Round Two of Five At Once.

Right, I'm fairly well on record on not being Christian Bale's biggest fan, but this DVD was fanging about in the living room and I had nothing to watch and I kept hearing such great things about, and about his performance (I'd heard similar things about his showing in American Psycho, and we all know how that panned out...) I think the points given to him in The Machinist are for his weight loss, which yes, while demonstrating incredible commitment, also demonstrates a level of insanity - boy, that's going too far. And he still seemed like Christian Bale. Emaciated, but still him. An interesting tale of being haunted by your conscience, it might have played better if Fight Club hadn't done such a bang up job a few years earlier. I remember being a little scared in a few points, but I shit myself over anything. 2 stars.

Have I mentioned that I love Atom Egoyan's name? Yes, I think I might have here. His name will always draw me to his films. Of course, whacking Julianne Moore in there is going to go a long way towards me heading out to see it also. I liked The Sweet Hereafter, but not so much Chloe. It was fine, I guess, but it didn't grab me the same way. The family drama was all a little off. Moore was terrific, as always, but I didn't quite gel with Amanda Seyfried and Liam Neeson. I just don't think they quite worked. (Max Thierot was cute though...) And the cerebral nature of everything kept it all a little cool and distant - the white rooms and glass everywhere, I can see where it was going with the kind of sterile environment and how that plays against the drama within, but it was all a little too much. It was a fine film that could have been great but in the end I feel that it missed it because of lazy visual cues. 2.5 stars.

Man, I totally don't even know where to start with Aguirre: Wrath Of God. Werner Herzog is one crazy, crazy guy. Like, seriously. Nuts. Brilliant, but loopy. I definitely don't think I can contain all that is this film in such a nutshell. Klaus Kinski is the titular Aguirre in a South American expedition to find El Dorado. He takes charge, seizes power if you will, and leads his troops or whatever onwards against all common sense, coming under attack from all sides, until eventually his men are hallucinating and he is proclaiming himself the wrath of god whilst covered in monkeys. No, really. Herzog really laid the groundwork for many of his latter films with this one. Kinski is terrifyingly mad, Herzog is terrifyingly creative, and the film somehow works for it all. It's mental, absolutely mental, but such a riveting piece of filmmaking, and seemingly such an influence on films such as Apocalypse Now (I'm seeing it - anyone else?)(In looking back, that's another film I watched and didn't write up. Damn.) 4.5 stars.

This is a film I really want to spend time on. But I must be strong. Abbas Kiarostami is a genius, he really is. I really enjoyed Close-Up, I loved loved loved Taste of Cherry, and now I really liked Ten as well. His is an oeuvre I really need to explore in much more depth, and repeatedly. Here, he has ten episodes of customers (or a son) in the passenger seat of a van, driven by their psychologist, who is interacting with her as she drives them around Tehran. It's such a simple concept, all taking place within the car, but it is a masterclass in what can be achieved with so little, and so simply. It is truly beautiful and a wondrous look at the often ignored stories of the women in this part of the world, opening them up not as victims of repression but as people just like the rest of us. Without it ever feeling like that is what is going on. Truly marvelous. 5 stars.

The major thing I can say about Food, Inc. is that is has changed the way I eat. Literally. I pay so much more attention to it now. To where my produce is coming from. To its content. I'm shopping more at farmer's markets when I can, but when I can't I'm doing everything within my means to make sure I pay attention to the lessons learnt from this film. Because they are many. The film follows in the footsteps of other docos like The Cove that are truly terrifying, particularly affecting (I've only eaten salmon twice since watching The Cove, and I used to eat salmon a lot. And they don't even mention salmon!) I can't recommend it highly enough, but be prepared to be very challenged about your habits. As a look at the global food industry, it is a horrifying exposé. Overly didactic and preachy in parts, perhaps, but when dealing with a subject as important as this one, a little bit of ramming down the throat probably doesn't go astray. 4.5 stars.

Don't Touch Me.

The Todd Haynes/Julianne Moore fest continues! This is title four for Mr Haynes (with a fifth on the way) and title six for Ms Moore (with two more on the way - can anyone say Julianne-love? I can, but it's not a very attracting combined word, so I might drop the hyphen. Good? Good.)


Safe hit in 1995 and was a bit of a breakthrough for both Haynes, post Poison, and Moore, landing them both in the limelight. It was a title I remember seeing around at the time and in the years after, and have heard a lot about, making me expect something wondrous. I must say, I was a little disappointed.

