Movie Review: Short Term 12 and Robert Frost's "Bereft"

For the old e.e. cummings post, how’s this link? (Please feel no pressure to read it).   http://banjo52.blogspot.com/search?q=when+serpents+bargain

Yesterday I saw an awfully good movie about foster teens, which is related to the government shutdown. That is, how does our society treat its neediest humans?  

Short Term 12 was in one of the art theaters here and left today after stay of about three weeks. But maybe you can get access to it where you are, or online, or through Netflix, etc. It stars Brie Larson and John Gallagher, Jr. (he’s Jim on The Network), who play counselor-caretakers in a group home. They are very convincing. There’s enough humor and romance to balance—but surely not to cancel out—the gritty social and personal issues for the caretakers and foster kids alike. This is a first-rate, low-budget indie movie that makes us know and care about the characters. 

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bereft/

I've been looking for an appropriate time to post Robert Frost's very big little poem, "Bereft," and now, as I think about that movie's teens and their dark nights (and days) of the soul, maybe "Bereft" is just right. Troubled, abandoned fifteen-year-olds, lonely old men living alone, and all those in-between probably have similar feelings and thoughts at times. I wonder if they--no, we--can be of any comfort to each other.

Movie Review: The Way, Way Back

MOVIE REVIEW:  WAY, WAY BACK                                    A-

The Way, Way Back is a coming-of-age story centered on a 14-year-old boy, Duncan, who is dreadfully shy. His mother Pam (Toni Collete) and her boyfriend of almost a year, Trent (Steve Carrel), take Duncan to Trent’s house in a beach community for the summer. In terms of socialization, it’s sink

or swim for everyone. The adults cavort with other couples in a summertime way that one teen girl labels "spring break for the parents." The teens are too full of earned angst and painful awkwardness for much cavorting, but they do stand, sit, and play near each other.

Sam Rockwell is Owen, manic owner and theoretical manager of a water-slide fiefdom, which draws youngsters by the dozen. For Duncan, it acts as another world—somewhat like the other side of the tracks, compared to the upper-middle-class families that surround his mother and prospective stepfather.

There. I don’t think I’ve spoiled anything, and I declare this popcorn-welcome movie worth seeing. It’s a comedy with realism and substance.

I have some questions for who have seen it:

         What do you make of the vintage Buick station wagon? It’s clearly supposed to mean something.

         Alison Janney’s wonderfully acted role as Betty, next-door neighbor, is somewhere between amusing and hysterical. On a scale of 1 (low) - 5 (high)  how well do you like her?

    With which of the adults do you sympathize? Remember, unlike condescending pity, sympathy involves respect and probably some sense of connection with the character in question.

    Are you satisfied with the ending? Is it insufficiently romantic, or too romantic, or just right? Is your answer different for the teens compared to the adults?

BEFORE MIDNIGHT: A MOVIE REVIEW

 

Mirrors to Look Into

Before Midnight, with Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, is the third movie in a trilogy about the 20-year love affair and not-quite-marriage of Jesse, a successful American novelist, and Celine, a French bureaucrat and liberal activist. Even in the somewhat saccharine opening scenes, revealing two or more articulate, progressive, quick-witted people, we’re likely to notice that he tends toward arrogance, she toward hysteria (if that's too grand a word, think Drama Queen).  I predict that some viewers will hate him or her, or both, or the whole movie, but I predict those witnesses will end up in long and useful discussions about what they’ve seen.

We begin at the end of a summer in the southern Peloponnese, a romantic site where things begin sweetly, but where, almost three millennia  ago, a helluva series of wars occurred, and even now, on a much smaller domestic scale, the seeds of conflict are sewn. At a bucolic dinner for eight intelligent friends, comments pretending affection are also filled with menace.

I’ve attended such dinners, and I found this one disturbingly real. No one is willing to fire a cannon, so pellets of mustard gas drop discreetly under the table. The characters, experienced at this gamesmanship, are able to smile and hold their noses all at once. 

Branch That Bends

What made me most uncomfortable and what I might have liked most about the movie was that alternation between frontal attack and guerilla warfare in a long-term, transatlantic relationship, including three children, Jesse’s ex-wife and son in Chicago, the twin girls he and Celine have together, and Celine’s former romances and escapades.

