Reviews

Last night, I watched Bennett Miller's FOXCATCHER with great anticipation. As the credits rolled, I wondered how I could possible have spent two hours and fifteen minutes with the three primary characters and know little more about them than I did when the movie started? First, we meet these two, knuckle-dragging brothers, Mark and Dave Schultz. American heroes both, young men who have sacrificed their lives — and all the cartilage in their ears, evidently — to the sport of free-style wrestling. The two gold-medalist sibs hulk around, butting heads, and slapping each other like mountain gorillas as they go through their daily training routine.

Poor Mark. Eating Top Ramen in his Spartan apartment, scowling at the world outside like an orphaned Frankenstein's monster. But alas, his phone rings. The heir to a massive fortune summons the muscular misfit to a Pennsylvania mansion. Enter Steve Carell in his Oscar-nominated role of John DuPont. We discover — awkwardly — that DuPont wrote a book about birds ten years ago. Other than that, all we learn about this very creepy guy is that he's definitely plagued with a very perverse Mommy fixation. Oh, yeah, and he fancies himself a wrestling coach and a great patriot.

(Mommy, btw, is portrayed by Vanessa Redgrave, one of two fine actresses whose efforts are wasted here on vapid, thankless, "female" roles — the other being Sienna Miller, who portrays Dave Schultz's loyal better half.)

What we don't learn about DuPont is that he was responsible for discovering two-dozen rare species of birds, founded the Delaware Museum of Natural History, donated Villanova University's basketball facility, and figured heavily in establishing the pentathlon as an Olympic event. However, those inconvenient details might have distracted us from what director Bennett Miller evidently wanted to convey — that this DuPont dude was a complete whack job, who used his Foxcatcher Wrestling training facility to buy male friends with whom he could bond and party.

The in-and-out, off-and-on fraternal rivalry between Dave Schultz and his dim-witted, severely depressed younger bro might have been the heart of the film. Or, maybe, it might have been the wrestling competition. I don't know. Miller doesn't allow any of the characters to rise to the level of protagonist. They all simply fall in and out of love with one another, exploit one another, bring out the worst in one another, get angry, pout, sulk, etc. All the while, I'm sitting there wondering who I'm supposed to care about, trying to figure out why so much time is going by, while absolutely no tension builds.

What is the core of the story? Three ape men grapple for what? Then, Mark loses his last chance at gold. Because? Because DuPont, the guy who got him strung out on coke, insists on being in his corner? This big, tough, dominate athlete is too emotionally fragile to win under uncomfortable conditions? Mark's failure brings shame on Foxcatcher. He packs his UHaul, leaving big brother behind to coach the team — evidently for the next 8 years! Then, inadvertently, DuPont puts three bullets into Dave — right in front of helpless Mrs. Schultz and Foxcatcher's supposed head of security. "You got a problem with me?" DuPont queries Dave before firing. Not with you. No. With the screenwriters and the director. Yes.

What Miller and the screenwriters have neglected to show us is that DuPont had married and divorced over the course of the narrative. And, that he had bonded with another Foxcatcher wrestler, Bulgarian Valentin Yorkanov, to whom DuPont bequeathed 80% of his $200M personal estate. Did the Yorkanov relationship figure into Dave Schulz's murder? Or, maybe it had something to do with DuPont's addiction to the Bulgarian prescription drug scopolamine? But none of that stuff is shown on screen — in a 155 minute film! Even that John DuPont suffered from paranoid schizophrenia is not at all clear. All Bennett Miller allows us to see is a spoiled, friendless nut job, who can't stand to lose. And, that's what makes FOXCATCHER a loser of a movie.

Stephen Merchant's "Stuart" embodies awkwardness — both in his physicality and in his bumbling, self-serving behavior. Stuart, in essence, is a gangly, bug-eyed, nerdy hybrid of Michael Scott and Andy Millman, the characters Merchant invented with — and for — longtime creative collaborator Ricky Gervais. Like Lisa Kudrow's Valerie Cherish in THE COMEBACK, Stuart's stressed-out efforts to fit in, to find acceptance provide the audience with delightful moments of skin-crawling discomfort.

It's the comedic equivalent of watching a horror-film ingénue slipping slowly down the creaky basement stairs, flashlight in trembling hand. We know the psychopath lurks in the dark, waiting to slice her to ribbons, but she just keeps descending step-by-step into the abyss. "Don't! Don't!" the voice in our heads repeats. But, it's too late. Our dim-witted starlet is confronted by her worst fears. With HELLO, LADIES (and THE COMEBACK) instead of screaming, we release our built-up tension with peels of laughter. We can't believe these characters keep setting themselves up for emotional disaster and ultimate failure. But, they do. And that's what keeps us tuning in week after week.