Carol (Moore) is a suburban housewife, partnered to Greg (Xander Berkeley), stepmother to his son. She spends her time around the house, not working, not really doing anything that might be considered productively using her time - there are no real hobbies outside of decorating her home. There is nothing really wrong with her life, per se, but it does seem somewhat hollow. Suddenly she begins to develop horrible allergies and unexplained medical problems - asthma strikes, nosebleeds, vomiting, convulsions - and they get more and more severe as the film progresses. Doctors can't work out what is wrong with her, and, struggling, she reaches out to an advertisement she sees for a new age retreat called Wrenwood, a rural estate designed to help people suffering from multiple chemical sensitivity. Cars are not allowed, allergens are kept to a minimum, all to try and allow these people to function on a day to day basis.


Whilst there, she almost seems to be brainwashed. Religion is involved, visits are limited, and her condition doesn't seem to improve at all. In fact, it is not long before she is wheeling around an oxygen tank and eyeing off an old igloo-type structure that another chronic sufferer created in order to bar all outside intrusion in the hope that this will help.


I don't mean to cheapen the experience of anyone who may actually suffer from disorders like this (I have no doubt that there must be some repercussions to the hugely increased chemical intrusion on our day to day lives), but it does seem to be quite heavily implied that much of this from Carol is a cry for attention. More than that, actually, it seems that she is looking for a niche to involve herself in, for a world that gives her meaning, structure, purpose. Or at least gives her a very valid excuse for not being able to pursue one. 


I didn't find myself overly intrigued by the story. There is a distinct possibility that that is at least partially the fault of the time passed since the setting of the film - like the Y2K hysteria, there may well have been a bigger cultural fear of traumas like this becoming more common and destructive during that time period. It definitely feels like a mid-1990s complex. Looking back on it it seems a little absurd, but maybe at the time is was much more topical and therefore more relevant. Now, for me (and this might be a cause of my own rampant skepticism of cults and cult-like organisations, which Wrenwood does superficially appear to be) it simple seems a little absurd.


Moore is fine in the film. I've seen her do much better work, I think. She didn't overly engage me with her character - I kind of wanted to slap her and tell her to go and get a life, stop being so passive and do something to improve her situation. And that was all before her problems started. I just didn't have any desire to empathise with her. 


Hayne's work both as writer and director also didn't really allow me in. He kept us very distant from the actions, not really allowing us into the emotions of anyone. The camera remained very objective, refusing to judge either Moore or Wrenwood or society, and I feel the film as a whole suffered for this. A little more editorialising might have allowed me to find a stance that gave me emotional involvement, whether positively or negatively, but instead it just left me floating loose in the middle.


The film as a whole was kind of interesting, but kind of not at the same time. It's memorable for a few moments of imagery, and it definitely serves as a marker in the trajectory of Hayne's career, coming between Poison and Velvet Goldmine. You can see the lessons he learned from his debut, and also where he stands to learn with his third film. 


I have now watched all of Hayne's films, and I definitely think that going through his career I like each of his films more than the last. Which is a truly remarkable thing to watch. Every one of his films (will) appear on this blog, and he will be the only filmmaker with more than one or two films (I think) to have that honour. I will have watched his entire oeuvre over a six month period, which has really enlightened me to the movements of him as a filmmaker, his development. And I really like that. I'm really happy I have had this opportunity.


Having said that, the film is 2.5 stars.

No Honey, I Don't Think I've Had Enough.

Sigh. Julianne Moore. AND Patricia Clarkson (who I also love, although less desperately and singlemindedly than JM.) In one film. Amazing.


I remember having to look at Todd Hayne's Far From Heaven back in uni, as an example of something something something with All That Heaven Allows. I can't remember what it was. It wasn't adaptation, it wasn't appropriation (I'm certain I did that in high school, not uni...) but I can't remember what it was. Which probably makes this entire reminiscing segue entirely pointless, but there you go. I remember the two films sharing similar visual tones and melodramatic performance styles, but in both cases it worked. I think that's where I was going to go there.

Cathy Whitaker (Moore) is the perfect 50s housewife and mother. She's happily married to Frank (Dennis Quaid), they are popular and loved by many friends, coworkers and associates, they're kind and giving within the constrictions placed on them by racial demands and the like of the 50s - meaning to say, they're as progressive as upper-middle-class people can be at the time without actually rocking the boat. But then along comes Raymond (Dennis Haysbert), the son of the Whitaker's late gardener, suddenly in her yard and all nice and sweet and polite and funny. And then, oop, there he is at an art opening, chatting about the merits of modern art, and how he believes abstract art is a continuation of religious art. 


