THE KILLER Contains Fassbender & Fincher's Icy Execution In Neo Noir

Opening tonight at a multiplex near us all: 

THE KILLER (Dir. David Fincher, 2023)

A neo noir thriller about an unnamed professional contract hitman may seem a curious choice for David Fincher as a follow-up to MANK, his ode to old Hollywood, but it makes sense as an attempt for the filmmaker to scale down, and get back to basics. 

 

This globe-trotting series of chapters, each containing a different hit, is based on a 1998 French graphic novel by Alexis “Matz” Nolent, features a stoic Michael Fassbender in the title role, who we get to know through his constant monologuing (or self-narration).

 

Right before Fassbender’s Killer takes aim, we hear his personal pep talk in voice-0ver: “Stick to the plan. Anticipate. Don’t improvise,” and “Fight only the battle you’re paid to fight.” Problem is, the film opens with our anti-hero botching a hit, missing his target, and having to flea through the streets of Paris to allude the police, but with precise, and very entertaining maneuvering.

 

When he returns home to the Dominican Republican, he finds his lavish home has been broken into, and his wife (or girlfriend – we aren’t told which), played by Sophie Charlotte, has been attacked and is in the hospital on a respirator. 

 

Using aliases with the names of ‘70s, and ‘80s TV characters (Howard Cunningham, Lou Grant, Sam Malone, George Jefferson, etc.) Fletch-style, ‘The Killer’ travels to New Orleans, Florida, New York, and finally Chicago to visit, and off the likes of his handler, ‘The Lawyer,’ Hodges (Charles Parnell), ‘The Brute’ (Sala Baker), ‘The Expert’ (Tilda Swinton), and ‘The Client’ (Arliss Howard).

 

At the half-way mark, an amped-up fight sequence between Fassbender, and Baker that goes through several rooms and utilizes every item within reach the combatants can grab to use as weapons JOHN WICK-style shakes up the movie from its moody intensity. However, it could’ve been more captivating than it is as it’s shot in very dark interiors, and at times it’s hard to tell which silhouette is who.

 

Helping the narrative’s flow, provided by screenwriter Andrew Kevin Walker, who previously collaborated with Fincher on SE7EN, is our titular assassin’s constant listening to the Smiths through ear buds (the film features bits of over 1o of the British mope rock band’s tunes). Otherwise, Nine Inch Nails’ Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (also Fincher veterans) superbly score up the rest of the (of course) dark, edgy soundtrack.

 

Fincher’s 12th film is engaging overall, and has a number of juicy moments - Fassbender’s restaurant sit-down with Swinton, in a delicately classy performance, as another contract killer being a stand-out – but ultimately it felt a bit empty as its lead, for all his weighty talk about being a superior being to most of the inhabitants of our planet, doesn’t feel like a fully fleshed-out persona. 

 

The Killer’s lack of back story, and his meticulously constructed methods that we aren’t given much insight into, make him feel as layered as a character in a video game. Fassbender does a fine job with Walker’s words, and convincingly hits his mark acting as well as action-wise, but the iciness of both his and Fincher’s execution made it hard for me to care. So while it’s a stylish exercise that has its merits, THE KILLER left me cold.

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Jim Jarmusch Gathers His Friends Together For Some Zombie Fun

Now playing at the theater near me:

THE DEAD DON’T DIE (Dir. Jim Jarmusch, 2019)

Jim Jarmusch is a very weird filmmaker. His dozen or so films, neither of which feel like they take place in the same world, nor even the same universe, are populated with oddball characters, awkward but real seeming moments, and humor so oblique that people are unsure whether to laugh at it or not.

But this time around, he’s taken those elements and added zombies, and the result is, again, oddball, awkward, and oblique, but, you know, with the difference of the threat of the undead.

Bill Murray, who heads what the film’s tag-line calls “the greatest zombie cast ever dissembled,” as Police Chief Cliff Robertson for the sleepy, small, and fictional town of Centerville, Ohio (the film was actually shot in Upstate New York). Chief Robertson’s second-in-command, is Officer Ronnie Petersen played by Adam Driver who previously starred in Jarmusch’s wonderfully whimsical PATERSON (2016).

Because of “polar fracking,” that earth has been thrown off its axis, daylight hours are screwed with, pets disappearing, and the rise of recently deceased townsfolk from the morgue and graveyard. “This is going to end badly,” Driver’s Office Petersen repeatedly says to his superior’s annoyance.

The local police are alerted to the zombie situation after a few folks are found dead at a diner. The corpses have been largely eaten (yes, the film is gory), as remarked upon by Chief Robertson, Officer Petersen, and Officer Minerva “Mindy” Morrison, played by the very nervous acting Chloë Sevigny, who enter one-by-one to look at the savaged victims.

Each cop (and Danny Glover as the hardware store owner who found the bodies) has the same reaction: “Is it the work of some kind of wild animal? Or several wild animals?” - a bit of a running gag.

