In-Depth: Sunshine (2007)

"Eight astronauts strapped to the back of a bomb. My bomb. Welcome to Icarus Two."


Danny Boyle (whose Slumdog Millionaire I reviewed here), why did you ever relegate this fantastic film to the horrendous mismanagement of Fox Searchlight Pictures? And Fox, what were you thinking when you decided that this didn't deserve any actual promotional effort? Having only heard about this from my sister (from whom I gained my own love for movies), I watched this to find that Sunshine is one of the most visually and psychologically significant science fiction films I've ever seen, and one of the most woefully underrated movies of its year.

First, I want take a moment and talk about the score by composer John Murphy. It is perfect. In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to believe that it could possibly get any more perfect for a film like this. It's unearthly, emotional, and there's something so deeply intrinsic about it that it affected me in a way few scores and composers ever do. An absolute knock-out when paired with the larger-than-life imagery of the film. Just listen to this.


Regarding substance, the most obvious comparison drawn to this film would be something like Event Horizon (1997), an early work of director Paul W.S. Anderson who recently produced Pandorum (2009) in the same genre. It's a sci-fi/psychological thriller-turned-slasher flick where a secondary mission is affected by the remnants of the original. But what sets Sunshine apart is how, in the first two acts, Boyle manages to inject such an incomparable feeling of realism into the film. He plays on the majesty and horror of the title subject perfectly, using every advantage to maximize the astronauts' own feelings on their situation. I felt their ship-induced cabin fever and their attempts to grapple with the enormity of their task, their fears and sense of helplessness. Danny Boyle is definitely a man who knows how to manipulate emotions effectively. His visuals are stunning, as simple and awe-inspiring as the subject itself. All profiles, strange angles, shadows and focused colors.

But not all the credit goes to him. Chris Evans proves yet again that he's actually a great actor who just happens to be ridiculously good-looking, and not just a good-looking person who happens to be in movies (take note, Scarlett Johansson). Cillian Murphy is the unexpected scene-stealer, countering Evans' dominating presence with his quiet reserve and that voice that haunts you straight from the opening monologue. Rose Bryne and Michelle Yeoh are among other familiar names here, and it baffles me why such a cast and film would be so underadvertised by the distributing company.



My main problem with the film was the how it fell into the Event Horizon trap in the third act. Perhaps sensing a need for some visible, tangible manifestation of danger (other than, oh, I don't know, the fact that they're two inches away from the sun), the introduction of the Pinbacker storyline turns the well-done psychological drama into a killer-thriller, and it was totally unnecessary. It distracted from the bigger-than-you-ness of the main problem, which I felt should have been the focus of the film. But even despite this, Boyle achieved something great with Sunshine, and it's a good contribution to the genre.

Film: 4/5 - Directing: 4/5 - Cinematography: 4/5 - Musical Score: 5/5

Notes on: 30 Days of Night (2007)

"You can feel it. That cold ain't the weather. That's death approaching."


For a gruesome vampire horror-thriller, director David Slade's 30 Days of Night was filmed rather beautifully. In motion, the tight close-ups of the actors in various states of distress worked really well with the muted colors and claustrophobic darkness enveloping the film. He used snow beautifully too, though I'm easily a fan of mysterious scenes with good use of precipitation.

Ironically, Slade's next film is the next Twilight movie. I don't know how I feel about this. On the one hand, I already know I'm going to watch it. On the other hand, I already know I'm going to make fun of it. On the one hand, his last vampire movie was scary and cool and beautifully shot. On the other hand, his next vampire movie involves sparkly dudes and shirtless hunks. I'm so torn.

Film: 4/5 - Directing: 3/5 - Cinematography: 4/5 - Musical Score: 3/5

In-Depth: No Country for Old Men (2007)

"What is the most you ever lost on a coin toss?"



For once, the Academy and I agree. Much as I loved Atonement (2007), Joel and Ethan Coen's Best Picture-winning No Country for Old Men was an irrefutable work of cinematic brilliance. I only recently watched it, and I don't think that I've ever existed in such a rapt state of terror for that long of a period of time. It was simple, yet mesmerizing; unadorned yet haunting. Truly an incredible piece of work and, if you can believe it, only my first real experience with a Coen Brothers film.

There have been endless reviews singing the praises of No Country, but never being much of a review-reader, I'm going to present my own take on this film in one little phrase: it was hypnotic. I've never seen such efficient story-telling. A single narrative from beginning to end, with few words and virtually no musical accompaniment. And yet...my heart was in my throat for practically the entire film. What the Coen brothers managed to achieve over the course of an austere 122 minutes was this driving, thundering force of a story that achieves the emotional equivalent of taking you by your collar and shoving you against a wall, expecting to be pummeled. And you are, repeatedly, by the end of the film.

Javier Bardem's Chigurh was more a twisted act of fate than a man--an unfeeling tornado of a character that swept through the film, heralded only by our own growing fear. Having never read the Cormac McCarthy source material, I can only imagine how much of Chigurh was illustrated for our minds and how much he was a product of Bardem and co. Either way, down to the unnatural 70s 'do and the unhurried footsteps, Chigurh was probably one of the most horrifying villains I've ever encountered. A calculated killer--silent, principled, inexplicable, and altogether too real.

Another standout performance (though Josh Brolin and Tommy Lee Jones were nothing to sneeze at) was the quiet, thoughtful turn by Scottish actress Kelly Macdonald who, in her relatively small amount of screentime, managed to convince me of her Texan roots and grant me a moment of hope in this rather nihilist film. From the little I've seen of her work, she has the capacity for great things--the perfect example of an actress that can play an everywoman and still steal the screen (the anti-Eva Green, if you will).

Regardless of the first-rate cast and strong narrative, I still have no doubt that 98% of filmgoers leaving the theater after No Country were, in one way or another, somewhat confused. I watched it twice with great attention and can say quite frankly that anyone who said they "got" the movie the first time was lying. This wasn't The Dark Knight with its moral and philosophical quandaries plastered over the screen and watered down for easy digestion. No Country wasn't a movie intended to make its audience feel smarter or more powerful; it, in a sense, highlighted how helpless we truly are. Down to the very last well-written but who-knows-what-it-meant monologue, you're basically left feeling (not to quote Kanye West or anything) "like Katrina with no FEMA". That feeling lasts, stands out, makes you question everything you just experienced. And that, dear readers, makes a film memorable.

