I don't know if he has some kind of gift for launching careers or not, but, if I were a young actress in Hollywood, I'd be begging my agent to get me any role he can opposite this man.

He is simply brilliant. In this film, sure. But apparently in everything. His portrayal of Teardrop in the previously mentioned "Winter's Bone" was one of the best I've seen in years. I won't have a Kanye West moment and declare that he should've won the Oscar when I don't even remember who did win, but I will say... No, really, he should've won the Oscar.

But I will make this bold prediction. He will win one of those pesky little golden men in the next five years.

Whether it's brilliant comedy like 2005's "Me and You and Everyone We Know," a brilliant western like HBO's "Deadwood," or a dark brooding drama like "Martha Marcy May Marlene," Hawkes slips into his roles with ease. And that's no small feat. I have actually had the pleasure of meeting John Hawkes and he's far from being a mountain of a man. Yet as Teardrop, and again here a Patrick, he has a way of portraying intimidating characters who, let's face it, scare the living bejesus out of you. And what makes his character so affecting here is that he does so much of his violence without a shred of force. Patrick operates much the same as pimp might. He seduces his young followers by making them feel special. He slips in an off hand comment to a still naive Martha early in the film about her father's neglect. Now, we never see her father and have no way of knowing if he was in fact neglectful, but he's so smooth in his delivery that the audience has to wonder. Worse yet, Martha begins to wonder. It's not a far jump for her to then begin wondering if everyone in her life has been neglectful. So when this delicate predator starts showing interest in her, she's putty in his hands. And because the character has been placed in the loving care of an actor like John Hawkes, we in the audience are as well.

When strolling through IMDB in preparation to write this review, I was struck by the sheer novelty of most of those involved. This is director Sean Durkin's first feature film. Cinematographer Jody Lee Lipes' bio reads as mostly a series of short films. And the diminutive lead, though an add-on in several of her more famous twin sisters' movies for the tween sect, has nothing on her resume suggesting she could carry such a deep and intricate film as this. Like their stellar lead, I expect everyone involved to get a major career boost from this. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if their agent haven't already booked them for the next three years on the buzz for this movie alone. All I know is when they do, I'll be the first one in the ticket line.

Wonderful film. A must see. And, for heaven's sake, someone please give John Hawkes an Oscar already.

Film Review - The Ides of March

If you could win an Academy Award for a combination of performances, this would be Ryan Gosling's year.

In the last month he's played such a wide array of convincing characters that one can't help but to wonder which man Ryan Gosling really is. Is he the strong silent type as he plays so effectively in the brilliant noir thriller "Drive?" Or is he the womanizing loveable cad with a gift for gab he portrays opposite Steve Carrell in "Crazy Stupid Love?" Or, is he something in between.

That might describe the character Gosling plays in his latest masterstroke as the ambitious Stephen Myers in the George Clooney directed political drama "The Ides of March." Stephen isn't the verbose ladies man on the prowl. But he's got enough charm to talk the world's most beautiful intern, Molly Stearns (played by Evan Rachel Wood) into bed. He's a man of few words, like his character in "Drive." And like that character, when he speaks, it's with a distinct purpose. In this case that purpose is to get his candidate elected president of the United States. He's dedicated to his job, and dedicated to his candidate Mike Morris (George Clooney in a thankless role). He's proud of saying that he's a veteran of more political campaigns than most will see in a lifetime. But even the pre-jaded Stephen Myers can't help but fall a little in love with this Democratic wet dream who, not so coincidentally, bears a striking resemblance to Obama circa 2008. Temperament and policy wise, of course. Physically, not so much. But, in case you miss the connection, production designer Sharon Seymour drives home the point with the same kind of pop-art Hope (or in this case Believe) posters that drove Obama's first campaign. Yet, the question remains, can we believe? And, despite the references, this film is by no means a condemnation of the current administration. or any administration for that matter. Instead, the question on Clooney's mind behind the camera seems to be, can we believe in the integrity of anyone? And if we do, is it even possible for any candidate to make it to the White House with that integrity intact? And, if we can't, then what are we all fighting for? Is the object of politics to help the people? Or to get elected?

