Movie Review: "Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues" (Adam McKay, 2013)

THEY DON’T JUST REPORT THE NEWS, YOU KNOW:

THE “ANCHORMAN” GANG RETURNS by Bennett Campbell Ferguson        

Early in “Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues,” 1980s newscaster Ron Burgundy (Will Ferrell) sits in a meeting with his boss Freddie Shapp (Dylan Baker) while they brainstorm topics to cart out for the 2:00 AM news.  Freddie nobly suggests climate change, but Ron has another idea.  “Why do we have to tell people what they need to hear?” he ponders loudly.  “Why can’t we just tell people what they want to hear?” 

            A witty assertion, to be sure, but one that also speaks to an uncomfortable truth.  Director Adam McKay (who co-wrote the movie with Mr. Ferrell) clearly understands that all too often, we really do prefer entertaining and innocuous fiction over actual facts, and his recognition of this nervously giggle-inducing reality transforms “Anchorman 2” into a surprisingly stinging satire.  The movie may be devilishly crude (a major sight gag involves a character getting hit in the crotch by a bowling ball), but the inner workings of the story have matured since it began in the 2004 film “Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy.”  Flying in the face of the classic sequel mantra, Mr. McKay and Mr. Ferrell apparently decided that this time it’s not just personal—it’s political. 

            It’s also an entirely new chapter in Ron’s life.  When “Anchorman 2” begins, Ron seems to have finally calmed his swooning self-love and settled down with his wife and co-anchor, Veronica Corningstone (Christina Applegate).  But when Veronica receives a promotion and Ron is fired, all of the belligerent newsman’s sexist egotism explodes in a volcanic blast of fury.  “It’s either me or the job!” he roars to Veronica.  To Ron’s dismay, Veronica makes the only logical choice.

Thus, our mustachioed protagonist is left to pursue Freddie’s irresistible offer—to join the world’s first twenty-four hour news network (and, in Ron’s words, to “have salon-quality hair and read the news!”).  On paper, it’s the perfect setup for a mock underdog story—when Ron swaggers into the office of the “Global News Network,” he seems doomed to be upstaged by the dashing anchorman Jack Lime (a deliciously snide James Marsden).  But unlike Jack (a suave slime ball who un-ironically deems twenty-four hour news “a journey”), Ron understands exactly how to grasp the public’s imagination—by eschewing actual reporting in favor of stories about cute dogs, car chases, cocaine, and a boisterous credo that “America is the greatest country in the world!” 

The result of Ron’s reporting is a series of ghastly spectacles that makes him not only the foremost anchorman on the network, but a national celebrity as well.  And yet, even as his protagonist’s pomposity swells, Mr. McKay declines to indulge in the mindlessly mad excess that plagues so many mainstream American movies.  He does treat us to some gleefully garish moments (at one joyous juncture, Ron celebrates his popularity by ice skating and playing his ever-notorious Jazz flute), but Mr. McKay’s interest also steers toward a more somber saga—the tale of how Ron becomes a better father to his son Walter (Judah Nelson). 

It goes without saying that Ron and Walter’s bizarre bonding rituals (which primarily involve caring for a ferocious baby shark named Doby) are ruthlessly subjected to the movie’s mocking gaze.  And yet this is one respect in which “Anchorman 2” diverts from the tonal path of similarly rowdy comedies like “Wedding Crashers” and “The Sitter.”  Whereas those movies treat the redemption of the cinematic “bad boy” seriously, “Anchorman 2” portrays Ron’s reformation as a journey just as ridiculously entertaining as his descent into self-absorbed gloating.  The result is a story with an unusually pure moral center, a film that insists not only that Ron should be an attentive husband and father, but that assuming such a role doesn’t have to preclude him from living a justifiably cackle-worthy life (just ask Doby). 

To me, this point is crucial because in a truly satisfying comedy, there is always an element of seriousness amidst the silliness; even “The Hangover” would have meant nothing if its witless heroes had never been forced to confront the depths of their idiocy.  By that count, I think Ron Burgundy would mean nothing without the satire and human drama that Mr. McKay weaves so skillfully into the bright fabric of his film.  Yes, we all love that Ron still thinks he’s “kind of a big deal,” but “Anchorman 2” is that rare farce that doesn’t try to ingest its comedic cake and devour it with its mouth gaping wide open it too.  Indeed, when Ron has to fight an army of savage beasts (including a minotaur!) to reach Walter’s piano recital, I wished for a moment that he could have escaped the brawl and made it to the show on time.  And though it was only a moment, it was there nonetheless, reminding me not only why we want Ron Burgundy, but why, even after almost a decade, we need him too. 

Movie Review: "The Hunger Games: Catching Fire" (Francis Lawrence, 2013)

BACK IN THE ARENA: “CATCHING FIRE” IS A ROAD TO REVOLUTION
by Maxwell Meyers

Above: Jennifer Lawrence and Lenny Kravitz in a scene from the film

If you have a pulse and manage to leave your house, then you are aware of the “Twilight”-esque aura that surrounds a little movie series called “The Hunger Games,” which is based Suzanne Collins’ book of the same name.  Now, we are at the convergence of months of promotions and it’s time to step back into the world of Panem, in “The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.” 

“Catching Fire” is the sequel to the wildly popular first “Hunger Games” film and stars Jennifer Lawrence, Josh Hutcherson, and Liam Hemsworth, and was directed by Francis Lawrence.  I am a big fan of the first film as well and was more than eager to step back into the arena.  I decided the best way to do it was to go big, and the only to do that was to go as big as possible.  It was time for me to see my first IMAX film.

“Catching Fire” picks up shortly after the first movie ends, with our two heroes, Katniss and Peeta, back in District 12 preparing to go out on the victory tour to “celebrate” the prior Hunger Games.  They are also putting on the act of true love that they presented in the first film, which proves to be harder for one more than the other.  Meanwhile, rumblings of an uprising become stronger with every day and whether she likes it or not, Katniss is becoming a beacon for revolution—a beacon that president Snow (who is played expertly by Donald Sutherland) must extinguish.  Enter the Quarter Quell, which happens every 25 years and reaps the existing victors including our heroes, placing them back in the arena fighting for their lives once more.