Jesse and Celine both want their way, but both hope to play by some set of rules. Sometimes they do. But in almost every exchange they push each other’s buttons in destructive ways that are at least half-deliberate. Then they quickly retreat into euphemism or wit or intellectual digressions.

Tag, you’re it. No, I’m not. Yes, you are. We ought to be more mature. But we’re not. That’s right. Well, I am. No, you’re not. We’re too modern and sophisticated for this. Apparently we’re not. 

Games

Play long enough and the wounds grow deep, not to mention the fatigue. Chances are, if we’re honest, we know we’ve all played—if not domestically, then professionally or politically or morally. More subconsciously than unconsciously, we try to get away with self-serving maneuvers, and it’s a complex game of deception, a mean beast with tentacles. Before Midnight wore me out, but I felt gratitude that these filmmakers were treating the subject of contemporary marriage with realism, exhausting and uncertain as it is.

Faux Greek

Throughout the movie, the gorgeous Greek setting might act as a palliative against the tensions among the characters. The color and the prettiness help to prevent another Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. Before Midnight is that complex without being as bleak; its characters are not as cannibalistic or as removed from Western social norms as Albee’s grim academic foursome.

By the way, I saw the first two Jesse and Celine movies, liked them, forgot them. I don’t think that will happen this time, and, by the way, those two forerunners are in no way a requirement for understanding this film. 

*

MOVIE REVIEWS: MONEYBALL and DRIVE

The GPAs:               Drive   3.8                       Moneyball  3.6

Ryan Gosling and Carey Mulligan: Animal Attraction

Carey Mulligan Prepares Soup for Her Driver

It’s the weekend, so here are some infallible Banjo tips on movies. 

Don’t think of Drive as one more high-action shoot-em-up.  It is that, but it’s much more. There are holes in the plot a Hummer could drive through, yet the otherwise fresh writing (Hossein Amini) and inventive direction (Nicolas Refn) stopped me from caring too much about plausibility. There’s something going on here that’s bigger than plot.

That something is primarily Ryan Gosling’s unnamed, untamed protagonist in a fascinating study of character, or in a way, the lack of it. A stunt driver, getaway driver, and mechanic supreme, Gosling's character makes Gary Cooper look like a chatterbox. It’s likely that the controlling idea in the movie is the question of what goes on inside the skull and heart of a man who might as well never have learned to talk. Is he an animal? A saint? Can he love? Is this what love looks like, stripped of words to perfume it? Do all of us contain something of the driver's oddly honorable possibilities?

Gosling’s Driver-Mechanic might be every bit the psychopath that Hannibal Lector is, but probably not—if he's savage, he is so with a purpose. He cares deeply, even obsessively and sacrificially, for Carey Mulligan’s angelic, down-on-her-luck young mom, who might as well be single. Our nonverbal Driver-Mechanic is also a capable surrogate dad for Mulligan’s little boy. I’m not sure that’s convincing, but it’s appealing.

Ryan Gosling Looks Out for Bad Guys

Bryan Cranston and Albert Brooks are excellent in supporting roles. I knew a bit about Cranston’s range, but I’d never have guessed that Brooks could be so convincing as a crime boss.  

Oscar Isaac, as Carey Mulligan’s convict husband, and Ron Perlman, as Brooks’ subordinate, animalistic thug, are chillingly effective. I’ve rarely been so convinced about the badness of the bad guys, the hollow in the middle of so many of them. And in the case of Isaac’s role as father, husband, and thief, I’ve rarely been made to imagine that I understand and sympathize with such a character, pawn and victim that he is, at least to a considerable extent. 

And Sure Enough, Here Come the Bad Guys

The violent scenes are fairly extreme, but they feel realistic and relevant to character and theme. Also, they are not constant; there's more to the movie than bone crunching and blood. 

Drive offers a fresh take on crime movies, without losing its intensity for the sake of its art.

******

Based on the true story of the 2002 Oakland A's baseball team, Moneyball is a more conventional movie. Brad Pitt is credible as Billy Beane, Oakland's hard-driving general manager, a man with a vision. Jonah Hill shows some range in his portrayal of Billy’s Number Two Man, a mathematics, economics, and baseball nerd who offers a new strategy for winning games without losing money.

