Change Your Image
Kray_Kray
Reviews
The Revenant (2015)
Iñárritu's Revolutionary Re-interpretation of American Myth-Making
There have been two masterpieces in cinema this year. In Mad Max Fury Road, George Miller gifted us a dystopian deconstruction of the inevitable consequences of the will to own: a society both totalitarian and nihilistic, headed by an obscenely controlling monster commanding drug fueled Jihadis, regulating every resource from water to mother's milk. Misread in some places with a strictly "feminist" critique, exegesis of Miller's film can fly marxian or libertarian – it hardly matters as the solution to the chaos of dictatorship the director provided with Furiosa's victory was both egalitarianism and freedom.
In The Revenant, Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu attempts something more subtle: with one stroke of his pen, by giving protagonist Hugh Glass a native wife and son, he weds an early icon of American Exceptionalism into a matrimony of Old World and New. It was not long after Glass's travails that ambitious frontier writers grew his legend, and by the end of the 19th century Glass had entered a pantheon of American folklore heroes from the wholly fictitious Paul Bunyon, to the richly documented Davy Crockett. The historical Glass fell somewhere between symbolic characters like Johnny Appleseed and fictionalized pioneer figures such as Daniel Boone. Glass's place among these icons ebbed and flowed with each new literary interpretation, but none has challenged his role as an early representation of the American cultural values based on Puritan work ethic, Calvinist Pre-Destination, and economic liberalism. By the time Thoreau poetically stamped naturalism on the emerging national character, the attributes of perseverance, "rugged individualism", and emotional solitude had solidified into the championing of an individual persona that collectively birthed the philosophies and policies of American Exceptionalism and Manifest Destiny.
Wholly within a European tradition, neither Glass's experience nor iconography made room for a shared native American narrative. The value of communalism, spiritual communication with the natural world, and preservation of the environment were never compatible with the mission to homogenize and control that environment with ever increasing technological advancements. Native lifestyles and beliefs, in particular the unwillingness to entertain the notion that land could ever be privately owned, doomed any hope for a co-existence of equals. But in the Revenant, Iñárritu suggests that Glass's almost super human fortitude and survival skills were sourced not just from the core early American cultural value of self-sufficiency, but from the First Nationer acceptance of nature as a reverential if temperamental partner; a mate not to be dominated and contained, but to be respected and cajoled into compatibility. In the face of the arbitrary brutality of nature, it is not Glass's master of technology that saves him, it is his native-like learned connection to the spirit world and his understanding of the natural world that restore and guide him. Glass is a man with a foot planted firmly in both worlds, but it is his chosen one that is both sacrificed in the person of his son Hawk, and transcended in the visions of his dead wife and son. On his recovery and "revenge" mission, his sustenance is derived from animism; his survival from a native conciliation with the harsh environment.
I believe in The Revenant the film-maker wants his audience to extrapolate the sources and resources of Glass's survival and consider the role that native peoples had in the formation and growth of a nation, to ponder and accept the importance that native people's beliefs and practices had and still have in creating a harmonious balance between a natural world that is and will always be capable of demolishing the best plans and inventions of men, and the harnessing of that world in the name of advancement. Iñárritu's revision of the Glass story is not a mere plot device; it is a radical epistemological one that poses timeless questions. I do feel the wonderful performances, majestic cinematography, and riveting action in The Revenant are all subordinate to what the director would like us to entertain about the survival and "revenge" of Hugh Glass.
Legend (2015)
Yes, there is a Legend here - his name is Tom Hardy pt 1
Brian Helgeland titled this film "Legend" based on the sheer wealth of myths and fables surrounding the infamous East End gangster twins. That treasure trove enables even more artistic license than film makers are typically allowed, but the result here is a shallow mining that bypasses the documented, the verifiable, the "true". Unfortunately, many of the director's Kray scenarios, although beautifully photographed by Dick Pope, are pale vignettes compared to the fantastical reality of the brothers. An example is the early scene depicting Ron Kray's release from Long Grove psychiatric hospital as a strong-arming of a shrink caper, when Ron's "escape" was really so much more exciting: he blithely switched clothes and places with his brother Reggie and walked away. (Reggie could not be held as he showed his drivers license as identity). Seeing that played out, an audience would have a much better sense of the twins' near telepathic abilities, and the deviousness of their ingenuity. Again and again in Legend, Helgeland romances myths when truths explain so much better who the brothers were, and how they rolled. "Knowing what happened" should always be open to interpretation, but not at the expense of less interesting story telling. This scripting failure is a particular pity when a writer of Brain Helgeland's quality is involved : with one mocking line by a surveilling cop in the opening scene, one can understand just why the inhabitants of Bethnal Green would prefer to "kiss a gangster than talk to a cop".
