Now I want to rewatch "Signs"

Film: Jeff, Who Lives at Home

Rating: 4.5/5

In the opening scene of Jeff, Who Lives at Home, the title character articulates a profound philosophical understanding of M. Night Shyamalan’s Signs. Besides being an excellent description of (part of) what makes Signs a great film, it is a perfect introduction to the character of Jeff. Movie characters born from ideas in other movies are rare, but can rank among the more interesting.

Jeff (Jason Segel) looks for “signs” in his everyday life. There isn’t much opportunity for them to appear in said life, considering he is 30 years old, unemployed, and spends most of his time in his mother’s basement. He isn’t paranoid, merely lazy, with a Lebowski-esque philosophy on how to conduct himself. In a way he is the most calculating character in the movie; generally, he is reluctant to do anything, but when he does decide to undertake something, he prefers to think it out first. Or he just gets high. Usually he gets high.

His boisterous brother Pat (Ed Helms), does not share Jeff’s childlike sentiment that there are greater things simply awaiting. He claims to have it all figured out, and it is as simple as getting a job and a wife, and making the right choices to live a long, “normal” life. Turns out Pat is not very good at this, however, as his marriage is on the rocks. In addition to that, he is materialistically impulsive, easily buckling to his desire for a Porsche.

On one (presumably rare) occasion, Jeff emerges from his den to run an errand. One simple outing to the store. Along the way, he begins to see things that may be the signs for which he has been searching. Or at least that’s what he believes, with just enough conviction to forget his chore and follow them. This is new for Jeff: moving on instinct. Awkwardly and insecurely, he pursues the agents of fate, and winds up crossing paths with his brother Pat, who proceeds to have quite possibly the worst day of his life. Together, they investigate a hunch that Pat’s wife Linda (Judy Greer) is having an affair. Jeff tells his brother about the signs. Coincidence, Pat scoffs, but Jeff cannot help but feel the gentle tug of destiny.

The brothers realize that they have had similar dreams involving their late father. Is that coincidence? Pat reaches for a rational explanation, much to the dismay of Jeff and his irrational (though not necessarily incorrect) answer. Much of the film’s progress lies in such contrasts between Jeff, Pat, and their mother, Sharon (Susan Sarandon). Sharon is widowed, works in a cubicle, and seems perpetually frustrated with her sons, particularly Jeff. Interestingly, although Sharon is the parent, in her own storyline she faces the more adolescent situation: she is rather innocuously approached (via instant message) by a “secret admirer” from her workplace. Jeff and Pat, meanwhile, are technically the children, but are caught up in the very adult situation of adultery. All three, however, act like children to some degree most of the time. Sharon and her friend giggle like teenagers over her anonymous suitor. Jeff and Pat, often bickering, act rashly and immaturely, sneaking about and following Linda.

The more important contrast between the characters, though, is their respective beliefs. If stumped, Jeff would sit down on the curb and wait for something to come along. Pat believes that great things much be reached out for and grabbed. Sharon, on the other hand, has entirely given up hope for anything happier than what she has, which is why she is hesitantly intrigued by the proposition she receives. The family struggles through the day, blindly headstrong, unable to comprehend each other’s outlooks, and this is where the movie finds its magic and becomes one of the most enjoyable and satisfying of the year.

Jeff is the fourth feature by the writing-directing team of Jay and Mark Duplass. All of their movies are about family. They are two of the most sensitive comedy writers currently working. And (as of late, at least) they create characters that are complex, multi-dimensional, and real, and they require very talented actors to portray them. Of the performances in Jeff, Segel’s stands out the most. Within the 80-odd minutes of the movie, he transitions back and forth (successfully, and many times) between a leading role and a supporting role. This is the same character, mind you. In some scenes, Jeff is alone, misunderstood, confusedly pursuing what he feels is his personal destiny. In others, although still awkward and naïve, he is the loyal, intrepid sidekick to his increasingly desperate and distraught brother. Perhaps this disparity is a flaw of the writing, but Segel understands the subtle similarities and differences of Jeff’s multiple sides so well, and plays them with such beautiful sincerity and painful humor, that he melds them into one complete character. It is easily his best screen performance to date.

Ed Helms, too, breaks through as an impressive dramatic actor. Here, he relieves himself of the goofiness that has burdened him for the past six or so years. It has worked to his advantage on The Office and in last year’s Cedar Rapids, less so in just about everything else. In Jeff, when Helms is upset, we are not laughing. As a matter of fact, we are often not laughing even when he is trying to be funny, and that seems intentional as well. All of the principle characters in Jeff are eventually forced to take deep introspective looks, and we get the impression that Pat feels the worst about what he sees.