Although I did not remember the fascinating story of these Oakland Athletics and only recently became aware of Billy Beane and real-life moneyball, I am something of sports fan—mostly football and baseball—and it’s hard for me to imagine a non-fan’s response to Moneyball. My best guess is that the characters and plot are more than interesting enough for viewers of all stripes. The movie is about the business end of baseball and its personal stories; it's not just one action shot after another—though there are plenty of those too.

In terms of characterization and ideas, this a story of driven men, the trials of all new kids on any professional block, people with ground-breaking ideas, the trenchant and macho sense of superiority in a circle of men who are not at all superior, and the infamous plantation mentality that hovers at the edges (or centers) of all big-time sports. This might quiet some of the shouting about the high salaries of athletes, who, in their short careers, are bought and sold like chairs, often at the whim of rich old men.

Brad Pitt does as well as he can, given his fame, to be somebody else, to present Billy Beane as a man we might be more tempted to judge than like. He has a cold side, sharp edges, and the question of whether he can rise above that creates much of the movie’s substance. (I thank the real Billy Beane for permitting this multidimensional portrait of him).

For those who are baseball fans, this is probably a must-see flick, even if you’ve read the book. I think anyone who follows sports wonders what goes on behind the scenes in The Show, whether it’s baseball, football, or curling. Moneyball offers a convincing portrait of locker rooms, front office deals, and on-field scenes. It’s a pleasant and educational two hours. 

**

Movie Review: Horrible Bosses

 

It’s Friday, movie time, so I’m confessing that I did thoroughly enjoy Horrible Bosses, a delightful, dumb popcorn movie if there ever was one.

But how dumb is a movie when clever quips fly, physical humor gooses your inner child, and the plot turns like a pretzel epidemic?  Comic energy and synergy sparkle among the three main guys (Justin Bateman, Charlie Day, Jason Sudeikis), as they engage in a plot too outrageous (I hope) too be amoral:   they hatch plans to kill their three bosses (Jennifer Aniston, Colin Farrell, Kevin Spacey), all nasty (and hysterical) people in their own ways. Jamie Foxx is also superb in a supporting, comic vein.

If you do decide to go, pay attention during the surprise party toward the end. Keep your eyes open for Kevin Spacey's entrance. 

Not much is more subjective than humor, so I feel out on a limb with this one, especially if you’re going in the evening and paying full price. And do be warned, gutter talk is plentiful, though not nearly so invasive as it was in the Hangover movies, for example. But if you don’t laugh fairly hard at least six times (I predict fifteen if you count mere chuckles and chortles as well as wheezy heehaws--fifteen, I say, and I don't even know you) . . . if you don’t laugh at this one, one of us needs to see a specialist, and I don't mean a podiatrist. Not that there's anything wrong with podiatry.  (Don't worry, the movie quips are better than that).



**

Salt: Movie Review

Photo:  Angelina Jolie as Evelyn Salt, CIA agent, in a rare moment of quiet meditation.



Grade:  A.     That is, Salt does well what it sets out to do—hyper action and suspense in a pretzel of plotting.

Salt doesn’t need or deserve a lot of analysis; it is an action film, pure and simple, and as that it's one of the best of its genre. In quality, I’d compare it to the Bourne movies, except that the stunts in Salt are slightly more outrageous and the hero(ine) is less a character, more a caricature of an iron-willed, steel-bodied superwoman. You might say her metal is up.  In that context, Angelina Jolie is scarily good as Evelyn Salt, insuperable CIA agent.

Well, she might be this, she might be that. The movie is good with its ambiguities about white and black hats. I must not say more about the plot—if I hint, there might be a domino effect, and it’s the plot and explosive action that matter, including laughable feats of physical and mental dexterity.

If Salt weren’t through and through a popcorn affair, I might wonder about the wisdom of its revival of Russia as America’s nemesis. Russians in American film and television have recently become a default villain all over again—every Russian is a gangster or prostitute, it seems. In triggering memories of the Cold War and stereotyping one more category of immigrant, might the movie be offering still more stimulation for the stampede of paranoiacs, one more group to fear and hate?