Film: 5/5 - Directing: 5/5 - Cinematography: 5/5 - Musical Score: n/a

Winter Break

I'm alive, in one piece, and have taken leave of the arctic (i.e. Maine) until February! This means I'm granted a luxury that's been completely illusive all semester: free time. I have many, many movies to watch, photographs to upload, scenes to edit, stories to tell...and I can't wait to get started.

Trailers: 2012 (2009), Cracks (2009)

Making it to winter break in one piece will be a godsend for various reasons. Among them, it will a chance to finally catch up to the films that have been piling up in the back of my mind, waiting to be watched. Below are the trailers for two that I cannot wait to see. A taste, if you will, of my deep love for two vastly differing genres: the chaotic brilliance of an earth-shattering epic, and the quiet beauty of a simmering mystery. The former, directed by none other than the a god of the genre itself, and the latter, by the latest (and first female) addition to a filmmaking dynasty.


2012, directed by Roland Emmerich.


Cracks, directed by Jordan Scott.

In Passing: On Art & Sacrifice and The Scene from Hell

On Art & Sacrifice
Despite the sleepless nights, the slowly deteriorating health and sanity, and the generally increasing disheveled state of existence, there are a few simple things that remind me why I do what I do:


Kelsey Tyler (actress) dancing away the jitters to Miley Cyrus off-screen.
First, the people. Interacting with my actors is probably one of the most bizarrely interesting things I've ever done. Few experiences are more gratifying than when, after endless takes and much frustration on both sides, one of my actors nails a scene. It's one thing to write something and make yourself believe it, but it's a completely alien kind of joy to have someone else make you believe it too.


Holly Mawn (actress) finding a certain note during a scene. Unedited stills.
Second, the story. There is no way I would have invested so much of myself into a project if I didn't genuinely care about the story I wrote. Even though everything we're filming is disjointed and I don't even know if we'll be able to finish on time, the fact that the actual screenplay exists in its finished form is enough for me to continue. Until then, the storyteller in me remains restless. A good plot is a terrible thing to waste.


Unedited still from In Passing.
Third, the art of it all. When I direct, I usually feel like I'm operating a hundred different parts of my brain at once. But on the very rare occasion that I manage to capture the perfect moment, each one of those hundred parts suddenly quiets for a few seconds of pure happiness.

The Scene from Hell
Honesty, point-blank: I just spent the entire block of shooting hours on Friday trying to shoot the first major problem-scene I've faced since the start of production. This was our second attempt at shooting it, and I'm just not happy with the outcome. My producers warned me that we don't have the time to re-shoot it if we have any hopes of sticking to my carefully-carved-out schedule, but I think I'll secretly try to trick everyone into giving it another go before the end of the semester.





This scene has been a complete manifesto in the difficulty of balancing the desire to be a good director and the desire to be a good cinematographer. Half of my mind is focused on the shot itself--framing, colors, light(!!!)--and the other half is meticulously occupied with the actors, from the cadence of their voice to their movements and general interaction. I'm finding it so challenging to balance my photographers' instincts with my hypercritical perspective on acting, and there are so many times that I've been mid-shoot and wishing I could just shift my actors an inch to the left or ask them to repeat a line differently.

Ideally, I would have another person there: someone who understood the vision of the scene as I imagined it, who could see the end result in their head. In essence, someone with the either experience and skills with the equipment (from both a photographic and cinematographic perspective) OR a studied familiarity with film and acting. Someone I could talk to in my usually inarticulate manner, full of squeaks and hand-gestures and analogies and pop-culture references and bad imitations. Someone who could extrapolate realism and beauty from a screenplay, some doodles, and endless mental images. Basically, it would be super if I could have either Joe Wright or my sister helping me out. But as it stands, I'm the sole creative force driving this motion picture and it's a really scary realization. It's the job of my cast and crew to do what they need to do and the job of my producers to make sure that everything gets done, but I'm the only one that's really trying to make sure that it gets done right.

For everyone else, it's like trying to put together a puzzle without looking at the finished image for reference. I'm quickly learning that being a director is not just about having the vision of the final product in your head, but being able to make the ones you're working with see it too.

...Now, if only I could somehow hire a key grip and light crew who could magically make indoor fluorescent lighting look pretty.

In Passing: Production Photos

More stills and candid photos from the set of "In Passing". We've got another absurdly tight shooting weekend coming up (pretty much a regular thing until the end of the semester), which I'm anticipating and fearing all at once. I have a government paper due Thursday and a philosophy paper due Monday, and I just hope beyond all hope for the energy to make it until then. I am now, officially, just living in a constant state of panic.















Commentary:
1) Actual stills from scenes we've shot, mostly unedited and without color since I haven't decided the type of colors I'm using for the end product. But basically, yeah. Starting to notice a pattern? If you guessed "Angst! Brooding! People looking down!", you're on the money.
2) Mike Dodds as James, with producer Jean Burnet in the background with our giant reflector. Both in preparation for a scene.
3) Kelsey Tyler as Alice.
4) Testament to how great my actors were: it was freezing and two of them already had a 7am shoot with me that day. Kelsey, here, was in a thin blousy shirt and lying on a footbridge over a stream (she's supposed to be dead), breaking into shivers between takes. Yet somehow, amidst all this, she finds the energy to laugh and be totally lighthearted about the whole thing. Like hey, yeah, I haven't been up since 7am on a Friday, wearing a summery blouse in the middle of the freezing Maine wilderness. Whatevs. No big.
5) Kelsey Tyler as Alice and Mike Dodds as James, preparing for a scene. Did I mention it was also absolutely freezing and that our feet were perpetually in a few inches of snow? This shoot was painful but hilarious; they both had to look super-serious and brooding, and between takes we were tossing them their jackets and sprinting inside to warm up. The words "THAT'S A WRAP!" have never been more graciously received.
6) Kelsey Tyler as Alice and Holly Mawn as Olivia, preparing for a scene. I think I made both of them walk down the set of stairs about fifty times that day. Preeeetty sure they were ready to kill me by the end of it. I kept thinking I'd missed the perfect shot, and afterward my producers quietly gave me the stern "Sometimes, we just need to compromise" talk.

