Showing posts with label James Mangold. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James Mangold. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 24, 2024

A COMPLETE UNKNOWN: The Year’s Best Film Is A Humble Asterisk On The Legend of Bob Dylan

Opening everywhere on Christmas Day:

A COMPLETE UNKNOWN
(Dir. James Mangold, 2024)

I’ve long lived with the legend of how a baby-faced Bob Dylan with not much more than a guitar on his back, hitchhiked his way to New York to begin his revolutionary, controversial career so it was initially surreal to see this film so vividly bringing it all to life. It starts in early 1961 with a scruffy Timothée Chalamet as a 19-year old Dylan hitching a ride into New York City, where upon landing in Greenwich Village, he learns from folk singer Dave Von Ronk (Michael Chernus) that his idol, Woody Guthrie, is in Greystone Hospital in New Jersey.

 

Chalamet’s Dylan catches a cab to Greystone where he meets another notable folk icon, Pete Seeger, greatly portrayed with gentle gravitas by Edward Norton, at the bedside of an ailing, non verbal Guthrie (Scoot McNairy). After some introductions, and banter in which Guthrie gives Dylan a card that reads, ‘I AIN’T DEAD YET,’ Seeger asks Dylan to play a song, and the shy kid bursts into a riveting rendition of one of the singer/songwriter’s first original compositions that would  grace his first album, “Song to Woody.”

 

It’s a beautiful, lovingly executed opening sequence that got me completely into the narrative’s conceit, but there’s a lot to unpack here because as any Dylan fan worth their salt would tell you, it didn’t really happen that way. It’s highly unlikely that Dylan encountered Van Ronk immediately after coming onto the scene, he definitely didn’t meet Seeger for the first time in Guthrie’s hospital room, and “Song to Woody” was written a bit after the budding artist’s first meeting with Guthrie (funnily enough, the card he gives to Dylan was true). 

 

Thing is, though, none of these details matter in the big picture that is James Mangold’s A COMPLETE UNKNOWN, which was masterfully written by the director and frequent Martin Scorsese collaborator (and a favorite former film critic of mine) Jay Cocks, who rework the facts from Elijah Wood’s excellent book, Dylan Goes Electric! Newport, Seeger, Dylan, and the Night That Split the Sixties into a grand fable, full of amazing music, and presenting its themes of sacred tradition versus progress like an epic thriller. 


It’s a film for the ages that transcends the tropes of musical biopics so effectively that it sets a new standard for the form – I mean, the makers of the Springsteen Nebraska drama starring Jeremey Allen White should really take note.

 

For his part as the mysterious curly-haired troubadour, Chalamet deserves to win *ALL* the awards. The NY-born actor, who grew up a hip hop kid loving Kid Cudi, was originally supposed to take on the role back in 2019, but the project was delayed by the pandemic and the SAG strike, so he was given five years in which, between DUNE installments, to learn to play guitar, blow the harmonica, and, most importantly, how to hone the most famously distinctive voice in all of pop culture. 

 

And, damn it, if the kid didn’t completely nail it all. As a huge Dylan fan who has listened to every available note, seen the man 28 times live, and watched every single minute of film and video I could find of him over the years, I can confidently say Chalamet puts in a knockout performance. Talking about the movie on The View, Norton declared that what Chalamet pulls off is “a titanic act of immersion into a character. Nobody should play Bob Dylan, and he did it.” Amen.

 

The momentum of the movie comes from Dylan’s rise from the folk clubs, where he was revered for such iconic songs as “Blowin’ in the Wind,” to when he outraged the folk purists by plugging in and setting his lyrics to electrified blues, and rock and roll, which, he had long been a fan of – he was as much a disciple of Howlin’ Wolf, Little Richard, and Elvis Presley as he was Guthrie, Seeger, and Leadbelly. So it all comes down to whether or not the newly anointed acoustic protest king was going to go electric with a full band at the Newport Folk Festival in the summer of 1965, essentially giving to the finger to the folk community.

 

Of course, we know what Dylan’s going to do, but the fun and thrill comes from seeing how it goes down, and the Newport finale is stunning, exciting, and yes, electric with Timmy in the zone as Zimmy (Dylan’s real name: Robert Zimmerman) rocking out to recreate the live debut of “Like a Rolling Stone” (and a few other classics) while the festival crowd, and the backstage onlookers (including Seeger who contemplates getting an axe to cut the cables) go nuts over the bard’s new direction, which as the song goes, doesn’t point homeward.