But I hope that’s taking it much too seriously. Unless you’re a delusional, hate-loving grenade-brain,  get out of the heat and enjoy this interesting plot and adventure. (And if you are a grenade-brain, it's high time you became a silent shut-in before you go off in public).

Salt beats 007 and Kung Fu Casper all to Hell, and I predict you cannot predict how things turn out for the two or three main characters. Enjoy.

**

Movie Reviews: PLEASE GIVE

Please Give

grade: A

Written by: Nicole Holofcener
Directed by: Nicole Holofcener

RATING: R for language, some sexual content and nudity

Starring Catherine Keener, Amanda Peet, Oliver Platt, Rebecca Hall, Sarah Steel, and Ann Guilbert







Are you a buzzard if you profit from what’s left behind by the dead? Are buzzards OK, just another part of nature, like a tree?

You’re not exactly rich, but quite comfortable financially: how much guilt and gifting to charity is enough? Can it become obsessive and excessive? Can it become silly? What is the right kind and amount of schooling a teenager about the perils of materialism?

How strong and menacing must a sexual fantasy be before we say to the dreamer, “That’s too much, turn it off now”? What if I remove the word "sex" and call it beauty? And again, "That's too much, turn it off now."

How much Affirmative Action do we allot to the beautiful? Behold a stunning woman: how egocentric, vengeful and mean must she be before a man’s attraction to her stops? What stops it? A natural process or the power of his volition?

A tall, lonely young woman and a short, lonely young man: if it were you, how much difference in height could you tolerate? How much difference in other qualities of mind or body?

A cantankerous senior citizen, sometimes witty, sometimes toxic: how much do you sympathize and help her before reminding yourself she’s a chore, she’s not your blood, soon enough she’ll die, and you can turn away? Does the answer change if she is your blood?

What is the most unusual opening you've ever seen in a movie? If a terrific film ends a little too wobbly on one foot, and if every other stroke has been perfect, do we forgive its off-key closure?

Can issues like these be gracefully woven into a film more comic than dark, more affirming than cynical?

Please Give is a quiet indie film with pleasantly troubling portraits. Yes, it’s that paradoxical, kind of like most of human life, especially when it comes to issues like love and mortality. Please give it your time, money and attention. Its characters, scenes and issues will be with you for awhile, and you won’t be sorry. Or if you are, there’s something the matter with you.

**

CRAZY HEART, movie review

Crazy Heart A-



Crazy Heart deserves its good reviews, but here are some reservations, as well as praise, for a first-rate movie.

First, I can’t help thinking it’s one more story about one more entertainer who’s down on his “luck” because he’s made a series of self-destructive and self-involved choices. These days, I think we might be hearing too much about good people making bad choices. When do we require the character in question to make some bolder, harsher statements about himself?

Also, flawed as our hero is, does he require such a hyperbolic, country-music-outlaw name as “Bad Blake"? My brain burped every time I heard it, and this time I agreed with my brain. (Maybe I’m thinking of the Jimmie Dale Gilmore song, “My Mind’s Got a Mind of Its Own.” Great title, great song. What if the movie's title were, “My Mind Makes Some Bad Choices”?)

I know something about marketing country singers, but "Bad Blake" crosses the line into theater, self-parody, fatuousness. Yet it's our hero’s first choice; he won’t even disclose his legal name to his love interest, Maggie Gyllenhaal (who would be a remarkably lucky choice for a guy his age and in his condition, by the way).

I also wanted more sense of how and why Bad Blake made so many bad choices, more specifics about how and why he gave up on himself and others. Are we supposed to respect the envy he feels toward his big-start protegee? Don't we want to know about the rift between him and his son? How can we be sure Bad Blake is more than a whiner, a 50-something brat?

I’m also bothered by the movie’s debt to Tender Mercies (1983), in which Robert Duvall played a similar role (by the way, Duvall has a supporting role in Crazy Heart). Bridges’ acting range might be greater than Duvall’s, and the conclusion of Crazy Heart might be a touch more realistic. Also, Maggie Gyllenhaal is a more intense actress than Tess Harper was as female lead—though I’ve always thought Harper’s flatness came across as prairie strength, simplicity, focus.

