Reviews

Given it source (UK Channel 4) I assumed that this would be a rather one-sided hatchet job on Trump and, while it comes across as negative (even the comments from his supporters are hardly flattering), it is as balanced as any portrait of this man can be.

Anyone trying to understand Trump should watch this series to realize that what we have now as President is the same package that has been served up to the American public for more than 40 years. He hasn't changed a bit. He remains a shameless and occasionally charming BS artist, a bully, a womanizer and an ill-informed opportunist with no fixed political or moral principles. Even the guys who created Trump as a political commodity - Roger Stone, Sam Nunberg and the rest, who are interviewed extensively - recognize that what you see in Trump is what you get.

We'll get through the next 3 years, and it will be hard, but we should know that Trump is incapable of self-reflection. Even when he tells us that Citizen Kane is his favorite movie, he cannot see the irony in that. Sad!

I am mystified by the overwhelmingly positive reaction that this film received, not only among moviegoers but critics as well. To be sure, Matt Damon is his normally engaging self, to the point that, if it weren't for him, The Martian would be almost unbearably tedious.

Let's start with the fact that there is really no dramatic tension here whatsoever. Was the fact that the stranded astronaut would be heroically rescued in the last five minutes ever in the remotest doubt? This is a Hollywood movie, after all. Sure, there is the usual internal dissension - heartless management vs. compassionate colleagues. We know who is going to win that battle. There is Mark Watney's ongoing struggle to stay alive, through an increasingly unbelievable series of stratagems, despite things repeatedly blowing up around him, all the while making endearing wisecracks (for the most part to no one in particular).

The special effects are pretty good, though nothing that is much beyond what Kubrick was able to accomplish almost half a century ago.

The script has a few bright moments, but is so replete with clichés that it frequently verges on parody. The cheering crowds in Times, Trafalgar and Tiananmen Squares, the ubiquitous CNN news feed, the "unconventional" but brilliant young NASA engineer/math whiz who saves the day (along with the Chinese, this being 2015), the selfless, bantering and bonhomie among the properly gender-balanced crew of astronauts, the hard-ass "suit" who runs NASA and runs up against the "old guy" who has one last act of defiance left in him - and on and on and on. Really, there is not an interesting or nuanced plot twist or character among the lot.

I wanted to like this movie, mostly because, despite its thin story, Blade Runner still holds a special place in my heart. But I do now understand why Ridley Scott didn't get his Oscar nomination for best director.

I was not a huge fan of Richard Linklater's "Before" movies. I found them too self-consciously precious for my taste and, frankly, Julie Delpy just annoys me. Still, the notion of the passage of time and how we all change, even though we so often deny it, is fascinating. It's why Michael Apted's "Up" series of documentaries have been so compelling.

In that context, I approached Boyhood with mixed feelings, but there was no need to be ambivalent. I have very rarely had a more rewarding experience in the movie theatre. Virtually everything about this film is pitch perfect. The concept itself was pretty audacious. So much could have gone wrong and ruined the whole thing - Ellar Coltrane could have simply abandoned the project or he could have turned out to be a lousy actor (as could Lorelei Linklater). The producers could have lost faith in what must surely have seemed a fool's errand. The fact that is is just so beautifully, and believably, put together is nothing short of a small miracle.

I watched the film with my 21 year-old son and we lost track of the number of times we turned to each other in silent recognition of our own journey together as father and son. As with life itself, Boyhood has its moments of unintended humour, of awkward attempts to connect, of unexpressed anger, alienation and love. There are no artificially manufactured scenes of overt drama. Nothing really bad happens, despite what I found to be a prolonged sense of foreboding.

In short, this is a movie that know I will watch again and again, each time taking something more away from it. It is an unforgettable experience.

I cannot recall ever feeling more ambivalent about a film. Having read the reviews and seen the trailer, and having heard nothing but praise from those who'd seen this movie, I was really looking forward to seeing it myself.

So let's start with the good things, of which there are several. The atmosphere of the film is literally marvellous. We are immediately transported to an almost post- apocalyptic environment - the Bathtub - that is a steamy, waterlogged, mucky place and that is a wonderland for a young girl with a vivid imagination and an adventurous spirit. Able to move around with little or no adult supervision, but for the intermittent intrusion of a drunken, dying father, Hushpuppy can revel in nature and create fantasies that sustain her in her squalid surroundings.