The heavy scenario is intertwined with his romances with Elle Fanning as Sylvie Russo, and Monica Barbaro as Joan Baez, both also coming to a head that fateful day. Fanning’s Slyvie is based on Dylan’s early ‘60s girlfriend Suze Rotolo – the name was changed by Dylan himself (he’s an excutive producer on the film, and consulted on the screenplay), apparently still protective of their relationship – and their courtship is charming, with Fanning putting in heart-string pulling work as she’s alternately infatuated and confused by the gestating genius. Fanning really makes her mark, which is touching as she’s the one non-musical lead in this tune-filled tale.



But as Baez, Barbaro steals every scene she’s in from singing a gorgeous dark club version of “House of the Rising Sun” (like Chalamet, she spent years learning to sing, and play guitar) to her cutting post coital exchange with Dylan - “You’re kind of an asshole, Bob,” (a line so crucial that it made the trailer), and then to her ultimate estimation of her elusive sometime lover, which I won’t spoil. Barbaro's duets with Chalamet, even or especially on a song the real subjects never sang together, “Girl From the North Country,” are all wonderful - I’m looking forward to getting the soundtrack.

 

Norton is also awards-worthy as Dylan’s friend/mentor who is a bit taken aback by the singer’s fast rise into rock stardom. The quiet wisdom of Norton’s Seeger clashes in Dylan’s mind with another older brother type, Johnny Cash, as played by Boyd Holbrook, also bringing his own newly acquired musical chops to the table. It’s a considerably different interpretation of Cash than what Joaquin Phoenix brought to Mangold’s WALK THE LINE (2005), but it’s one that kills in this scenario as it’s this movie’s Man in Black that inspires Dylan to “track some mud on the carpet.”

 

In a recent promotional interview with MTV’s Josh Horowitz, Chalamet said ‘if we can be like a little humble asterisk on the legacy, of, or on the artist that is Bob Dylan, we did a good job.’ Mangold’s A COMPLETE UNKNOWN is more than just a good job, it’s the best movie of 2024. It’s a wonderful, emotional experience that personally has served as a cure for post-election depression, and a reminder that movies and music, when mixed beautifully together, can take us to a place where all feels right in the world. 

 

However, Chalamet is right, it’s a little humble asterisk on the large legend of Dylan, but it’s also a gateway for millions who don’t know the man to really give him a listen. And with the looming threat of darkness coming down, this is when people could most benefit from seeing, and hearing someone stand their ground, follow their muse, and be unafraid of the reaction. Despite all the imminent signs of doom, those kind of ideals AIN’T DEAD YET.


More later...

Wednesday, June 28, 2023

INDY 5 Is Better Than CRYSTAL SKULL, But Feels Off

Opening tomorrow at a multiplex near you :

INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY
(Dir. James Mangold, 2023)


Warning: This review contains major SPOILERS!

“What are you, 80?” Shia LaBeouf’s Mutt Williams cracks at a 65-year old Harrison Ford in the last, least loved Indiana Jones flick, something about a CRYSTAL SKULL. That was a joke, but now it’s the truth as an 80-year old Ford reprises Dr. Jones for the fifth time in the big summer popcorn movie sequel that opens tomorrow.

 

I’ll report right off that INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY, which releases tomorrow, is better than CRYSTAL SKULL, but how much is debatable as it is still far from the engaging adventures the original trilogy presented. The fluid Spielbergian touch is noticeably missing in action scene after action scene – it simply doesn’t visually pop like even the last bad one did.

 

It feels off right from the start as it doesn’t have the traditional play on the Paramount mountain that has opened every previous Indy movie. Maybe this is to establish that this is a Mangold take on the franchise, it doesn’t make sense as it’s an established aesthetic, and its omission threw me off. They use the same font for the credits as the others, so why would they change that?

 

Then the next tradition, Indy’s first close-up, which began with one of the most bad-ass shots in the history of cinema with the man with the fedora and whip stepping out of the shadows in the jungle in the opening moments of RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, was spoiled months ago with pictures of how the AI de-aging was going to give us a lengthy opening sequence set in 1944.


The version of the younger Ford running around somewhere in Europe (I forget where) in the dying days of the Third Reich, again punching out Nazis, and saving historic artifacts from their grasp, is very convincing, but the sequence itself, which culminates in a fight on top of a train isn’t particularly exciting. It does effectively set up the film’s MacGuffin, Archimedes’ Dial, and the villain, Nazi physicist Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen, who fits perfectly into Indy’s world).