As a director, Mr. Lawrence shoulders the similarly difficult task of taking the baton from Gary Ross, who departed the project shortly before filming began for “Catching Fire”— a shakeup that one would never have guessed had occurred given the wonderful product produced.  Opening up the world that Mr. Ross established before, Mr. Lawrence gives you a better feel for District 12 while also leaving some things exactly the same, like the town square and the arena monitoring room.  In addition, he also gives you a greater idea of how poor and destitute some of these other districts in comparison to the Capitol.  My fiancé, who has read all the books, noted how she was displeased with the first film for not making the Capitol seem sinister enough and edging to the brink of being cool.  By contrast, “Catching Fire” does a much better job just showing you how wastefully extravagant the Capitol can be.  Plus, the Capitol features Mr. Sutherland’s standout performance.  Granted, he was given a larger role than in the last film, but he does such an amazing job of sending chills down your spine with a look.  He gets this look of such displeasure that I love the moment he realizes that Katniss’ reach has spread to his granddaughter, who is wearing her hair the same way.

I made it a point to see this film in IMAX for two very specific reasons: one, I had never seen an IMAX film and two, the film extends the screen to full IMAX size in the middle of the film.  The film extends to full size right as Katniss comes up a tube and out on to the arena a little over halfway through the movie.  The difference in size between the two wasn’t too great for me too notice a tremendous difference, but my eyes did do a slight readjust as it was happening (which was fun to experience) and the picture clarity was stupendous.

Overall, “Catching Fire” is a great film and a terrific follow-up to an already good movie and the complaints I have (which cover a strange love triangle and a lack of action) are few and far between.  What’s more, the acting is wonderful on all fronts and even Ms. Banks’ performance as Effie Trinket is just spot on—overbearing enough to let you know who she is (without driving you nuts), but with a moment of tenderness.  In fact, the movie has tender moments throughout and I’ll admit I almost shed a tear or two.

On the whole I would give this movie a B- and I think if you are a fan of the first film, you should get out and see the new one in theaters.  If you were only OK with the first one, “Catching Fire” doesn’t have the over the top visuals of, say, “Pacific Rim” that necessitate seeing it on the big screen.  But I would gladly see this movie again, and can’t wait to escape to this future in another year.

Movie Review: "The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug" (Peter Jackson, 2013)

SMAUG OF WAR: CONFLICT ERUPTS IN “DESOLATION”

by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Bilbo (Martin Freeman, far left) faces greater dangers in the second "Hobbit" film 

 

In the opening scene of “The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug,” a lone man sits in a shadowy tavern while sinister patrons eye him warily, preparing to attack.  Silently, the man prepares to leap into action and in response, you too brace yourself for a madcap flurry fantasy blockbuster carnage.  But it never comes.  Instead, the conflict is cancelled when the wily wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen) takes a seat across from the man, a dwarf king named Thorin (Richard Armitage).  Clearly, even the boldest warriors will think twice before ambushing one of the greatest British actors of all time. 

That moment constitutes one of the several instances in which “The Desolation of Smaug” successfully rouses your spirits via surprise.  And while those moments are not enough to make it a great film, they allow it to smoothly eclipse its predecessor, last year’s “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.”  Doubtless, the new film will appeal to many “Hobbit” devotees (disparaging reviews aside, the first film resonated with much of its core audience).  But for nonbelievers, there are some truly wondrous moments that sing with visionary finesse as well, even though they’re ultimately overwhelmed by the film’s hulking but emotionally barren story. 

Of course, part of the picture’s thrill comes from the fact that director Peter Jackson begins by hurling us into the midst of an adventure that is already unfolding—once that fateful tavern encounter is over and done, we’re cast into the night as the diminutive Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman) nervously but vigilantly watches while a bearish creature prowls in the dark.  Bilbo, as we learned in “An Unexpected Journey,” is a reluctant hero, a man who rather wield a spatula than a sword.  But in the new film, he’s embraced his role as a warrior and aid to Thorin and his dwarf coven as they fight to take back Erebor, a mountain that lies in the clutches of the sneering dragon known as Smaug. 

In “The Desolation of Smaug,” Erebor looms on the horizon in many shots, beckoning Bilbo and friends toward both danger and adventure.  Yet for Mr. Jackson, the mountain is not so important as what lies along the way—as our heroes near the destination, they find their path constantly blocked by opponents, from the irritable residents of a lake-bound village to a posse of elves, some of whom prove to be richer characters than Bilbo and the dwarves.  In fact, the beautiful elfish warrior Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly) gets to deliver the film’s sole spark of innuendo to the dashing dwarf Kili.  “Aren’t you going to search me?” he demands after she shuts him in stony cell.  “I could be hiding anything in my pants!”  “Or nothing,” Tauriel replies.

I can’t emphasize the importance of this exchange enough.  It’s appealing partly because it’s the kind of slyly obvious joke that Preston Sturges might have relished getting away with, but it’s also livelier than almost anything else in “The Desolation of Smaug.”  The movie’s cadre of mythological monstrosities—spells, resurrections, magical artifacts—may register as nothing more than obscure artifacts whose thematic complexities have yet to be probed, but by sneaking flirtation (and maybe even love) into this sweeping saga, Mr. Jackson takes a bold step towards making his opus as human as it is Hobbit.

            Would that he had gone further.  After directing the entire “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, a remake of “King Kong,” and the first “Hobbit” film, Mr. Jackson has become one of the most experienced blockbuster auteurs of the new millennium.  And yet, his experience hasn’t made him a better filmmaker because he still lacks that which keeps artistic competitors in fighting shape—the understanding that violent spectacle means nothing unless it’s leveled by humanistic ambiguity.  Indeed, it’s no accident that the movies of Christopher Nolan, Sam Raimi, and Bryan Singer have all presented frightening foes with easily detectable vulnerabilities—it matters to them that audiences not only become emotionally engaged with their films, but that they come to terms with the fact that defeating evil often means both rescuing the universe from damnation and harming people who are as human as they are cruel.  So yes, Nietzsche’s warning to “battle not with monsters, lest ye become one,” applies to commercial cinema, but so does Mr. Raimi’s credo: “We’re all sinners and none of us are right or wrong.”