The Duplass Brothers achieved their greatest commercial and critical success in 2010 with Cyrus. There are key similarities between that film and Jeff that are worth pointing out. In both films, for instance, the Duplasses employ a visual technique, inspired by the mumblecore movement, of highly conscious handheld filming. The practicality of this is debatable, but an argument could be made that it fosters a more intimate environment in which to observe the characters. Also akin to Cyrus, Jeff features a delightful score from indie comedy favorite Michael Andrews. But there is a deeper, and more revealing, connection between them: Both Cyrus and Jeff are about good people who have forgotten how to act in order to sustain healthy relationships. With this in mind, the two movies become just about equally funny and touching.

Ultimately, though, there is a more universal theme in Jeff, and one that causes us to think more than Cyrus does. Maybe not a lot more, but a little more. The themes of Cyrus are mainly emotionally driven, while in Jeff, the beliefs of the individual characters are what carry the movie to its conclusion.

But why? Is the ending inevitable? Or does it only come about because Jeff chooses to get out of his mother’s basement and go to the store? Jeff, Who Lives at Home is a movie of more questions than answers, but it does declare one certainty, and if you have been won over by the film by then, you will find it quite pleasing. In life there are, as Jeff would say, “perfect moments.” Maybe by destiny. Maybe because of our choices. Maybe through the influence of others. They happen. If you’re unhappy in the morning, who knows where you’ll be at the end of the day.

SIDE NOTE: As pointed out earlier, Jeff is vaguely reminiscent of “The Dude” Lebowski. Lebowski’s first name was Jeff. Is that coincidence? Serendipity? Was it planned? And don’t forget that Lebowski was played by Jeff Bridges. What does that tell you?

"The Dark Knight" rose higher

Album review: Baroness - Yellow & Green

The 9 Most Underrated Springsteen Songs

1. "Johnny 99"
Not once have I heard this songs mentioned in any context whatsoever, let alone in any list of Springsteen's best works. It may not be as chilling as the other tracks on Nebraska, but the grim story and Bruce's whimpering vocals give it just as much desperation as the rest of the album.

2. "Better Days"
Perhaps compensating for the relative musical staleness without the E Street Band, the Boss' voice never sounded manlier than on this overlooked single from Lucky Town. So what if half of the lyrics sound like worn-out sayings? The other half are among his strongest.

3. "Two Hearts"
Thumbs-up to Win Butler for loving this song, which seems to have blended in to the rest of the "throwaway" rock and roll tracks on The River. It has just as much pop stamina as "Hungry Heart," and if Bruce had given that song to the Ramones like he planned, "Two Hearts" could have easily taken its place as his first big radio hit.

4. "Blinded By The Light"
You know how people make fun of Bob Dylan for writing nonsensical lyrics? The colorful insanity generated by this early Springsteen composition could be the basis for a whole Where's Waldo? puzzle. Back when the Boss was "another Dylan clone," he probably relished the idea of us finding ourselves totally lost in the tireless instrumenation and absurd character jumble in this song, which features some of the most delightful energy and rhyming of his whole career. The Manfred Mann version is missing a lot of that.

5. "Into The Fire"
6. "You're Missing"
and 7. "My City Of Ruins"
Everyone goes crazy for the opener ("Lonesome Day") and the title track from Springsteen's 9/11-themed The Rising, but these are clearly the album's greatest emotional triumphs. Between the three of them, they sum up perfectly all of the grief, confusion, faith, and unity that Springsteen strove to address on the rest of the album. And musically, they are some of his most impressive works. It might just be the strings talking, but "You're Missing" could definitely be considered the Boss' gentlest composition, and "My City Of Ruins" is perhaps the most emotive keyboard-based recording since the legendary live version of "No Woman, No Cry."

8. "Streets Of Philadelphia"
I know it won an Oscar, but still. This song don't get no respect.

9. "Blood Brothers"
For the most part, I can understand the lack of interest in this mid-90's single. It might be a bit on the conventional, mainstream side, but I find it more agreeable than most of Springsteen's work of that era. Plus, the EP of the same name reuinted him with the E Street Band. Nothin' wrong with that!

Ignorance is bliss, divorce is hell

Film: The Squid and the Whale
Rating: 4 and a half

Usually when we're given the premise of a "crumbling family," we envision a once-strong structure falling apart in massive chunks, or collapsing in on itself like a building demolition. Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale is more like a series of tiny explosions. The Berkman family's self-destruction in this semi-autobiographical film is like a game of Jenga, where little pieces come out one at a time, but there's always potential for catastrophe.