A lot of Stephen Merchant fans might be disappointed by the deficit of snarky smarm contained in this movie-length conclusion to the HELLO, LADIES season. I, myself, had to make a major adjustment to get in sync with the film's more tender, understated tone. Gradually, I found myself seeing the bold generosity being exhibited on the screen. Merchant and his collaborators were giving co-star Christine Woods the chance to show the world what she can do. At the end of the day, Ms. Woods more than rises to the occasion. Her performance is exactly what gives this splendid gem its sparkle — as well as its heart.

(Heart? In a Stephen Merchant script? Yes. Please allow me to elaborate.) Although I have most certainly not availed myself of every rom-com 2014 has had to offer, I truly enjoyed this one more than any other I have had the chance to see — studio or indie. That my favorite rom-com of the year is a Stephen Merchant vehicle? That, in and of itself, is difficult to get my head around. The formulaic rom-com genre expects certain things to happen. With a HELLO, LADIES script, the audience assumes that shallow, self-serving Stuart will most certainly muck it up. We certainly don't expect him to learn his lesson, grow from it, and — heaven forbid! —get the girl! I wonder what Ricky Gervais must think of his erstwhile partner's newfound introspection. None of the old Gervais/Merchant characters ever found even the slightest dram of self-awareness. How could they? They were never even aware of their own lack of awareness. Those characters were too busy winking at the audience, "Come on, now. Admit it! You're just as egocentric and self-absorbed as I am. So, let's flaunt our shortcomings and laugh at our mutual foibles." Since the original OFFICE, I've found lots of gut-busting humor in this ultra-cynical POV.

HELLO, LADIES (THE MOVIE) on the other hand, is not gut-busting funny. It provides some extremely humorous moments. Does Stuart make us squirm in our seats with his mewling neediness and crass social blunderings? Sure. That's Stuart. Does Nate Torrence's Wade get us giggling with his unabashed, optimistic enthusiasm? Yes-er-ree, Bob. Is Kyle Mooney's Rory a delightfully naive rube? Boy, howdy, he is.

But, Christine Woods steals the show. And, by providing his co-star with an opportunity to show her evidently limitless range, Merchant has generously unveiled a star to the world. In HELLO, LADIES (THE MOVIE) it's the charming humanity of Woods' Jessica that provides both the best humor and the most poignant pathos. Her understated naturalness is entrancing. Every line she delivers drips with subtext. She's a heartbreaker! I never thought I'd find myself tearing up as the credits rolled at the end of a Stephen Merchant vehicle.

Look out, Jennifer Annison. Thanks to the most unlikely star/writer/director ever, there's a new rom-com ingénue on the scene! Stand up and take notice,Hollywood. Christine Woods is on her way!

John Carney pulled off a miracle with ONCE, a romantic fable fueled by charming acting performances and genuinely beautiful and passionate, original music. In my recollection, it is the one and only film that made me cry — not solely because I cared so much for its characters, but because I didn't want my all-too-brief glimpse into their world to end. The fact that Carney pulled this off for a paltry $100,000 resulting in an Academy Award winning song and a Broadway musical only makes his feat that much more miraculous.

So, I was eagerly anticipating BEGIN AGAIN. Maybe my expectations were too high. You can't fault the acting performances in Carney's second peek into the world of contemporary music. Mark Ruffalo is, as always, multi-layered and heartfelt. His plight, as an alcoholic, divorced A&R man/failed father on the skids is vividly drawn. And, if those personal flaws weren't enough to doom his career, his idealistic, bull-headed insistence on working with "authentic" artists in an era of derivative, technologically manufactured music pushes him right up to the edge of precarious cliff.

And, here is exactly where film dooms itself. In Ruffalo's Dan and Keira Knightly's Gretta, Carney has written two characters who refuse to compromise the integrity of their work. This conceit demands that the script, the casting, and the entire ambiance of the film be authentic -- which it simply isn't.

In ONCE, the lead actors Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova were real, professional singer/songwriters. They wrote and performed their own songs with complete conviction. To play Gretta, Knightly had to "learn" guitar, which she mimes, but only barely. Her voice is unexceptional, not one that would believably attract Dan to risk his last chance on. And, most importantly, BEGIN AGAIN's songs are at best okay, in total unremarkable.

The idea that Gretta and this thrown-together band could actually record state-of-the-art live performances in public places in New York City is technically possible, but pragmatically preposterous. And, if Dan is truly striving for authenticity, recording Gretta in a cheap digital format would be the last way he would go.