Yet Legend has its delights: gorgeous cinematography highlighting 60's London settings from East End streets bustling with stalls and costumed to perfection shoppers, to mahogany barred, velvet appointed night clubs to dank, forbidding prison halls – all of which looks to the contemporary Yank as likely authentic – Pope can evoke a sense of nostalgia for what was never even experienced. Although some of the 60's pop musical selections are laughably literal (Chapel of Love for the wedding is corny enough; Make the World Go Away playing while Frances suicides with pills is beyond even Ronnie Kray sadism/silliness), Carter Burwell's lovely score tempers critical scenes. The cast could have been better used in cases, particularly Taron Egerton as Ronnie's amiable yes/rent boy triggerman, but Chaz Palminteri as the US Mafia don, David Thewlis as frustrated "fixer" Leslie Payne, Christopher Eccleston as legendary 'flash bastard' cop Nipper Read, and especially Peaky Blinders' Paul Anderson as Reggie's right-hand man Albert Donoghue all convey a strong degree of authenticity to any student of the Krays and their milieu. Emily Browning as Reggie Kray's love interest is conversely both at center stage and so objectified by Reggie that the fullness of her personality can't help but be obscured by her exposition and "otherness". But she is amazingly effective as the doomed girl next door, seduced by danger – when she meets Reggie, her youthful flirtation is a marvel of innocence and sexual awakening. She slips down a front door stoop to meet Reggie's gaze from a diminutive height, from which she (barefooted and shy-brazen) twinkles up at him to best advantage. Her devolution is all the more painful to behold considering her initial saucy confidence.
Of course it's Tom Hardy in his dual role who is the saving grace of Legend. From first sight of Reggie (he of the perpetual furrowed brow and pouty lips) swaggering down an East End street, mocking Old Bill and announcing his guvnership of the 'hood, we see a larger than life character as confident with his fists as with his reputation, a bespoke suited jungle animal, eyes cunning and wary. There are scenes (the opening street strut filmed from behind, a later one flanked by two prison guards, a frontal approach to his brother in an impending fight, a final walk by river lights after killing McVitie) where everything we need to know about Reggie is in that fascinating walk. Leading with massive shoulders, a boxer's arrogant swagger, this is the King of Creation for as far as he can nail it, born to command. To Ronnie, "the mad twin" Tom brings a surprising innocence. Ron knows he is both "fragile" and damaged, but his only real fear is losing primacy in his brother's life. The signs of deep psychosis are always there in the direct glare behind thick horn-rimmed glasses, the ramrod posture, the words spit out as though forcibly expelled from some simmering mass of chaos.
It is true, as has been maintained in review after review, that you quickly forget this is one actor playing two characters – that delightful amnesia is aided by Helgeland limiting the scenes in which both twins are in the same frame, but it is really down to Tom Hardy how carefully, but naturally, the personality foundation of the differences between the two is constructed. The use of minor prosthetics and suit style/padding help this illusion, but you feel Tom could have easily pulled off the distinction had the twins been exact doubles – and again, much of that distinction comes from Hardy's famous command of his gait, posture, stance. This is an actor who can face off against a man half a head taller and present the picture of intimidation, toe to toe, with the angle from which he cocks his head and the direction he aims his gaze. Does any other actor working today have such a control of the "real estate"? When he lackadaisically leans the right side of his body and arm against a bar in total repose, but strikes out a lightening left hook that decks his adversary with shocking force, you are stunned with the physicality. But you buy it. (Yes, if you enjoy Tom Hardy in fighting scenes, with himself as well as others, this is a must see film).
