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.

Sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down, sometimes you break even

Film: Hard Eight
Rating: 4 1/2 out of 5

It's hard to make a gambling movie work. Many have tried, few have been successful. Often, they simply abandon creative hope, and instead of trying to present something fresh or thoughtful they give us testosterone-fueled inanities about as a clever as a NASCAR race. In his brilliant debut feature, writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson does what the wise creators of certain sports films have done: correlate themes of the game with themes in the lives of the players.

The movie opens with an unkempt young man sitting outside of a diner, looking a little like a bum. An older gentleman approaches and offers to buy him a coffee. After a rough start, they get to talking. The bum is John (John C. Reilly), in need of nothing more than $6,000 for his mother's funeral. The older man is Sydney (Philip Baker Hall), an aged and coolly assertive gambler with the moral fortitude of a saint. Out of the kindness of his heart, Sydney offers to take John to Las Vegas and show him how to make a living. He teaches the increasingly impressionable John some of his tricks.

Here, in one of his little-known earlier roles, the always-lovable Reilly is nothing short of wonderful. He pulls together his best boyish qualities to become a perfect guide into the universe of the movie, but is able to switch on the desperation when later scenes call for it.

The film then jumps ahead two years; John, living the pretty-good life, has become Sydney's loyal protege. He makes choices in life the way he makes choices in the casinos: not without Sydney's advice. But to his mentor's disapproval he has also begun associating with a shady crowd, namely the disreputable Jimmy (Samuel L. Jackson, in a minor performance but one overlooked among his best).

It should be noted, this part of the movie creates an effect I have rarely felt watching a film: intimidation. Anderson makes us feel like we've woken up in a strange place. That we aren't just leisurely observing these people, they are towering over us. Here we have set of characters that seem ten feet tall; and yet, there are hints that a whole world of them exists beyond our view.

But, like a gambler, the film isn't satisfied. It changes slowly, morphing into other tones, carried by the vibrant dialogue. In a few gritty, well-timed scenes, Sydney takes a despondent cocktail waitress named Clementine (Gwyneth Paltrow) under his wing. He ambiguously sets her up with John and the two hit it off in a scene or two of charismatic innocence. Soon, however, the three find themselves over their heads in a sticky situation, leading to seemingly low-key sequences with surprising intensity.

And of course, we must not forget the star. As the paternal and stoic Sydney, Philip Baker Hall (perhaps America's greatest TV show guest actor) finds the role that he has always approached with his character acting, but never been able to fully explore. I can think of no other actor that could play Sydney the same way. Others would feel the need to actually show their emotion, without understanding that the emotion is all in the dialogue. Sydney is an extraordinarily compassionate individual, but he always speaks in the same terse, professional voice. He never smiles and he never frowns. When he talks, he means business. When he thinks, he means business. And his business seems to be the business of helping people he considers worthy of his help. He makes us ask ourselves what we're supposed to: "Who is this guy?"

Before he hit the big time, the plot-visionary P. T. Anderson gave us this humbly sizzling drama, proving that in life, as in gambling, sometimes you're up and sometimes you're down. And sometimes you break even.

The filmmakers take the road less traveled

Film: Road to Perdition
Rating: 3 out of 5

After the incredible success of his high-octane tragicomedy American Beauty, director Sam Mendes dialed things down for this soggy Prohibition-era drama based on Max Allen Collins' graphic novel. Making good use of Conrad L. Hall's impeccable cinematography, Mendes recreates a gloomy 1931 Chicago to tell this melancholy and dialogue-minimal tale of mob violence and fatherhood.

Tom Hanks stars as Michael Sullivan, a stony but remorseful hitman and father of two living in a lesser Illinois town. Sullivan's boss/father figure is the aged John Rooney (Paul Newman), whose small empire is threatened by the heirship of his jealous and unstable biological son Connor (Daniel Craig). One night, Sullivan's solemn twelve-year-old son Michael, Jr. (Tyler Hoechlin) follows his father to find out exactly what he does for kind old Mr. Rooney. When the boy witnesses Connor's thoughtless murder of an employee, the elder Rooney has no choice but to put the next hit out on the Sullivan family. Sullivan's wife (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and younger son are killed, and he is forced to take Michael, Jr., on the run. When they have no luck in Chicago, they flee even further, trailed by a clever photographer/assassin (Jude Law).