Now that I’ve created a competition between two fine movies, perhaps a bad choice on my part, let me mention that Crazy Heart gets points for Jeff Bridges’ singing; it's surprisingly good, probably better than Duvall’s in the older movie. Ditto the songs themselves, though Tender Mercies had some winners.

In realism and power of setting and atmosphere, in creation of an important, believable world apart, Tender Mercies wins by several points. It has the soul that most country tries to be about, whereas Crazy Heart is more concerned with the evil commerce of the music business and its toll upon humans. It's country music corporate.

Although I’ve emphasized my reservations, I recommend Crazy Heart almost without hesitation. But I do feel it needs to footnote its predecessor in some way; maybe that’s what Robert Duvall’s presence is supposed to do, but it doesn’t seem clear enough.

And nowhere did I pick up on a note of apology for the self-indulgent choice of name for Bad Blake, a protagonist who, though not exactly heroic, does not need to go around announcing himself as a bad blade (a knife blade or a strand of grass? I guess I get the symbolism). After all, it’s just that the guy has made some bad choices, prior to the movie’s present tense. His soul is intact.

And it is, actually; he just has to find it. Most people will end up pulling for him, including me, even though I too often had to say, "Oh, come on now."

* *

The Lovely Bones: a Movie Review

THE LOVELY BONES: B-


Get there on time: The Lovely Bones opens with good story telling—in fact, a gripping 30-45 minutes of murder mystery, after which there will be at least an hour-long coffee break for you because you were wise enough to read this review.

It’s hard to imagine what director Peter Jackson and the other writers were thinking when they inserted all that digital afterlife crap into the endless, tiresome, trite, Harlequin-drenched, dime-store philosophy of a middle. Edge-of-the-seat suspense dissolves into a boring heap of redundant images and soapy talk-overs, during which respectable viewers will go to the john, or hike part of the Appalachian Trail, even if it's night, or just step outside to smoke ‘em if they’ve got ‘em. (The movie’s middle could cause people to take up the fatal habit).

When should the savvy viewer make his break? After the third minute or so in digitized heaven. From there to the beginning of the movie's climax and denouement, it’s a quicksand of the tried and trite, as Peter Jackson and Co. try to use electronics to re-invent Alice’s adventures in the rabbit hole.

Find out what time the final 30 minutes will begin; come back then to be sure you don’t miss the other good stuff. As mysteriously as it disappeared, genuine suspense returns, along with a couple of nice turns against predictability.

If you hadn’t already, you will realize that sinkholes make good symbols. Also, there’s more than one outcome for a bad guy, and I’d never have thought of this one. What an ingenious way to avoid the moral complexity and responsibility of capital punishment. Of course, we could also argue it's an irresponsible gesture at justice, the avoidance of a statement.

The acting is excellent, one more reason not to dismiss the movie out of hand. Young Saoirse Ronan (Atonement) makes a good lead and does as much as anyone could with the schlock she's forced to read in the middle. Mark Wahlberg and Rachel Weisz do just fine as her parents and as Hollywood’s requisite beautiful couple.

In supporting roles, Susan Sarandon delivers once again, adding humanity to Grandma Lynn’s main function as comic relief. Stanley Tucci contributes a spooky dimension in his superb embodiment of the Creepy Psycho; he should be remembered (fondly?) for this role. Michael Imperioli (The Sopranos, Law and Order) is surprisingly believable as a compassionate, yet competent cop. As Susie Salmon’s sister, Rose McIver is much more than eye candy, especially in the last half-hour.

So who knows if you should go? If someone important to you wants to see it, don’t say no too hastily. But take some kind of medication for that middle hour-plus, yet something that leaves your senses intact for the excellent last half-hour. If only this were the 1950s and I could in good faith say, “Pick up an extra pack of Luckies on the way . . . .”

* *

The Messenger, Part Two

On Dec. 18, I reviewed The Messenger, a movie about two soldiers whose assignment is notifying the next of kin that the U.S. soldier in their family has been killed.