            I wish Mr. Jackson could comprehend this because in “The Desolation of Smaug,” he presents a distressingly simple battle between righteous good and deplorable evil.  And while that would have been acceptable if he were content to merely indulge in PG-rated flights of fancy, the reality is that he determinedly infuses his film with an uncomfortable strain of savagery.  “Mine!” Bilbo crows after murdering a spider-like creature to obtain a precious ring.  The brutality of the scene is bad enough (Bilbo slays the creature in cold blood, thrusting and stabbing to the point of torturing it), but what’s worse is the film’s refusal to reflect on the moral implications of the scene.  Surely Bilbo, a decent fellow who’s simply in over his head, would have walked away from the killing wracked with guilt.  But rather than pondering his hero’s mental state, Mr. Jackson buries it in an avalanche of monotonous action and overbearing exposition. 

            That said…there is still beauty to behold.  Any special effect can’t help but pale next to a brilliantly alive actor like Mr. Freeman or Mr. McKellen, but Mr. Jackson recognizes that strange and gorgeous sights can leave us both exhilarated and moved.  Thus, we get a glorious sequence in which Bilbo climbs a twisting gray trunk until finds his head poking out of a maze of trees, surrounded by a sweeping expanse of amber leaves and lightly flapping blue butterflies.  Here, the world, including Erebor, stretches out before him, a dream as joyous and vivid as waking life. 

            I would have loved to live in that moment for the rest of the movie.  Yes, it would have meant missing a delightful scuffle of barrel-covered dwarves and, of course, the climactic showdown with Smaug.  But though that battle caps the film, it’s nothing more than a soulless soirée of plastic-hued digital madness—even when the dwarves subdue Smaug by smothering him in liquid gold, the fearsome dragon looks like nothing more than a tacky Christmas ornament.  And really, most of the film’s characters are mere ornaments to begin with, bodies to serve the spectacle, rather than emotionally fleshed-out people worth caring about, let alone loving.

            Of course, many people do love them.  Like the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, the “Hobbit” series has been adapted by Mr. Jackson from J.R.R. Tolkein’s Middle Earth saga and it’s hard to imagine a series more beloved.  And with that in mind, I recognize that “The Desolation of Smaug” is a picture for those who passionately love Middle Earth, not the outsiders like this critic who never felt the allure of Mr. Jackson’s cinematic translation to begin with.  I would even guess that the diehard Tolkein and Jackson fans who haven’t enjoyed the “Hobbit” films may feel the same way about them that I feel about the “Star Wars” prequels—that when all is said and shot, a shaky trip to a beloved universe is certainly better than no trip at all. 

Festival Dossier: Japanese Currents

A RICH SELECTION OF CROWD-PLEASING HITS by Eric Evans

Above: "Wolf Children," playing this Saturday and Sunday at the Whitsell Auditoriam

 

The standard dilemma of the festival programmer: show box-office hits proven to resonate with audiences or critical darlings of the art circuit? This year's edition of the NW Film Center's annual Japanese Currents program (December 8-15) manages dodge that choice with an unusually rich selection of crowd-pleasing hits from name-brand directors, all of which are receiving their Portland premieres during the festival. As a regional introduction to contemporary Japanese cinema, you won't do better than this group of films. They span genres and styles and provide an ideal look at the state of Japanese cinema, brows high and low.

1. First among equals in this year's batch is Hirokazu Kore-eda's “Like Father, Like Son.” Well known to western audiences for his thoughtful dramas “Nobody Knows,” “I Wish” (both of which are streaming on Netflix), and “Still Walking” (which was released by the Criterion Collection in 2010), Kore-eda crafts quiet, character-based dramas and, like Woody Allen, attracts the top talent for his projects despite their somewhat limited commerciality. Fresh off winning the Jury prize at Cannes, “Like Father” is the story of two families--one white-collar wealthy, the other working class--who learn that their 6-yr-old sons were switched at birth. Featuring a quietly impassioned lead performance by Actor and musician Fukuyama Masaharu recalling the late-80s work of William Hurt, “Like Father, Like Son” was also a solid hit in Japan. It appears that Kore-eda has broken through.

2. Best picture at Japan's 2012 Academy Awards, Daihachi Yoshida's high school drama “The Kirishima Thing” asks a compelling question: how would the student body react if the most popular guy in school, a handsome scholar athlete, simply disappeared?

3. Another major hit and winner at awards time, journeyman director Hideki Takeuchi's “Thermae Romae” is a time-travel comedy about a public bath designer in ancient Rome (best actor winner Hiroshi Abe) who accidentally time-travels back and forth between the and modern-day Japan and uses the opportunity to get a creative leg up on his competition by cribbing from the future. The film's fish-out-of-water laughs recall the best examples of the genre with a uniquely Japanese twist.

4. Action fans will recognize Keishi Ohtomo's “Rouroni Kenshin” as a superior example of commercial jidai geki. Based on the manga and anime about a master killer who swears off killing, the film feels very much like the satisfying start of a franchise for hot young actors Takeru Sato and Emi Takei and features a who's who supporting cast of flamboyant killers and characters. Briskly paced and formulaic in the best possible way, “Rouroni” will satisfy fans of popular fare like the Zatoichi films and introduce new viewers to the satisfaction of a well-crafted Japanese period swashbuckler.

5. Director Shuichi Okita's name will be familiar to NW Film Center regulars. His previous films (“The Chef of South Polar” and “The Woodsman and the Rain”) have shown the last two years of the festival, and like them, “A Story of Yonosuke” is a character-based piece with a dry humor. Unlike one two films, this time Okita's quirky characters dabble in awkward romance as a sweet rural bumpkin comes to 1987 Tokyo for his freshman year of college.

6. What happens when a young woman falls in love and starts a family with a shape-shifting wolf spirit, who then abandons her and their two werewolf children? Admirers of anime will dig “Wolf Children,” Mamoru Hosoda's follow-up to sci-fi hit “Summer Wars.” Years of work at legendary Ghibli animation studio honed Mr. Hosoda's clean, expressive style and “Wolf Children” is an ideal entree into cinematic anime.