In Passing: First photographs from the set.

All but the last photograph are candid and taken by me. This one, however, is clearly my favorite, since it's the first photograph of me directing that exists. You know those classic on-set stills of the director framing a shot for cast and crew? This was supposed to be it--except I'm hunched over and could not stop laughing. It was freezing, and the jacket I'm wearing was lent to me by the lovely actress in the picture (I realize now that it may have been unwise to try and direct wearing a thin biker jacket in freezing temperatures).

Progress and the pursuit of it

A cast was chosen, the script was read...we even had our first shoot. It's happening, and in my characteristic way I will remain quietly hopeful, outwardly cautious, and distinctly watchful over the production of this, my first attempt at filmmaking.

Sometime this week, I'd like to change the face of this blog to turn it into more of a production diary. Hopefully sooner than later.

The Truth

Have you ever felt painfully passionate about something? That deeply attached to a dream, where the very real thought of never being able to attain it makes you wonder if there would be a point in living a life only ever parallel to the one you ought to be living? Is there anyone out there that shares in this kind of earth-moving, ground-shaking, physical and emotional attachment to a possibility?

The worst of it is the fear. The fear that's my driving force, the fear that is the cause of me not living by the question "How can I achieve what I want", but instead asking, "How can I not, and live?"

On another note, I'm finally doing my second draft changes for In Passing, which, henceforth, is what my screenplay project will be tentatively referred to. After leaving it idle for a good while, this fresh re-read has given me a glimmer of hope. I...actually think it might not be dreadful. This...this is a good sign. I hope.

Screenplay update

Dear Readers,

I have just finished my first screenplay. The screenplay. The one with which I will attempt to gauge whether I have any ability in directing whatsoever.

I apologize for the lack of posts as of late; it was specifically for this reason. Now please excuse me while I go catch up on two weeks worth of sleep and food, as those became optional while I finished up the last quarter of the writing. I also have to do around eight hours of packing, since apparently I'm heading up to school tomorrow. Fantastic. (Not at all.)

We will return to our regularly scheduled blogging soon, I promise.

Anatomy of a failure: Defying Gravity (2009)

Billed as the Grey's Anatomy of space, nothing, and I repeat, nothing, about ABC's newest ensemble-drama primetime show is awesome. In fact, this show is so significantly un-awesome in comparison to its astronauts-traveling-the-solar-system premise that I'm having trouble believing that this is a show about space. SPACE! You can't really beat space when it comes to things that automatically make a movie or tv show ten points cooler. And yet, even after four episodes, I'm left feeling so disappointed and unsatisfied with this that (pardon the expression) if Defying Gravity was a hooker, I'd demand a refund.

Oh ABC, how you got my hopes up! I even thought this could fill my void for space-drama after Battlestar Galactica ended. With the marketing campaign about the lives of eight astronauts on a larger-than-life six-year mission traveling the solar system, you'd really think that they'd all have things to talk about beyond who was screwing whom. And when I tell you that the writing is bad, I'm being kind. The suspension of disbelief required to sit through a 40-minute-installment of this flop would be akin to wiping any memory of everything you ever learned about physics, astronomy, and basic human interaction. Gravity isn't even in the same galaxy as Battlestar, much less the same ball park.

Four episodes have passed and not a single significant occurrence has taken place (and somehow they worked in a boner contest). This show is simply prolonged hours of flashbacks witnessing the flirtation and friendship of eight extremely flat characters. Oh, and some big *mystery* that everyone keeps hinting toward, which thus far consists of disembodied baby sounds and a random door (true fact). There is literally a character (Eve Shaw) whose sole job is to stand around being creepy. Anyway, Sex and the City's infamous Berger takes on the Meredith Grey "protagonist with a dark past and a need for monologueing" bit with Laura Harris completing the Meredith Grey "fragile but lovable girl who sleeps with colleague" bit (she even has Ellen Pompeo's mannerisms!). There's even a female McSteamy in the form of a trashy German astronaut who basically acts as if life is just one giant porno. I am not even joking. One classic moment: rolling blackouts on the ship are threatening big problems (while still remaining underwhelming), and while Berger goes to investigate the issue, she begins kissing his neck.

Berger: What are you doing?
Nadia: You try to find the problem, I'll try to find your sex drive.

REALLY? Did that just happen?? The network that invested in the genius of men like J.J. Abrams and, for however brief a time, Bryan Fuller, is now giving me lines from a hypothetical script reject of The Big Bang II: Ass-tronauts? Pardon the crudeness, but I believe it's warranted when I'm subjected to a random and unnecessary scene of space-sex with two naked bodies floating in an observation room. Nakedness on tv only works when you actually have some emotional investment in the characters or the scene, like if the world actually ends right after it (Battlestar Galactica, first episode), or if the sexual tension can be cut with a knife. Otherwise it's like watching a Discovery Channel special on the mating rituals of wombats, only more awkward.

But the sex (and then the endless talking about sex) aside, the true failure of the show is in not finding characters that are at all likable. I've sat through some fairly awful scenarios and corny tv shows because of my affection for the characters (I, for instance, adore the ball of cheese and magic-y goodness that is NBC's British import, Merlin, because I love every single character). But this? Do I really want to sit around and listen to eight grown men and women mope around like emo kids instead of going out and landing on Venus and Saturn and generally being awesome?? There is no single character that is more likeable than the rest, more interesting or clever or charming, and that's saying something. These are supposed to be astronauts, the cream of the crop, minds and bodies conditioned to be exemplars of the human race, and the best they can come up with for catchy dialogue is, "I don't date astronauts"? Sure, the "human" factor is important. But there's a difference between having "human" characters and having a bubbly Dora the Explorer bouncing around and explaining all the things that should be implied or self-evident for her "cyber classroom" (see character: Paula Morales).