In response, Jeff M, a thoughtful and regular visitor, writes: “My God, who the hell would want to watch this film? No offense, Banjo, but some things...I don't know. It's right up there with Sophie’s Choice or Boys Don't Cry.”

Jeff, I know what you mean, but where does one draw that line concerning serious art? At Dostoevsky? I completely understand a reluctance to seek out grim stuff, to pay admission to be depressed as well as enlightened. I've never put myself through Clockwork Orange along with a number of other books and movies, especially when there are more innards and sliced flesh on film than in medical schools.

Still, when I make those choices, I know I’m sacrificing something—maybe the new information and perspectives offered in The Messenger, maybe the elevation of human suffering to the status of tragedy. An audio recording of King Lear can make me shiver, but it’s a price I'm willing to pay once in awhile for witnessing the eloquent arrogance of social rank and senility and fatherhood as they are struck down into eloquent humility.

I remember Sophie's Choice as magnificent, if difficult—ditto the more recent The Road and Hurt Locker, and any number of other high quality but grim movies. Like you, however, I’ve consciously chosen to skip some. Don’t you think it’s got to be a personal choice?

The people who make me crazy are those who seem to get off on war while confining their reading and movies to Patriotism Made Simple by Moe Rawn and the Simpleton Brothers. Those people should be forced to see every minute of every convincing war movie—twice. Ditto for bigots and well-made movies about racism or sexism. Or am I just refusing to accept that bricks can’t think?

Jeff, I'm pretty sure that's not you signing up for Jingoism 101, so by all means skip this movie if you want to, need to. But I’m not sorry I saw and praised The Messenger; I think it added important fuel to my skepticism about American wars popping up like zits, here, there, and everywhere.

As we’ve heard so often since our war in Vietnam, the surviving veterans of most wars—and their loved ones—are wounded in myriad ways, from which the rest of us are shielded. Maybe the least I can do is put myself through two hours of forced enlightenment about an aspect of military life I've probably never considered. I don't have to endure such things every time, but sometimes, especially if someone I trust tells me how and why the book or movie is well-made.

So, as long as viewers have some of sense of what they’re getting into, I recommend, again, The Messenger as good film making.

More importantly, I repeat what I said in the December 18 review: most of Congress should see it—right after they volunteer their children or themselves or their spouses to be put in harm's way in one of our foreign ventures.

This should be a rule: if you vote for war, you go to war—or send your young offspring because they are more able warrior surrogates. I suppose that’s Utopian, though I’m not entirely sure why.

You might have heard something similar from Michael Moore in Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), but I promise I had the idea decades before seeing that good film. And of course, when Michael Moore is your ally, your argument is probably more than halfway down the tubes in mainstream America—not because it’s unsound but because it fails the Simpleton’s Red, White, and Blue test, which is entirely multiple choice. Experiences like The Messenger are essay tests, and they’ll be graded hard.

* *

Movie Review: The Messenger

The Messenger A-

Director: Oren Moverman

Screenplay: Oren Moverman and Alessandro Camon

Starring: Ben Foster, Woody Harrelson, Samantha Morton

I’m switching to letter grades because there can be confusion about the 4-point system; in some schools 3.0 is the middle of the B range, while at others, 3.0 is the lowest B. Can you hear the universe breathing easier now that I’ve reduced (or purposefully increased) the ambiguity weighing upon it?

Now, about The Messenger, how many angles can writers come up with on the theme of “War is Hell”? Well, here’s one more. The Messenger is a very good, very serious movie about two soldiers whose job is notification of the next of kin that the soldier in their family has been killed.

Members of Congress should be required to see this movie, but they won’t. I predict that not many plain old citizens will go either because the story’s too grim.

I hope the writers got their facts straight; there are some things you don’t mess with. So I’ll say the presumably accurate information here is interesting; there are strict rules about how a soldier goes about this grisly business. Also, there’s simply the fact of a job not many people are aware of and even fewer would want.

So who has such a job? At one level that’s what the movie’s about. At a broader, deeper level, it’s a character study of two messengers and the newly bereaved people they meet as they carry out their duty. The whole situation is one way to put a human face on war and its aftermath.