Far too big a question of course to be answered by one movie. Instead, Clooney chooses to focus on the moral crisis faced by one man. And he wisely chooses to have that man played by Ryan Gosling.

Anyone who's seen "The Notebook" (and yes, that includes you, even though I won't make you admit it out loud) knows that Ryan Gosling is bursting with charisma. He has "It." Whatever "It" is. He holds your attention on screen. Like coming across a tiger in an alleyway. You can't turn away because you want to know what he's going to do next.

But Gosling, like his director and co-star Clooney, has made a career out of harnessing that charisma into characters who are greater parts substance than show. We can see in the way he carries himself that he IS a hardened campaign manager. But we can also see as the story goes along that a bit of that idealist that drove him into politics in the first place still remains. The moral question at the heart of the film is whether or not the two can co-exist.

You'll have to watch the film to find out. Like every element of life circa 2011, you're reaction may be slightly tinged red or blue by your personal politics. But you hardly have to be a bleeding heart liberal to enjoy the film. We've all wondered whether or not idealism can survive the coarse reality of life. If you haven't wondered about that, you're either the sweetest idealist in the history of the world. Or, you're already so jaded that you may just have a future in politics.

Moneyball - Movie Review

“It’s hard not to get romantic about baseball.”

These are the words spoken by Billy Beane, the real life general manager of Major League Baseball’s Oakland Athletics, and here played by Brad Pitt. Now whether Mr. Beane actually uttered these words or if they are merely the concoction of screenwriters Steve Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin, I’m not sure. But the meaning still holds true.

I’ll admit, I’m not a baseball guy. An ex-girlfriend of mine once hypothesized that there are two types of families in America, football families and baseball families, and rarely do the two overlap. I think she may have a point.

But even a non-baseball guy can’t help but to recognize its power on the silver screen. From Pride of the Yankees to Bull Durham, baseball has provided the backdrop to a plethora of timeless tales. It seems as though nostalgia is just built into the game. So even in a relatively modern story line “Moneyball,” you still feel your mind drifting away to better times in days gone away.

In this case, those days are 2001. Specifically late 2001. A time, which I was reminded by the beautiful but sadly uninterested-in-me woman sitting in the next seat, were not so much better after all. The world was still reeling from the September 11th attacks. And baseball was hardly the most important thing on people’s minds.

Except, of course, in Oakland. After a disappointing finish to the previous season, and a firm realization that a smaller market team like the A’s could never outspend the more well-heeled teams in the league like the New York Yankees, the Oakland team was on a record setting streak of wins. Those wins were not the result of big money signings, but instead the product of a revolutionary system of signing players developed by Beane’s assistant, Peter Brand, played here by a delightfully nebbish Jonah Hill.

The philosophy is simple. Instead of picking players based on star power, physical attributes, and hype, the A’s decided to treat winning like a mathematical equation. They went out and signed a team of castaways based not on their athletic potential, but by the average number of times they scored runs (whether or not the run was a direct result of their skill or not).

The system has its ups and downs. And honestly, I’m not completely sure of the message being sent. I mean if you buy into the Billy Beane system, are you not essentially placing higher value on statistics than human beings? When Houston Texans running back Arian Foster suffered a hamstring injury in the NFL preseason, he was lambasted by fans. Not because they were concerned about his welfare. They were upset because his injury was going to screw up their Fantasy Football pools! Not to say that middle aged men getting to relive their non-existent athletic careers by betting on player statistics can’t be a nice diversion, but I think it’s safe to say we’ve gotten our priorities a little out of whack.