Speaking of which, whatup with the whole "ethnic" thing? ABC has always been so great with not making race a defining character trait; it just bothers me that suddenly the nerdy Indian engineer breaks down and turns to Hindu rituals after one bad event, that the Latina woman doesn't seem to have any abilities or duties beyond her bilingual kids documentary, and that the German lady fulfills every guy's foreign sexbot fantasy. I've never been one to play the race card (I'm from NYC, we don't care), but when the mission commander is African-American and he actually makes a comment about his wang (see aforementioned boner contest), that just crosses the line. Really, ABC, you canceled Pushing Daisies to make room for this? Did anyone read the script--complete with naked floaty person dreams and disembodied baby sounds--and see this working out?

Having unintentionally turned this post into an all-out massacre, I will conclude by saying that I will continue watching this, if only to see whether the writers are able to recover themselves. The only way I see this going anywhere is if the audience is hit in the face with a strong plot string (land on a planet already! DO IT!) or major problem immediately, as character development occurs most significantly in the face of forced personal growth. Up the extremes, push the boundaries, make the characters do something other than whine when they get into mildly uncomfortable situations. If the writers do manage to pull this off, I'm pretty sure they would actually be defying gravity. (You had to know that one was coming.)

Overall rating: 1/5

The most badass novel about a cathedral EVER is being turned into a hopefully epic miniseries.

"Men have died for less than this."

With enough sex, violence, murder, and treachery to embarrass even the most questionable of HBO shows, the fact that Ken Follett's bestseller The Pillars of the Earth is an almost-thousand-page historical fiction novel is something you'll quickly forget as soon as you begin to read it. This, and it's sequel, World Without End, are two of my favorite books ever. And to top it off, even Oprah agrees. This shit is Oprah's Book Club approved. But nevermind all that, just read the damn prologue and first chapter and then go out and get the book. I'm not even kidding when I tell you that entire book is pretty much legendary; written with the true-to-life detail of a solid piece of historical fiction but in an engrossing, thriller-like style that's entirely modern.

So naturally after I finished it, my first thought was, "When is this getting adapted into a screenplay and who is buying the rights?" Apparently, author Ken Follett sold the rights to Tandem Communications a while back and the book is being filmed as a miniseries as we speak. This is all somehow "affiliated" with Ridley Scott, but he's only listed as an executive producer which is disappointing. This kind of project was made for an epic director like Scott; he could've really turned this into something incredible. And while I'm extremely glad it got pulled for a miniseries (there's just way, way too much for it to ever hit feature film length), production values for miniseries' are rarely as intense as they would be for a full-blown film. An extraordinary exception to that rule, however, would be something like Band of Brothers. The ideal circumstances would allow for Pillars to hit that level of awesome. It shouldn't be too difficult if you're looking to stay true to the source material, because really, the book is fantastic. If they bastardize this novel in any way with a cheaply made imitation (*cough* Eragon), I can guarantee there will be hell to pay.

Call me cynical, but I'm also worried for the international handling of a project like this. No offense to the Austrians, Canadians, and whoever else is involved in its production, but am I ready to trust an epic like this to a smaller non-Hollywood group, the same group responsible for distributing the God-awful Impact? (This, coming from someone who lives for disaster movies.) I'll have to wait and see. But either way, I'll reserve further judgment until they begin to drop trailers, clips, and stills.


Eddie Redmayne, Hayley Atwell, and Matthew Macfayden star as Jack Builder, Aliena, and Prior Philip in the 8-hour miniseries.
As for the casting? I think my initial reaction was a cautious sense of relief. Going on looks alone, they nailed some of the roles. Eddie Redmayne is perfect as the brilliant, awkward, and strangely handsome Jack Builder, Mr. Darcy could do a fantastic job as the stern but kickass Prior Philip, and my general apathy towards the pretty-but-underwhelming Lady Aliena is matched with my general apathy towards the pretty-but-underwhelming Hayley Atwell (whom I've written about here). Other familiar faces include Ian McShane, whose impressive role in the woefully canceled Kings bodes well for his take on the intimidating Waleran, Rufus Sewell, whom I've seen everywhere but never, ever playing a good guy, and Donald Sutherland (who cares who he plays, it's Donald Sutherland!). This timidly handsome fellow, David Oakes, is due to play the sociopathic sadist known as William Hamleigh. I'm extremely interested on his take, and I sincerely hope that neither he nor the writers see fit to tame the raging lunatic that is William. I also, however, hope that Oakes is able to portray him with a cold, calculating reserve. Psychos are always the most intimidating when they could almost, almost seem normal.

All in all, I am preparing myself for the worst, but hoping for the best. I do wonder, in particular, how it's going to be distributed in the states. Going by the book alone, it seems far too graphic for network television, and it would be tough to cut the violence without losing dramatic momentum. Maybe HBO? We'll see. I hate having to wait, but meanwhile, I'll busy myself with movie-making and studying for LSATs (now that's scary.)

P.S. I hope I've used the word "epic" enough times to convince you to go read this book, dear readers. Please do. You can thank me later.

An aptly chosen score can change everything.

Among those who know me, it's no secret the amount of stock I put into a composer and a score when it comes to the success of a film. The incomparable, inexplicable genius of the composer is something that I will never, for the life of me, be able to comprehend, even at my most analytic. I can't break it apart, separate it into manageable pieces or digestible bits of information that can gain me insight into what goes on in the brilliantly complex minds of composers. To me, the world of men like Michael Giacchino and Hans Zimmer is completely and absolutely foreign, rare and beautiful. I appreciate good film scores as I would a photograph of a galaxy--the beauty doesn't escape me, but the size and depth and breadth of space is something that I can't begin to process. I don't think any other medium is as capable of moving me as a perfectly blended cocktail of good film & good score. Just ask anyone in my favorite composers' list; I'm fairly sure they could all bring me to tears or make me jump around the room in victory in two minutes flat.

Anyway, my point for saying this is in the hope that I can distract you with a wonderfully composed track or two whilst I disappear for a few more days trying to conquer the feat that's been haunting me since this whole director seed began taking root: finishing my screenplay. I have many a topic to discuss afterward, so please bear with me 'til then. To keep you entertained, a few random tracks from wonderful film scores:

One of my current favorites, because I'm pretty much desperate for a chance to go see Up right now (I know, as an adamant fan of Michael Giacchino and Disney/Pixar, it's almost offensive that I haven't). I think my exact words upon listening to this were, "OMG I JUST WANT TO CLOSE MY EYES AND DIE EMBRACING ITS SWEET NOTES." Or, you know, waltz. Whichever, really.


