Trailer Dossier: "X-Men: Days of Future Past" (Bryan Singer, 2014)

CLUES TO “FUTURE PAST”: THE LATEST “X-MEN” TRAILER
HINTS AT THINGS TO COME by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Left: Nicholas Hoult and Hugh Jackman on the "X-Men" set

In Bryan Singer’s “X-Men: Days of Future Past” (which is set for May 23^RD 2014), mutant leaders Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart) and Erik Lensherr (Ian McKellen) find their race of super-powered beings on the verge of extinction.  So, hoping to stave off the inevitable, they concoct a mad plan: send the legendary warrior Logan (Hugh Jackman) back in time so he can change history and save mutant-kind. 

And that’s about all we know.  It’s not much.  But the film’s first trailer (which hit the web this week) offers some intriguing hints about what will befall Marvel’s merry mutants next May….

Love Triangles

One of the perks of “Days of Future Past” is that it marks the return of three of the franchise’s best characters—Rogue (Anna Paquin), Bobby Drake (Shawn Ashmore), and Kitty Pryde (Ellen Page).  But there might be some complications.  In “X-Men: The Last Stand” (2006), Bobby has betrayed his romantic relationship with Rogue by shamelessly flirting with Kitty, and the “Days of” trailer hints that the conflict will continue.  Early in the trailer, we see a shot of Bobby and Kitty exchanging worried looks, followed by a close-up of an equally troubled-looking Rogue.  The kicker?  That we see a shot of Bobby and Kitty together, followed by a glimpse of Rogue alone.

            This twist raises some questions.  Parts of “Days of Future Past” take place ten years after “The Last Stand,” and clearly much has transpired in that time.  In fact, Mr. Singer has stated that Bobby and Kitty a couple in the new film but if that’s true, when and how did Bobby and Rogue split up?  And perhaps more to the point, what is the nature of Bobby and Kitty’s relationship?  Is it true love?  Or will the new film see Rogue and Bobby’s love deepen once more? 

Tears for Mystique

While “Days of Future Past” features a massive ensemble, a couple characters receive particularly close attention in the trailer.  Chief among them is Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence), the blue-skinned shape-shifter whose storyline is part of the “past” segment of the film.  When we last saw Mystique (in 2011’s “X-Men: First Class”), she had committed her loyalties to Erik Lensherr (played as a young man by Michael Fassbender) and his anti-human crusade.  She seemed confident in her choice, and it was even hinted that she and Erik might become partners in more ways than one.

            But the “Days of” trailer hurls all of that into question.  In a particularly potent segment, we hear the older Erik saying that his younger self was once, “On a different path.  A darker path.”  Then, we get a quick shot of a tear rolling down Mystique’s cheek.  Whatever that “darker path” involves, clearly she’s not happy with it. 

There are a lot of things this could mean.  In “First Class,” Mystique’s beliefs were never as extreme as Erik’s; she came late to his quest for mutant supremacy.  But whatever happens, “X-Men” history dictates that Mystique will ultimately side with Erik and his ruthless followers.  The only real question is how that journey will play out.

Dark Stories, Dark Places

It’s no secret that “X-Men: Days of Future Past” will be a grimmer film than its predecessors.  In fact, when I had a chance to ask Mr. Singer some questions (via Twitter) about the film’s tone, he stated unequivocally that the movie will be “darker than the previous films, particularly because of the stakes.”  That’s not surprising, considering that the plot revolves around the worldwide extermination of mutants and how Logan, Charles, Erik, and their allies become fugitives in a world where mutants are rapidly being decimated.

            From the trailer, the darkness of the story looks all conquering.  The dialogue is solemn and joke-free (“Please; we need you to hope again,” Charles implores his younger self); the scenes are shadowy and dense with detail; and even the brighter environments (like a government building) look coolly monochromatic.  All of this is a relief because Mr. Singer has proven that his greatest gift is an ability to tell brutal tales of heroes desperately fighting to ward off an imminent apocalypse.

            Key to the patented “Singer darkness” is the inclusion of a horrifically watery fight scene in many of his films.  Examples include the attempted beating and suffocating of Superman in “Superman Returns” and the death of a woman in a water tank in “X2.”  Sure enough, it looks like a water fight is on the docket for “Days of Future Past”—the trailer shows an enraged Hank McCoy (Nicholas Hoult) attempting to drown the younger Erik in a massive pool.  Which begs the question—will the Hank/Erik showdown be the movie’s disturbingly show-stopping centerpiece?  And if not, will Mr. Singer give Christopher Nolan a run for his money by staging a different but equally gruesome fight scene? 

            Whatever happens, the trailer suggests that “Days of Future Past” will a franchise return to form.  Gone are the bright colors and bland sets that have haunted recent installments like “First Class” and “The Wolverine”; instead, we get a full dose of Mr. Singer’s visual poetry.  From a silhouette of Charles reading Logan’s mind to an epic shot of Erik rising through the air, the trailer’s images are thoroughly beautiful. 

            In short: see you in line.