The zombies responsible for the killings are played by Iggy Pop and Sara Driver (no relation to Adam), who are both Jarmusch veterans (respectively Pop in COFFEE AND CIGARETTES, and Sara Driver in too many to list here). Also in the Jarmusch repertory company is Tilda Swinton (BROKEN FLOWERS, THE LIMITS OF CONTROL), as a funeral home attendant who wields a fast slashing samurai sword; Steve Buscemi (MYSTERY TRAIN, COFFEE AND CIGARETTES) as the crochety farmer that most of the townsfolk hate; Rosie Perez (NIGHT ON EARTH) as a newscaster who fills us in on what caused the zombie apocalypse; and rapper RZA (GHOST DOG, COFFEE AND CIGARETTES.

But Jarmusch’s stand-out player here has to be Tom Waits, who has appeared in several of the director’s best known works including DOWN BY LAW, MYSTERY TRAIN, and COFFEE AND CIGARETTES (he also scored NIGHT ON EARTH). Here Waits portrays Hermit Bob, who lives in the woods, and watches the grisly events from afar, providing Waitsian commentary on what he sees. Over the course of the film, he more and more becomes the movie’s narrator.

As for the newcomers to Jarmusch land, we’ve got the aforementioned Glover, Caleb Landry Jones as nerdy gas station operator and pop culture peddler; Carol Kane (hard to believe she hasn’t been in a Jarmusch joint before) as a woman who dies and comes back to life chanting “Chardonnay,” and Selena Gomez, who happens to be travelling through town at the wrong time.

Oh, yeah – county artist Sturgill Simpson appears as a zombie dragging a guitar around who’s credited as “Guitar Zombie.” Simpson also contributed the title tune, which can be heard throughout, and is even referred to as “the theme song” by Driver’s character.

There are a few other meta moments like that as when Driver says he read the screenplay, and Murray says he only got his parts of it.

THE DEAD DON’T DIE is far from Jarmusch’s best, but I enjoyed at quite a bit. Some of the dialogue, particularly the repeated lines reminded me of the Coen brothers circular wordplay, and I adored the laconic playfulness of many of its scenes. It’s a lark, but one with some solid laughs, and a stellar ensemble who are a lot of fun to watch.

Folks who don’t like zombie movies, even zombie comedies, may be turned off, but for those people who aren’t into decapitations that result in a bunch of black dust coming from the beheaded necks, bloody crime scenes with disgusting corpses, and in-your-face flesh-eating, I’ll just say that the great cast more than balances it out.

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DOCTOR STRANGE’s Origin Story Is An Incredible Looking Mystical Mess

Opening tonight at multiplexes everywhere across multiple dimensions and alternate realities:

DOCTOR STRANGE (Dir. Scott Derrickson, 2016)

The beginning of DOCTOR STRANGE, involving a foot chase and fight over the sides of shifting, folding buildings (like INCEPTION times ten) inside the London skyline, is one of the most spectacular opening sequences of the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) series.

However, what follows all too soon settles into an overly familiar origin story formula.

In a New York operating room, we meet Benedict Cumberbatch as snarky neurosurgeon Dr. Stephen Strange, whose arrogance around his fellow colleagues, played by Rachel McAdams and Michael Stuhlbarg, makes him come off more than a little like Dr. Gregory House, especially since Brits Cumberbatch and Hugh Laurie’s American accents are extremely similar.

Strange gets in a near fatal automobile accident while texting in his Lamborghini *, and when he comes to he finds that his hands have been mangled and his career as a surgeon is over.

Strange’s physical therapist (Kobna Holdbrook-Smith) tries to encourage him by telling him that one of his former patients made a full recovery from the same type of injuries, so our not yet hero seeks the man out. Benjamin Bratt as the former paraplegic points him to Kamar-Taj, a monastery in Kathmandu, Nepal, to which Strange immediately travels.

There he meets sorcerer Karl Mordo (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who takes him to the Ancient one, an ageless, bald, androgynous Tilda Swinton who silences Strange’s cynicism about their religion by thrusting him into outer space and a series of alternate dimensions which convinces him that he should shut up and train to be a sorcerer himself.

Meanwhile, one of the Ancient One’s former pupils, Kaecilius (Mads Mikkelsen) plots to destroy the sanctums that protect earth from other dimensions and conquer the world in the name of the powerfully evil Dormammu of the Dark Dimension.

So after the set-up, the second half of the film is all action with Doctor Strange, still developing his powers to bend time, make portals to different locations, and create fiery weapons by making shapes with his hands, fighting Kaecilius amid an ever shifting New York cityscape.

As incredible as so much of the imagery is – and with the backdrop of skyscrapers morphing into kaleidoscope clusters, it’s pretty incredible – the narrative follows a tediously predictable path, and too much of the dialogue is over expositionary mystical mumbo jumbo that left me scratching my head.