James Newton Howard is such a perfect fit with the versatile M. Night Shymalan, it's hard to imagine such compatibility between two creative masterminds not having been utilized. If quantum physics is right and there really is an alternate universe where James Newton and M. Night are not film-BFFs, I say damn the physicists. No film industry pairing brings out the best in the other as much as these two, and to even conjecture otherwise is blasphemy.


From The Boondock Saints and The DaVinci Code.
And to close off this entry on an awesome note, the wonderful folks at Hulu uploaded one of my favorite movies of all time for free viewing a while back, and you should all make it your business to experience the awesomeness that is The Last of the Mohicans. Epic soundtrack and all.

In-Depth: Paris, je t'aime (2006)

"Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far from my job and everyone I know, a feeling came over me. It was like remembering something I'd never known before or had always been waiting for, but I didn't know what. Maybe it was something I'd forgotten or something I've been missing all my life. All I can say is that I felt, at the same time, joy and sadness. But not too much sadness, because I felt alive. Yes, alive. That was the moment I fell in love with Paris. And I felt Paris fall in love with me."



In 2006, a smorgasbord of American, English, and French actors and directors composed around eighteen short films that were then patched together to become Paris, je t’aime (aka the longest tourism commercial ever). Among the many familiar faces were Natalie Portman, Gaspard Ulliel, Elijah Wood, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, with the directors’ list boasting names like the Coen Brothers (No Country for Old Men), Alfonso Cuarón (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban), Gurinder Chadha (Bend it Like Beckham), and Wes Craven (every scary movie since the 80s). With as much talent and time as was put into this project, I came out on the other side of this 18-chapter “tribute to love” feeling, believe it or not, a little depressed. And it’s not just because 4 out of 18 of the stories involved the death of a main character (with an additional fifth taking place in a cemetery).

I began watching this expecting a French version of the English cavity-inducing confection known as Love Actually (2003). The fact that it wasn’t was both good and bad. Good, because had they been similar, I would’ve undoubtedly fallen into a diabetic coma. Bad, because the discontinuity between the sequences was, at some points, bizarre (one word: vampires. What??). There was an air of over-indulgence in a few of the shorts, the whole “zis eez French so it’s automatically tasteful” feeling which is, to put it bluntly, false. I mean, we get it, Gaspard is pretty, but watching an attractive man attempt to hit on a complete stranger for five minutes hardly counts as interesting gossip, much less an interesting short film. Other shorts, like cinematographer Christopher Doyle's weird, weird musical number or the WTF VAMPIRE skit will be pushed into the sinkhole of my brain where it can join other things that are awkward and have no place in the world, like Snuggies or Emmy Rossum's acting.

The two that really stood out, in my mind, were the shorts by the husband-and-wife team of American screenwriter Paul Mayeda Berges with Indian-British director Gurinder Chadha and by German writer/director Oliver Schmitz. Each are less than six minutes, and though entirely different from one another (one is likely to make you smile and the other is likely to make you cry), both depict--in my mind, and with my limited experience of short films--exactly what a short film should be. Like a short story, each of these pieces took a single moment in time and somehow turned it into a narrative. What makes the two so rich is their simplicity; neither seeks to tell a grand story or depict an occurrence that seems to call for additional scenes or explanation. To me, these standout shorts have a sense of completion balanced with a manner that isn't rushed or forcing you to feel something. They're quiet, fleeting, and beautiful. You can view them below (and since Paris, je t'aime is entirely short films, watching these technically won't be spoilery for the rest of the film).


The saddest and the most truthful about Parisian life.

One of the only shorts to bring a smile to my face. The young actors were great choices.
Happy, sad, monotonous and all, these shorts coming together to form a "film" didn't feel terribly well-executed for me. In truth, Paris, je t'aime seemed to be less about love and more about death, disagreements, and even divorce. Woven between the so-called stories of love was a sense of isolation, detachment, and emptiness that, having just returned from spending a significant time there, I think is prevalent in real Parisian life (the short Loin du 16e was another great example). So you can trick yourself into thinking that this movie is about love, or you can choose to view these as stories about the varying depths of loneliness interspersed with the rare moment that a human connection is made. Either way, Paris can eat it, 'cause New York, I Love You comes out soon. And my city wins.

Rating for the film as a whole: 3/5

In-Depth: Push (2009)

"You want to know about division? Ten years. No thank you. No pension. I was put out on the street with the threat not to shift again. Only the Sniffs caught up with me in Chicago. I was just trying to buy something nice for my wife. Next day, I get a call. She's dead. Car accident. But my wife doesn't drive."



Let's not have any delusions about this: Push simply was not good. Director Paul McGuigan, whose previous work includes one of my favorites, Lucky Number Slevin, tried to fortify a paper castle with his grunge-chic style of filming, but between the convoluted plot, uninspired actors, and writing that was mediocre at best, the transparency of the film made it cringe-worthy on more than one occasion. And I assure you, I wanted to like it. I'm very easy to satisfy when it comes to a supernatural action flick; if there are superpowers (check) and at least one good-looking male (check, squared), then as long as the plot doesn't turn into something written by Stephenie Meyer, it'll be tough to really disappoint me. What I didn't count on was how bad the writing or casting would be. I disliked Dakota Fanning as the streetwise future-seeing preteen (pink highlights; how edgy!), or how lifeless Camilla Belle's onscreen presence was (really, you're vulnerable, we get it; now can you do anything other than sulk around all pale and fragile?), or how, for some strange reason, Djimon Hounsou makes an entirely unconvincing villain. All I seem to remember him doing is just walking around to menacing music and talking smack.

But the gravest of crimes committed by this could've-been-good-but-failed attempted at a gritty "new" take on the superhero genre was the writing. OH THE WRITING. WHAT. WAS. THAT. The talented Chris Evans, who will forever have his legitimate acting ability overshadowed by the fact that he's so damn good looking (think Paul Newman-esque confidence and charm translated to the modern day, add muscles), was the only one who could pull off his lines without making it seem as too forced. When the reigns were handed over to the bright young Fanning or the demurely pretty Belle, both immediately turned into automatons or soap opera stars--but not intentionally, either! There's little that could've been done to improve upon the woody, painfully standard dialogue (and this is coming from someone who loves Nicolas Cage movies). I fear it'll be tough for me to explain what didn't work in the film without some clips (don't worry; I stick by my standard rule of no spoilers).