Also showing: Producer Ridley Scott's “Japan In A Day,” a post-3/11 pastiche narrative edited together from crowd-sourced footage (screening with the short subject film “Narrow Passage to the Deep North”) and the Sapporo Shorts festival, an annual collection of short films from various directors and genres.

All films screen as part of the Northwest Film Center's annual Japanese Currents program at the Portland Art Museum's Whitsell Auditorium, and are presented in conjunction with The Japan Foundation. For more information visit NWfilm.org.

Movie Review: "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey" (Peter Jackson, 2012)

A NEVER-ENDING STORY: THE FIRST “HOBBIT” IS A LONG
AND DETAILED JOURNEY by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 

 

Left: Martin Freeman's Bilbo receives the call to adventure

 

 

In Peter Jackson’s “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey,” we meet a heroic company of Dwarves on a quest to reclaim their homeland—the mountain known as Erebor.  Via a long-winded opening montage, we’re told that Dwarves ruled Erebor until the ferocious dragon Smaug snatched it from them, leaving them homeless.  Now, the noble Dwarf king Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage) has assembled a group of followers to defeat Smaug and restore Erebor to Dwarf control once more.

            Perusing this premise, you might expect the film to lead into a grandiose battle in which the Dwarves finally fulfill their destiny by confronting Smaug.  Alas, I must disappoint you.  For “An Unexpected Journey” is not an adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkein’s esteemed novel “The Hobbit”—it is an adaptation of one-third of the novel, the first of a new cinematic trilogy.  And while Mr. Jackson might have imagined that playing the tale over a series of several films would allow him to adapt the book more faithfully, it has mainly bloated the tale to an already excessive length.  In “An Unexpected Journey” alone, a great many things happen, from duels with trolls to subdued interviews with elves.  And yet the film is all action and no emotion—almost nothing of consequence happens in over the course of its two hour and forty-nine minute length.

            That’s not to say the film is without charms.  Early on, we’re introduced to Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit (AKA a diminutive humanoid with pointy ears) who would love nothing better than to spend his existence lounging and feasting in his comfortable home—a dream which is abruptly upended by the arrival of Thorin and his followers.  They need Bilbo’s help to defeat Smaug, but the nobility of their cause holds no interest for our sheltered hero; for him, going off on an adventure mostly means missing his favorite armchair.  Certainly, that’s a rather fussy position to take.  And yet this attitude makes Bilbo considerably more relatable than most action heroes—after all, we’re the ones watching him have an adventure while we sit safely in our seats. 

            Of course, persuasion prevails upon Bilbo and he does agree to join Thorin and friends and together, they trek towards Erebor through the dangerous and picturesque land known as Middle Earth.  As a director, Mr. Jackson has in fact visited Middle Earth’s rough mountains and shadowy forests before, quite famously in his Oscar-winning “Lord of the Rings” trilogy (which was also based on Mr. Tolkein’s works).  Those films were notable for their dreamlike, almost Terrence Malick-esque visions, like a scene in which a godlike being wondered whether or not to intervene in a mythical battle of good versus evil.  That, for me, was a defining moment in the trilogy, the reason that even though I can’t pretend to be a fan of Middle Earth or Mr. Jackson’s directing, I do think that he transformed “The Lord of the Rings” into a bold and impressively strange piece of work.

            It’s a shame that he couldn’t do the same for “The Hobbit.”  “An Unexpected Journey” is rife with cinematic miscalculations, although part of its failing lies in the premise itself.  For Thorin and the Dwarves, the quest to reclaim Erebor is one of grave importance.  Yet Mr. Jackson never gives us a reason to invest in it—in fact, he even includes a scene where one Dwarf states that they’ve already found a fine new home in the “Blue Mountains.”  And quite frankly, it’s hard to even root for Thorin.  Mr. Armitage’s talent can hardly be doubted (he played a satisfyingly Mr. Darcy-esque brooder in the BBC series “North and South”) but for all the fuss made about Thorin, the character never registers as anything more than an obnoxious grump whose main narrative function is to whiningly doubt Bilbo so the inexperienced young Hobbit can prove him wrong.

            Luckily, Bilbo himself is better company.  The fact that he’s played by the nervously affable Martin Freeman makes you predisposed to root for him and therein lies the majority of the film’s charm—it’s an unexpected journey about unexpected heroes, people who have more compassion and courage than they let on.  I think that theme (which is neatly encapsulated in one line about “small acts of kindness” having more value than power) could have made “An Unexpected Journey” a fine adventure, but it gets squandered in a series of meaningless battles.  For all Mr. Jackson’s experience as a filmmaker, his staging of the fight scenes is stunningly infantile—working with cinematographer Andrew Lesnie, he shoots the action in quick-moving wide shots that make the characters (even the non-computer-generated ones) look like toys.  Even the great Ian McKellen (who anchors the film as the crafty wizard Gandalf) looks like an action figure as he charges across a crumbling catwalk, pursued by a goblin army.

Of course, great action does not a great blockbuster make; even “Iron Man” is more memorable for its witty wordplay than its robotics-induced explosions.  “An Unexpected Journey” does have its own share of jokes, but what it really needs is some human drama to make all the violence and fantastical images mean something.  Mr. Jackson may have built a cinematic empire with his company, Weta Digital, but even he can’t adapt one-third of a book without padding it.  And while he could have padded “The Hobbit” by delving deeper into the souls of Bilbo, Thorin, and Galdalf, he instead bolsters the movie by inundating us with endless battles with endless armies of Orcs and Goblins.  Which is why the film feels too long for all the wrong reasons and, like Bilbo, desperately in need of seasoning. 