to be continued
Steve Jobs (2015)
Masterful Movie Making
LOVED Steve Jobs. Fassbender never misses a beat of the fast paced Sorkian repartee. Physically, he reminded me of a more youthful Jeremy Irons, laconic and restless, oddly both at ease with the environment he controls, and suspicious of it because it's not 100% fashioned in his image. The long walkie/talkie tracking shots, particularly those down corridors, seem just right to mirror his tunnel vision; and that decision to distinguish the acts with different film was brilliant – the first act is grainy, with a lot of saturated jewel tones, with a decidedly upbeat historical feel, when the second act switches from 16mm to 35mm, the emphasis on "focusing" on the new product line is visual as well as verbal, utter concentration, and the final digital act is crisp with more subdued colors
a lot of shades of gray. I noticed that the lighting brought out the hue changes of Fassbender's eyes; in the final act they were so steely they appeared silver. This film felt like nothing but nothing was left to chance, but it all unfolded naturally. The three acts fit together very well – the story was all of a piece, and although I had feared the father-daughter line would detract from the examination of Job's professional life, it was weaved in seamlessly, with perhaps just a tad overdoing in the final interaction between the two. Really nothing could have hit the broken part of Job's psyche – the consequences of the abandoned child – like the ambiguity of his parenthood.
The supporting cast was sublime. Daniels has read Sorkin's lines (in the Newsroom) so long now they seem to ooze out of him. Sculley came across as a very sympathetic character as well as an integral part of Job's business history. Daniels has that cynical-wise aura that is tempered by avuncular mannerisms. You really believed he loved the guy who got him fired, and that if had naturally had complex motives, the one that overwhelmingly won out was compassion. Seth Rogen, I think, was the perfect projection of the Steve Wozniak of our imaginations, based on what we have learned about him over the years. I read that Wozniak had a lot of input into how he would be portrayed, but nothing felt overly heroic or vengeful (and just the appropriate level of nerdy).This is the Wozniak I wanted to see in the film, fighting not for what was his, but what should have been shared – whether it was credit for his Apple II team or wanting 'open' products reflecting his conception of user friendliness, as opposed to Job's control mantra. Wozniak – the genius who would never dare tell anyone he knew what they wanted – everyone has to find that for herself. The philosophical differences on the open/controlled debate between Steve and Steve couldn't have been more finely drawn than if Bill Gates and Linus Torvalds had been set in a boxing ring. Michael Stulhbarg had some sweet scenes, and John Ortiz is starting to feel like an old friend every time he pops up.
But for me the player who really brought it was Winslet. Damnit, she looked so dowdy in the opening act all I could think of was Tilda Swinton's fanatic character in Snowpiercer, without the prosthetic teeth. But she grew more beautiful with every scene as she opened up the full marvel of Joanna Hoffman's role
and that was so much more than a Greek chorus of the better self she hoped for Jobs, but a brilliant, strategic, practical, and holistic woman in her own right. Winslet was a woman every wife, admin assistant, deputy will recognize; she's not just "behind her man", not just his "better half", not just his "cheerleader', but the source of his ability to do his best. That Jobs and Hoffman weren't romantically involved made the relationship no less intimate. She could walk away, she was not completely possessed by his vision and persona, her strength was what was needed to slowly wear down, like water dripping on a rock, the cage around his heart. There need to be AWARDS for Kate for this one.
I left feeling what I knew I would – that this is Sorkin's movie more than anyone's , even Fassbender's. The double-edged sword of his dialogues, his confrontational verve, his ability to mask considerable exposition beneath riveting conversation – the man is just the master of the intelligent, fast-paced script. I think anyone will want to see this again and again, for a missed line, for another glimpse at how a great writer carves the parameters of character, and fashions scenes to reveal them. This screenplay is more Sorkin than even The Social Network; in Steve Jobs it looks like he had the leeway to go full virtuoso, the recurring Sorkian riffs playing like prime Jimmy Page at Earls Court.
The Great Train Robbery (2013)
Oh those 60's south London boys..
Put me down for another Yank who ranks it a solid 7 I thought the three hours were tightly edited with no wasted scenes. What critical info, if any, was left out I do not know, as I watched this as a preliminary to reading about the robbery. Altho I can't comment on the period detail to the extent other posters here have ("the license plate serials actually didn't change til six month later" - WOW), I think the setting, styles, and lingo were all of a piece with other 60's London films and recreations.
So I enjoyed this quite a bit, including the levity - self-proclaimed "wanker boss", "key up me jacksie", Butler's smile on Thursday mornings, etc, which "offset Broadbent's stern gravity and Evans's Jon Hamm like 60's charm offensive.