Profile: Michael Fassbender

AN ENIGMATIC MAN: THE DARK APPEAL OF MICAHEL FASSBENDER
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Left: Mr. Fassbender

 

As of now, Michael Fassbender has two new movies in theaters—Steve McQueen’s “12 Years a Slave” (in which he plays a slave owner) and Ridley Scott’s “The Counselor” (the first big studio movie in which he has the lead role).  Under normal circumstances, it would be a career-defining moment but while Mr. Fassbender’s star is still on the rise, he has already displayed the allure of both his dramatic skills and human presence in multiple master performances.  Here they are:

As DAVID 8 in “Prometheus” (Ridley Scott, 2012)

Between his hard-set features and glaring eyes, Mr. Fassbender is nothing if not macho.  But to play an android in this sci-fi thriller, the actor dyed his hair pale blonde and adopted a neatly formal cadence that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Jane Austen movie.  That said, David is hardly a gentleman—in fact, midway through the film he murders his romantic rival for the affections of the angelic Dr. Shaw (Noomi Rapace).  But Mr. Fassbender still manages to find more than a pixel of vulnerability under David’s artificial skin.  “’In the desert there is nothing.  And no man needs nothing,” he says in one scene, quoting “Lawrence of Arabia.”  A woman asks what he means by that.  “Just something from a film I like,” Mr. Fassbender replies in a high-pitched tone that is at once pathetically stiff and thoroughly childlike.

 

As ERIK LENSHERR in “X-Men: First Class” (Matthew Vaughn, 2011)

Like many talented and ambitious actors, Mr. Fassbender’s oeuvre is rife with trends in terms of both style and quality.  Certainly, he’s known for playing real people (like in his breakthrough film “Hunger,” in which he played Irish hunger striker Bobby Sands).  But he’s also of fixture of intriguing but imperfect genre films.  “Prometheus” and Steven Soderbergh’s soulless spy thriller “Haywire” are obvious examples; “X-Men: First Class” is another.

            Indeed, “First Class” would just barely work without Mr. Fassbender’s nimble ferocity.  In the film, he plays Erik Lensherr, a holocaust survivor who uses his mutant metal-controlling abilities to assassinate war criminals (the film was based on a Marvel comic book).  Earlier in the series, Ian McKellen played the character as an old man with darkly amused brio, but Mr. Fassbender takes a different tactic.  His Lensherr is hard and cold; he enjoys killing people.  It’s not easy to forget the cruelly joyous smile on his face as his drinks a toast with two former Nazis, relishing the buildup to the moment of his revenge.

            It’s impossible to doubt that despite his humanity, Lensherr is an evil character—his contempt for human life is despicable.  But Mr. Fassbender recognizes that evil is hardly a simple condition.  He shows that in spite of Lensherr’s obsessive anger, there’s still love and compassion in his slender, blade-like body.  You see it when he comforts his protégée, Mystique (Jennifer Lawrence); you see it when his eyes stare in horror after he kills a man; and you see it at the end, when he cradles his former ally, Charles Xavier (James McAvoy) in his arms.  “We’re brothers, all of us, protecting each other.  We want the same thing,” he implores his friend.  And even though you know Xavier must refuse this brotherhood, Mr. Fassbender’s rough, tender delivery makes you wish he’d accept it, moral implications aside.

As BRANDON SULLIVAN in “Shame” (Steve McQueen, 2011)

In the opening shot of “Shame,” Mr. Fassbender lies naked in a gray bed, staring dully up at the ceiling.  He’s so still that for a moment, you think you’re looking at a frozen image, rather than a filmed scene.  But throughout the rest of the film, Mr. Fassbender’s movements are kinetic and potent.  Whether raking his hands through his hair or running swiftly through Manhattan in the middle of the night, he’s like a prowling tiger, restless graceful but also frantic.

            Movement is just about all you get from Mr. Fassbender in “Shame”—his seductive, caramel-on-rocks voice is reserved for the rare moments when he converses with other characters.  That’s because Brandon is a sex addict, a man whose addiction keeps him isolated (mostly) from society.  This requires a different sort of performance from Mr. Fassbender.  Rather than delivering an outsized, theatrical persona, he’s forced to reign himself in.  Much of “Shame” is shot in long, silent takes (the cinematography is by the brilliant Sean Bobbit), forcing the actor to commit himself to behavioral realism.

            Of course, I like the mainstream directness of Mr. Fassbender’s work in “X-Men” and “Prometheus.”  But he’s even better in “Shame.”  By toning down vocally, he makes Brandon’s explosions of rage (“Get the fuck out!” he roars when an unwanted visitor enters his bedroom) abruptly shocking and dangerous—far more frightening than his embodiment of Erik Lensherr’s cruelty.  Once again, the actor’s smile gleams with giddy nastiness, but it becomes even more unsettling when associated with everyday anger and sex.    

Yet Mr. Fassbender’s most satisfying outburst comes towards the film’s end.  Standing in a lonely, rainy plaza, he begins to vibrate until forceful sobs emerge, crumpling him to the ground.  And the crying continues—bent over in pain, Mr. Fassbender’s face gets distorted to the point where you can barely make it out in the frame.  It’s a cathartic moment, one that feels well earned.  After all the pain Brandon has caused, grief is the right response, though the film doesn’t cheat our emotional investment by dulling the pain.

During that beautiful and tragic scene, Mr. Fassbender doesn’t look like himself—the actor disappears into Brandon’s tortured skin.  But you never really forget who he is off-screen and I don’t think you ever should.  Michael Fassbender is a great actor and certainly it’s a joy to watch him give so many wonderful performances.  But part of that joy has been getting to know his presence, from the way his eyes seem to shoot the camera like bullets to the way his mouth defaults to a calm line that can quickly break from stiff coolness to anything—joy, malevolence, despair.  Those trademarks are part of the journey of watching him which is why each time Mr. Fassbender walks onscreen, it’s like reuniting with an old friend, even if he is a very dangerous friend indeed.