Movie Review: "Thermae Romae" (Takeuchi Hideki, 2012)

A COMEDY FIRST AND FOREMOST by Eric Evans

Left: Abe Hiroshi

in a scene from the film

 

 

 

 

Lucius has it rough. As a bath architect in ancient Rome he's expected to design palaces of relaxation but he's out of ideas; younger, more creative rivals are eking him out of a living. Until, that is, he is sucked into an underwater vortex that transports him to 21st century Japan where sento (bathhouse) culture has been refined into an art in almost every neighborhood. Amazed by what he sees and learns, he travels back and forth through time translating contemporary Japanese concepts to Roman baths, making himself the toast of the town. But what about that young woman he keeps bumping into in the future…

            “Thermae Romae” was a huge hit in the 2012 Japanese box office and it's easy to see why: director Hideki Takeuchi, known for his TV work on wildly popular shows such as Nodame Cantabile (which also spawned two feature films), brings a deftly light touch to the proceedings. The pace is brisk and the cast—headlined by a never-better Abe Hiroshi as Lucius and Ueto Aya as Mami, the young woman who keeps bumping into him during his expeditions into Japan—is uniformly good. Mr. Abe will be familiar to festival circuit regulars and the Criterion crowd from his roles in Kore-eda Hirokazu's films such as 2009's “Still Walking”; J-film buffs will know him from his comedic turns in the Trick films as well as another time-travel comedy, “Bubble Fiction.” His Lucius is imperious, curious, confused, and charming. He is perhaps the closest thing Japan has to George Clooney and this role features him to his best advantage. He won the 2012 Japanese Academy Award for this role and it's easy to see why.

            Like so many other Japanese features, “Thermae Romae” is based on a manga—a series of comic books. Unlike American comic books, however, manga are typically read by people of all ages and more often than not reflect a decidedly non-superheroic bent. The tone of “Thermae Romae” is light and breezy. It's a comedy first and foremost, and there are plenty of laughs.

            If you're curious about what the average Japanese sees in the theater on a Friday night, here you go: “Thermae Romae” is a well executed commercial film that serves as a fine introduction to contemporary mainstream Japanese cinema comedy.

            “Thermae Romae” shows at the Whitsell Auditoreum Tuesday, December 10 at 7 pm and Wednesday, December 11 at 7 pm as part of the NW Film Center's annual Japanese Currents program. For more information about this and other screenings, visit http://nwfilm.org/

Movie Review: "Frozen" (Chris Buck and Jennifer Lee, 2013)

“FROZEN” IS A FANTASTIC TIME AT THE MOVIES

by Mo Shaunette

Above: Concept art from the film

 

In 1991, Disney released “Beauty and the Beast”, and introduced one of the most unique additions to what would soon be called the Disney Princesses. Belle was unlike any female protagonist the House of Mouse had introduced before: smarter than Snow White, more active than Sleeping Beauty, and more independent than Ariel. In Belle, Disney had released their first really feminist character, and she helped make “Beauty and the Beast” the classic it is.

            As groundbreaking as “Beauty” was, 2013’s “Frozen” almost seems to be one-upping it at its own game, and in the process becomes one of the most subversive and self-aware Disney features of all time (without being the self-parody that “Enchanted” was). It’s also one of the best animated features that Disney has ever released.

            Loosely based on Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Snow Queen”, “Frozen” has a pretty front-loaded plot, so bear with me here. Ahem: In the land of Arendelle are the young princesses Elsa and Anna. The two are inseparable as children, but when Elsa’s innate ice and snow magic nearly kills Anna, King Dad and Queen Mom decide it’s best to wipe away Anna’s memory of her sister’s powers and isolate Elsa so she can learn to keep her abilities under control and not hurt anyone. And then they do what all parents in Disney movies do, leaving the sisters alone together but still apart.

            Cut to years later and the sisters have reached adulthood. Anna (voiced by Kristen Bell) is wide-eyed, naïve, enthusiastic, and has no idea why her sister locked her out all those years ago, while Elsa (voiced by Idina Menzel) is reserved, introverted, barely able to restrain her powers, and about to be coroneted queen. That night, however, an argument between the sisters over Anna’s sudden engagement to her true love - all-around nice guy Prince Hans (voiced by Santino Fontana) - leads to Elsa revealing her powers, being labeled a witch, and running away to the mountains. There, she finally unleashes her magic to their full extent and builds her own very well-designed ice castle, and in the process inadvertently blankets Arendelle in a nuclear winter in July. To save the kingdom and get her sister back, Anna sets out to talk Elsa off the mountain with the help of disgruntled ice salesman Kristoff (voiced by Jonathan Groff), his dog-like reindeer Sven, and Olaf (voiced by Josh Gad), a snowman brought to life by Elsa’s magic.

            If that seems like a lot for just Act 1, it’s because it is, but it works for a few reasons: first, because the songs help the plot move forward at a brisk pace, and second, because the real meat of the flick is the road movie of the second act as Team Anna makes their way through the frozen forests. That’s where the movie really lives, in the back-and-forth between these people, and that’s where “Frozen” has its funniest moments and best songs.

The actors all bring their best, particularly the two female leads as the contrasting royals, but a special mention has be given to Josh Gad as Olaf the snowman (even if it’s just because he’s given the most to do in terms of comedy). Mr. Gad is a performer I’ve been a fan of for years since seeing him in “The Book of Mormon” on Broadway and he brings the same energy to Olaf as he did to Elder Arnold Cunningham – he’s simple, awkward, but charming and funny in his own way. He’s also well-animated, waddling around like a toddler and fixing up his body made of snow whenever he falls apart. He doesn’t quite steal the show, which is good, but he’s a high watermark for comedy sidekicks in Disney pictures.

As I mentioned, Mr. Gad was in “The Book of Mormon”, whose music was co-written by Robert Lopez, who also wrote the songs for “Frozen” with his wife, Kristen Anderson-Lopez (Segway bonus!). Now I’m not a music critic, so take it with a grain of salt when I say that the songs in “Frozen” are all a ton of fun, the actors are singing their hearts out, and Elsa’s big number “Let It Go,” sung as she embraces a life of snowy hermitage with just her and her unbridled powers, destined to become a breakaway pop hit.

The flick isn’t perfect – the central romance feels a bit underdeveloped and some character traits regarding Kristoff are brought up and then swept aside, but then again, the focus of the story is (unusual for a Disney flick) on the relationship between the sisters Anna and Elsa. With its fun, energy, novelty, dynamite animation, great songs, and a really interesting third-act development, “Frozen” is a fantastic time at the movies and comes highly recommended.