Cumberbatch is well cast in the role as he greatly resembles the character created by legendary comic book artist Steve Ditko, and it’s amusing to see him capture Strange’s snobbiness turning into enlightenment as he learns what appears to the film’s message: “It’s not all about you.”

Yet despite Dan Harmon (Community, Rick and Morty) doing some script doctoring, many of the good doctor’s one-liners fail to land. Of course, some of this is purposeful as in the moment when during his training, says to the Kamar-Taj librarian Wong (Benedict Wong) “people used to laugh at my jokes.” Wong replies, “did they work for you?”

It would’ve been nice if they gave McAdams more to do as she only seems to exist to aid Cumberbatch’s Strange as the clichéd love interest on the sidelines role. Swinton unsurprisingly steals her scenes, but this movie for sure doesn’t pass the Bechdel Test (what Marvel movie does?).

As for the other supporting players, Ejiofor and Mikkelsen bring the necessary intensity, while Wong, Stuhlbarg, and Bratt have their brief but sweet moments.

DOCTOR STRANGE is far from a dud as I felt reasonably entertained, but I believe it’s going to fall in line with the lackluster THOR films in future appraising of the Marvel movie canon. It’s the 14th film in the MCU, the second after CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR in the series’ Phase Three, so, of course, there’s formula fatique (not that it’s the first time), but there are times when the ultra trippy effects help to transcend that.

Those effects, the immaculate CGI courtesy of Luma Pictures and Industrial Light & Magic, are what audiences will most take away. When Derrickson, Jon Spaihts, and C. Robert Cargill’s screenplay falters, the inventive, mind-blowing visuals sweep in to save it. The IMAX 3D screening I attended was stunning, so I’d recommend considering that format.

I bet hardcore Marvel fans will be pleased with this addition to the MCU – it’s another round of member berries with all the requisite elements - Stan Lee cameo, surprise Avengers member appearance, post credits stinger, etc. – in place. Casual fans of the films, who also aren’t that familiar with the comics, may get a bit bored during this incredible looking but mystically messy movie. And I speak from experience.

* I love that there’s this disclaimer in the end credits: “Driving when distracted can be hazardous, drive responsibly.”

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The Brutally Brilliant SNOWPIERCER & The Striking IDA

SNOWPIERCER (Dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2013) 

In case you haven’t heard, the best action movie of the summer isn’t at the multiplexes, it’s at the art houses in the form of the South Korean-American sci-fi thriller SNOWPIERCER, opening this weekend in the Triangle area.

Based on a French graphic novel, the English language debut of Bong Joon-ho is a hell of a wild ride aboard a 1,001-carriage super train traveling on track that spans the globe. It’s 2031, long after a failed experiment to curb global warning has left the Earth in a new ice age. Most of the world's population has been killed except the inhabitants of the train, who are separated by class with the poor in the back and the rich in the front.

A bearded, almost unrecognizable Chris Evans (CAPTAIN AMERICA) leads a revolt to take over the front of the train (“If you control the engine, you control the world” he figures) resulting in bloody axe battles with masked thugs.

Evan’s band of battered rebels, including Octavia Spencer, Jamie Bell, and Song Kang-ho, capture Tilda Swinton (outfitted with scary false teeth, thick glasses, and a crooked wig) as one of the political stooges for the train’s creator and self appointed savior, Wilfred, and force her to help them make their way through the carriages. Kang-ho is convinced that conditions outside are improving, and that they should use explosives to blow the side of the train open so they can escape.

But Evans is determined to confront Wilfred, especially after witnessing the outlandish opulence that the elite have at their disposal. There’s a lot of social satire in these sequences, most notably in a rich kid’s schoolroom scene, in which a perky teacher played by Alison Pill (The Newsroom) leads her students to sing a song with such lyrics as “What happens when the engine stops? We all freeze and die!” in their happiest voices.

Ed Harris, tracking in traces of his God-minded Christof character from THE TRUMAN SHOW, appears as the supposedly all mighty Wilford, in a conclusion that philosophically brings all the film’s chaos together.

Although I wouldn’t call it visually stunning, the film’s imagery, courtesy of cinematographer Kyung-pyo Hong, is vividly gritty, and looks convincingly lived in.

The brutally brilliant SNOWPIERCER never stops moving. It has an intensity that most summer blockbuster wannabes can’t dream of matching (certainly this year), and its hard edged take on class warfare is so much more compelling than in the HUNGER GAMES movies.

So bypass the weekly onslaught of superheroes, monsters, machines, and all the sequels at the multiplex and seek out the cinematic surprise of the summer.

Writer/Director Bong has not only topped his stellar work in THE HOST and MOTHER here, he’s made a film that can stand up next to such dystopian classics as MAD MAX, BLADE RUNNER, and BRAZIL. A cult crowd is sure to dig it, but here’s hoping it will be embraced by a much bigger audience.

IDA (Dir. Pawel Pawlikowski, 2013)

Set in the early ‘60s, this Polish period piece authentically evokes its era by not only being in black and white, but also in the old-fashioned boxy “Academy ratio” (also recently used in Michel Hazanavicius’s THE ARTIST and parts of Wes Anderson’s THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL).