Meanwhile, Frank is staying late at the office - this time of year brings many a proposal that needs to be prepared, reports that need to be written, random man that needs to be made out with. Oh dear. Frank is a dirty homo? No, put him in therapy that'll be fine. And Cathy can lean not on her best friend El (Clarkson), who wouldn't understand and who would set to gossiping around town about the state of the marriage which is otherwise fine, of course, this is just a phase, Cathy draws solace from Raymond. Their friendship has already set tongues wagging, and disapproval from El doesn't help matters. Sadly, Frank's treatment doesn't work (what a surprise!) and he skips out to live with his lover. Raymond is suffering as well - his young daughter is being abused for his relationship with Cathy, so he skips out of town also. Poor Cathy. From perfection to isolation in a couple of short screen hours.


Moore is amazing. This was one of two Oscar noms for her that year, the other being in support for The Hours. She lost this Oscar to our Nicole, her co-star in The Hours, and it's always a hard call. Between this and her showing in The Hours, I think they should have made up a whole new category for her. Here she is trying to be strong, but falling apart inside again and again, and you see it all with the slightest shimmer across her eyes, a momentary falter in her smile, a tiny shift in the feel of her voice. Clarkson as her best friend also does very well in a much smaller role, again judging her friend with merely a hardening of the jaw and quickening of the step. What truly mattered was completely left unsaid, it would appear.


Quaid does fine with his conflicted role as father, husband and lover. I've never thought him to be terrific in any role, and here he does his job just fine without proving to me any different. Haysbert, who I enjoyed as the President in television's 24, felt a little forced here, a little too 50s camp melodrama. His presence didn't slip as easily into the post-war world like the others did.


Haynes (who wrote and directed) did very well capturing the feeling of the films of Douglas Sirk. One can totally see the likes of Rock Hudson parading (or mincing? Oh, be nice) by. Those stars of the 50s could simply slot right into this film, with its stunning hues, incredible costumes (why oh why don't people dress like that anymore? It's incredible!) and soft, soft lighting. Credit also, of course, to cinematographer Edward Lachman, costume designer extraordinaire Sandy Powell, production designer Mark Friedberg and art director Peter Rogness for their stunning capturing of Haynes' vision.


Full cred. A great film. Not quite the masterpiece many people seem to think (there are a few too many little things that quibble with the notion of perfection), but a terrific production, more than worth a look-in. 4.5 stars.

Can't Wait!

Annette Bening and Julianne Moore are lesbian parents to Mia Wasikowska and Josh Hutcherson when sperm donor biological father Mark Ruffalo comes into the picture? Sounds pretty awesome to me! The Kids Are All Right sadly doesn't seem to have a UK release date yet. Which makes me want to hurt myself. But it's out in the States in July. So maybe I'll just fly over.

You're Not Even Wearing Any Loafers.

Oh my lordy, how beautiful it was to watch. I pity the poor production designer on A Single Man - can you imagine working on Tom Ford's personally financed debut feature? Seriously, talk about pressure. The man turned around Gucci! He's one of the most celebrated designers on the planet! Well, Ian Phillips and Dan Bishop pulled it off. Seriously, why hasn't the work been more recognised? Too modern? But it's beautiful!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Tom Ford helms A Single Man, based on the novel by Christopher Isherwood. Colin Firth plays the lead character of George, a semi-closeted (it's the 1960s, but he's British, so...) English professor in California, whose long term partner Jim (Matthew Goode in flashback) has recently died in a tragic car accident. Crippled in many ways by grief, George forces himself to somehow go on as he prepares his own tragic end. His best friend, another English expat Charley (Julianne Moore), who lives just around the corner, supports him as best she can in her drunken state, holding his hand and reminiscing on old times as she lets slip all too easily her jealousy at George and Jim's relationship and the fact that she never got to play George's Jim substitute.


Meanwhile, George is still teaching, and finds himself drawn to one of his students, Kenny (Nicholas Hoult), who is all too keen to play along. The beautiful Kenny gives just enough to keep George guessing and questioning, before a night when the two discover themselves in George's local bar on a night when George is really struggling. After a quick dip (naked, naturally [and thankfully - Hoult is beautiful]) the two retire to George's house... 