Essay: Movies About Unrequited Love

 OH, DENIED: MOVIES, ROMANCE, AND LOST LOVE

by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 

 

Left: Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seyoux in "La Vie D'Adele"

 

On a recent edition of the long-standing radio quiz show “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” a host joked that about movie love stories that involve two people “with no common interests” getting together.  And usually, most films do, but in the past few years, a string of films about failed romance and unreciprocated affection have emerged.  And while filmmakers’ fascination with tragedy-tinged love isn’t unique to the new millennium (don’t forget that Franco Zefferelli, Jerome Robbins, and Robert Wise all riffed on “Romeo and Juliet” back in the 1960s), I’ve found that the more recent films of this stripe are much closer to my personal experiences.  There’s something about the cruelty, tenderness, and vulnerability in their countenance that just feels incredibly true. 

            One of the first films that struck me this way was Marc Webb’s comedy “(500) Days of Summer,” which I first saw when it was released in Summer 2009.  I hated it then and haven’t felt the need to revisit it since, but I’ve often found myself thinking about its quirky but bitter perspective on love.  The story: Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and Summer (Zooey Deschanel) both work for the same greeting card company, while carrying on a giddy but increasingly perilous relationship.  Whereas Tom has absolute faith in romantic notions like true love and chivalry (after getting in a fist fight with a guy who bothers them in a bar, Tom boisterously declares to Summer, “I just got my ass kicked for you!”), Summer is different.  She enjoys being around Tom, but doesn’t believe that they’re destined to be together.  In fact, she doesn’t believe she’s destined to be with anyone.

            So therein lies the conflict—that Summer’s a skeptic and Tom’s a believer.  But one of the most potently heartbreaking things about “(500) Days of Summer” is how screenwriters Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Webber subvert that sensuous battle by having Summer find true love—just not with Tom.  Thus, they force Tom to face a truth that’s almost worst than the potential nonexistence of soul mates: that Summer’s credo of skepticism really had nothing to do with the failure of their relationship.  She just didn’t love Tom back. 

Such an unbalanced bond can never be anything but dissatisfying.  And yet Tom longs for Summer nearly until the final scene of the film, making you wonder if there’s something addictive about infatuation, even when you know it can lead to nothing.  That addiction is something I’ve often felt, and it’s another aspect of unrequited love that movies have been exploring to powerful effect.  Just look at Terence Davies’ “The Deep Blue Sea” (a film adaptation of Terence Rattigan’s play) and Woody Allen’s “To Rome With Love,” both of which came out in 2012.  In each film, a character becomes irrevocably attracted to someone who doesn’t feel the same way (in “Sea,” Rachel Weisz’ Hester lusts for Tom Hiddleston’s Freddie; in “Rome,” Ellen Page’s Monica rebuffs Jesse Eisenberg’s Jack).  Yet they pursue the relationship anyway, not just against their better judgment, but as if they didn’t have any judgment at all.

            This might seem utterly illogical.  But director Abdellatif Kechiche’s new movie “Blue is the Warmest Color” (which I will, as before, refer to by its original French title, “La Vie D’Adele – Chapitre 1 Et 2”) offers an explanation for the allure of an impossible love.  Not a happy or satisfying one (at least not in the traditional sense of those words), but one that feels right and, just maybe, could bring this current cycle of tragic cinematic love stories to a close.

            “La Vie D’Adele” (which Mr. Kechiche and Ghalya Lacroix adapted a comic book by Julie Maroh) is about a high school girl named Adele (played by the wonderful Adèle Exarchopoulos) who falls in love with Emma (Léa Seydoux), an ambitious art student.  In many ways, they’re very different from each other (Emma doesn’t understand Adele’s desire to become a teacher, for instance), but so powerful is the attraction between them that Emma never even seems bothered by Adele’s decision not to tell her parents that the two of them are dating.  Instead, their passion intensifies until, about halfway through the movie, we find them living together.

            So far so good.  Yet in some ways, Adele and Emma’s romance seems oddly pedestrian.  They make love to each other with a commitment that’s beautiful in its ferocity, but their conversations aren’t always satisfying; there’s always a disconnect between them and the way they live.  As the story unfolds, Adele becomes increasingly comfortable with her life—she seems content teaching and enjoying her other passions like cooking and writing.  And yet Emma remains convinced that Adele won’t be truly happy until she pursues her writing professionally.  It’s inconceivable to Emma that Adele could get the same satisfaction from teaching that Emma gets from painting.

            And so, the relationship crumbles.  Feeling alienated from Emma, Adele sleeps with someone else, leading to an excruciatingly cruel scene in which Emma all but throws her out of their house.  But after that, Adele still longs for Emma, even in the concluding sequence where she attends one of Emma’s art shows, long after their relationship has dissolved.  And while the sanest choice would be not to go at all and avoid recalling painful memories, that doesn’t stop Adele from painting her nails bright red and putting on a gorgeous blue dress, trying to impress to someone who probably stopped lusting for her a long time ago.

            More than ever, I related to Adele in that last scene.  When I’ve been in love with people who didn’t feel the same way, I’ve gotten to witness a steady degeneration of our relationship, as the prospect of romance went from being likely to utterly hopeless.  But an odd thing happens whenever I get to that hopeless point.  Instead of giving up, I become more desperate for it to work out.  Call it a childish desire for the impossible if you will, but I’ve found that as the situation grows sadder, longing can strengthen and deepen, painfully.

            But, again, why?  It’s hard to say, but I buy the answer that “La Vie D’Adele” provides.  There’s been a great deal of bickering about the film’s prolonged sex scenes, but what I haven’t heard mentioned is how sex is just a single part of one of the movie’s most important themes—that there’s something wondrous and joyful about experiences that are based on instinct, not logic.  That’s true of the sex in the movie (the invigorating effect it has on Adele and Emma is stunning, not shocking), but it’s also true of the two scenes where Adele participates in ecstatic public events.  The first is a political protest (to promote better funding for education) and the second is a gay pride parade and in both, Adele seems happier than she is at almost any other time in the movie.  There’s no dull civility at either event and so Adele explodes, shouting and dancing at protest and kissing at the parade, all with inspiring joy.