The father (Jeff Daniels) is a sardonic, intellectual type: English professor, washed-up novelist, tennis enthusiast. He doesn't have the time or capacity to actively care for his family because he's too busy picking philistines out of a crowd and proclaiming A Tale of Two Cities "minor Dickens." The mother (Laura Linney) is unfaithful, and becomes the subject of her husband's envy when her first novel gets published. They divorce, but we can tell that they had been separated in their minds for a long time.

Bernard and Joan, as they coldly refer to one another, use words to spite each other as much as action. The way the broken couple treat each other is potent enough, but the real disaster is what seeps down into the children. The older son (Jesse Eisenberg) sucks up all of his father's arrogant wisdom like a sponge, growing to hate his mother and ruin his first romantic relationship. The younger son (Owen Kline) takes up drinking and swearing and other unpleasant habits, to the exhausted disapproval of his parents and his tennis instructor (William Baldwin?!). The family gives up on politeness, losing any sense of deceny they may have felt around each other before.

Watching this movie is sort of like a form of torture, in that it is a very emotionally harrowing experience. Take the opening scene, for example. A tennis match: Daniels and Eisenberg versus Linney and Kline. The purpose is clearly to establish the nature of the characters, reflect the state of the marriage, and even foreshadow the sides that the children will take after the divorce. We can tell all of that less than ten seconds into the scene. If we are already watching it with an analytical eye, the film hardly presents a challenge. It has little ability to surprise us. Any psychiatrist would surely say that the family members are "textbook cases" of one condition or another. But Baumbach isn't going for depth of character. What the film does instead is turn our analysis against us, poisoning us with our own intuition, psychologically sickening us, making us wish we didn't understand so much of what's happening. Baumbach doesn't just want to show us the characters' pain (perhaps the pain he went through when his parents divorced), he wants us to actually feel pain. He brings to the screen something that is bold and rare: constant intentional discomfort. Like Schindler's List, but closer to home. Baumbach creates a conflict beyond the ones just within the Berkman family, a conflict between the viewer and the film. We are nauseated by what we see, but we hang on, waiting with fatigued intensity for that moment when the characters realize that there is something to be learned. They've got to realize it, right?

The stuff they can't teach you, and maybe shouldn't

Film: 12 and Holding
Rating: 5

Michael Cuesta's 12 and Holding is an island of emotional density in a sea of goofy, hackneyed coming-of-age stories. In today's world, most movies about children treat their subjects as immature, even petty in some cases. When compared to these, Cuesta's film almost seems too heavy. Not in a melodramatic way, but when most kid movies these days are rated G or PG and aren't meant for audiences older than the characters, the thematic elements here alone would probably be enough to secure an R rating.

The film, distributed by the Independent Film Channel in 2005, follows a group of three 12-year-old friends in the weeks after a fourth friend is killed in a treehouse fire. One is the victim's twin brother Jacob (Conor Donovan), who was born with a burn-like birthmark over half of his face. Another is the paternally deprived Malee (Zoe Weizenbaum), a lonely and misunderstood flautist whose mother is a psychiatrist but seems ignorant of her daughter's problems. The other is the overweight Leonard (Jesse Camacho), who survives the treehouse fire but loses his senses of smell and taste. Over the course of the film, we explore the way the characters react to the fire, and how they deal with the changes that adolescence happens to bring in its aftermath.

The stories, which are vividly dissimilar but equally fascinating, never stray from their unflinching maturity. Jacob, who had always felt treated as subordinate to his brother Rudy, has to deal not only with his own grief, but with the grief of his parents and their attempt to "replace" Rudy through adoption. Jacob visits the incarcerated local bullies who set the fire, hoping to vent his anger but instead finding something more valuable. Malee pursues a painfully unfulfillable relationship with one of her psychiatrist mother's patients (Jeremy Renner). Leonard, having lost his sense of taste, takes on a new diet and an exercise routine, much to the disapproval of his obese family.

It is a tragic shame that these three child actors have not found any more major roles. Their performances are powerful and compelling, showing understanding beyond (although only slightly beyond) their years. They are, as a matter of fact, better than the adult actors. And the adult characters are not overlooked in the screenplay. Other writers might confine the parents to one-dimensional thoughts and actions, but Anthony Cipriano gives them strong beliefs and motives, however questionable they might be in some cases, that allow them to make important contributions to the story.

The core, however, remains the children. The characters here aren't tools for the filmmakers to use for entertainment. They're people, facing significant challenges, that the filmmakers must guide through an extremely difficult time in life. They confront serious problems, with an unmistakable mixture of courage and anxiety. When they learn, they don't learn the easy way. Because the film is smart enough to know that there is no easy way to learn this stuff. The kids don't face trivial or temporary difficulties like not having a seat in the cafeteria. They aren't scared because they might get beat up at recess; they're scared because they're experiencing life. They're feeling love, and frustration, and rejection, and loss on top of it all. It is a time when you start to challenge what you've been taught. When you first start to realize that you are alone. Few coming-of-age movies have so effectively captured just how bizarre and overwhelming it is to grow up.