The story is always interesting, taking bizarre and unexpected twists and turns. The other side of that assessment (and here comes my ambivalence) is that the plot seems to be made up as it goes along. There is certainly no clean narrative thread, and the unifying motifs - the oryx (aurochs?), the heartbeats of the beasts (humans most certainly included), the Gatsby-like lighthouse to which Hushpuppy speaks as if it were her absent mother - can seem more or less forced.

And there is fact that these are not professional actors. Even if we were unaware, the performances of the two leads are truly extraordinary. Wallis in particular, who is in virtually every scene, is riveting and has a greater screen presence than any number of top Hollywood actors I can think of. An Oscar nomination is, or ought to be, inevitable.

Parenthetically, it's interesting that two films this year - this one and What Maisie Knew which I saw recently at TIFF - are both tales of dysfunctional families told from the constant perspective of precocious six-year old girls, both of whom provide unbelievably fine performances.

So what's wrong with Beasts? Maybe it is just my own political correctness, but I couldn't help feeling throughout that we were watching the most reprehensible stereotypes of the Southern poor. The characters in the Bathtub with whom we are asked to empathize are, to a person, illiterate, shiftless, violent, besotted rubes who are too dumb to get out of the way of a freight train. I exaggerate, of course, but not by that much. Making it worse is the knowledge that we're not watching professional actors, but rather the residents who are called upon to play caricatures of themselves.

It may take me a while, and another viewing, to reconcile my feelings about this movie. One thing I will say, though: this is a remarkable achievement for a first-time 29 year-old director and we should all be looking forward to his next work.

Robert Redford can certainly muster an impressive list of acting talent, but this film is a reminder that there is more to a good film than that.

Like many others at TIFF this year, particularly baby boomers like myself, I was keen to see how Redford would go about dealing with an especially controversial aspect of recent American history. The premise here is compelling: members of the Weather Underground who are accused of murder after what appears to have been a bungled bank robbery have gone to ground, have built lives with varying degrees of success and respectability, only to have it all reopened years later when one of them decides to turn herself in. An earnest young reporter at a small newspaper is given (or seizes) the opportunity to dig into the story and finds out more than he bargained for.

There are several problems, though. For one, the film pulls its main punch, and telegraphs that move so early on that the natural tension is never allowed to build. I know that Redford is an old-fashioned movie star, and the prospect of his having actually been guilty is perhaps just not in the cards, but knowing this in the first few minutes makes the rest of the story rather unsuspenseful. Instead of wondering whether this (frankly rather dull) single father really did what he was accused of, we are left with watching him try to exonerate himself in a cross-country odyssey that is implausible and often tedious.

To be sure, there are some fine performances. The scene between Susan Sarandon and Shia LaBeouf in prison, as she tries, with only limited success, to explain herself to a sceptical and ambitious young journalist from such a different era, is very convincing.

Redford himself, though, does not really command our attention or interest. If you're going to star in your own movie, you should be sure that you really are the best choice for the role. At the age of 76 (and yes, despite being fit and well put together, he really does look his age), Redford is at least ten years older than his role would demand. And he has a 12 year old daughter!

Moreover, he fails to infuse the role with any real passion. Now, raw emotion has never been Redford's strong suit. He is just too cool for that. But here is a role that really calls out for something other than his typical calculated, rational, "nice guy" approach.

As a director, Redford is more successful. For movie buffs, it's fun to watch the train scene, for example, (how many directors have train scenes anymore?) which pays homage to some of the great train scenes from older suspense films like North by Northwest.

With this subject matter, The Company You Keep could have been an edgy and provocative political thriller, with a resonance that makes connections between the student terrorism of the 1970's and the burning economic and social issues of today. The fact is that many of the same underlying problems that led to the formation of the Weathermen - foreign military involvement, economic disparities, reactionary social policies - remain with us. Instead, however, the film never really brings itself to confront these issues except in the most oblique and politically correct fashion. It is an opportunity squandered.

I'm a sucker for a good adultery thriller, just like the classic ones from the 80's, and this one doesn't disappoint. The premise here is pretty familiar: rich New York tycoon is having an affair with a younger woman, he has business troubles and then his dalliance goes horribly wrong at the worst possible time. The plot, especially, the corporate shenanigans, can stretch credibility, but the film is sufficiently well written that the holes in the storyline don't really get in the way.