The movie drags a bit in the middle. I suspect that some scenes could be cut, though each is interesting or even compelling while it’s happening.

One potential complaint: in the two central characters we see still more military men who are perhaps more wounded psychologically than they are physically. As accurate and important as this portrait may be, is the subject of the damaged veteran wearing out its welcome as a subject for films? That sounds like blasphemy, like a terrible question, but I feel sure people wonder—or simply complain. Those who like war might say The Messenger dishonors the military by making soldiers humanly complex and vulnerable. Those who are sick of war might argue that they won’t put themselves through one more perspective on its awfulness.

The story is what it is (as we say these days. It's a thing to say. Like, "I'm sorry for your loss."). The acting is excellent, including Woody Harrelson's bad cop against Ben Foster's good cop; the script and direction respect the complexity and ambiguity in both characters. The scenes seem utterly realistic, and the content has more than enough heft. Only the length (too long?) and pacing (too slow and repetitive?) are questionable. If you have the time and energy to see something more or less as a duty, at least there's a high-quality presentation in The Messenger.

* *

DISTRICT 9, MOVIE REVIEW

Left: Is That an Alien Prawn I See?




MOVIE REVIEW: DISTRICT 9

On a GPA scale of 1 (low) – 4 (high)
District 9 is 1.3.

I’m no sci fi fan, but the reviews led me to believe this movie would be better—maybe even sci fi for grownups. It wasn’t.

The visual impact of aliens as giant shrimp was nicely comic and interesting for maybe ten minutes. The image of the space ship hovering was, for some reason, haunting; it felt like a god. The rest of the movie was typically dime-store moralizing and hyper action, accentuated by extreme gore.

I am baffled by the high ratings this flick is getting from the pro reviewers—its average on Metacritic.com is a remarkable 81.

By comparison, here, with their Metacritic.com average ratings, are some middle- or low-brow movies I could argue for, especially if you include popcorn. For more notes on these and others, see this blog, August 13.

A Perfect Getaway 63.
The Hangover 73
Funny People 60.

More serious films that deserve at least their high average on Metacritic.com are: The Hurt Locker, 94 (see my review here on July 28 -- a 3.98 movie) and France’s Summer Hours, 84 (which I have not reviewed, but would rate a 3.8).

TGIF.

The Hurt Locker, Movie Review

sand-colored cat



The Hurt Locker: 4 (on a scale of 1 low to 4 high )

In this study of a U.S. Army bomb squad in Iraq in 2004, director Kathryn Bigelow grabs us by the throat in the first few minutes and never lets go. I find myself tempted to say this is the best war movie I’ve ever seen, though spending much thought on art as a competition can become as wrong-headed as the Oscars are. So I'll just say I don’t remember feeling any more involved in the elite films of this genre—for example, Apocalypse Now, Deer Hunter, Platoon—than I was during Hurt Locker.

Original but not self-conscious in technique, the action scenes, along with the landscape of a distressed city and its inhabitants, feel absolutely immediate and real. Ditto the desert scenes. There is some gore, though not the mindless exploitation of it that I've come to expect in action movies. More prominent is the interplay among the three main characters, which poses important questions about leadership, friendship, recklessness and responsibility, courage, grace under pressure, loyalty, obedience, heroism, the independent personality--and, always one of my favorites: when and how a character can seem both arrogant and sympathetic.

Toward the end of the movie, I find two problems, neither of them fatal. First, there are indications of the probable outcomes of two of the three main characters. Why not the third, who might be the noblest of the group? Did I miss a line?

Secondly, there’s a bit of drift toward didacticism, or at least summarizing. However, it is fairly well controlled, never develops into full-blown propaganda, lasts for only five or ten minutes, and doesn’t even begin to override the method that has dominated: action, and imagery, and characters revealing themselves without a lot of instruction from the script on how we should feel or what we should think.

If you assume this will be, or should be, a facile anti-Bush or “War is Hell” flick, stop supposing and go see an admirable effort to avoid both glorification and condemnation. The Hurt Locker is closer to work than play for an audience; good art requires more effort and attention than entertainment does. But see it anyway. It's a disturbing wealth of visual and psychological experience, concerning some of humanity's oldest, most troubling themes.