Love in real time

Film: Before Sunset
Rating: 4 1/2 out of 5

It is a complaint tossed around tirelessly amongst anyone even remotely interested in movies, to the point where it has almost become a core principle of cinema, that sequels never live up to the original. A number of trilogies have been able to prove themselves as exceptions to the rule, but very rarely does the latter half of a two-film series have something to show for itself. Richard Linklater's Before Sunset finds itself a place in the minuscule percentage of sequels that do.

A follow-up to Linklater's semi-autobiographical 1995 talkfest Before Sunrise, Sunset resumes the story of the young American man who met a young French woman on a train in Europe and spent an unconventional, life-altering evening roaming the streets of Vienna and conversing with her. Released in 2004, the film lets us observe their reunion nine years later. Jesse (Ethan Hawke) is in Paris on the last stop of his tour for the book he wrote about the experience, and Celine (Julie Delpy) finds him doing an interview in her favorite bookstore. With just an hour left before he is whisked away to the airport by fate and a chauffeur named Philippe, they leave the shop to spend some time catching up.

At first, in all honesty, they find it awkward. The characters never admit it, and the film doesn't even make it obvious, but anyone who has ever had an uncomfortable reunion will be able to feel it. In the earlier film, they made a point of having deep discussions and avoiding "normal" conversation. Now they are older and wiser, and as a result, feel the need to talk about "real" things. They talk about their jobs, and their families, and why their plans to meet up again fell through. The dialogue is still marvelous, and their personalities have not much changed, but the magic seems to be gone. We can see it in the way they have to explain when they're joking.

The original film had an almost surreal quality. It used words and locales to open up the viewer's mind to new ideas, and show us all the possibilities that we seem to pass up on a regular basis. It was very good. But if there was not a feeling that their relationship could not work out, the sequel puts one there. If Before Sunrise is the beautiful euphoria of the dream, Before Sunset is the cruel reality of the morning. As Sunset progresses, however, their discussions begin to bend back towards subjects like those from their night in Vienna. They begin to feel like the dream is just within reach, if they're willing to give up what they've built for themselves in their real lives. The film, proving itself a wise and worthy continuation of their romance, never forgets the responsibility and realism that faces the characters. In the end, it forms a romance of its own.

This movie energized me more than I expected. The first film was a movie about ideas, and it was fascinating just to listen to Jesse and Celine talk. But at the end of it, we're thinking more about the universe than we are about the characters. We might be a little curious as to whether or not they meet again, but we're pretty content assuming their lives will be better because of the experience even if their relationship doesn't continue. It's clear that they meant something to each other, and that's all we need. The sequel, however, is a movie about the relationship between ideas and feelings. We wonder, have their lives really been better? Did they mean so much to each other that their ideas became painful, because they led to both the discovery and the loss of something these people never thought existed? As they discuss theology and history and art, do they wish they were instead expressing their love for one another? Or, rather, is that what they're really communicating in the first place?

In a way, this film is more optimistic than the original. Before Sunrise placed its characters in the most wild and unprecedented one-night romance they could have imagined, but in the end proved that love is not subject to our poetic idealism. Consequently, Before Sunset has them lamenting the unfairness of the universe, but leaves them wondering if it isn't all up to choice after all.

Although it is certainly another great addition to Richard Linkater's glorious filmography (especially when coupled with its predecessor), this movie belongs wholly to Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy*. Before, they were acting. Here, they play off of their earlier performances to fully create these two people. A few flashbacks early on serve to remind us of how much fun we had with them in Vienna. We realize we feel bad that it never worked out, and we grow to genuinely care about them. Hawke and Delpy (who wrote their own dialogue and were nominated for a screenplay Oscar) somehow craft an enormous story arc out of an 80-minute movie with a minimalist plot in which we know only as much about the characters as they know about each other. To help bridge the gap with Sunrise, they throw in enough philosophical fuel that I had to pause a few times to ride out my train of thought, but their true focus and accomplishment is getting us invested in the characters. Sunset and particularly Sunrise remain two outstanding think pieces, but the sequel affirms the series as a compelling study of Jesse and Celine's brief time together.


* Delpy also wrote and recorded several songs for the soundtrack. In the film, Celine plays one called "A Waltz for a Night" for Jesse. The scene, although it seems like a staple of the indie romance genre, is wonderful. The song is excellent, too.