 

Then we’re in New York, 1969, and Indy is a cranky old man, who we regrettably see shirtless, going to tell his hippy neighbors to turn down their stereo blaring the Beatles’ “Magical Mystery Tour.” He’s told it’s “Moon Day,” and we also learn that Marion (Karen Allen) has left him, and his son Mutt is out of the picture (thank the Lord!). Dr. Jones is set to retire from Hunter University where the students are falling asleep instead of fawning over him like back in the day.

 

But the plot doesn’t really kick off until Phoebe Waller-Bridge enters as Indy’s goddaughter, Helena Shaw, who is after the Dial, and wants Indy’s help so she can sell it to the highest bidder – something our grizzled hero doesn’t approve of (of course, because “It belongs in a museum!”).

 

A reluctant Indy gets roped into the action, and we’re soon taken through a series of high-speed chase sequences starting with a Moon Day Parade scene, in which Indy takes down three assailants in succession, pretty good for an octogenarian!

 

I’ll refrain from describing any more of the action on screen, but one can guess the back and forth the Dial goes through from good guys to bad guys back to good guys - Jones: “You stole it.” Voller: “Then you stole it.” Helena: “And then I stole it! Its called capitalism.”

 

The feared image of Ford portraying a broken-down Dr. Jones who is shown up by Waller-Bridge as his energetic, overly-hip goddaughter who even says in her defense that she’s “Beautiful and self-sufficient,” a cringe-worthy line for sure, isn’t entirely accurate, but I was disappointed that our adventure icon’s confidence was lacking. He’s faced death his whole life, and he’s just giving up to drink and watch TV now? Seems a bad choice for the character.


But Ford’s Indy, with his gruff, but lovable lived-in persona, will still work, and have weight to folks like me who have known him for four decades. I can’t speak for the younger audiences, nor will I make any predictions about its box office - (I’ve never seen the internet so want a movie to flop like this one - if you don't believe me go to YouTube, and search Indiana Jones, and see what vitriol comes up).

 

Of course, since this is an Indiana Jones movie, we’ve got to visit dark, spooky, trap-filled caves, and the tomb of Archimedes in Sicily fits that bill. I don’t think it’s a Spoiler to say there’s a time-travel premise as that’s what Archimedes’ ancient artifact dials up, but I will say that it works well as the MacGuffin – i.e. much better than that Crystal Skull of Akator whatnot.

 

A good choice was bringing Salah (John Rhys-Davies) back for his third time around with Indy, as he gives great gusto to the beloved role, while bringing the movie much needed warmth at times.

 

Another welcome return is composer John Williams whose iconic scores really brought sonic gravitas to the series, and it greatly helps out here – audiences will surely get goose bumps when it first arrives in the opening.

 

While Mikkelsen, and Toby Jones as an old WWII friend of Indy’s fit neatly into the world George Lucas and Steven Spielberg created over 40 years ago, and I’m not sure that Antonio Banderas, playing a boat captain, was necessary. Waller-Bridge was too smug for my liking, and the idea that she would continue these adventures herself is really unappealing – I don’t think that even people who dig her in this will be dying for a Helena Shaw franchise.

 

So with its competent screenplay by Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth, David Koepp (who co-wrote CRYSTAL SKULL), and James Mangold, INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY is a good, not great (one of my most used phrases on Film Babble Blog!) film that maybe is most notable for being a big summer movie in 2023 that is headlined by an 80-year old. That was something that was hard to shake at times, as it often felt like an old Harrison Ford film than a true Indiana Jones movie.

 

Mangold’s approach, direction, and tone for the entry just felt off for too much of the film, but maybe that’s because I re-watched all four Spielberg Indy films leading up to the screening I attended of DIAL. And like I said before, it’s better than the fourth one, but it doesn’t look better – cinematographer Phedon Papamichael is no Janusz Kamiński, I guess.

 

But I did enjoy this supposed last chapter enough to recommend, and it ends on a decent, if not fully satisfying note.

 

Now, please, let it end here!