"You didn't find me." *sad eyes*
I needed to understand why this scene bothered me so much, and I've broken it down to three things. First, the writing. Possibly one of the most generic tie-together-explanations/character intro I've ever seen (and no, it isn't expanded upon later, at all), and Belle's delivery was next to dead. Second, where the HELL was Camilla Belle walking? They're very clearly at the edge of some boardwalk, but no, she needed to walk the pointless several feet to give her enough time to soak in Chris Evans' limpid blue eyes? The camera, Evans, and Fanning all followed her on that zig-zaggy line and it was distracting. Third, have I mentioned how awful the writing was?


"I'm not the one with the trust issues." ...What??
Dakota, I don't know whether to blame you or the writer or even McGuigan for not trying to help the poor girl out by making this scene less awkward, but this was just not working. Evans' "trust me" was so natural (I'm telling you, he's a good actor!) that it made Fanning's following lines seem almost painfully forced. And this is more or less the kind of dialogue that's prevalent throughout the film: choppy, generic, and largely devoid of personality (the sole exception being Pinky, whose off-the-street demeanor and distinct diction gave him most character in the shortest screentime).

What this movie did have going for it again was the calculatedly distinct slick-grungeness that McGuigan seems to be good at. He uses crazy camera angles and apparently guerrilla-style documentary-film-tactics that gave it a much more "real" feeling, and that especially worked in some of the fight scenes. I only wish the superpowers were put to better use; baddie henchman Victor (a really attractive, suit-wearing Neil Jackson) was playing his small role like a boss, and it made me feel like this was an action movie that needed to have more scenes like the ones towards the end. McGuigan's unique take on telekinetic and otherwise super-charged battles could've really taken this film to the level of kickassery a la Liam Neelson in Taken. Alas, the few seconds in the clip below and a couple of more minutes here and there aren't enough to save Push from the abyss of bitter insignificance. We can all learn from it, though, and appreciate the fact that Chris Evans and Neil Jackson need more lead action roles. Now.



Film: 2/5 - Directing: 3/5 - Cinematography: 3/5 - Musical Score: 3.5/5

In-Depth: The Young Victoria (2009)

"You are confusing stubbornness with strength, my dear. And I warn you, the people
will not like you for it."




Rarely does a period piece manage to leave me breathless, and that is exactly what Jean-Marc Vallée's The Young Victoria did. To put it bluntly: I absolutely loved it. It's gained a spot among my list of favorite films, simply because of the fact that this was one of the finest historical dramas I've ever seen. The performances, cinematography, visual direction and costumes were all as beautiful and lush as the story itself, yet what set it apart from the long line of period pieces I regularly occupy myself with was the style in which it was filmed--surprisingly modern, with a strong prevalence of time-altered sequences, shallow depth-of-field, and a sense of self-awareness that connected scene and story in a way that was nothing short of lovely.

Principle in Victoria's success as a film was the effort put in by Emily Blunt and Rupert Friend, who portrayed the focal characters of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert flawlessly. From her first abrupt "Hello!" to her fury during their first row, Blunt's Victoria was played with candor, full of charm and youthful vigor. Some wonderful amalgamation of the direction and her own talent brought about several perfect moments: her walk with Albert leading to the line "I don't mind Schubert", her reaction to King William's tirade during his birthday dinner, and her long-time-coming marriage proposal to name a few. I was so thoroughly convinced of the honesty of her emotions in the latter scene that I had to rewatch it several times to gauge whether her nervous laughter was genuine and accidental or actually acting. How an actress can summon emotions so authentic when placed under close scrutiny (and probably on repeated takes), I'll never understand, but Blunt does this with ease.

Rupert Friend is another gem, polished and set in ornate surroundings which suited him marvelously. He is a rare breed: a newcomer that dove straight into characters with depth; a handsome young actor made for roles with gravitas. His remarkable performance hit me by complete surprise; I only vaguely remembered him from Pride and Prejudice (2005) and had not yet seen any of his other films. But his Albert was brilliantly done, earnest and with a calm thoughtfulness that made him the absolute perfect counterpart to Blunt's vivacious Victoria. Where her emotions are readily available on her face, in her voice, in what she said, his were apparent but subtle beyond measure--masked behind a naturally reserved demeanor and a cultivated sense of propriety. Their chemistry was palpable, and the tenderness displayed in every scene between them made it hard not to watch with bated breath and a lump in your throat. Among his best scenes: his quiet, succinct, and powerful dismissal of Lord Melbourne's advice in the last quarter of the film. A true "oh SNAP" moment, Victorian-style.

The rest of the performances were carried very well; in particular, Jim Broadbent's brief stint as the aging King William was enjoyable, and Paul Bettany's Lord Melbourne was, much like himself, strangely magnetic (though his role sort of petered off into nothingness in the later parts of the film). As for the score, it was a solid (but not his best), classically-based creation by Ilan Eshkeri. I really hope his third collaboration with director Matthew Vaughn in the upcoming comic-based Kick-Ass (2009) results in another fantastic score on par with his previous work on Stardust and Layer Cake.

On a final note, I will say that on occasion, Vallée's dynamic visual direction pushed the envelope a little too much. Control over depth-of-field adds incredible beauty to a film, but constant reliance on it as a method of transition or variety can become slightly frustrating to the viewer (which was rare here, but still worth noting). His ability to keep a sequence in motion, though, makes up for it. Significant scenes almost always had some sort of camera motion, whether it was shifting through the crowd of a coronation, or a slight nervous handheld-like shaking during a newly ascended Queen's first address to politicians. Vallée's boldness in general allowed for a fresh, appealing take on a story that could've otherwise been shrouded by heavy skirts and overacting. For that, Victoria was a clear winner for me.