In her film debut, Agata Trzebuchowska portrays Anna, an 18-year old nun, who is told by her Mother Superior that she has one last living relative, and that she should meet them before taking her vows.

So Trzebuchowska’s Anna travels to meet her aunt Wanda (Polish actress Agata Kulesza in a stand-out performance), who tells her niece that her real name is Ida, she’s Jewish and the rest of their family was most likely exterminated by the Nazis in World War II.

Kulesza, as a boozy former Stalinist state prosecutor, travels with Trzebuchowska to their hometown to find out the truth about the fate of their relatives. The two woman clash a bit because of their vastly different lifestyles, and a charismatic jazz musician (David Ogrodnik) that they pick up hitchhiking may be too big a temptation for our heroine to handle.

Within the square frame, writer-director Pawlikowski, via cinematographers Ryszard Lenczewski and Lukasz Zal, sets up shots in which the top half of the screen is largely bare with the actors’ heads often occupying the bottom. Trzebuchowska, when alone in close-ups, consistently inhabits the lower corners of the image in many compelling compositions throughout.

These touches are artsy, but not self consciously so, as the dramatic weight gets beautifully conveyed by them. I often felt like I was flipping through a collection of grim historic photographs of these events, with the added perspective of these real-seeming characters dealing with difficult decisions about their past and future.

IDA is a striking masterwork of quiet tension. Its pace and power may be extremely restrained, but it still seeped in and haunted me for days after seeing it. For a film that’s this spare, small on the screen, and only 80 minutes long, that’s something to write home about.

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ONLY LOVERS LEFT ALIVE: The Film Babble Blog Review

Now playing at an art house near me:

ONLY LOVERS LEFT ALIVE 
(Dir. Jim Jarmusch, 2013)

Finally, a vampire movie for adults! Adults who are into slow moody art films that is.

Jim Jarmusch’s first film since 2009’s critically misunderstood THE LIMITS OF CONTROL sets a hypnotic tone right off the bat with a pitch black sky full of stars that swirl clockwise behind opening red pointy titles that resemble the credits from those Hammer DRACULA productions from the ‘60s and ‘70s.

The swirling motif continues as it fades into an overhead shot of a record playing on a turntable, then a mesmerizing close-up of a spaced-out Tilda Swinton (also from overhead) slowly falling backwards as the room spins around her.

This is how Jarmusch, via the sumptuous lens of cinematographer Yorick Le Saux, illustrates the sensation of instant euphoria that comes from drinking blood, sonically enhanced by the Velvet Underground-style droning of Jarmusch’s band SQÜRL.

While Swinton swigs tiny wine glasses of O-negative in Tangiers, her husband of many centuries, a long-haired reclusive rock musician (a deathly downbeat Tom Hiddleston), toils in a dark rundown Detroit apartment.

Hiddleston and Swinton are named Adam and Eve, but despite their advanced age and historical namedropping (“Remember when you gave that string quartet to Schubert?”), we’re not told if this is the original Adam and Eve. We just get that the deathly pale duo have lived through the ages gorging on, and influencing, art, literature (Swinton can’t travel without a suitcase full of vintage books), and science.

Hiddleston casually asks his gofer, an eager rock kid played by Anton Yelchin, to get him a wooden bullet for “an art project.” Sensing her hubby Hiddleston’s suicidal leanings over a video phone chat, Swinton hops a plane to Detroit. There, the long-time lovers luxuriate in each other’s company, slow dancing to Denise LaSalle’s “Trapped by a Thing Called Love” and sharing O-negative popsicles, until a flirty Mia Wasikowska shows up as Swinton’s reckless younger sister who needs a place to stay.

All the while, Hiddleston refers to the mortal humans as “zombies,” and bemoans what society has become. This social commentary doesn’t go very far, but it doesn’t need to as there’s plenty of creepy atmosphere and ominous imagery to sink one’s teeth into.

The spare cast also includes Jeffrey Wright, who previously appeared in Jarmusch’s 2005 Bill Murray vehicle BROKEN FLOWERS, as a doctor who illegally procures Hiddleston with blood, and the 74-year old acting legend John Hurt as Elizabethan-era playwright Christopher Marlowe, Swinton’s blood connection in Tangiers. Hurt has a great deathbed scene in which he speaks of being the true author of Shakespeare’s plays, labeling the bogus Bard an “illiterate zombie philistine.”

Hiddleston displays layers not even hinted at in his popular portrayal of Loki in Marvel’s AVENGERS and THOR movies, while Swinton plays upon her icily alluring persona with a tongue-in-cheek slyness; they’re utterly convincing as this blood-sucking yet exquisitely cultured couple.

