THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS: READ IT ANYWAY, WIMPS!
I guess I can't be too hard on first time director Ned Dawson, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Them being his first feature film, and I do like his resume. The whole thing about this being three short films that are supposed to be combined into one, well the concept is far- reaching and it's great to be ambitious. But it's a hard thing to pull off, even with a healthy budget. Frankly I knew nothing of this entering the theater, and I couldn't have noticed a difference based on what I saw. So anyway
Dawson has made a very watchable film, with two captivating lead actors in McEvoy and Chastain set in front of a New York City backdrop, which in some scenes is shot well, others not too much. Chastain is seen walking up 3rd avenue towards St. Marks, then moments later back down to Cooper Union. Why??? Did she get a slice of pizza, or is she more of a McDonalds type? Later we find out she playfully enjoys Big Gulps and salty snacks from 7-11 while being driven around by her ex-husband.
So what is missing from this movie? I believe you can always look to the past for a previous model of a film's current incarnation, and see if it's an improvement, or an empty homage. In this case, the predecessor is Desperately Seeking Susan. A beautiful woman in her 30s has a life- changing event and finds herself set adrift in Manhattan with nothing in particular to do. Rosanna Arquette is comically hit in the head and suffers amnesia while Chastain apparently has some personal tragedy in her life (losing her child somehow it is never shown or explicitly discussed.)
So how are you going to manage some cinematic spark with only one slightly confused young maiden sent adrift in New York City? Obviously, you make NYC the star! But New York City today is different from what it was in 1985. Seeking Susan was a middling little indie drama that was to have Madonna in a small role, but she had so much charisma, and was the inside ticket to a world of vibrant subculture of dancing, fashion, sexuality and self-expression that makes New York such a magical place.
The New York we have in 2014 in nothing like 1985. I'll give credit to Dawson for growing up in NY and coming of filmmaking age in post-911 New York, and he shows it like it is, and what it's done to people: make them a whole lot less interesting and inventive. It's no wonder he named his protagonist Eleanor Rigby. Just a sad, aimless woman carrying her grey and withered emotions in a Michael Kors handbag. Unable to decide what to do with her life, she decides to "take a few classes" at NYU. Unable of course to pick a practical course of study because money is no object gratefully, she is fast-tracked through the enrollment process into an arts-study course taught by one of her fathers old colleagues, played by the supremely jaded Viola Davis, who seems not to care for her students' progression, or behavior, since she did not mind them passing notes. Davis only cares that she remains aloof, until of course she lowers her shield and takes Eleanor out for burgers.
Eleanor's husband Connor, well played by James McEvoy, is customarily guilty and confused as to why his wife tried to commit suicide and proceeded to leave him for no apparent reason. Although I would think people living in New York don't need a significant reason to jump off a bridge. The high rent and squalid conditions can make you do oddly spontaneous things. Connor is trying to live the dream; so to speak by opening his own bar/restaurant with his friend Stuart, played by Bill Hader, doing is anti-comic relief bit. But New York is dead, business is bad, reviews are bad, and the cool kids have migrated east to Bushwick. Connor stalks his ex-wife and argues with Stuart, and is so morose that a spontaneous sexcapade with his bartender Alexis provides zero relief.
Jessica Chastain is gorgeous, engrossing and fascinating to watch. But you feel bad for her and her shield of sadness. How a woman like her can find nothing interesting to do in New York and spend her weekend schlepping back to her parents house in Connecticut, (or is it Long Island?) is sad and shameful filmmaking. Haven't we had enough of this emptiness, or are people still obsessed with Ingmar Bergmann and the Seventh Seal? Is New York truly that dead? I guess you can manufacture some vibrancy with some explosions and CG monsters if you have the budget for that. I guess fine actors can't pull that off anymore.
I guess I can't be too hard on first time director Ned Dawson, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Them being his first feature film, and I do like his resume. The whole thing about this being three short films that are supposed to be combined into one, well the concept is far- reaching and it's great to be ambitious. But it's a hard thing to pull off, even with a healthy budget. Frankly I knew nothing of this entering the theater, and I couldn't have noticed a difference based on what I saw. So anyway
Dawson has made a very watchable film, with two captivating lead actors in McEvoy and Chastain set in front of a New York City backdrop, which in some scenes is shot well, others not too much. Chastain is seen walking up 3rd avenue towards St. Marks, then moments later back down to Cooper Union. Why??? Did she get a slice of pizza, or is she more of a McDonalds type? Later we find out she playfully enjoys Big Gulps and salty snacks from 7-11 while being driven around by her ex-husband.
So what is missing from this movie? I believe you can always look to the past for a previous model of a film's current incarnation, and see if it's an improvement, or an empty homage. In this case, the predecessor is Desperately Seeking Susan. A beautiful woman in her 30s has a life- changing event and finds herself set adrift in Manhattan with nothing in particular to do. Rosanna Arquette is comically hit in the head and suffers amnesia while Chastain apparently has some personal tragedy in her life (losing her child somehow it is never shown or explicitly discussed.)
So how are you going to manage some cinematic spark with only one slightly confused young maiden sent adrift in New York City? Obviously, you make NYC the star! But New York City today is different from what it was in 1985. Seeking Susan was a middling little indie drama that was to have Madonna in a small role, but she had so much charisma, and was the inside ticket to a world of vibrant subculture of dancing, fashion, sexuality and self-expression that makes New York such a magical place.
The New York we have in 2014 in nothing like 1985. I'll give credit to Dawson for growing up in NY and coming of filmmaking age in post-911 New York, and he shows it like it is, and what it's done to people: make them a whole lot less interesting and inventive. It's no wonder he named his protagonist Eleanor Rigby. Just a sad, aimless woman carrying her grey and withered emotions in a Michael Kors handbag. Unable to decide what to do with her life, she decides to "take a few classes" at NYU. Unable of course to pick a practical course of study because money is no object gratefully, she is fast-tracked through the enrollment process into an arts-study course taught by one of her fathers old colleagues, played by the supremely jaded Viola Davis, who seems not to care for her students' progression, or behavior, since she did not mind them passing notes. Davis only cares that she remains aloof, until of course she lowers her shield and takes Eleanor out for burgers.
Eleanor's husband Connor, well played by James McEvoy, is customarily guilty and confused as to why his wife tried to commit suicide and proceeded to leave him for no apparent reason. Although I would think people living in New York don't need a significant reason to jump off a bridge. The high rent and squalid conditions can make you do oddly spontaneous things. Connor is trying to live the dream; so to speak by opening his own bar/restaurant with his friend Stuart, played by Bill Hader, doing is anti-comic relief bit. But New York is dead, business is bad, reviews are bad, and the cool kids have migrated east to Bushwick. Connor stalks his ex-wife and argues with Stuart, and is so morose that a spontaneous sexcapade with his bartender Alexis provides zero relief.
Jessica Chastain is gorgeous, engrossing and fascinating to watch. But you feel bad for her and her shield of sadness. How a woman like her can find nothing interesting to do in New York and spend her weekend schlepping back to her parents house in Connecticut, (or is it Long Island?) is sad and shameful filmmaking. Haven't we had enough of this emptiness, or are people still obsessed with Ingmar Bergmann and the Seventh Seal? Is New York truly that dead? I guess you can manufacture some vibrancy with some explosions and CG monsters if you have the budget for that. I guess fine actors can't pull that off anymore.