But, of course, ultimately “Moneyball” isn’t about the presumed value of an athletic playbook at all. Instead, it’s a portrait of conflicted man. Still smarting from an athletic career that didn’t quite pan out. Still trying to find meaning in life. Like the players he overseas, he still struggles to understand his own value.

Billy Beane is not exactly a hard luck case. Being born exceedingly athletic, getting to play a few years in the MLB, then having to “settle” for the humiliating post of being one of the most powerful men in baseball is hardly the making of a Dickens’ novel.

But Brad Pitt does an incredible job of bringing an inner sadness to the proceedings. Despite all his success, we get the sense that his defining characteristic is not so much his joy but his sadness. He says himself that he is motivated less by a desire to win, than a hatred (and I’d say fear) of losing. When he stays away from the game to avoid jinxing the team, it is not the action of a notoriously superstitious athlete. It feels more like the action of a man that truly believes himself to be ill fated. Born with charm and ability, but like his playing career, always afraid that in the end he won’t measure up.

“Moneyball” is not your typical sports story. I heard one person refer to it as “The Bad News Bears for CPA’s.” That description isn’t too far off the mark. But the writing is tight. The characters portrayed in earnest. And even if you’re a football guy like me, this is a film worth seeing.

Movie Review - Rise of the Planet of the Apes

It is possible for special effects to be TOO good.

Not that the excellent special effects ruin “Rise of The Planet of The Apes,” one of the latest updates to the update of a Hollywood blockbuster produced not out of artistic passion but a fairly transparent attempt to cash in on something that did have artistic passion by a Hollywood system so jaded an uninspired that they’ve simply stopped even trying to actually make original material and instead just make rehashes of rehashes of ideas that honestly weren’t that great to begin with.

Exhale.

Venting complete.

Back to the film. You already know the story. Man versus ape. Though set in the present, this film would chronologically fall in line as a prequel to the original 1968 Charlton Heston-starrer in which the term “damned dirty apes” was first entered into the audience lexicon. Something of an origin story, this latest film sets the table for how the world grows to become run by our somewhat hairier ancestors.

We follow the development of Caesar, played in digital form by Andy Serkis of “Lord of the Rings” fame who at this point must be wondering if he’ll ever get such a high grossing movie with his real face on the billboard. We first meet Caesar as a cute and cuddly orphan at a scientific lab. He’s fortunate enough to be adopted/kidnapped by a loving research scientist, Will Rodman, played by James Franco. We see boy grow into man, developing sadness and complex emotions along the way. The CGI team does a wonderful job of displaying these small changes on our furry star’s face. But herein lies the rub.

While I enjoyed seeing the apes emote, at no point was I unaware of the computerized magic behind the movements. The animals look PERFECT. And that’s the problem.

I was having a discussion last night about the current state of retouching in still portraits of celebrities. Since the advent of digital cameras and Photoshop, anybody with a PC (or Mac) and few minutes to kill can make even their most awkward uncle into Brad Pitt. It’s so easy to buff out our blemishes that to see even a single hair out of place in a major magazine causes mass panic.

We can all look perfect!

But perfection saps us of our humanity.

The cheap secret to human kind, and movie kind, is that it is our imperfections that make us unique. That thing we hate is the very thing that makes us special. Jimmy Stewart’s stilted vocal cadence. Audrey Hepburn’s long neck. Bogart’s lisp. None of these people would be considered perfect in today’s Photoshop society, but every one of them is a legend.
Great movies are the same. They wow us over despite their kinks. The great super cheesy B-movies, past and present, in who’s company any movie involving a battle between apes and humans surely exists, are rife with imperfection. Terrible corny stop-motion monsters. So called “aliens” who are little more than grown men in leotards and earmuffs (soooo wish I was making that up). Very very very very poor line readings from actors making both their debut film and their final film simultaneously. These are all hallmarks of what this kind of film is all about.

But with flawless special effects and an Oscar nominee playing our heroic cardboard cutout lead character, much of that magic is lost.