It's also a bit amusing that Swinton followed spoofing her resemblance to David Bowie in his video for “The Stars (Are Out Tonight)” (from the 2013 album The Next Day) with recalling Bowie's emaciated, pale presence as a dying vampire in THE HUNGER (1983) whether or not that was intended.

Alongside the aforementioned tunage by Jarmusch’s band, Dutch composer Jozef van Wissem’s otherworldly score, which won the Cannes Soundtrack Award last year, adds greatly to the film’s tense trance-like tone. It reverberated in my psyche long after I left the theater.

With its subtle wit and its engagingly erotic ambience, ONLY LOVERS LEFT ALIVE is a welcome respite from the bombastic blockbuster fodder currently clogging up the multiplexes. It stands up nicely to Jarmusch’s ‘80s and ‘90s indie classics (STRANGERS IN PARADISE, DOWN BY LAW, MYSTERY TRAIN, DEAD MAN,) and is his best film since 1999’s GHOST DOG.

It’s also the first vampire film in a long time fit for a evening of fine wining and dining - even if blood isn’t your particular poison.

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THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL: The Film Babble Blog Review

Now playing at an indie art house near you:

THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL
(Dir. Wes Anderson, 2014)

The world of Wes Anderson just got a lot wackier with his newest work, a screwball romp set in a fictional European country in the 1930s, ostensibly inspired by the writings of Austrian writer Stefan Zweig.

Ralph Fiennes, in a role that thankfully made me forget his creepy turn as Charles Dickens earlier this year in THE INVISIBLE WOMAN, stars as M. Gustave, the charming concierge of the Grand Budapest Hotel in the Republic of Zubrowka as World War II approaches.

One of the hotel's newest employees, a Lobby Boy (Tony Revolori) named Zero, gets swept up in Fienne's farcical adventures involving the death of the wealthy Madame D (Tilda Swinton), with a valuable painting entitled "Boy With Apple" being left to the concierge in her will.

Swinton's family led by returning Anderson player Adrien Brody (sporting a Salvador-Dalí-esque mustache) as her son objects to Fiennes getting the priceless piece of art, and the family's dead-eyed hired hitman (Willem Dafoe) goes after our two plucky protagonists.

The tale is told as a story within a story by F. Murray Abraham as the older Zero in the 1960s to Jude Law credited only as "Young Writer." It's actually a story within a story within a story as the entire narrative by way of Law's later memoirs is being read in the present day by a teenage girl (Jella Niemann).

Anderson and cinematographer Robert Yeoman present each time frame in a different aspect ratio to reflect which film format was in use when the sequence is set. I.e. the '30s scenes that dominate the movie are seen in what's known as the "Academy ratio," an almost square-shaped frame. The later day '60s scenes are shot in widescreen, and the more modern material material is in conventional “flat” (1.85:1) format.

This whole process is so Wes Anderson-y. So is the eye-catching color scheme, the jaunty score by Alexandre Desplat (since it's mostly set in the '30s, there are no obscure Kinks songs on the soundtrack), and, of course, the cast full of Anderson regulars.

Jason Schwartzman, Jeff Goodblum, Edward Norton, Owen Wilson, and the great Bill Murray all don magnificent mustaches and join in. Even though none of them are really given much to do except just to be there, they're all nice to see as they briskly go by.

Along with Law and Abraham, and new to the Anderson stable is Saoirse Ronan as Zero's love interest (shades of the kids in love in Anderson's previous project MOONRISE KINGDOM), Tom Wilkinson as the older version of Law's character, and a bald Harvey Keitel as one of Fienne's fellow prison inmates who helps him escape.

It's a funny coincidence (to me at least), that this and MUPPETS MOST WANTED, also releasing in the area today, have elaborate prison break sequences.

Anyway, THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL is maybe the most fun film of Anderson's oeuvre. It has a witty playfulness to match its picturesque beauty - gotta love the miniture models, matte paintings, and dioramic backgrounds that largely make up the scenery.

It's not going to convert those who find Anderson's work to be twee, too quirky for its own good, or pretentious, but those as in love with his style as he is, will find it to be a very filling feast.

That it's a film made for Wes Anderson fans by the biggest Wes Anderson fan of them all, Wes Anderson, doesn't get in the way of the infectious whimsy one bit.

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Wes Anderson's MOONRISE KINGDOM Is Twee-rific

MOONRISE KINGDOM (Dir. Wes Anderson, 2012)

There are times during this film, Wes Anderson’s seventh as director, that I felt like I was paging through an old slightly faded and yellowed picture book of Rhode Island landscapes and settings.

The world that Anderson creates here will be familiar in its tone and eccentricity to those who’ve seen his previous movies, but his usual hallmarks - actors positioned in dead center frame, extreme shots of handwriting on notebook paper, a bold primary color scheme, kids who are too smart for their own good, and very formal dialogue - all come together much more naturally than before.