            The happiness Adele experiences at these events is something wondrous, something that’s not tarnished by the pangs of doomed romance.  But I think they’re close cousins because ultimately, both rely on instinctual feeling.  You can calculate what you might say to someone, but you can’t really calculate what you might do when you’re swept up in a boisterous crowd, screaming about school reform.  You don’t have to; you get to just let go and act on instinct.  And isn’t that what Adele does by pursuing Emma long after their relationship is finished?  Isn’t that what we all do when we love someone who doesn’t love us back?  We surrender to urges that drive our actions, urges that have no connection to reasoning or rationality. 

Ultimately, operating on instinct is a perilous state of being, one that’s both easier and more exciting.  It can make you miserable but should it be avoided?  Or is it a key part of our life experience, of how we grow and, most of all, live?  In Adele’s case, I’m not sure how to answer that question, mainly because it wouldn’t be hard to argue that by the end of the movie, unrequited love has wounded her permanently.  Yet the truth stays ambiguous.  When “La Vie D’Adele” concludes, you can’t tell for sure whether Adele is still trapped in a haze of infatuation or if she’s ready to move on from lusting for Emma to loving another woman.

            To that end, I have a theory—that a love affair with one person can’t truly end until you find someone new.  True to that painful credo, “La Vie D’Adele” keeps you hoping for Adele and Emma to be together, even though it’s clearly not meant to be.  That’s especially true in a scene towards the end where they meet in a café, long after they’ve broken up.  It starts out as a series of awkward pleasantries and Adele’s unbearable statement that she’s doing fine.  But for me, it wasn’t enough to just sit idly while it happened.  Watching their conversation, I wanted to call out to Adele, to implore her to tell Emma that she wanted to be with her again.  And it didn’t matter whether or not they were perfect for one another because by then, I’d fallen so deeply into the movie that they only thing I cared about was what Adele wanted, what she cared about.  In the end, the movie brought me to that place of unrequited longing, as powerfully as any real life experience. 

            There’s a cost for such empathy.  It’s part of what makes “La Vie D’Adele” and many of its predecessors so amazing, but these films are sometimes so painful that they almost leave you in a state of grief.  And yet while I wouldn’t call that pleasant, I wouldn’t call it horrible either.  Because maybe, just maybe, infatuation doesn’t have to a negative pursuit—maybe it can come from pain but also optimism, affection, and above all, instinct.  And it’s those instincts that have driven me to pursue ill-advised romances that I still look back on fondly and those instincts that finally inspire Adele to kiss Emma for the first time as they lie together, in the grass. 

Movie Review: "La Vie D'Adele - Chapitre 1 Et 2" (Abdellatif Kechiche, 2013)

ADELE, JE T'AIME: FALLING FOR A BLUE HEROINE

by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Adèle Exarchopoulos and Léa Seydoux as Adele and Emma

 

I’m not sure how to begin.  Nearly without fail, I react to films with forceful clarity.  I love them, I hate them, I think they’re imperfect but with merit.  There is, however, no concrete way to sum up my feelings about “La Vie D’Adele – Chapitre 1 Et 2” (which has been released the United States under the title “Blue is the Warmest Color”), a three hour love story from France that is both real and crisply beautiful.  Sometimes, with its endless parties and conversations about work, life, and art, the film feels like real life at its most boring.  Yet often, it is everything you’d hope a romantic drama to be—ardent, dangerous, and alive.

            The movie’s heroine is Adele (Adèle Exarchopoulos), a teenage girl in the midst of her final years of high school, a world that the film’s director, Abdellatif Kechiche, visualizes with both insight and clarity; there’s an inherent hostility to the place, especially because Adele’s friends often seem like interrogators, grilling her about her love life.  Still, Mr. Kechiche captures the excitement of the pre-adult academic world as well—the new ideas, the books to discuss, the people to meet.  And it’s also interesting that in a way, Adele often seems detached from it all.  In most conversations and class discussions, she seems content to listen and observe.  Which begs the question: what is she truly passionate about?

            Before long, the answer arrives in the form of Emma (Léa Seydoux), an art student who Adele first notices as they pass each other on the street.  At first, they just exchange a long, over the shoulder glance.  But soon, they’re meeting in a bar, in a park, and finally, in Emma’s bedroom where they make love.  They don’t really know each other (their conversations often seem surface-skimming) but there’s an intense and undeniable attraction, a need they both feel to be close to one another. 

            There’s something wonderful about the way “La Vie D’Aele” captures the beginning of their romance—the moment you see Emma waiting for Adele after school, casually holding a cigarette, you get the sense that something thrilling is afoot.  And it is, despite their differences.  While Emma is a deeply devoted painter, Adele is an aspiring teacher who approaches her work with more measured, instinctual enthusiasm.  Yet Adele’s love for Emma is anything but measured.  She wants to share her life with her desperately, whether they’re lying in the grass and staring happily into each other’s eyes or just drinking coffee together.

            By immersing us in this romantic hunger, “La Vie D’Adele” achieves something fantastic—it makes us fall in love with Adele and plead for her life to be everything she wants it to be.  Yet the film makes you pay a painful price for your emotional investment.  While Mr. Kechiche makes his movie just as coherent and accessible as a traditional romance, he’s constructed something far more devastating—a portrait of a romantic relationship that isn’t meant to be.  Of course, that’s also what Terrence Malick did in his recent drama “To the Wonder,” but he severed the bond between his two protagonists with satisfyingly poetic finality: they had tried to be together, but they simply could not.  By contrast, in “La Vie D’Adele,” Adele’s love for Emma seems to strengthen as their life together is shattered by venomous arguments and weary last chances.  The pain is never resolved and Adele never really moves on. 

            But is the grim reality of the movie really a problem?  I’m not sure.  Some viewers would probably say it’s not, but I can’t help feeling that Mr. Kechiche drives himself (and us) into the same corner of conundrum that Woody Allen discovered in “Blue Jasmine.”  In both films, we’re introduced to a beautiful heroine whose vulnerabilities and eccentricities we come to fall in love with.  And that’s the problem.  Adele (and Cate Blanchett’s Jasmine in Mr. Allen’s film) are not movie characters we can observe dispassionately—they’re alive and infinitely knowable.  To watch them in pain is agony and it’s difficult to say whether capturing that agony makes Mr. Allen and Mr. Kechiche ruthlessly honest storytellers or just bitter sadists.  In a way, their willingness not to polish everything off with a neat happy ending is comforting because it’s more relatable, but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard to endure.     