Movies about music performance and production are, more often than not, shot without much attention to how it really happens. Directors usually get away with it because the public at large doesn't know any better. Cameron Crowe's brilliant ALMOST FAMOUS is an example of a film that absolutely nailed it. It's disappointing to see a film that pontificates about authenticity, yet fails so miserably to achieve it.

The fine actors in this film all have their moments. Regardless of her musical shortcomings, Knightly exudes enormous charm. Adam Levine is surprisingly genuine and believable. Up and comer Hailee Steinfeld and the invariably wonderful Catherine Keener are excellent. The most-deft supporting performance is turned in by Mos Def.

I do have to complement Carney that his script resists the temptation to allow Dan and Gretta to succumb to their obvious attraction to one another. However, for Gretta to choose to virtually "give" downloads of her album away for a dollar states nothing. It only reinforces the old saying, "I bought it for a song." Music is a treasure that should be valued. Music enriches our lives. There is no integrity in an "artist" giving his or her work away, especially after a group of dedicated musicians (with a piece of the back end) devoted so much sweat equity into realizing those songs.

With BEGIN AGAIN, John Carney has once again proved he is capable of writing charming characters and excellent dialog. Let's hope he endeavors to take his next story outside of the music business.

Is David Fincher a "great" film director? Certainly, he has created much more excellent cinema than bad. THE SOCIAL NETWORK, FIGHT CLUB, and GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO, in my opinion, achieving excellence; BENJAMIN BUTTON being a tiresome, pretentious bore. I would say that GONE GIRL lands somewhere in between. And ultimate blame for its disappointing mediocrity can be cast in multiple directions.

Fincher's GONE GIRL falls far short of achieving the deliciously devious tension of the novel. The book's seductive structure, dual point of view, and Gillian Flynn's fearless spelunking into the darkest predispositions of her characters make for huge challenges to the already daunting task of adapting a novel for the screen. And, more often than not, the novelist is not the best man for the job. Hands down, the all time champ was William Goldman. John Irving swung and whiffed more than a few times before finally hitting a grand slam with CIDER HOUSE RULES. Ms. Flynn was able to cleverly condense her thick, unhurried tome into a taut 140 pages. I'll give her that.

Alas, however, a more skilled, experienced screenwriter might have delivered more bang for the page. Aaron Sorkin, for instance, was able to take much less compelling source material and make THE SOCIAL NETWORK into a far more compelling film-viewing experience. So, it seems that director Fincher was somewhat handcuffed, short changed from the get-go. And, if it ain't on the page... (I know. Alert the Cliché Police!) Nuff said on that theme.

But please tell me this: how was Fincher unable to evoke a convincing — or even interesting — performance from Ben Affleck? Flynn's Nick Dunne is a Mama's boy, who constantly defaults to charm-offense mode to overcome his innate un-likability. Affleck sulks through this film in one robotic, unappealing gear. Only in his interactions with Carrie Coon, in an excellent portrayal of twin sister Margo, does Affleck pump any real blood into his Nick.

Ultimately, the film belongs to the character of Amy — a role that should be as memorable as Glenn Close's whacked-out Alex Forest in FATAL ATTRACTION or Sharon Stone's diabolical Catherine Tramel in BASIC INSTINCT. The novel's Amy is a narcissistic psychopath, who picks away page-by-page at the reader's belief in the goodness of mankind. Rosamund Pike's Amy mumbles sleepily through the first half of the film. Thus, we are not manipulated, as we should be, into loving her. So, when she finally reveals her true nature, it fails to evoke the necessary gasp on which the entire story turns.

Also, Pike's performance doesn't adequately reveal how Amy's parents turned their daughter into a resentful monster by exploiting her childhood in their wildly popular Amazing Amy book series, only to add insult to injury by taking back the endowment she feels was minimum compensation at best for their plagiarizing her life.

Even Trent Reznor's musical contributions seemed paint-by-numbers. These repetitious, droney, dissonant crescendos that end abruptly at every other scene change only amount to vain, noisy attempts to create tension that wasn't already on the screen. One would think that Reznor might offer composition with more nuance and less noise — as he did so superbly with his SOCIAL NETWORK score.

Rosamund Pike has a visage for the ages. Ben Affleck is a man of varied and substantial talents. David Fincher is one of contemporary cinema's most capable directors. Gillian Flynn is a splendid storyteller with an original voice. GONE GIRL should have been one of the most stunning shockers of recent years. Just goes to show, even with a top-notch team, somehow the sum of the parts can total less than the parts themselves.