As whimsically titled as it is executed, MOONRISE KINGDOM concerns Jared Gillman and Kara Hayward, as a couple of kids in the summer of 1965 who don’t fit in their respective lives - he in his “Khaki” Scout troup; she in her dysfunctional family. They run off together across the fictitious island of New Penzance, off the coast of New England, in the days before a storm of “historic proportions” hits (as Bob Balaban, our onscreen narrator tells us).

This triggers the Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton), the local police Captain (Bruce Willis), and the girl’s lawyer parents (Bill Murray and Frances McDormand), to form a search party to find the missing children.

Although he was the most unpopular scout in his troup, Gillman has mad camping skills so the kids are able to survive just fine in the woods. Hayward helps pass the time reading aloud from a stack of unreturned library books (all fictitious children’s titles with authentic period aesthetics).

The pair reach a secluded cove protected by steep cliffs where they dance on the beach to Françoise Hardy’s “Le Temps de l’Amour” on a battery-powered record player. They kiss and fall in love, but the search party soon swoops in to separate them.

Meanwhile there is a palpable chill in the air around Murray and McDormand as she is having an affair with Willis. There’s no real time to flesh this out so it’s on a back burner as Tilda Swinton as Social Services (that’s actually how she’s credited) shows up to take away Gillman and place him in a “juvenile refuge.” 

Gillman’s scout troup decides to help the love-smitten kids escape again, and with the help of Anderson regular Jason Scwartzman, as a Khaki scout leader, a makeshift marriage ceremony goes down. Then there’s that pesky violent storm to deal with.

Sure there’s a preciousness to the precision that some may find pretentious, and maybe it is a bit. But it’s touching how faithful Anderson is to that little inner kid of his.

We don’t learn much about these people as the characterizations don’t go very deep, and some details seem a bit too quirky (McDormand using a megaphone to order around her family - and I know that comes from co-screenwriter Roman Coppola’s real life), but the overriding sweetness and colorful aura casts too big a spell for that to matter.

Despite that it's set in the mid '60s, there surprisingly isn't any British invasion pop present. Apart from the Françoise Hardy tune and some Hank Williams, classical music dominates the soundtrack by way of a 7 part suite by noted composerAlexandre Desplat, some apt Leonard Bernsteinselections, and Benjamin Britten's “The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra.”

Of Anderson’s films, I was most reminded of THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS in such elements as the yellow tent aesthetics, Murray’s wife having an affair, a dog getting accidentally killed, and the ancient turntable, among some other more subtle similarities. Maybe it’s true that every film maker is essentially making the same movie over and over until they get it right.

Well, Anderson’s MOONRISE KINGDOM is a twee-rific try.

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WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN: The Film Babble Blog Review

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN (Dir. Lynne Ramsey, 2011)

Last year I wrote that Pedro Almodóvar’s THE SKIN I LIVE IN was the creepiest film of 2011, well, I hadn’t seen this yet. Albeit it's creepier in a completely different (and much more preferable) way.

A intensely invested Tilda Swinton, who surpringly didn't get an Oscar nomination, stars as a woman who once was a successful author married with kids in a expensive house, but now is living in a dump of a home in a poor neighborhood.

How did she get there? Bit by bit her flashbacks tell us what happened, but the movie takes its sweet time in revealing the actual event. We can tell something incredibly tragic happened, as glimpses show a police scene with a crowd of shocked, crying people reacting to something offscreen.

It obviously has something to do with Swinton and husband John C. Reilly's first born, a nightmare of a child who stonewalls his mother, vandalizes her office, and puts his sister's hamster in the garbage disposal - just a few examples of his awful behaviour.


But Swinton is no great mother here. She dislikes the kid right from the start - she prefers the sound of a jackhammer in the street to her constantly screaming baby. Which is understandable, but less comprehensible is how Reilly is so oblivious to his wife and son's issues. Reilly is more involved with encouraging the boy's interest in archery, which you can sense will be very important later on.

The present day Swinton works an entry level position at a travel agency, and suffers through her lonely existence in which she is apparently octracized by the entire community.

This is one of the most draining, and often extremely unpleasant movies of recent memory, but it's also one of the most compelling without a dull moment right up until the end.

Swinton's performance is a study of focused anquish. I felt myself loathing her, yet at the same time I had equal feelings of pity and pain for the tortured character.

As I'm still processing it, I'm not sure if there was more humor in this picture than I grasped when watching it. Some of the soundtrack choices, like the Beach Boys' "In My Room" playing over a scene with Swinton snooping in her son's bedroom, made me think the film was trying to be too clever for its own good, but they didn't make me cringe like the stuff that was supposed to make me cringe.

I can't remember the last time I was so excruciatingly entertained. I kept cringing in advance of finding out what the kid (mostly played as a teenager by the effectively dead-eyed and acerbic Ezra Miller) did that was so horrific.

It may be a bit anti-climatic when it gets there, but the finely-crafted construction of the film doesn't falter, especially when concluding with a stirring, and blinding, final shot.

I suspect that Swinton wasn't Oscar nominated, because WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN may have been a conversation Academy members didn't want to have. If you're an adventurous movie-goer that's not afraid of dark material done well, don't make the same mistake.