I especially liked the portrayal of the Butler-Williams relationship and how despite Butler's fears his underling would give more away to his "snouts" than he got, Williams' contacts did lead to at least some grassing.
The final Heat-style "confrontation" with Reynolds claiming a "victimless" crime leading to such enormous sentences (yet, he was out in nine) would lead to the much greater use of guns in robberies seemed egregiously revisionist, but I suppose among the many contributing factors to that sad development was the sentencing in this case. Goody apparently was straight out framed (Paul Anderson in another wonderful performance.) Certainly in hindsight a crime committed by 15 men with at least half a dozen accomplices and netting so much cash was fated to go bust. But that Butler had to delay retirement for so long was a testimony not just to his vocation, but also to the robbers' use of that critical "luck" factor. The fact Butler left a mess for Nipper Read and had allowed Williams to go way too far off the reservation is subject matter for other films.
Still, film has to make an emotional as well as an informational mark, and I'm left wanting to chalk this one up for the bad boys. Mix south London and Brighton firms and you apparently got a very lively lot. "Dreaming big", and establishing the same bond of camaraderie the Flying Squad unit did evidently trumped even the millions. Or so this engrossing film would have us believe.
Straight Outta Compton (2015)
Fabulous film-making - a must see
There is a moment in Straight Outta Compton when Eazy-E (Jason Mitchell) glances up at a billboard boasting the recent recording success of Dr. Dre . The look in his eyes captures all the wistful regret, enveloping envy, thwarted ambitions, and lost dreams of any former "teammate" who either from personal flaws or uncontrollable conditions (or both) killed the golden goose. If you sense Shakespearian level tragedy in this well-crafted biopic, you are not ill tuned. Eazy-E stands at the center of this film as the rags-to-riches-to-near-redemption-to-ruin boy from the 'hood whose fault lay both in himself and in his stars. If the overwhelming film message is of hope – of how impoverished, marginalized young men used as yet unappreciated poetic talents to combat institutionalized racism and immediate poverty to mark out a musical and cultural frontier, there still remains that reminder of the fate of E - that perhaps only one in a hundred thousand talented rappers "make it". That those who fabulously did, Dr Dre and Ice Cube in particular, wanted their story told with their late friend as the film's beating heart, serves Eazy's memory well.
Biopics have no inherent suspense. We know what is coming because we know the characters and their trajectories. So the mark of the successful biopic has to be the ability to share the known in a way that engulfs the audience in both recognition and delight. In any biopic allowances for time and tightness will be made, liberties taken with fact, embellishments adorned on less than sterling characters – and we see all of these in this film. Dre is portrayed perhaps too self-sacrificing and courageous, Cube too soon financially attuned and consistently aware, and Ren's and Yella's essential contributions neglected, but the overwhelming response to this film for most viewers is an exuberant high–five, an appreciation so intense for the story and the artists who made it that you want to "hold your middle finger high in the sky" at Joe Louis Stadium, even as you already know at exactly what moment the police are going to storm the stage, and assault and arrest those artists. Even if you don't care a whit for rap, you should be able to relate to this well told, brilliantly acted version of the American Dream, because that is exactly what it is – an innercity realization of the American Dream.
The director, F. Gary Gray, draws wonderful performances from the entire cast. R. Marcos Taylor's Suge Knight oozes brutal menace, Keith Stanfield's Snoop exudes early Dawg charm, Marcc Rose's Tupac blasts a shock of grieved remorse. Paul Giamatti, masterful as always, brings a combination of avarice and tender concern to his portrayal of the all too typical record producer, out to cover "his end" first and foremost, utilizing every shady accounting trick because, hey kids, "that's the way it has always been done". Giamatti's character's uncomfortable complexity reminds us this combination of pure greed and sporadic avuncular "regard" most likely had to be the profile of the slave owners' self-deceiving rationale as he tried to convince himself his property was better off under his control than free. O'Shea Jackson Jr. will be compared to his dad so much we may lose track of the son's unique talent and spitfire energy, ability to use justifiable rage articulated in flaming verse. Corey Hawkins' Dr. Dre allows the underlying genius of his character to slowly draw itself out. But Straight Outta Compton is really Mr. Mitchell's show. It is in this young actor's lightening smile, expressive eyes, hunched swagger and plaintive striving that we see captured not just the saga of the enormously talented rapper, but the plight of so many who just never made it "outta Compton".