Road to Perdition is a visual marvel, with praiseworthy sets and flawless cinematography, accompanied by a score from composer extraordinaire Thomas Newman. In an amplified version of the Mendes tradition, it alternates between scenes of heavy dialogue (not as colorful here as usual) and drawn out sequences of symbolism. Unlike his other films, however, this one cannot keep its themes straight. The predominant one is that of father-son relationships, supported not only by the two Michaels whose bond strengthens over the course of the movie, but by Rooney and Michael, Sr., and Connor. Sullivan's relationship with Rooney seems to walk the line between professional and filial. Rooney certainly fills the role of patriarch to the Sullivans, but he also represents the devil that Michael, Sr., sold his soul to so his family could live comfortably. It's no wonder Connor grew up to be the crazy one, when his father's favorite son isn't even his real son.

Voiceover narration and such, however, point our focus towards Sullivan himself. Not necessarily how he acts as a father and quasi-son, but his nature as a person. (The particular balance between stern and compassionate would be a daunting task for even the most skilled actor, and the great Tom Hanks just barely manages to hold it together without slipping up.) The prompt is essentially, "Is Sullivan good or bad?" We aren't given a specific answer, but the film has an unmistakable slant towards the former option. Yes, he's a mob enforcer, but we are hardly given a chance to consider that he might enjoy his work. By the end, the point becomes moot.

Yet all of these ideas get bogged down further by conversations and plot points that would suggest the primary theme is something more strictly mob-related. It's hard to say what, exactly; the movie flops between themes like it's controlled by a possessed spatula. There are still scenes that are entertaining, even excellent unto themselves (most of the Jude Law scenes, for example), but they don't add up to much. Dare I say it, style over substance wins again.

Bloody hell

Film: Gangs of New York

Rating: 4 out of 5

Just when everyone thought the era of Scorsese crime films had passed, he made an effort to revive some of their qualities in this lengthy and shockingly bloody historical drama. The movie transports us back to a quiet, snowy Manhattan morning in 1846 that explodes into violence. The warring groups: the "Dead Rabbits," Irish Catholic immigrants led by the revered Priest Vallon (Liam Neeson), and the "Natives," native-born New Yorkers led by the ferocious and mustachioed Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis). The gruesome battle ends with Bill killing Priest, bringing victory to the Natives. Priest's young son Amsterdam is sent to an orphange out of town.

Sixteen years later, Amsterdam (Leonardo DiCaprio) returns to New York, where the recent announcement of the Emancipation Proclamation has instilled a new rumble of anger. Bill the Butcher has become de facto king of the Five Points district, allying with the corrupt regime of politician "Boss" Tweed (Jim Broadbent) and exerting his influence over the entire region. He organizes illegal boxing matches, collects tax from citizens on a whim, and channels new immigrants directly into the army. Amsterdam, unrecognizable to them, encounters many of his father's former loyalists now under Bill's control, such as Constable Mulraney (John C. Reilly) and the surly Walter McGinn (Brendan Gleeson). He also meets a promiscuous pickpocket (Cameron Diaz), and they share a somewhat plot-deviating romance. His primary motive, however, remains unchanged. Amsterdam wriggles his way into Bill's inner circle, biding his time for the moment to exact his revenge.

Though the whole 170-minute film is consistently a technical triumph, the first hour is the most well-executed part. There is an engrossing and unique alacrity, and (deliberately, I would guess) a fairly medieval feel. The effect, unfortunately, wears off around the time Amsterdam saves Bill from an assassination attempt. The film's middle section submits to hackneyed costume drama features, yet is revitalized briefly with Amsterdam's own assassination attempt. Despite this scene's marvelous zeal, it gives way to a bit of a forced third act.

Nevertheless, no matter how many individual moments take a dip in charm, Day-Lewis is unfaltering in his portrayal of the brutal antagonist. Bill the Butcher is frightening on two levels; most of his subjects are only aware of the first, his vast amount of power. But the foundation for our understanding of him is his vicious battlefield demeanor. He proves to be not a complete savage, though, having much respect for his deceased opponent Priest Vallon, but he is motivated by his patriotism and disgust. Bill isn't the ultimate villian necessarily, but he's experienced, and skilled enough with a knife to be memorably fearsome. And, an added bonus, the UK-born Day-Lewis shows off his ability to turn an American accent into something ostentatiously wonderful.