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I AM LOVE: The Film Babble Blog Review

I AM LOVE (Dir. Luca Guadagnino, 2009)

There sure is a lot of opulent dinner party preparation in this Italian drama. We see servants prepare food, line up plates, arrange seating, etc. under the supervision of Tilda Swinton as a Russian woman who married into the wealthy Recchi family, yet appears to be far from satisfied.

Swinton’s husband, Pippo Delbono, is distant and only business minded in the face of his father’s (Gabriele Ferzetti) declaration that he is passing his textile manufacturing enterprise to not only his son, but also his grandson (Flavio Parenti). This announcement is made, of course, at one of many formal dinner parties that dominate the first half of the film. 

A chef friend (Edoardo Gabbriellini) to Parenti enters the picture and sweeps Swinton off her feet with a sumptuous dish of prawns. This scene tries to be sublime, but it borders on the ridiculous – a shaft of light falls upon Swinton as she begins to eat, the music swells, and there are extreme close-ups of her face as the taste sensation overwhelms her. On a trip to Sanremo to visit her art student daughter (Alba Rohrwacher), who her mother knows is a lesbian, but is keeping her secret, Swinton runs into Gabbriellini and they begin an affair. 

Their budding romance has tragic consequences when it’s revealed at, yep, another fancy dinner gathering. After flirting with the mainstream and winning the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress (for MICHAEL CLAYTON in 2008) it’s nice to see that Swinton can come back to her art house home turf, but despite her character craft this is a overbearing self consciously artsy film with little soul. 

There is a sex scene that about sums it all up – Swinton and Gabbriellini make love in the woods, her pale skin (also surprising to see she will still do nude scenes – most of the time Oscars bring an end to that) intertwining with his as the camera cuts constantly away to the nature surrounding them.

Shots of insects and flowers are interspliced between shots of their carnal desires. It’s all a pretentious show-off that has no ambitions beyond empty imagery. I AM LOVE is sure to delight many lovers of Foreign and indie films for the same reasons it didn’t appeal to this reviewer. 

Its aesthetics alone will be enough to satisfy some movie goers, but the lack of pure emotional impact will definitely disturb others. Director Guadagnino made a film that desperately wants us to feel for these people, take in their lush environs, and luxuriate in their passions. 

Yet after 2 hours of all the luscious shots of well prepared delicacies that these people live off of, it was difficult to relate or empathize - the only real thing I felt was hunger.

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Are Critic’s Jeers Of The New Jarmusch Joint Justified?

THE LIMITS OF CONTROL
(Dir. Jim Jarmusch, 2009)



“The best films are like dreams you're never really sure you had.”
- Blonde (Tilda Swinton)

With a rating of 40%, THE LIMITS OF CONTROL is Jim Jarmusch’s lowest rated film on the Rotten Tomatometer. Rotten Tomatoes’ consensus is that it’s “a minimalist exercise in not much of anything…a tedious viewing experience with little reward.” The venerable Roger Ebert, who usually has a more positive slant than most critics, gave the film half a star - which is also the lowest rating he’s given for a Jarmusch film. Ebert appraises the filmmaker’s motive: “I think the point is that if you strip a story down to its bare essentials, you will have very little left.”


So, with such painfully poor reviews to go by I went into THE LIMITS OF CONTROL with very low expectations. Maybe that helped because while I found it slow and fairly impenetrable I was never bored and the imagery mixed with the mood have stayed with me ever since. 

Let's take a look at the plot: Isaach De Bankolé credited only as “Lone Man” is a man on a mission in Madrid. We are never told this mission, only given cryptic clues. In between lying on his bed in his hotel room (much in the same manner Jarmusch filmed Bill Murray in his previous film BROKEN FLOWERS sitting on his couch doing nothing as the day light disappears), doing some form of Yoga, and visiting art galleries, he sits at outdoor cafés and orders two espressos in separate cups.

It’s all part of an unidentified plan - various contacts (including John Hurt, Gael García Bernal, and Tilda Swinton) approach his table and exchange matchboxes with him. 

They always begin the process by asking: “¿Usted no habla Español, verdad?” (translated: “You don’t speak Spanish, right?”) He nods "no" and then they alternately speak to him about different subjects. With one it’s music, with another it’s science, and most notably with Swinton it’s film.

Swinton references Orson Welles' THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI remarking that she believes it’s the only film in which Rita Hayworth played a blonde. As Swinton is wearing a platinum blonde wig for the first time in her career the moment is undeniably meta. This quality is also felt later in the film when while walking the streets sees a movie poster featuring a likeness of Swinton in the same get-up.

De Bankolé is trading matchboxes full of diamonds for ones with a small note inside. The notes have numbers listed on them and after a quick study he eats them and washes them down with one of his espressos. He returns to his hotel room at one point to find a woman (Paz de la Huerta) laying on his bed wearing only glasses. In as few words as possible he tells her he doesn’t engage in sex while on the job but since he just appears to be passing time until meeting the next contact this is as odd and mysterious as everything else in the film.