Heard in Hollywood: New Movies From Legendary Pictures

FROM BATMAN TO DRACULA: MEET THE ALL-NEW

LEGENDARY PICTURES by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Left: Christopher Nolan on the set of "The Dark Knight Rises," one of the final collaborations between Warner Bros. and Legendary Pictures

Conventional wisdom holds that it doesn’t really matter who distributes a movie—that what really counts is the talent of the actors and filmmakers working on the project.  Nevertheless, Legendary Pictures may be an exception that only sometimes proves the rule.  In their partnership with Warner Bros., Legendary has produced some of the best movies of the new millennium, working on projects as diverse as “Inception,” the “Dark Knight” trilogy, and “The Hangover” (don’t pretend you’ve forgotten how great the original was).

            But now, that winning streak is over.  As announced months ago, Legendary’s executives have dissolved their partnership with Warner and instead joined forces with Universal Pictures.  It may seem like a strange move, considering that Universal is a much less successful studio, but that may be reason enough.  Warner executive Jeff Robinov was not known for collaborating peacefully with Legendary—in fact, it’s been rumored that he claimed an unfair share of profits from “The Dark Knight Rises.”  That fact that Universal is more financially desperate could mean they’ll be giving Legendary lots of leeway and wiggle room (and compensation) to create potentially profitable products.

            Still, don’t get your hopes up.  The movies that Legendary is making with Universal are far from promising.  They include a monster re-mash (“Dracula Untold”), a video game extravaganza (“Warcraft” which, to be fair does have the benefit of “Moon” and “Source Code” director Duncan Jones), and a movie very loosely based on a cool toy (“Hot Wheels”).  Maybe I’m wrong—perhaps these films will be fantastic.  But when you consider that Legendary was once home base for Christopher Nolan, their future looks comparatively bleak. 

Movie Review: "Shame" (Steve McQueen, 2011)

AROUSED, BUT NOT JOYOUSLY: MICHAEL FASSBENDER PLAYS A SEX ADDICT IN “SHAME” by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 

 

Left: Mr. Fassbender

 

 

 

It goes without saying that any movie is bound to be similar to and completely different from what you imagine. But I can't say that that is true of "Shame.”  Recalling its images of smooth loneliness and pulsating sex, I can't remember what I expected. I knew the film was about sex addiction and therefore probably isolation as well, but I didn't picture the consequences of that addiction being so gruesome.

But if the movie is disturbing, it is also winning in its visual expressiveness and perceptiveness. As the picture begins, director Steve McQueen (who wrote the screenplay with Abi Morgan) announces his pressence with tremendous flair. He gives us a shot of Brandon Sullivan (Michael Fassbender), lying on a bed of gray sheets, which turn stark white after he has left the bed and opened the curtains, leaving the screen free for the film's title to be unvailed. This terrific shot seems to be both Mr. McQueen's way of wooing the audience with his artistry, but also a perfect summation of what the movie is about--dark habits being tugged unwillingly into daylight.

Those habits belong to Brandon and they include (but are not limited to) watching porn at work and home and spending the money he makes at his boring-looking office job on prostitutes. It doesn't look like much fun, but he can't or won't stop doing it. "Slowly," he tells a hooker as she pulls off her shirt.

Anyone who has seen Mr. Fassbender is "X-Men: First Class" or (god forbid) "Jane Eyre" knows that his greatest weapon is his voice. That's not much use to him here, because Brandon locks himself out of his own existence. In one scene where he meets a co-worker at a posh restaurant, he is rendered awkward by the fact that he can't talk about himself, other than the fact that he doesn't believe in "being with one person for the rest of your life". He keeps his friends and family locked outside of his white apartment door, both so he can continue having attachment free sex and because he has attachment free sex.

The one person he can't keep out is his sister, Sissy (Carey Mulligan), who we first meet when he finds her using his shower. In this early moment, she is flippant and scared, before quickly transitioning into to teasing Brandon the next morning while guzzling orange juice from a carton.

That night, however, is different. Brandon goes to see her singing at a bar, in what amounts to the film's most tedious sequence. She performs an excessively slow rendition of "New York, New York", dragging out every syllable. The camera remains fixed on her until we see something more interesting--Brandon's reaction. He's crying.

Not that Sissy ever finds out. Brandon won't let her even talk to him much and once she moves in, he's eager to get her out. "You're a burden," he says in Mr. Fassbender's controlled, furious tone. "You tie me down." Of course what he's really saying is, "You're too close to me and I can't allow that."

It's hard to say why Brandon really doesn't want Sissy in his life. Is it because he doesn't want her to know about his addiction? Is he just afraid of connection? Or is he maybe even afraid of his own sexual feelings for her? There's enough to hint at that possibility, but not to confirm it.

There is really only one thing that Mr. McQueen will confirm--that Brandon is an addict.  His whole existence seems based on doing things nonstop--riding the subway while tunnel lights endlessly flash by, or jogging through Manhattan, while Sean Bobbit's camera sleekly tracks him seamlessly from the shadows of shutdown buildings to streets alive with headlights.