So what do I expect? Do I want them to make the movie worse? Not necessarily. But at a certain point, Hollywood began to confuse its A-movies with its B-movies. They began giving the top budgets to what really should be low budget drive-in flicks, and started short changing A-movies by relegating them to their “indie” divisions.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes is a proud B movie. You’ve already seen the plot. It’s essentially “The Great Escape” with apes. You’re already seen the characters. IMDB insists that Freida Pinto’s character has a name, but you’ll probably know her best as “The Girl.” Just there to be beautiful, say as few lines as possible, and reassure the audience that our leading man is, in fact, heterosexual.

It’s an enjoyable movie. You won’t be bored or disappointed. It just could’ve been so much better. Simply by being a little worse.

Something Borrowed - Movie Review

She can do better.

And therein lies the problem with “Something Borrowed.”

Had a chance to catch up on this romantic comedy starring Ginnifer Goodwin, Kate Hudson, and John Krasinski over the weekend on DVD. I like romantic comedies, and the trailer looked charming enough. Plus I’m a fan of Miss Goodwin, an actress with tremendous charm and an unmistakable future. I even like the rest of the cast.

Just not in this movie.

Goodwin plays Rachel, a successful but single lawyer in New York City. She’s supposedly the unattractive one. I say “supposedly,” because only in the realm of a Hollywood movie would someone that looks like Ginnifer Goodwin have trouble attracting a man.

Her best friend Darcy, played by Kate Hudson, has no such trouble. This is despite that fact that she is one of the singularly most annoyed characters ever to grace, or should I say shame, the silver screen. I like Miss Hudson as an actress, so I’ll put the blame for this on director Luke Greenfield, but sweet Moses is she a bitter pill to swallow. She’s apparently Rachel’s best friend from childhood, for reasons the movie never quite explains, even though no one in the movie seems to be able to stand her.

That includes their best friend Ethan, played by John Krasinski from television’s “The Office.” He’s been nursing an unspoken crush on Rachel for years, but mostly shows it by being her sounding board throughout her romantic escapades. Ethan is meant to be this movie’s Duckie Dale, the memorable sidekick to Molly Ringwald in the John Hughes classic “Pretty in Pink.” Devoted and loyal. Willing to offer all his love if only she would look his way. And everyone in the audience knows he’ll never get his shot.

Of course, there’s only one problem with that summation. That film had Jon Cryer, an actor who’s built a living on being sweet but unappealing to women. It’s possible to believe that Molly Ringwald would be his one true shot at happiness. This film has John Krasinski. Are you starting to see my point? No matter how good an actor he may be, there’s no amount of acting that will be able to convince me that he would have the least amount of trouble finding a replacement. In fact, one of the running jokes of the movie is a one night stand that Ethan has that leaves him ducking the advances of yet another attractive woman Claire, played by Ashley Williams, throughout the movie. If there’s a tragedy in his inability to get Rachel, it’s that he’s too chicken to say anything to her, not that she’s his only chance for true love.

And then there’s her true love, Dex, played by Colin Egglesfield. Apparently, this is supposed to be the love of Rachel’s life. Again, the word “apparently” alludes to the fact that these two have absolutely zero chemistry on screen. And while sure he may have male model looks and a degree of pedestrian charm, there’s very little to recommend Dex as a boyfriend or as a leading man. He’s actually the kind of stiff that most romantic comedy heroines would spend their ninety minutes trying to avoid. So while all the emotion swings of the film hinge on her desire to be with him, the audience can’t help but to think in the back of their minds, she can do better.

Truth be told, everyone involved can do better. That includes the filmmakers. An interested enough premise for a romantic comedy, but in the end any love story depends on our desire to see the characters end up together. This one just leaves me wondering if there’s anything better behind door three?

DRIVE - Movie Review

People often ask me why I hate action movies.