Film: 5/5 - Directing: 5/5 - Cinematography: 4/5 - Musical Score: 4/5

In-Depth: Slumdog Millionaire (2008)

"Come away with me." "Away, where? And live on what?" "Love."


Part of me wants to hate this movie. Aesthetically, it's an assault on convention. Director Danny Boyle does his utmost to display his gritty, unforgiving style in the most manifest way. There is no instance in which you're given a perfect shot, a view from the camera unmarred by the visual imperfections pervasive throughout the film. Like the story, the camera itself is in constant motion; the picture, always a little dark or dingy, cut off in the wrong places or unfocused in the right ones, the angle, perpetually skewed or the colors, distorted. Even the score by A.R. Rahman--a man widely acknowledged to be the Mozart of South Asia--is a strange and volatile mix of tabla and electronica and sitar and M.I.A., heavy in percussion and unparalleled in originality. Slumdog Millionaire is the antithesis of a polished film, anathema to classic Hollywood directorial excellence. But I loved it, and in a rare moment of agreement, so did the Academy.

Watch the trailer, and you might get an idea that this is no story about the coming-of-age of a boy genius, or the struggle of a good kid on the wrong side of the tracks. Jamal Malik isn't special, isn't different. It's like a revalation, realizing that your protagonist is entirely ordinary, almost gloriously ungifted. He is the everyman, any child forgotten in the slums between Mumbai and Calcutta. The only thing that set him apart was luck, some divine coin toss that won him a date with destiny, and Boyle doesn't try to sugarcoat or hide that with his visual direction. This honesty is something I appreciated in the film. Abject poverty and the characteristic of being left behind by the rest of the world isn't something to be whisked out of by sheer force of will or cleverness. In the that world, you do what you can to survive, and nothing more can be asked of you. You, therefore, don't necessarily like any of the characters beyond Jamal and his naturally earnest nature, but that wasn't the point, and Boyle knew that.

The "triumph" you are told to feel at the end is tainted with the empty knowledge that this victory is one that could have easily fallen apart at any number of junctures. And yet, Jamal lived to reach it. Because of this, I don't necessarily think the ending is a triumph. It is more of a relief, an exhale of the mangled past of a single child from the slums. That was the beauty that was imbued in the final scenes and the rewind sequence (which some may call cliché, but they have no souls). Boyle's visual proclivities brought a painfully realistic gravity to the entire film, but in the final sequence, he manages to actually transcribe pure emotion to the screen.

Now onto more analytical notes: Danny Boyle is a master of the realistic chase sequence. He captures running in an entirely unique and effective way which doesn't press the audience to the desire for an immediate destination. I have no clue how he follows scampering children with that much filming equipment in the crowds you see in the film. The best part of his chase sequences is the fact that they occasionally cut out to shots that seem irrelevant, but add so much to the body of the scene. The chases sequences pause on nearby things, or focus the camera on something stationary while the characters fly by, or even angle the camera in bizarre ways. But whether or not I have qualms with his unusual technique, there's no denying that it works for this film, and that the unpolished nature of Slumdog paired with its appeal to the simplest and most powerful of human emotions made this a solid piece of cinema. It is no work of genius on any level; but that, again, was not the point. Just like Jamal Malik was the everyman who triumphed, so too was this underdog film a simple winner.

Film: 4/5 - Directing: 4/5 - Cinematography: 4/5 - Score: 4/5
On a side-note: I have a lot of respect for A.R. Rahman, who is worlds away from my usual taste in classic composers of sweeping scores (most recently, Michael Giachinno's work of perfection for Star Trek has been on repeat in my brain). Choosing Rahman to score this film was one of the smartest things Boyle could have done--the two were a perfect and very non-mainstream fit. My favorites from the score are this and this.

Notes on: Layer Cake (2004)

"I'm not a gangster, just a businessman. And my commodity happens to be cocaine."



Let's get this out of the way first: English Director Matthew Vaughn must be some sort of a wunderkind. Layer Cake (2004)--or as I shall henceforth remember it, 100 Minutes of Daniel Craig Being a BAMF--was, unbelievably, his directorial debut. What?! But how?! I have no clue, because as far as I saw, his directing was brilliant. It lifted an otherwise not-bad film to something that was pretty much dripping with unadulterated cool.

The opening sequence (click to view it on youtube) was one of the slickest cold opens I've ever seen in that genre, especially with regards to the year it was made. Perfectly shot in almost one fluid motion with a solid choice in music, timing, and narration. It reminded me of one of my favorite movies, added to the fast-moving crime drama genre two years after Cake-- Lucky Number Slevin. In my opinion, Slevin (though entirely unrelated), was a tighter, more perfectly pieced together work of awesome, whereas Vaughn's Cake spiraled out of control and into the grittier realities in an almost palpable way (but, again, I think that was the point).

What I love about Vaughn is his ability to just nail the perfect scene, something he did repeatedly in his second film, Stardust. The fact that he was able to successfully accomplish such a massive shift in genre (from gangster crime drama to an actual fairy tale) between the first two movies he's directed is equally impressive. But focusing on Cake, it's evident from the first scene to the last that Vaughn knows his way around a camera. He knows when to make the camera move and when to keep it stationary. He has a strong, almost tangible artistic direction that makes Cake just great to watch. And that's saying a lot, considering the story itself isn't exactly ringing of clarity or unsurpassed cleverness. But Vaughn and his habit of marrying score and scene perfectly make it tough not to enjoy this brutal romp into the English drug trade.

My one qualm with Vaughn is, in the two movies he's directed (and both of which I've seen), he has great potential to expand the cinematic universe in a controlled way. He's yet to take advantage of that. The enclosed feeling that can occur in a sharp and fast film tends to happen when the outside world seems minimally developed, or when characters are either too stationary or in motion too much for the environment to contribute. This is a tough aspect to explain but something puzzling I've experienced in many films like this; it's what prevents most fast crime dramas from hitting the stratosphere of "epic" (The Departed being a notable exception). I think that's a key difference between American and English movies; the big-budget crime-thriller genre expands the film beyond its core characters and core baddies and the environment, the scene, the rooms and buildings and atmospheres carry the weight of the story. Cake's druglords and hitmen just didn't seem dangerous enough, and focusing a little more on what went into the camera could've pushed it to a new level.