Those images are pleasantly poetic. Not so for the movie's vicious climax. Undone by Sissy's efforts to get nearer to him, Brandon goes nearly mad. He bops from bars to sex clubs and finally to an apartment where two women are waiting for them. The three of them have sex bathed in a golden light reminiscent of the kind used for the lovemaking scene in "The Illusionist", but this moment is not about the meeting of two lovers--it's about throbbing madness, about a man who has finally dipped over the edge of his own reality. As bodies pulse violently up and down, we see every bit of Mr. Fassbender's face, teeth exposed, eyes wide and alive. The emotion he generates seems almost like joy in its wavelike explosiveness, but it's too violent and angry to be called that. It's more like the excitement of a murderer relishing a crime, while Sissy cries out on the phone.

"Shame" is not the only 2011 movie to wallow in its hero's destructive obsessions--"The Tree of Life" and "Drive" did much the same. It's true that there is something self-indulgent about films that poetically milk emotional darkness for dramatic value. But Mr. McQueen is clearly too conscientious to let us relish Brandon's addiction. In the end, he pays for what he's done--and no, not by getting an STD (per the tradition established other sex-centric films like "The Dreamers", this film sweeps physical consequences under the rug in favor of emotional ones). Instead his actions cause a mutilation, one he can almost feel coming before it happens. By the time he's clutching a body splattered with blood like a mannequin, you don't need to tell him to repent.

In the end, it is hard to tell if Brandon has been battered enough to never go where he's been going again, but you know that you never will.

 

Movie Review: "The Bourne Legacy" (Tony Gilroy, 2012)

“BOURNE” WITHOUT BOURNE: A FRANCHISE SOLDIERS ON,
WITHOUT ITS GREATEST HERO by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Left: Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz are "Bourne" fugitives

 

 

 

 

Who is Jason Bourne?  Once upon a time, that question was of paramount importance.  When Bourne (Matt Damon) awoke with no memory of his past in 2002’s “The Bourne Idenity,” a great physical and moral quest began.  Over the course of a super-charged trilogy, Bourne learned that he had once been a CIA assassin and tried to atone for his crimes.  He even went so far as to apologize to the daughter of his first target, even after being nearly beaten to death behind the wheel of a Moscow taxi.

In “The Bourne Ultimatum” (2007), Bourne’s quest for redemption ended when he exposed the illegal assassin program that trained him.  It felt like a perfect ending but apparently, someone at Universal Pictures disagreed.  Hence, the 2012 arrival of “The Bourne Legacy,” a film that acknowledges the events of the original trilogy while focusing on a new set of characters.

Chief among them is Aaron Cross (Jeremy Renner), yet another secret government assassin.  But unlike Bourne, Cross doesn’t take arms against his former employers based on moral grounds—he does it because he has to.  Why?  Because he’s been cut off from a supply of “chem pills,” which he requires to survive.  Thus, the film becomes a race against time, as Cross searches for more pills while his superior officer, Rick Byer (Edward Norton), commits himself to his protégé’s demise.

On paper, this plot sounds like classic Bourne—after all, there’s a mystery, a countdown to doom, and even a beautiful love interest in Cross’s ally Doctor Marta Shearing (Rachel Weisz, in a startlingly wooden performance).  But several key things have changed.  For one thing, the film was directed by Tony Gilroy, who worked as a writer on the previous films (adapting them from Robert Ludlum’s novels) but didn’t step into the director’s chair until “Legacy.”  And while Mr. Gilroy is obvious a skilled crafter of thrillers (he made the wonderful legal drama “Michael Clayton”), he hasn’t yet mastered the neatly speedy pacing that’s so crucial to the “Bourne” franchise.  Instead, he keeps the rhythm slow (at two-plus hours, this is the longest “Bourne” film yet), allowing us to clearly see much of the violence.  And in many scenes (particularly one where a doctor begins shooting his colleagues) this becomes problematic.  The onscreen cruelty is depicted with such clarity that it often becomes unbearable to watch.  I suppose one could laud Mr. Gilroy for his unflinching depiction of violence, but it drags the movie through a queasy gutter that’s at once nasty and bland.

There are deeper problems as well.  Mr. Renner gives a fine performance.  In addition to steely brutality, he displays a disarming affability which allows him to manipulate people without hurting them.  But Cross isn’t much of a character because unlike Bourne, he doesn’t have a fully developed conscience.  Even towards the film’s end when he declares his intent to cease being an assassin (by scrawling “no more” on a motel wall) you don’t fully understand how he came to that decision.  This cold-blooded killer appears to have jumped from one set of beliefs to another, and the film offers no clue as to how he made the leap.

At the end of the day, “The Bourne Legacy” is bad enough to make you wish the story had wrapped with “Ultimatum”; indeed, the complications of this film feel like a cynical attack on the earlier picture’s happy ending.  Yet there are moments when “Legacy” entertains.  In the third act, Cross and Shearing have to catch a plane to the Phillipines, and the sequence in which they board using forged passports and sit separately is both coherent and nail-biting.  It’s also followed by a snazzy motorcycle chase through Manila which, though overly clichéd, moves over stairs and between cars with such nimble force that it leaves you spellbound.

Perhaps the best part of this chase is the end.  Cross, shot and bleeding, mis-maneuvers his motorcycle, sending him and Shearing sliding flat across the ground.  Thanks to John Gilroy’s editing, we see every moment of the accident, so clearly that we feel as if we’re standing on the street and witnessing it ourselves.  Then, as Shearing begs an innocent bystander for help, you feel the weight of her weariness and vulnerability.  It is here that Tony Gilroy’s slower pacing doesn’t feel wrong because it allows for a beautiful moment of crisp humanity, making you glad that the “Bourne” world, though battered, remains alive.