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Westerns, Lovers In Paris And Media Circuses Are Doing Fine Thank You

"I feel like Dorothy - everything just turned to color."
- Don Draper (Jon Hamm) Mad Men (AMC Original Series 2007)

Got some recent moviegoing to babble 'bout so let's get at it :

3:10 TO YUMA (Dir. James Mangold, 2007) I don’t want to spend much of this review addressing the state of the modern Western – I’ll just say that it’s a genre that will never die (see Deadwood and the upcoming THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES). Those prematurely eulogizing it are discounting the allure of that period of history - tales with a backdrop of a lawless land that stretches to infinity will always be told. The tale told in James Mangold’s (WALK THE LINE) 3:10 TO YUMA is told very well – especially for a remake. I haven’t seen the original so I can’t compare but reasonably I am very skeptical about remakes so I was pleasantly surprised at how strong a movie this was. Christian Bale plays a down on his luck rancher who takes on the daunting task of transporting a villainous fast drawing outlaw (Russell Crowe) across country. The film’s title is their destination – a scheduled train with a prison car that will supposedly take Crowe to be tried and hung.

Obstacles aplenty surround Bale and his posse (including a wonderfully grizzled Peter Fonda) – Crowe’s murderous gang close behind set on freeing him, dangerous Indian territory, and the conniving overly confident Crowe himself. As Ben Wade –you’ll know him from the trail of the dead – Crowe does a career best performance. He perfects the kind of evil man who laughs through bloody teeth when being punched in the face, quotes ominous Bible passages, and never flickers for an instant in any hostile predicament. As an actor though he’s surely met his match with Christian Bale. Adding another sharp intense performance to an incredibly impressive roster, Bale really shines and should be rewarded come Oscar time. Far more than a genre exercise or a modernized re-imagining – 3:10 TO YUMA is one of the best films of the year. So forget about all the “death of the Western” diatribes and just savor the scenery.

2 DAYS IN PARIS (Dir. Julie Delphy, 2007) Looks at a distance like another BEFORE SUNRISE/SUNSET love story travelogue but a closer look reveals that Delphy's directorial debut is fairly removed from those chatfests. Of course there is considerable Richard Linklater influence in the dialogue and use of tracking shots but there is an offbeat dynamic that is all Delphy. The premise is simple - a couple (Delphy, Adam Goldberg) spend a few days in the city of love during what appears to be a rough patch in their 2 year old relationship. She's a photographer; he's an interior decorator though during this trip he's the one taking pictures - a lot of pictures. They seem to run into a former lover of Delphy's at every turn which makes the already extremely neurotic Goldberg's heavily tatooed skin crawl. Goldberg's Woody Allenesque asides provide the humor throughout especially in one of the best scenes - a dinner with Delphy's real-life parents (Albert Delphy & Marie Pillet). Some funny affecting moments but maybe would've worked better as a short film - even at 96 minutes it feels a bit drawn out. Better yet - condense the best moments from 2 DAYS IN PARIS into a montage and it would've made a kick ass segment of PARIS JE T'AIME! Nah, I'm just blogging out of my ass - Delphy's film may be only fair but as a first time effort it's on the good end of fair.

FILM BABBLE DVD PICK OF THE MONTH
ACE IN THE HOLE * (Dir. Billy Wilder, 1951) It's amazing that Wilder's follow-up to the inarguable classic SUNSET BLVD. has been missing in action (never available on home video until now) and undocumented for so many years. I've picked up movie guides from the last decade that didn't have a listing for it (not even in Wilder's filmography!) and when I've mentioned it to my other film buff friends it got no recognition. Well, this spiffy new Criterion collection edition should change all that. Kirk Douglas stars as a wild-eyed hard drinking newspaper man who arrives in Albuquerque, New Mexico to revive his troubled career. Stopping at a trading post on the way to a rattlesnake hunt he hears of a man (Paul Benedict) trapped in a mine because of a cave collapse. He milks the story for all its worth even delaying the man's rescue and it becomes the definition - possibly where the phrase came from - of a media circus. With Douglas at his most intensely vicious and Wilder's gloriously cynical but insightful script - it's so nice that this film comes back to bite us on the ass and show us how little has changed. After watching it I turned off the DVD player to see pundit after pundit espouse about the latest O.J. caper on cable. Hard to look at that pointless blather the same way again after seeing ACE IN THE HOLE. You can't get a higher film babble recommendation than this.

* After its original poorly received release the film was re-titled THE BIG CARNIVAL and re-released. Apparently this didn't help - the film was still deemed too dark and it failed to gain an audience. Until now...

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