Leo DiCaprio, on the other hand, is not as successful as his co-star. In most ways it is a fine performance from a greatly talented actor, but the ultimate effect is a cluster of emotion hidden behind an unfriendly beard and a somewhat intermittent Irish accent. He evokes some of the same feelings for his role in Scorsese's The Departed to much more avail.

As the final shot goes to great lengths to explain, the film's central theme is an ambitious exposition of the true origins of political New York. It wasn't all cozy chatting and document drafting, it happened in the streets with unspeakable violence. Thinking of the movie this way gives it a strong purpose, and makes it worth watching simply for its historical value. Beyond this, although it is largely a well-made film, it is relatively forgettable.

You will never be left with more satisfying confusion and motivating comprehension

Film: Adaptation.
Rating: 5 out of 5

As if their 1999 masterpiece Being John Malkovich wasn't enough, director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman reunited for this equally brilliant (perhaps even superior in craftsmanship) 2002 follow-up. It's not a sequel, but it could be said that Being John Malkovich is a sort of a chapter, or an overture to Adaptation. Some of the best films leave me speechless, and some set my cognitive firewood so ablaze that I could talk about them for hours. This movie is both. There is this extraordinary duality to all of its aspects. Fact and fiction become one. It transcends qualities in "normal" films, and it lovingly embraces them. It is about nature, and about civilization. It side-splitting comedy, and an immensely touching drama. It is surely one of the most creative films of our time, and miraculously it maintains a straightforward narrative.

The daring ingenuity of this movie is established before the plot even begins. Nicolas Cage plays screenwriter Charlie Kaufman, whose original script Being John Malkovich is currently in production. Charlie is tragically pathetic. (Reportedly, this is a fairly fictionalized version of the real Kaufman.) Shy hardly begins to cover it; he is downright terrified of what other people think. Through his narration, he wallows in his loneliness and self-pity, lamenting his tubby physique, receding hairline, and inability to adapt Susan Orlean's book The Orchid Thief into a script. Meanwhile, he has to put up with his sweetly optimistic twin brother Donald (also Cage), who is the polar opposite of Charlie: artistically irresponsible, socially confident, and prone to using the floor as furniture. Donald is clearly enamored with his brother, but only manages to intensify Charlie's frustrations with the inexplicable success of his formulaic thriller script.

In recent yeras, Nicolas Cage has been trying aggressively to build a reputation as a badass in simply terrible action/dramas. He seems to thrive on the notoreity. But do not discredit Cage based on these unfortunate productions. He is a very gifted actor, and plays a loser better than anyone else. This is one of the boldest and best performances in film. He easily brings the oblivious perk to Donald, and as Charlie delivers the perfect amount of self-loathing and despair. Very few actors could play both halves of the profoundly moving scene that Charlie and Donald share towards the end of the film. Not many actors could even play one.

As Charlie struggles to adapt The Orchid Thief we see flashbacks to three years before, to the passion-starved Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep, captivating as always) and her blossoming relationship with the titular orchid hunter John Laroche (Oscar-winner Chris Cooper). By far (and knowingly) and film's most colorfully intriguing character, Laroche is arrogantly intelligent, and lacking in the two front teeth department. He may look like a hick, but this is a disguise he wears to punish himself for his past. In actuality, he is sensitive and introverted. The depth Cooper brings to this already deeply-written character is marvelous.

But what really sets Adaptation. apart from other movies is its development. It isn't just the characters that experience it, the whole film subtly changes as they do. The tone and style modify themselves, or adapt, to Charlie's different writing processes and views on life. His attempts to write the Orchid Thief script are woven into the story until we realize just how cleverly imaginative the structure is. The intrinsic natures of the characters collide and are reborn out of each others' ashes. They exert an influence over each other that they can't quite discern from so near, like how an insect pollinates a flower and unknowingly keeps the world alive. This film isn't just made by a writer and a director and a crew. It is crafted and shaped by its characters.

A movie like this can be described many ways. It is about fear. It is about self-pity. It is about redemption. It is about inspiration. It is about passion. It is about disappointment. It is about survival. It is about flowers. By the end, we realize that these are all the same thing. Adaptation. is hands down the best film of the 2000s.