            Still, in that respect, the darkness of “La Vie D’Adele” is perhaps less a painful flaw than it is an uncomfortable strength.  And I would say the same of the screenplay (which Mr. Kechiche and Ghalya Lacroix adapted from Julie Maroh’s comic book), which at one point allows the movie to dissolve into a seemingly endless convivial dinner party in which characters exchange facile observations about life and food and culture.  This gargantuan scene is positioned at the height of Emma and Adele’s romance and the mad rush of conversation and detail (felt throughout the film’s midsection) mirrors Adele’s jumbled romantic ecstasy; it makes sense that things would feel less coherent to someone who’s fallen in love, even if viewing this scene is almost as bad as attending such dully lighthearted social gatherings in real life.

            Still, there is one party in the movie worth remembering.  About midway through the movie, Adele comes home to find the house seemingly empty.  But a moment later, she finds her friends and family in the backyard, waiting to surprise her with a birthday bash.  And there’s no dialogue here—just Adele smiling when she sees everyone waiting for her, a moment that quickly transitions to her blowing out the candles.  It’s a happy moment; a sweet one.

            Right now, I’m finding that sweetness hovering in my mind.  It’s precious and beautiful and certainly in good company.  Adele may not be that happy all the time but in a lot of ways, getting to peer into any part of her world is a joy for us as viewers.  To that end, there are some wonderful and fascinating moments in her bedroom, particularly the scene where we discover that, for times of distress, she keeps and emergency box of Butterfingers under her bed.  Seeing her sobbing while chewing on chocolate is both tragic and funny, but even the quieter moments in that room are memorable, like the brief, still shot we get of her sprawled chaotically in her pajamas, exhausted and asleep.  Seeing something so private and casual could feel intrusive but it never does.  Instead, you feel as if you’ve been invited to share Adele’s life for the film’s three hours, just as she hungers for someone to share hers.

Movie Review: "The Hunger Games" (Gary Ross, 2012)

DYSTOPIAN HUNGER: THE ORIGINAL ADVENTURES OF KATNISS
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 Above: Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen

 

Just like "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2" and "John Carter," "The Hunger Games" is a movie whose discourse focuses chiefly on its successful marketing campaign and box office performance ($155 million out of the gate), rather than the nature of the actual story. This has become an unfortunate fate for both good and bad films--there is nothing more irritating than listening to critics and moviegoers jabber about the "phenomenal" success of the "Harry Potter" films when the filmmaking craft behind them presents such an interesting discussion topic.

But "The Hunger Games" is a different creature--a tornado of hype whooshing around an utterly unremarkable film. The movie has already been showered with critical accolades, but I rather suspect that it would not be so loved if the success of the book by Suzanne Collins had made everyone so eager to like the film.

That is not to say the film is without integrity--its conceit creates some opportunities for moral ambiguity, even if they are not fully exploited. It's a dystopian story, about a world where kids are forced to fight each other to the death on television each year. Typically, the contestants are chosen at random by Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) disrupts the procedure by volunteering to save her sister Primrose from competing.

If you are adept at sitting through boring seminars, you may stand a chance of staying awake for the next part of the story. As Katniss is taken to the capitol to compete, we are given an excruciatingly detailed account of the decadent society that forces children to compete. No step of preparation for the games is spared--opening parades, training, and grooming are all fully explored. Occassionally, the procedure is disrupted when an authoritarian villain (played by Stanley Tucci or Elizabeth Banks) flashes a voluminous pink dress or a grey pompadour is your face.

These garish details reveal the movie's first failing. There's not doubt that they contribute to the candy-coated ickiness of the film's dystopia, but they also make the villains seem like cartoon characters. They're a far cry from the frightening business-suited baddies from the X-Men and Jason Bourne films.

A few of the competing kids are more compelling. Ms. Lawrence plays Katniss as a bland sleepwalker (though director Gary Ross and editors Christopher S. Capp, Stephen Mirrione, and Juliette Welfling can take credit for that as well), but Katniss' friend and fellow competitor Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) is a more compelling figure. The disbelieving and fearful expression on Mr. Hutcherson's face when he's chosen to compete is unforgettable, as is his understanding of a simple fact: he's too scared and vulnerable to win.

But there's more to the character. Several times during the games, he appears to turn against Katniss, apparently to fool her enemies into letting her live. But Mr. Ross has enough since to leave some doubt about Peeta's true goal--what if he really does want to win? Does he half consider letting even his friend die.

There are other moments of complex emotion in the film. Preparation for the games involves a number of parades and TV appearances. Mr. Tucci's TV announcer presents the games as a glorious sports event. This is effectively cringe-inducing, yet there are moments when Katniss and Peeta buy into the dramatic momentum of the games themselves. The willingness of people to embrace the games as popcorn entertainment is horrifying and yet believable.

After all, it is a good show. 24 kids and 23 must die--the possibilities for betrayal and tortured romance are undeniably apealing, in spite of the awfulness. Thrilling and chilling sound effects (like the rhythmic boom of a cannon whenever a kid is killed) by Lon Bender (an academy award-nominee for his brilliant work on "Drive") heighten an punctuate the drama.

But they can't puncture the monotony. "The Hunger Games" is 30 minutes too long--it would take a more imaginative director (like a Christopher Nolan or a Bryan Singer) to grant all its details the motion and poetry required to sustain the film's momentum. The final half of the movie is one long tale of Katniss racing through the forest, defeating her competitors through a series of dully happy accidents.

It all leads to a dissatisfying and intriguing climax. What's fascinating is that Katniss and Peeta's goals never go beyond winning the games--they have no thought of justice or betterment of the world (in an early scene, Katniss doubts whether anything can stop the games from existing).

But if the choice this sour editing note shows some introspective integrity on the part of the filmmakers, it also makes the film seem a little hollow. All that death in one movie--it feels like it should mean something more.