Movie Review: "Breaking Dawn Part 1" (Bill Condon, 2011)

DARK MIRACLE: BELLA AND EDWARD MARRY

IN THE PENULTIMATE “TWILIGHT” FILM

by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 

Left: Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart as the star-crossed lovers

 

Right at the beginning of "Breaking Dawn Part 1", Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart) finally marries her beloved, the vampire Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson). It's time for toasts and first up is Bella's dad, Charlie (Billy Burke). Is he worried about his daughter being wed at eighteen? Not at all. "I know Edward will be a great husband," he grumblingly tells the guests, "because I'm a cop and I know how to hunt people to the ends of the Earth."

It's a rueful half jest, but I almost wished he would. Through three movies (gray-green "Twilight", golden "New Moon", and incoherent "Eclipse") they flirted and played out their kisses quietly in each other's bedrooms. Edward may have been frozen at seventeen for a hundred years, but they both seemed and looked like kids.

They still do in "Breaking Dawn" and while they love each other, their marriage is a queasy affair. Post-wedding, Edward escorts Bella through the streets of Rio, which are full noise, dancing, and joyful chatter. Everything feels casual and happy, but then it's off to a desserted island to make love and prepare for the inevitable--if Bella is to remain with Edward, she must be transformed into a vampire.

The ultimate test of how you feel about this story may be how you feel about Bella and Edward. Is it really worth it for her to leave everything, to become immortal, to be with him? Behind their obvious affection for each other, which is awkward yet desperate, is their really love?

Honestly, I'm not sure. It is sickening to see Bella embroiled in this crisis, but could the series have gone any other direction? It began with first dates and kisses so for better or worse, it makes sense that the beginning of the end should be about marriage and ultimately, birth.

"Breaking Dawn" is awash with nastiness, even as the visual beauty of the series reaches its greatest point of clarity (the gleaming, multilayered cinema palace where Edward murders a man is just one of many fantastic sights). There's passionately gross sex, sickly facades, and finally, a baby being cut out of someone's stomach. There's also plenty of wooden acting but that was never particularly distracting in the previous films and it isn't here.

In moments of love, life, and death, you feel hope, caring, and anger acutely.  It comes from Jacob (Taylor Lautner), who can't act on his love for Bella but still does everything he can to protect her and also from Edward, whose disgust at Bella's pregnancy ("Carlisle will get that thing out of you") is cold yet understandable.  Those moments are moving and shivery, paving the way towards the emotionally powerful conclusion in "Breaking Dawn Part 2".

Movie Review: "Larry Crowne" (Tom Hanks, 2011)

LIGHT LIES THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE “CROWNE”:

HANKS’ “LARRY” IS A DELIGHT by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 Above: Mr. Hanks in a scene from the film

 

In "Larry Crowne", Tom Hanks plays the titular character, an out of work, bouncy nerd who enrolls in community college for the first time after stints in the Navy and at a Wall-Mart type chain. As the film's director, co-writer (he wrote the screenplay with "Big Fat Greek Wedding" actress Nia Vardalos), and star, he not so much captures the rhythms of college but uses them as a landscape in which to whip up a totally breezy comic world.

It's a place of terrific madness--of students (and professors) who can't stand early rising, imperious economics lecturers (George Takei), and hipster scooter gangs who are more preoccupied with vintage clothes and hair styling than "West Side Story"-esque turf wars.

I'd happily spend another one hour and thirty-nine minutes in that world. Mr. Hanks is hilarious as an older man who is transported into a younger world of grades, finals, and text messages. But he doesn't resist it--instead, he earnestly and merrily rolls with the punches. His combination of nerdiness (he does get a slick makeover) and unflappability is both entertaining and inspiring.

Larry Crowne speeds through the world on his scooter in a striped helmet, but he walks on awkward, let light, and nimble feet. So does the movie, except there is nothing awkward about it--Mr. Hanks allows it to roll briskly, without pausing for speechifying, philosophizing or awkward gags.

"Larry Crowne" is the definition of light touch, but more importantly, it's a blast.

Key Scene: The Climax of "Spider-Man 3" (Sam Raimi, 2007)

GOODBYE, MY FRIEND: THE END OF SAM RAIM’S TRILOGY
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: A new day dawns, but it's still a tragic one for the heroes of the "Spider-Man" trilogy

Sunrise.  Harry Osborn is lying on a top floor of a barely-constructed skyscraper, his head resting in the arms of Mary Jane Watson.  Slowly, Peter Parker lowers himself down to their level, still wearing his bright red Spider-Man costume, but without the mask.  As he descends and lands, Christopher Young’s choral-based score moves with him, like an exhale.

“How’re you doing?” Peter asks Harry, trying to lighten the mood.  All Harry can muster is an unsmiling response: “Been better.”  At this, Peter’s demeanor softens.  “We’ll get you through this,” he tells his friend, confident that they will.  But Harry’s sad eyes contradict his hope so much that Harry almost doesn’t even need to say, “No.” 

And then, once again, the music strikes you.  This time, it’s a sad song of voices moving downward and then up, as if toward the orange-hued sky.  “I should never have hurt you…said those things….” Peter tells his friend.  But he doesn’t need to.  “None of that matters now, Peter,” Harry replies, pained but committed to speak those last few words.  “You’re my friend.”  And just before he slips away for good, Peter manages to tell him:

“Best friend.”