What distinguishes Arbitrage is the superb acting. Susan Sarandon is, as always, right in character as the society wife who knows more than you think, but in the end has her own set of priorities. Britt Marling plays the daughter who aspires to build her own career only to be forced to confront disillusionment in the "real world" and make some tough choices. Richard Gere, as Robert Miller, is the epitome of a Wall Street "master of the universe" whose finely balanced life is on the verge of collapse. Much has been written about the psychology of self-destruction that leads someone in power (almost invariably male) to risk so much for so little. Gere captures that mindset beautifully. Nate Parker is the black kid, whose father has a history with the family, and whom Miller shamelessly embroils in the mess that he has created. Parker gives a great performance. Finally, Tim Roth is outstanding as the NYPD detective who is sick and tired of the big Wall Street guys escaping justice and is desperate to nail Gere - too desperate as it turns out.

Arbitrage is slick, American filmmaking that delivers on what it promises. No more, but no less.

There is the kernel of a great movie here. If only the tone of the first third had been maintained throughout it would have made for a wonderful satire of British politics and diplomacy. But something went horribly wrong and the worst clichés of romantic comedy were allowed to take over. The career-driven wife who alienates her man; the ridiculously good looking soldier who is eventually thrown over for the hapless, earnest, naive everyman; the "unexpected" plot twist that brings the reluctant couple together in the end. It's all here.

Ewan McGregor and Emily Blunt struggle valiantly against the rising waters for a while, but before long the dam bursts and the preposterousness of the plot simply sweeps this film away. Look, I know that this is hardly intended to be a documentary, or even very realistic, but at some point and at some level you have to get some buy-in or it just doesn't work.

To cite but one example, how are we to believe that, regardless of his wealth and resolve, the sheik was able to conceive, design, engineer, build and put into service a massive dam in the middle of nowhere in a matter of weeks? It would take years, yet he plot depends on such a flimsy device - it is the very premise of the film. I'm all for the willing suspension of disbelief, but the writers do have to meet us part way.

And, though I hate to say it because she is one of my favourite actors, Kristin Scott Thomas ends up practically chewing the scenery here (and there is lots of lovely scenery to devour, to be sure).

You don't get do-overs in the movie business. It's too bad, because I would have loved another hour or so of what we saw in the first 30 minutes.

The Help has two outstanding performances: one from Viola Davis and the other from Octavia Spencer. Beyond that, I felt like I was fed a slice of Minny Jackson's pie. When the emotional apex of the film is a young, prosperous and coddled white woman agonizing about whether to leave the racially charged Jackson for a glamorous life in the literary swirl of New York,you know that something has gone very wrong indeed. This film did not need Skeeter and the fact that she became its centre-piece, no matter how "enlightened" she may have been, is a subtle form of racism in its own right. The maids in The Help are more interesting, more compelling and much more deserving of the film's unwavering attention.

Structurally, the film bites off more than it can chew, or at least digest. There are too many characters, too many sub-plots, too much distraction from the two most important women in the story. Is it about Skeeter and the relationship with her old nursemaid (as nice as it is to see Cicely Tyson again)? How much ought we to really care about Skeeter's mother (the badly miscast Alison Janney)? Is it worth time and trouble to introduce and follow the Celia Foote character, who would have made for a pretty good lead character but in a different movie? And what are we to make of poor Sissy Spacek in her confounding, embarrassing and largely irrelevant role as the demented Missus Walters? All of these characters may have performed a valuable dramatic function in the novel, but in a two hour movie we just don't need them. The Help demonstrates one of the pitfalls to which inexperienced directors can fall prey in trying to adapt a novel to the screen.

All in all, The Help is the kind of film that you keep hoping will redeem itself. For my taste, I'd rather have had something with fewer ingredients and a lot more bite.

There is no question that Moneyball should immediately be elevated to the already crowded upper echelon of baseball movies, but it is really more about business than it is about sport. The storyline is already familiar, and the good thing about it being, as they say, "based on a true story" is that we are spared a Hollywood ending in the form of a 7th game, extra innings victory in the World Series.

Moneyball is a classy production from start to finish. The script is tightly written, the casting is impeccable and the direction is slick and largely unobtrusive. Brad Pitt is competent in a role that doesn't demand too much of an actor. Philip Seymour Hoffman looks every inch (or pound) an old school baseball manager in his exasperated attempt to impose the "right way" of doing things on the hapless misfits he has been given to lead into battle. Stephen Bishop is a remarkably fine David Justice, the former superstar trying to come to terms with the vagaries of ageing and fading acclaim. The real star, though, is Jonah Hill, who, as a precocious young math whiz, and an Ivy League grad to boot, is a fish almost completely out of water amongst the cynical old guard of the baseball world.

It is a fine film, to be sure, but if there is any justice come Oscar time then at least two other films which were also featured this week in Toronto, The Descendants and The Artist, should be the front runners for best picture.