Firth is, quite frankly, incredible. I have never been a true fan of his (I liked him in Bridget Jones, but I think my Firth introduction was marred by having to study the BBC Pride And Prejudice production back in high school and not liking it), but here he completely wins me over. Playing George with a perfect stiff upper lip, a tremendous British closedness, he allows for chinks in his armour to come through only as much and as often as is strictly necessary. When he can be comfortable, he is, but when he has to play professional, it's just a glint in the eye, a quick movement nearing a smile, which makes his succumbing to youthful energy even more poignant and beautiful. His phone conversation is much talked about, and is stupendous, but he maintains this through the entirety of the film to varying extremes, well deserving his Oscar nomination and Volpi Cup. Moore is tremendous, holding Charley at a point of alcoholism that never teeters over into blind drunkenness, retaining her own British stoicism at the same time as you know Charley is yearning to scream from the rooftops. Hoult is perfect, beautiful in the perfect way to be entirely and believably beguiling, flirting just enough to get you hoping but never enough to make you truly have faith in any intention to follow through - his sexuality is never thrust forward, simply touching at the edges and leaving you gasping for more.


Ford's screenplay (with co-writer David Scearce) starts off a little clunky, but smoothes out quickly to become quite stunning, simple yet effective. I don't know how it plays as an adaptation of the book (I will be tracking it down), but the film itself holds itself up. And his direction is perfectly restrained, and plays within the various constraints and freedoms of the design of the film - he is cautious and formal when needed, but isn't afraid to let it rip when Charley comes to town. And that design... it's glorious. From costumes to sets to hair to everything. It is so sumptuous, and the colour palettes so telling. That big glass house that George lives in has been derided as unrealistic by some (why would a gay couple be living in something so exposed? Because they may be discreet, but they're proudly discreet, dammit!) but it fits wonderfully with the characters involved, leaving them seemingly exposed but with plenty of nooks to hide.


It's not quite a perfect film (that initial start with the screenplay detracts a little, and the shifts in colour palette become a little too forced by the end), but it's very close. A wonderful piece of filmmaking, unexpected from Ford, wonderfully acted and allowing for the homos to be human (once again encased in the distance of history so we don't have to believe it is today, but still.) 4.5 stars.

Just Don't Think About It.

Children Of Men is a film that I really, really wanted to see when it was out in cinemas. It had good reviews, I love the director, I love Julianne Moore, it looked interesting, the word of mouth I heard was great. Even though I've never been a huge Clive Owen fan, I wanted to see it, and it's always remained high on my list, though for some reason I never got around to seeing it.



Interestingly, director Alfonso Cuarón is also my primary reason for, one day, wanting to watch the Harry Potter series. But that's for another time (probably when I've actually sat down and done it, all for his third installment.) All that needs to be noted here is that I remember liking how Great Expectations played out more than I ultimately liked the movie as a whole, and that Y Tu Mamá También is one of my favourite movies of all time (and caused the future husband ranking of Gael García Bernal.)

Children Of Men is a truly different beast to También, however. It's almost post-apocalyptic, or, if you count the sudden infertility of all of the world's women as an apocalypse, which I guess it would be, though not in the traditional sense, it is probably the best post-apocalyptic film I've ever seen. It completely avoids the trappings of most films that would fit this ilk - that is, it looks like today. Only with a hell of a lot of despair.

Owen plays Theo Faron. Just a man. Working a job he hates in a world he hates, with only two people around him he doesn't hate: Jasper (Michael Caine) and his very ill wife. He was, however, married once to a woman named Julian (Moore), who is now a radical leader living as a refugee on the loose in Britain after the country closed its borders to all foreigners (she is American.) When Julian gets back in touch after twenty years, shortly after the death of the world's youngest person (who was eighteen at the time), Theo finds himself trying to deliver the young, miraculously pregnant Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey) to a mysterious organisation called The Human Project - presumably these people want to work out why Kee is pregnant and how they can then cure the infertility problem.

It's a political allegory for a large part. It talks of the problems of closed borders in desperate times (really, what use does it have here?), of discrimination, of secrecy... of all of those things the world at large doesn't really like. Bombs go off in cafes in apparent terrorist attacks (but do we sympathise with them? I think we might...) much like today, and the film is not that far in the future - 18 years, if my memory serves me, as the youngest person alive, who as mentioned dies, was born in 2009, again memory permitting.