This is, of course, an impossible question. Impossible because it's based on an incorrect assumption. Because, while action movies very rarely make it onto my list of great films, I do still appreciate the genre. In fact, when done well, I downright love the genre. The problem is, when it comes to making action thrillers these day, it just doesn't seem as though they are trying very hard. Computer generated effects do not a great movie make. And the writer by committee approach to most studio action flicks gives a whole new meaning to the time honored phrase "too many cooks in the kitchen." Or maybe the simple fact is that most action directors these days simply just aren't very good.

From the opening frames of Nicolas Winding Refn's new potboiler, "Drive," we know that we've at least avoided that last pitfall.

Methodically and confidently building suspense not through showy effects, but through basic pacing and a sharp (note: not necessarily quick) editing, he announces his intentions early. He's going to tell us a story. He's not going to rush. He's not going to try to bowl us over what he can do with the camera. He's simply going to tell us a story. And he's going to tell it well.

As the 1980's infused pop score plays over the opening credits, we realize this film is throwback in more ways than one. Not simply an homage to Walter Hill's brilliant Ryan O'Neal starrer "The Driver," but a testiment to the crime thriller itself. In a way, this film's roots trace it's inspiration to an even earlier time, the film noir movement of the late 40's and 50's. A genre whose morally ambiguous leading men often found themselves roaming the streets trying to find a way out of a dilemna they themselves have created. Fighting a system they have no hope to actually conquer. In a seemingly inevitable race against time itself.

Like many of those brilliant early works of cinema, "Drive" takes place in the bright and guilty place itself, Los Angeles. But not the Los Angeles of glitterati and movie premieres. Instead, it dwells in the city's lower depths. The places where the bottom feeders and the broken dreamers nurse their afflictions of disappointment at the bottom of a bottle or in the arms of the closest warm body.

It's a Los Angeles, that many Angelenos know too well. For every Hollywood star, there are a thousand would-be's that just never quite made it. For every mansion, there are ten thousands hovels inhabited by those whose expectations have gone from fame and riches to simply trying to make it through the day.

Ryan Gosling's character, known simply as "Driver," exists in such a place. Possessing the natural gifts to take any NASCAR driver in a one-on-one race, he instead uses his talents to shepard around would-be criminals for five minute intervals at a time. Selling his services to the highest bidder, we can imagine a younger version of The Driver who might have one day had much more lofty dreams. As he picks up odd jobs as a stunt man on Hollywood movie sets, we imagine a world where he too could be the leading man instead of simply a human test dummy.

Gosling plays the character with such innate saddness that every small joy is reason for our hearts the cheer. The small smile which creases his face at the innocence of a child. The larger smile gained by the sight of that child's mother, Irene, played by Carey Mulligan (An Education, Never Let Me Go), continuing her streak of characters who, despite my best efforts, I can't help but to fall in love with by the end of their time on screen.

Of course, Irene is living with her own disappointments. A single mother still tethered to a husband in prison. Living in the same shabby dwelling as her Driver neighbor. She deserves a smile too. And for a moment, the two lonely hearts get to have their happiness.

But only for a moment. If these were lives where dreams came true, these two would hardly be living in the situation they are now. If this were a world with easy answers, we'd be living in a different movie. And thank goodness for those viewing this masterwork of tension, we are not.

Instead, Refn weaves a tangled web coiled with intracate characters and memorable moments.

I chuckled for a moment when I realized that under the two leads and a memorable Albert Brooks playing against type as a very bad man who coincidentally is also somewhat connected to the movies, that the cast was basically filled with television all-stars. Bryan Cranston, currently crafting one of TV's most memorable characters on "Breaking Bad" plays The Driver's agent to the underworld and closest friend. Christina Hendricks, the hourglass-figured Joan Holloway from AMC's other Emmy hoarder "Mad Men" plays a pivotal role. Even resurgent Ron Perlman from "Sons of Anarchy" gets to sink his teeth into a meaty role made-to-order. This excellent casts supports a terrific ensemble of leads in a film with simply too many good moments to mention.
Fair warning, it can be brutal. I had to avert my eyes on more than one occasion to avoid being splattered with blood. The Driver doesn't believe in guns. But he's very much at home with blunt force.