Aided by a map of that he destroys by burning, not eating, after reading, De Bankolé finally reaches his destination - a heavily guarded compound in which Bill Murray resides. Murray, only credited as “American” (nobody in this film is properly named) is a rich businessman who spouts out a critique of current society as De Bankolé prepares to kill him using a tightly pulled guitar string.

What the title means in all of this I have no idea – my attempts to form a theory have come up with no satisfactory results. I’m also perplexed by the vagueness of the narrative (perhaps Ebert is right about the point of it) and what anybody’s motivations are. Somehow though, these quibbles fade while the tone and beautiful photography of cinematographer Christopher Doyle remain in my mind.

This is the kind of movie in which you can agree to a large degree with the criticism heaped onto it but at the same time get something vital out of the experience. I can certainly understand reviewers wanting to warn average movie-going folks about enduring such an arty exercise when they’d probably be happier with more conventional fare but films like this shouldn’t be so easily dismissed.

Since his '80s indie incarnation, Jarmusch has been an intriguing filmmaker who makes mesmerizing art out of the spare rhythms and meditative moods of his characters. Here he gives us next to nothing to go on about his lead, yet De Bankolé gives a serenely stoical (there’s only one instance in which I can recall him smiling) performance that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. A transfixing tone that I still can’t shake makes this a film I believe will be greatly re-evaluated in the years to come.

So to answer in more concrete terms the question posed in this post’s heading - I wouldn’t claim that there is no justification in the majority of the critics’ pans, nor would I say that there’s more to it than meets the eye. What I would say is that THE LIMITS OF CONTROL is a worthwhile watch for those not looking for the cozy comfort of meaning. It’s the sort of unruly cinema that frees one from meaning, and that usually takes some folks some time to catch up with.

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Benjamin Button's Back Pages

“Ah, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.”

- Bob Dylan (“My Back Pages” 1964)

THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON 

(Dir. David Fincher, 2008)

“I’m seven but I look much older” Benjamin Button (Brad Pitt) says in his early old age upon meeting somebody new. He is, of course, not kidding. He was born a wrinkled wizened man in his 80’s, albeit the size of a tiny baby, so his curious case is that he is aging backwards. 

His tale is told through the recollections via his letters and writings from the deathbed of a former lover (Cate Blanchett) to her daughter (Julia Ormond) while the hard winds and rain of Hurricane Katrina pound her hospital window. He appears through the help of seamless CGI with the face of Pitt grafted on a child’s (or little person or such) body as he is brought up by New Orleans nursing home caretakers (Taraji P. Henson and Mahershalalhashbaz Ali) after being abandoned by his ashamed wealthy father (Jason Flemying).

Adapted from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1921 short story, the tale has a familiar FORREST GUMP-esque sweep which isn’t surprising being that it was co-written by the same screenwriter – Eric Roth. As Button grows younger he falls for Daisy, first played by Elle Fanning (Dakota’s sister), whose grandmother lives in the nursing home. 

Button goes to sea working on a tugboat (again GUMP) under the wing of crusty Captain Mike (Jared Harris) writing his love at home from every possible port. He has an affair with Tilda Swinton as a married British woman in Russia, fights in World War II, and inherits his father’s fortune all while still pining for Daisy who has grown up to be an elegant Cate Blanchett. Their relationship is obviously doomed or at least destined for extreme sadness but they still give it a go.

The narrative is handled so delicately that it’s as if it might break. As our hero gets younger the film seems to lose its already fragile grasp on the character. A sense of whimsy flows through that’s so light and airy that the film feels at times like it might float away. Also the digital trickery can often distract. The early scenes with Button largely crafted by CGI effect, while flawless executed, are hard to embrace because the gimmick overwhelms the emotional response. When Button appears to Daisy as a younger than he is in real life Brad Pitt by way of the marvels of modern make-up, she tells him “you look perfect” which is true but again the scene barely registers as anything but a pretty picture.

THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON is a lavish over-sized coffee table book of a movie. The accompanying text may be sorely lacking but it’s a visual feast and much to its credit it doesn’t feel like it’s just shy of 3 hours long. Being a fan of much of Fincher’s previous work (especially FIGHT CLUB and ZODIAC) I found this to be his most blatant exercise of style over substance and I’m not forgetting PANIC ROOM. From the first frame that depicts the Paramount logo rendered in shirt buttons to the fleeting final shots, there is much to admire about this movie if not fully love.

Still, TCCOBB is a worthwhile watch even as a technical triumph over an emotional one and it’s definitely got a few deserved awards in its near future. I did actually get emotional a few times for it but I yearned for more joy to be involved; a poignant pathos seemed to be all it was going for. Though, in these troubled times that we all are desperately trying to outgrow, maybe that’s just about right.

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