 

Studio of the Month: Warner Bros. Pictures

DARK SHIELD: WHY THE WARNERS LOGO TURNED GRAY

FOR THE 21^ST CENTURY by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

 Above: The WB emblem, as seen in "Harry Potter"

 

For many years, Warner Bros. Pictures (the long-standing studio who responsible for classics such as “The Jazz Singer” and “Bonnie and Clyde”) stuck to a tradition—whenever they distributed a new film, they would stick their flashy blue and gold logo before the credits.  But lately, that familiar shield has been looking darker.  In the last six “Harry Potter” films, the logo looked as if it were welded from roughly scarred silver; in both the “Dark Knight” trilogy and the recent “Prisoners,” it was rendered in sleek black and white; and just last weekend “Gravity” unveiled a new version—a clean white shield, set against a solid black background.

            While some might consider the studio’s logo-morphing to be nothing more than an attempt to refresh their image, I believe it is something more.  The fact that the studio creates a new logo designed to suit many of their films is a metaphor for the company’s new unspoken credo—to be both commercial and boldly creative.  Look through the studio’s work in the new millennium, from “Ocean’s Eleven” to “Inception” to “Gravity.”  They are all the work of Oscar-caliber directors and actors who believe that entertainment need not be dumb and that serious filmmaking need not be dull.  Truly, this mindset has led to a prosperous era.

            Thanks to Warner-based producers such as David Heyman and Christopher Nolan, this era has given rise to a new breed of film—the serious, shadowy Warner Bros. blockbuster with a cast a skilled character actors (who are, of course, usually British).  And while this new “genre” has yielded some horrendously crafted films (isn’t it time for “Man of Steel” director Zack Snyder to be kindly escorted off the Warners lot?), it’s given the studio’s output a sheen of quality and cohesiveness that is currently unmatched. 

            So, to celebrate Warner Bros.’s continuing commitment to success and quality, I offer you a list of my ten favorite films in their library.  As usual, I have placed the name of each film’s director in parentheses, as a reminder that a successful studio is defined not only by the ingenuity of executives, but the talent they take a chance on. 

With that, I give you the following (in alphabetical order):

“Chariots of Fire” (Hugh Hudson, 1981)

“The Dark Knight Rises” (Christopher Nolan, 2012)

“The Fountain” (Darren Aronofsky, 2006)

“Gravity” (Alfonso Cuarón, 2013)

“The Great Race” (Blake Edwards, 1965)

“Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire” (Mike Newell, 2005)

“Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” (Alfonso Cuarón, 2004)           

“Inception” (Christopher Nolan, 2010)

“The Music Man” (Morton Da Costa, 1962)

“Ocean’s Eleven” (Steven Soderbergh, 2001)

 

Happy watching!

~BEN :)

Movie Review: "Gravity" (Alfonso Cuarón, 2013)

FLOAT, SANDRA, FLOAT!: "GRAVITY" IS A RIVETING SURVIAL STORY

by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Sandra Bullock as an embattled astronaut in Mr. Cuarón's film

 

Nine years ago, director Alfonso Cuarón helped create one of the most wondrous sequences in modern cinema: the scene from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” in which a great winged beast glides over a wide gray lake, with the film’s young hero on his back.  To this day, that moment remains a true instance of striking beauty and it could be read as a precursor to the director’s latest venture, the sci-fi thriller “Gravity.”  But while “Gravity” is rife with visual poetry, it is also a mixture of hope and terror as astronaut Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock) fights to survive. 

            In most films, that would be an easy task.  But “Gravity” takes place in space.  The film begins with Ryan and a crew of fellow NASA employees repairing the Hubble Space telescope from their space shuttle, the Explorer.  One astronaut, Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) goes about the task with joviality, but Ryan remains queasy and terse.  Soon, it becomes clear that she’s right to be on her guard—within minutes of the film’s opening, Ryan and Matt receive word of a surge of space debris heading their way.  Soon, our heroes find themselves besieged fragments that rush forth like massive bullets, tearing the Explorer apart and leaving Ryan and Matt stranded in the cold emptiness of space.

            To state the obvious, this is a rather miserable situation.  Though Matt rallies his spirits, joking about his good looks and long career, survival seems impossible at best.  Worse, Ryan seems entirely dependent on Matt.  When she spins away from Earth, she’s helpless until he catches her and it is Matt who concocts a grand plan to save them both—to drift to the International Space Station and commandeer a space capsule back to Earth.  The plan inspires optimism in you, but a gnawing unease lingers.  It is Ryan, not Matt, who is the hero of the film and the chief avatar of audience affection.  But how can a hero inspire hope when she’s too afraid to act?

            The answer: she can prove herself.  Thankfully, “Gravity” is not set solely in the vacuum of space—it moves through cramped station corridors and capsule cockpits, letting us float in its detailed yet eerily unreal environment.  Threats as varied as minimal oxygen and raging fires thrive in these interiors, but it is here that Ryan finds her strength.  With steely tenacity, she begins to move from despondency to irritation, from irritation to heartbreak, and from heartbreak to manic determination.  Thus, the movie is not just about a mission gone wrong or some sensational special effects.  It’s an adult coming of age story in zero G. 