Yet unlike the carbon copy action films that role off the Hollywood assembly line, every death in this film comes with consequence. Both for the victim and victor. This is a film where life counts. And while there will naturally be certain moviegoers who simply enjoy the gore, a more refined viewer will see that this callous extinguishing of life is yet another layer of melancoly added to lives which already feel forgotten.

Bravo to Nicolas Winding Refn for crafting a film that not only satisfies the suspense junkie in all of us, but paints a complete portrait of complex characters living the best they can. These are people who already know that happily ever after isn't really an option for them. But to see the one you love smile back at you, even for just a moment, sometimes that's all you can ask for.

WARRIOR - Movie Review

It's one of the best kept secrets of good writing.

Sure, most stories come down to the battle between good and evil. The hero on the white horse dueling it out with the evil narcissist with the twirled mustache and a penchant for bad things. It's easy. The audience can always understand it. They know who to root for. With a well timed musical cue, they may even know when to root.
But, in real life, things are rarely so crystal clear. Life is lived in the grey areas and the distinction between black and white is hardly the wide gulf we were lead to believe. And our toughest decisions aren't the ones between a wrong and a right. They lie in deciding the greater good or the lesser of two evils. And this is where great stories come from.

While we know who we want to win between the capital G Good Guy and the capital B Bad Guy, try this scenario on for size. In Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski's brilliant ten-part series, "The Decalogue," a doctor is presented with a quandry. A young wife comes to seek his expert advice. Her comatosed husband is under the doctor's care and the woman needs to know for sure whether he will live or die. The reason she needs to know with such immediacy is that she's just learned that she is pregnant. Her husband is not the father. Knowing what the news would do to her husband should he ever wake up, she considers an abortion. However, if he will never wake up, she will keep the baby. The doctor, a deeply religious man, is constrained between two hard choices. If he tells her the truth, that her husband will live, he is condemning the unborn child to death. However, saving the baby will require him to break another of the Ten Commandments by telling a lie. Which does he choose? You'll have to rent "The Decalogue" to find out.

In the new film "Warrior," from the director of "Miracle," Gavin O'Connor, the audience is faced with the opposite choice. The choice between the greater good. Like all sports movies, the film comes down to a battle between two teams. Or, in the case of a mixed martial arts movie, it's a battle between two individuals. Now for the catch. The two warriors are brothers.

Brendan Conlon, played with nice guy sincerity by Joel Edgerton, may have been an athlete in the past. But now on the wrong side of thirty, he teaches physics at a cheery suburban high school in Philadelphia.

His brother, Tommy Conlon, played by Tom Hardy is a recently returned war hero, budding alcoholic, and so filled with rage that one imagines, without life in the ring, he'd probably take out his frustrations on whoever passes him on the street.
Neither brother is a bad guy. And both's reasons for wanting to win the Sparta tournament (sort of like a MMA Super Bowl) are admirable. Brendan Conlon, a victim of a predatory bank loan and an unsympathetic school board is three weeks away from losing his house. Tommy feels he owes a greater debt, which I will not reveal here, but his need for the money is equally altruistic.

Tommy also draws a significant amount of rooting interest from the fact that he is a legitimate war hero. But as every punch deserves a solid counter punch, Brendan is nursing a serious case of parental neglect. Their alcoholic father, played with an appropriate sense of sadness by Nick Nolte, clearly has favored his super athlete son Tommy to the more reserved Brendan. And one can see Brendan's plight as equal parts providing for his loving family, while trying desperately to win the respect of his unloving father.