Either way, Vaughn is either naturally fluent in badass or has studied well, because for a first shot at feature film directing, this was fantastic.

Film: 4/5 - Directing: 4/5 - Cinematography: 4/5 - Musical Score: 4/5

Notes on: Into the Wild (2007)

"Two years he walks the earth. No phone, no pool, no pets, no cigarettes. Ultimate freedom. An extremist. An aesthetic voyager whose home is the road. Escaped from Atlanta...And now after two rambling years comes the final and greatest adventure. The climactic battle to kill the false being within and victoriously conclude the spiritual pilgrimage. Ten days and nights of freight trains and hitchhiking bring him to the Great White North. No longer to be poisoned by civilization he flees, and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild."


Yes, Into the Wild was every bit good a movie as you've heard. Intense, emotional, and somewhat puzzling at times, but overall good (though you're kidding yourself if you think you'll come out of watching it in a light and airy mood). Rather than discuss the film itself, I wanted to make a note on the unique directorial style of Sean Penn, who added this Oscar-nominated movie onto his filmography as a director, screenwriter, and producer (making this his fourth directorial feature film credit).

It was strange, because while there were some things I really liked (his use of depth of field and his purposeful inclusion of out-of-focus or out-of-frame shots was inventive and almost photographic at times), this film demonstrated that if there is one kind of shot to avoid using in excess, it would be a ZOOMING IN/OUT sequence. I don't mean slow-motion, intentional zooming-out that places a scene in context, but this irritating really-fast zooming out that Penn did in a few of the scenes that were just incredibly distracting.

Primarily, one sequence that stands out in my mind is when McCandles is preparing his first attempt to leave the bus. It starts off with a voiceover quote, then that extraordinarily random slow head-shaking shower part (the second screencap above), then packing, leaving the bus, trekking, and then coming across the now-uncrossable river. In the span of two minutes, there was a total of SIX fast-zoom shots. I kid you not. Each easily replaceable with a good wide-angle shot or a well-placed turn of the camera, or even a much smaller and slower amount of zooming. The entire sequence, with one of my least liked and most out-of-place songs on the soundtrack blearing in the background, was awful to look at--entirely reminiscent of a bad 80s outdoor instructional video.

I don't exactly know if the blame lay with the cinematographer, but as a director, I felt as if Penn would've had the final say on whether the sequence was working or not. Six zoom-shots in two minutes (mountain! zoom in. bus! zoom in. river! zoom out. hat! zoom in.) is not something easily overlooked by person creating the film. I don't know, therefore, if those were left in there on purpose, but intentional or not, I just know that I need never, ever to try anything like that. Ever. Thankfully, the depth of the acting and story served as a saving grace from the distracting aspects of the visual direction and cinematography.

I leave you with a hilarious summary of movie made by someone on the IMDb boards, calling it "the most pretentious movie I've ever [seen]": "Thoreau quotes + Pearl Jam + long shots of bird flocks (+crying hippies)." Dead on, my friend.

Film: 4/5 - Directing: 3/5 - Cinematography: 3/5 - Musical Score: 2.5/5

Quick Reviews: Journey to the Center of the Earth (2008), Doubt (2008), Charlie Bartlett (2007)

"When you take a step to address wrongdoing, you are taking a step away from God, but in his service. What have you seen? "


I was really looking forward to Doubt. The Oscar-friendly cast alone was enticing enough, and certainly, the acting did not disappoint. Meryl Streep's fiercely authentic style is unrelenting throughout the film, especially when placed next to Amy Adams' delicate demeanor and Philip Seymour Hoffman's gentle-seeming Father Brandon Flynn. But I, personally, did not get hit with any of the dramatic force the narrative was intending. The visual direction of the film, though understandably not its focus, was mediocre to the point where it was distracting. There wasn't enough going on to engage the audience; you had a sense that most of what the movie was about happened away from the camera, and what you saw on screen was just a couple of days of fallout. If a film about a subject as controversial as this and with a cast like this manages to bore me, I consider it a disappointment. I've never seen the stage play, so perhaps that's why the focus relies largely on the dialogue and acting, but it yet again proves why I rarely believe plays should be adapted to cinema. They are two entirely different mediums and rarely translatable enough to work out well. (See the epic failure known as The Phantom of the Opera (2004) for proof. Or don't. Really, don't.)

Film: 2/5 - Directing: 2/5 - Cinematography: 1.5/5 - Musical Score: 0/5

---

"If your mother asks you where you went this weekend, tell her your uncle took you to Italy. "


From the visual effects supervisor of some of my favorite movies--Signs (2002), The Day After Tomorrow (2004), The Village (2004)--comes the directorial film debut by Eric Brevig. It goes without saying that Journey to the Center of the Earth is clearly not much more than a briefly entertaining movie created to distract a young audience for an hour or two with some CGI and run-of-the-mill action-adventure dialogue. Not that that's ever stopped me from enjoying a film (I am, after all, the girl who counts Armegeddon (1998) among my favorite movies ever). It's good for what it is and for its targeted age group, and I always enjoy seeing Brenden Fraser in a lead action role; the Mummy series forever rendered him a perfect candidate for the "trust me, something's chasing us but I know what I'm doing" guy.

Film: 3/5 - Directing: 3/5 - Cinematography: 3/5 - Musical Score: 3/5

---

"Well duh dude, this place sucks. But I just worry that one day we're gonna look back at high school and wish we'd done something different. "


Charlie Bartlett is supposed to be the kid you wished you knew in high school, attending a high school you wished you went to, in the kind of reality you wished were actually plausible. A hark back to the golden years of 80s teen movies about fitting in, standing out, and all the mischief in between (think Ferris Bueller but with a more modern take on trouble), Star Trek's Anton Yelchin tries his hand at being a somewhat-but-not-really ordinary teenager. While it had its amusing moments and while Yelchin gave a great show as the quirky yet oddly likable Charlie, Bartlett was largely mediocre from its predictability to its dialogue (even the intentionally kooky parts were often not really surprising). Overall- mildly entertaining, but thoroughly forgettable. Even with Robert Downey Jr.

Film: 2/5 - Directing: 2/5 - Cinematography: 1.5/5 - Musical Score: 1/5