And just as Ryan endures, Ms. Bullock breathes life into each moment.  Sometimes, cinematographer Emmauel Lubezki frames her body drifting in midair and sometimes he catches her perspective as she floats forward like a human rocket.  But he also focuses on her face and at all the right moments, like when she begins goofily howling like a wolf before bursting into tears and most importantly, when she pilots her capsule towards a space station, declaring, “I’m your best friend!” to its massive hull.  It’s in these scenes that Ms. Bullock invests the film with all the humor and emotion she can muster, turning straight despair to eccentric optimism as the movie counts down to its final minutes while Steven Price’s score helps Ryan fight for a triumphant finish.

            “Gravity” needs that kind of humanity.  It’s a tense movie in which the clock is always ticking towards doom—the debris that destroyed Ryan’s shuttle are orbiting the Earth and every ninety minutes, she has to prepare for impact.  There are other obstacles too.  In one scene, Ryan has to pilot a Russian space capsule to a nearby Chinese station, only to find her ship caught in a mesh of rope.  With this ceaseless peril, you sympathize thoroughly with Ryan when, confronted by a rabid fire, she angrily snaps, “Now what?” 

Ms. Bullock delivers that particular line with entertaining poutiness, making the moment both human and funny—in addition to being life threatening, the situation really is just plain annoying.  But it should be said that most of the time, Mr. Cuarón (who edited the film with Mark Sanger and wrote it with his son Jonas) favors despair over annoyance, lingering not only on Ryan’s fear of death (“I know I’m going to die, but I’m still scared,” she says, alone in her capsule), but on her grief for her dead daughter.  Ultimately, emotional demons tear at her as brutally as the vacuum of space. 

And yet, for all this, Mr. Cuarón finds immense beauty within the film’s tense passages.  You may get queasy watching actors and safety ropes float through space (as I did) while Mr. Lubezki’s camera serenely rotates, but it’s hard to deny the smooth beauty of a world where actors don’t walk, but drift.  Or at least not until a supremely satisfying final shot that leaves you wired but also empowered, as if you’ve floated through the fire and are finally strong enough to go back.

Essay: The Popularity of "Dark" Movies

THE ALLURE OF DESPAIR: WHY WE CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF PAIN,

DEATH, AND DESTRUCTION AT THE MOVIES 
by Bennett Campbell Ferguson

Above: Superman gets strangled in a brutal scene in a mainstream film

 

As some of you know, I recently went to see Denis Villeneuve’s film “Prisoners” and found it so horrifically sickening that it was just barely watchable.  Indeed, I was so disturbed by the film that as I exited the theater, I considered writing an editorial encouraging viewers to boycott the picture, condemning its depiction of cruelty and torture as inhumane.  But in the end I simmered down and wrote a calm, levelheaded piece about the movie’s failings and merits.  Case closed.

            Still, I found myself thinking about more than just the film itself.  I had based my criticism of “Prisoners” on the fact that it was too painful to watch and while I was confident in the soundness of that judgment, a nagging question lingered.  Why was I so particularly enraged by Mr. Villeneuve’s movie?  After all, my shelves at home are crammed with DVDs of dark and disturbing dramas.  So what was it about this new one that had particularly gotten under my skin and what made the horrors shown in other films (in my opinion) forgivable?  For that matter, why are there so many movies about violence and cruelty in the first place? 

After thinking about all of these queries, I have some answers which I wish to submit.  You may not like them but I hope they will contribute to conversations about why we are all willing (myself included) to watch so many terrible things happen onscreen.

 

“Well, it’s better than the alternative.”

Whenever I watch a particularly disturbing film, the first thing I feel is anger.  For instance when I saw “Requiem for a Dream,” immediately found myself asking what right Darren Aronofsky had to show a woman being electro-shocked onscreen.  Subjecting an audience to such a display struck immediately struck me as wrong.  And yet there is something else that strikes me as wrong as well.  American cinema presents a world of happy endings and while I’m glad of that, a number of them feel deeply disingenuous.  While the brutality of Mr. Aronofsky’s work is sickening, there is something equally repellent about a film whose depiction of happiness feels hollow, forced, or even, like a lie.

            A key example of this can be found in Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck’s 2010 film “It’s Kind of a Funny Story.”  The movie is about Craig (Keir Gilchrist), a depressed teenager who desperately checks himself into an insane asylum before he can kill himself.  This leads to a series of adventures in which Craig finds love and gains confidence, allowing him to re-enter the world with a powerfully positive outlook on life.

            In the end, “It’s Kind of a Funny Story” offers an optimistic narrative that makes it a thoroughly likable and moving film.  And yet it’s not just hopeful—it’s aggressively upbeat to the point of leaving you infuriated rather than uplifted.  In the beginning, Craig’s frustrations (which are mainly with his obnoxious friends) are comforting because they ring true, reassuring you that such anguish is commonly felt.  But by the end, Craig is so positive that he doesn’t have an ounce of bitterness or frustration left, so much so that he becomes downright annoying.

            You may ask—what’s wrong with this hopeful outlook?  In the real world, nothing.  But seeing Craig so overjoyed that he’s willing to accept even his horrible friends (who are arrogant, lying, and manipulative) made me feel rather lonely.  I couldn’t help feeling that while Craig had started out seeming like an everyman, a troubled but compassionate boy for all of us to relate to, he had turned into something else—an emotional superman worthy of bitter envy.  He wasn’t even convincing as an inspiring example for us to emulate because his triumph felt so false.  So I ask you—how can you can you connect with or even root for a character who is not only no longer troubled, but shows no sign of facing pain or sadness ever again?