I'll admit. Watching the trailer for "Warrior," the too-cool-for-school side of me couldn't help raise the corny alarm. This is hardly a movie with much "indie" cred, despite low key cinematography by Masanobu Takayanagi. It's clearly a movie aimed squarely at playing your heart strings with a swelling musical score and characters so relatable that rooting against them would feel like rooting against our own family.
But, here's the thing. It worked. I found myself dabbing tears from my cheek on more than one occasion (shhh, don't tell anyone). And discovering that best kept secret, screenwriters Anthony Tambakis, Cliff Dorfman, and Gavin O'Connor, craft a compelling story where the audience has an impossible choice to make. Who do we want to win? What's the greater good.

Whichever hero you choose in the end, this film is definitely worth the price of admission. While the film doesn't necessarily break any new ground, it will break through your hardened emotional shell. Bring the tissues. Or, maybe just claim allergies when your date asks you about the droplets of water running from your eyes.

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Midnight in Paris - Film Review

Woody’s Back!!!!

For the last two decades, Woody Allen has been fighting a losing battle. Having set the comedic bar so high with films like “Annie Hall,” “Hannah and Her Sisters,” and “Manhattan,” he’d made himself something of a tough act to follow both from behind the camera and in front of it. The latter becoming a more and more difficult task as Woody behind the camera grew with age, and Woody in front of the camera just… aged. Suddenly, the nebbish scoundrel was no longer hilariously charming. As Woody grew older, the same character that at one time seemed charming was now, just sort of off-putting. Compound this with the uncomfortable nature of certain aspects of Woody’s real-life romantic affairs and it all combined to make the prospect of a Woody Allen romantic comedy suddenly far fetched. In recent years, he sought to address this problem by having different actors play their versions of Woody Allen. Larry David had a shot in “Whatever Works.” Anthony Hopkins and Josh Brolin both had their go in “You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger.” But while all of these actors have their talents, they are quite simply not Woody Allen.

Then comes Owen Wilson. One of the most talented comedy players in the last decade. His pugilist nose and wry smile seeming to belie a hilarious secret that only he knows. Graduated from broad comedies like “Wedding Crashers” and “Hall Pass,” he’s not the obvious choice for the Woody Allen surrogate. But, my oh my, was he the right one.

Watching “Midnight in Paris” brought back the joy of watching a Woody Allen movie that I hadn’t felt since “Deconstructing Harry.” The romance was back. The sharp dialogue and supporting characters were suddenly more alive. And the outlandish concept, a favorite of Woody Allen from films like “Sleeper” to “Zelig,” suddenly seemed less a stunt and more a perfectly sensible plot. And it was all tied together by a central performance by Owen Wilson.

How did he do this? How did the latest Woody Allen stand-in succeed where so many other talented actors had failed? Simple. He didn’t play Woody Allen. He played himself. Wilson’s character Gil may be spitting out Woodyisms left and right, but the being he inhabits is completely his own. Gil onscreen has far more in common with his lovable Roy O’Bannon character in “Shanghai Noon” than the fabled Alvy Singer of “Annie Hall.”

The distractions that accompany Woody Allen, both the real and fictional, melt away and are replaced by a protagonist we root for from reel one. We know that Inez, even if played by Rachel McAdams, is not the right woman for Gil. We can all relate to Gil’s wonderings of what his life would’ve been like if we were to have been born in a different era. We can all relate to Gil’s desire to follow his own dream, however impractical, despite pressures to take a more conventional course. And because of the delightful of Owen Wilson, we care about the outcome every step of the way.

I have no idea of knowing whether or not Woody Allen enjoyed working with Wilson as much as I enjoyed watching the results of their collaboration. But there’s a large part of me hoping that he too saw the possibilities. Just as Martin Scorsese seems to have been reinvigorated by what at first seemed an unlikely pairing with Leonardo DiCaprio, I can see a new string of work from Woody Allen with Mr. Wilson at the center. Not only can I see it, I’m hoping for it. After 43 years behind the camera, this film proves that Woody Allen has plenty to offer us yet. I can’t wait to see what’s next.