Something about those Mexican directors and the way they direct with handheld cameras - I don't think anyone can do it as well as they can. And Cuarón is one of the best. And then eliciting those performances. Owen is superbly gruff and hostile (and that's from a non-fan, remember), Moore is right on key with her matter-of-fact determination, Caine (someone else I'm not normally a huge fan of) plays the stoner geezer very well, while Ashitey puts in a star-making turn as the young woman on the run from any number of organisations. Support from such as my beloved Charlie Hunnam (looking virtually unrecognisable) and the fabulously unknown Jacek Koman (he's pretty well-known in Australia, but I don't imagine much outside of it) round it out. It's a truly terrific assemblage of quality actors putting in fantastic performances.

Lensing by the criminally underrated Emmanuel Lubezki (who has done, among others, The New World and Ali) is astonishing, creating an obvious UK and, particularly, London we all know and love, but one so hideously grimy and blighted by the effects of the tumultuous time these people are living in. In a just world his name would be as well known in living rooms as any of the best-known cinematographers out there. (I do know that the vast majority of people in this world would have no idea as to the name of a single cinematographer, but you get my point.)

Score is great. Design is phen.om.en.al. Everything comes together. It's terrific. It's 5 stars again. Wow, doling my stars out like candy at the moment!

Dude.

I’m going to put it out there at the beginning: I’ve never been a big Coen Brothers fan. Maybe I came to them at the wrong time - I don’t think I really saw one of their films until my late, late teens, and I started with their later films and worked backwards, so maybe there is a narrative arc I have missed. Either way, the only film of theirs that I recall truly liking from start to finish was Fargo. No Country For Old Men I thought was good for the most part, but I came out of it feeling patronised by it - I felt that the film thought it was better than the audience, regardless of who they were. This is a problem I have felt with most of their films that I have seen - it's like, by the time the end has come around, the films have become tricky for the sake of being tricky just to prove to those watching that they are one step ahead, and to be damned with connection.

Having said that, The Big Lebowski is such a big cult film. Everyone (other than me, until a few days ago) has seen it. Everyone seems to love it. Except me.

I was hoping for something grab my funny areas like Fargo did. I was hoping to laugh. Actually, I think that’s the killer. I wanted to laugh, and I don’t think I really did at all. Maybe I watched it too late. Maybe this kind of stoner movie has now been done to death (I will recognise this as better than most other stoner movies I’ve seen, though I should also note that I have seen very few) and if I’d seen it a decade ago I would have a different appreciation for it. But really, I had no sympathy for the Dude. I just wanted to slap him in the face and tell him to pull himself together.

I’m getting ahead of myself. The Big Lebowski centres around a case of mistaken identity. Jeff Bridges plays Dude Lebowski, whose real name (though no one addresses him by it) is Jeffrey. There is another Jeffrey Lebowski (the ‘Big’ Lebowski of the title), an apparent millionaire businessman whose wife has gotten herself into a fairly significant debt. Thugs and fraud ensue, and the Dude gets mixed up in it in an attempt to receive a pay off.

The Dude doesn’t have a job. He just bowls, and drinks white russians, and smokes pot. He wants this as an easy pay day. And I just. Don’t. Get. How that is funny. He cocks up again and again, and it doesn’t strike me as funny. It seems a little pathetic to me. Sure, he was admirably portrayed by Bridges, but when you don’t have a great deal of sympathy for the character it’s similarly hard to respect the performance.

The bright spot for me was Julianne Moore’s role as The Big Lebowski’s estranged daughter Maude. As in Fargo, where my favourite was Frances McDormand’s character, the supporting female role does seem the most interesting. Yes, she is heavily caricatured, but she has the most hysterical mannerisms and lines. Moore plays her perfectly. I love Julianne Moore. And it’s nice to see her play comic - I don’t think she does it enough.

The big killer for me with this film was the fact that I didn’t think it was funny, and it needed to ride off its laughs (it is a comedy, after all), so that, for me, is a massive failure. I may be the only person in the word who doesn’t particularly like it, but then again I didn’t like No Country or O Brother, Where Art Thou? either, and most people seem to like them.

Look, I didn’t find the film terrible. I watched it all, and I never felt like killing myself to get it over with. I wanted more, but I did get enough from it to not want to slander it endlessly. I’d even watch it again, though mostly to make sure I’m not missing something. Maybe if I were drunk it would hit me a little more. One day, maybe, I’ll revisit. In the meantime, I’m going to lay on a lonely 2 stars.