In “It’s Kind of a Funny Story,” that question is ignored, making it the antithesis of a cynically violent film like “Prisoners.”  And yet while I find the former more likable, I don’t think it’s more comforting.  The almost puritanically upbeat tone of the movie is alienating and suggests to me that in order to be relatable and revealing, a great film needs to be infused with a certain amount of sadness and pain. 

 

“Wait, did I actually enjoy watching them die?”

To say the least, the notion that horrifying images and emotions can enhance a great film is a difficult one to accept.  Why?  Because on some level, we all go to movies to experience pleasure.  Certainly the kid who goes to see “Transformers” for the cool robots and the film student who geeks out over the 65 mm cinematography in “The Master” enter the theater with different mindsets, but they’re both trying to enjoy themselves, albeit in very different ways.  But what happens when we experience pleasure while watching a brutal film like “The Dark Knight”?   Does our reaction make us sadists?  Or are we simply experiencing a natural human response that is rooted in the world’s love of grim tragedies as diverse as “Hamlet” and “Medea”? 

Ultimately, I argue for the latter.  I believe it is possible to enjoy a tragic and horrifying film without laughing cruelly at the suffering of its characters.  What makes this widespread phenomenon possible is what I call the Agony Catharsis.  The Agony Catharsis is my name for the positive feeling we experience while watching a character suffer on film.  In my opinion, the journey is not about taking pleasure in the pain of others, but experiencing a sense of release while watching that pain displayed onscreen. 

For me, one of the best provocations for such a catharsis occurs toward the end of “Superman Returns,” when the titular hero (Brandon Routh) lands on an abandoned rock island and is nearly beaten to death by his nemesis, Lex Luthor (Kevin Spacey).  It’s a truly nightmarish sequence—we’re forced to watch Luthor punch and kick Superman repeatedly before having him suffocated and stabbing him in the back.  But though I never want to see Superman hurt, I still enjoy the scene.  Why? 

Believe it or not, it all comes down to screaming.  When Luthor stabs his opponent, Superman screams in agony, and it’s enough to make you want to shriek as well.  What I believes makes this matter is the fact that movies are one of the only places where we can scream in horror.  As filmmaker Eli Roth explained to Premiere film critic Tom Roston back in 2007, “There’s no outlet [in our culture] to scream: You can’t scream at work, you can’t scream at home.” 

            This statement deserves careful consideration.  What Mr. Roth explains in his summation is that in a world where people are desperate to scream, movies offer an outlet for them to do so.  And while he was referring to horror films in particular, I believe his philosophy can applied to other genres.  Of course I don’t literally scream while watching Lex Luthor stab Superman, but a part of me still cries out internally.  When I watch the movie, it gives me an excuse to experience the kind of pent up emotional anguish that often lies buried under the oppression of calm routines and polite conversation.  To invoke Mr. Roth, just as you can’t scream at work, you can’t really emote on the city streets or even in most social situations.  But you can unleash as much sadness as you want in dark movie theater, whether that means full-on crying or just crying a little inside.    

                                                                   

“Me?  A voyeur?”

At the end of the day, I believe “Superman Returns” offers one of many examples of how a dark and disturbing film can offer an Agony Catharsis that allows you to experience suppressed emotions that desperately need to be released.  But the question remains—why doesn’t “Prisoners”?  The film is rife with pain.  Kids get kidnapped; parents seek revenge; suspects get tortured; and in the end, we’re left with the knowledge that the film’s protagonist may or may not bleed to death while trapped underground.

Theoretically, “Prisoners” sounds like a master class in suffering but in this case that’s not a good thing.  Why?  Simply put, because it’s a realistic movie.  By keeping the music to a minimum and making the gray muck of the film’s setting look sharply focused rather that shadowy and romantic, Mr. Villeneuve prevents suffering from looking tragically beautiful.  Whereas Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Drive” sends blood spurting in poetic slow motion, “Prisoners” lets it lie dully on beaten skin.  It’s awful to look at, just like in real life.

I can imagine a thoughtful moviegoer arguing that “Prisoners” is superior to “Drive” because it shows violence as it really is, rather than milking it for eloquence.  But the fact is that movies are not real—only the experience of watching them is.  To that end, “Prisoners” seems to thrust pain upon you by immersing you in a hellish experience; the film exists to shock and wound you emotionally.  But beautiful craftsmanship allows “Drive” (which offers a richly heartbreaking saga of revenge and lost love) and “Superman” to become something far more satisfying—movies that bring sweet sadness bubbling to the surface, drawing you out.  You may feel melancholy afterwards, but you might also feel a little lighter, a little freer. 

“It’s Kind of a Funny Story” and a number of mostly mainstream films (“Oz the Great and Powerful” is 2013’s most notable offender) bury and dodge darkness and resentment, causing them to build up even more.  But better films encourage you to feel it, to let it out, to not be constrained.  I do believe that some things—like torture and kidnapping—should be left off-screen and free from the maelstrom of pop culture.  But some horrors can be as beautiful as they are awful, which is why I’ll be in line for the next movies from Mr. Refn, Mr. Singer, and their compatriots.  They are the dream makers of our times and though those dreams are dark, they depicted through beautiful lenses.  It is only through those eyes that a hero’s violent defeat can be as poetic as it is tragic, in a world where even a drop of blood can be beautiful, if only for a brief moment.