informal film flutterings
cathartic responses to my film journal

We Bought A Zoo [2011]

Moneyball (2011)

There’s a line in the middle of Moneyball spoken by Brad Pitt (as Oakland A’s GM) to his daughter to squelch her concerns for her father’s job, “I have Uptown problems, which aren’t really problems at all.” It’s a sentiment shared by the concerns popularly followed by the recent hashtag: white girl problems. This one small line is the film’s glue; it characterizes Pitt’s Billy Beane as the grounded guy who isn’t afraid to take chances, not because of corny reasons that populate the Disney produced sport films like he just believes in it and then the film subsequently turns into a film about believing in your goals. Instead, it allows Beane to be able to realistically believe in his experiment because he knows he can lose his job and still be able to have and support his daughter.

Connected to the idea that the film works because Beane is grounded to a reality we know, the film is grounded in Baseball, it is a film about Baseball, not a film that uses Baseball. In one of the film’s greatest moments, Beane makes a speech about how he wants to do this to change Baseball. And that’s the claim this film makes, not to change people or for sentimentally moral reasons, but for Baseball reasons.

This isn’t to say you have to love Baseball to love the film. I don’t love Baseball, I have a love for sports and have a general Midwestern connection and affinity for ballgames and ballparks, but the film is not only magnetic storytelling that works as a harmless exposé but it’s a complex character study that has its domestic side not at the cost of the film’s greater interests but the reverse.

I don’t know how I overlooked or hadn’t heard that the film was written by both Steve Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin until the closing credits, but it makes sense. It seems Sorkin had a good team in Zaillian and Director Miller, who could incorporate their own intelligence and restraint to keep the film from having Sorkin’s usual smarter-than-you sashay that has kept me from enjoying his multiple TV Series. The film is however smart enough to not insult our intelligence. I was so happy to hear the film’s two characters wittily have this dialogue after the closing easy metaphor:

“It’s a metaphor.”

“I know it’s a metaphor.”

Sorkin and co. are also able to fuse in interesting flashbacks from the life of Billy Beane that combat the very point it seems the film is trying to make at the time, and therefor act as foreshadowing and another anchor to the complexities of real life. Other ostensible breaks from the major storyline come in the way of scenes between Beane and his daughter (like the one mentioned above). Though most are comical or slightly poignant, I must mention one in particular scene that’s downright tear inducing in about 10 seconds flat. It’s a short scene where Beane is in the guitar shop and watches his daughter hum a song while playing. Miller just lets the persuasion of sweet melody and the wordless gaze of Pitt to express a real sense of character. And no matter if it’s these scenes with his daughter, the flashbacks, or the ones set in real time, the film is marked with a focus that enables the film to both challenge itself, and not claim pitfall to sports movie platitudes, and be able to pull off a sentimental ending that actually means something.

This project had been in pre-production for quite sometime and was originally said to have Steven Soderbergh direct. But the studios rejected his efforts when they claimed his write-up to be too “arty” and while his ballpark scene in Traffic was easily the most memorable, what makes this film so wonderful is its attention to warm, accountable, and overall smart storytelling and characterization that Baseball deserves, not aesthetics.

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50/50 (2011)

With Hollywood’s pedigree of melodramatic disease movies from last year’s Love & Other Drugs and My Sister’s Keeper to 1998’s One True Thing and Stepmom, the new cancer dramedy, 50/50, seems more than welcome. Its penchant for comedy in the face of serious events follows a recent trend (championed by its costar Seth Rogen) toward a more palpable sense of reality. Unfortunately, no matter how hard it tries to equal, 50/50 comes off as a clumsy attempt to make a Judd Apatow (Rogen’s usual partner-in-crime) film mixing all the ingredients but the man himself.

I remember being warned by a critic early on that 50/50 would inevitably be compared to Apatow’s 2009 disease effort Funny People, which was a film I know a lot of people found problematic (most likely because of its digressive third act) but I personally found impressive and poignant. But it doesn’t help set your film apart when you open your film with Seth Rogen making a blowjob joke. Don’t get me wrong, I love when Seth Rogen is the Seth Rogen we’ve all come to know on screen, in fact I wish Seth Rogen would’ve written the film. But here, without the casual pathos Apatow and Rogen achieve so easily, Rogen comes off as a character actor in a film that’s trying too hard.

Sure, as mentioned earlier, in juxtaposition to the usual Nicholas Sparks disease adaptation, 50/50 will be roundly venerated. Really, it’s no hard work to get through and has some genuinely nice moments. Most notably is a scene shortly after the onset of Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt)’s cancer: he eats some pot brownies he was offered from some elderly patients. Adam subsequently walks around the hallway tripping and can’t help but laugh at other hospital denizens, absorbing the bleakness with levity. Though Gordon-Levitt’s acting inspires laughter, the sequence economically articulates Adam’s confusion quite profoundly.

However, these moments are few and far between, and actually seem to disappear as the film advances and gets so comfortable in its formula that it becomes transparent and easy (i.e. the obnoxiously predictable climax of Adam’s frustration in which he calls his therapist and professes his amorous feelings for her). Similarly, I think my biggest qualm in particular is with the scene that precipitated Adam’s breakup. Adam’s buddy, Kyle (Rogen), coincidentally catches Adam’s girlfriend with a guy at an art show. Not only is she hanging all over the guy, but the two suddenly start making out in a moment of laughable indelicacy. And yes, this could be (and initially was) seen as a mere peccadillo, but later she rationalizes it by expressing the difficulty of being on the care-giving end of Adam’s disease and in turn the extreme complexity of that situation, realistically, is overshadowed by the silliness and clumsiness of the aforementioned scene.

This all said, 50/50 comes closer to a realistic approach on the terminally ill that victims themselves would appreciate, but I can’t help but think it retains an unfitting cleanliness and Hollywood-like adherence to formula that keeps it from being the significant film I was eagerly hoping for.

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Contagion (2011)

What may be Steven Soderbergh’s swan song, although not nearly his best, serves as a good indicant of his cinematic paradigm. It leans toward his now-and-then political proclivity, is very well shot and edited, lean, and mostly sterile. As he has been known to do, Soderbergh takes a humdrum script and makes an artisanal affair with relatively no emotion.

Contagion is less a film about an actual disease than it is about how people would react to such a dangerous epidemic. Soderbergh’s view is grim, no doubt, but I can’t help but feeling it’s uneven in its grimness. The virus is helped spread by adultery, the American masses turn to anarchic raids, the duplicitous blogger is lowly scum, etc. Meanwhile anyone of any rank or significance, whether it be of the military, health department, or science laboratory, are viewed as selfless humanitarians. Not to mention the Asians, which Soderbergh is already hearing scrutiny for depicting them mostly as gangsters or uneducated village people (in a seemingly forsaken side plot). It reminds me of the flack he got for his aesthetic choices for the Mexican narrative in Traffic, only I’d be less willing to stick up for him this time round.

Speaking of Traffic, I don’t think it would be a stretch to call this Traffic-lite. Where Traffic seemed a bit bloated or uneven, Contagion is overly restrained. Save for Kate Winslet’s part, the film stylistically gets from point A to point B without getting its hands too dirty. It’s not a bad film, really, and if it does end up being Soderbergh’s last film, I’m glad it wasn’t his bore The Informant!, but it’s another of his middle-of-the-road films.

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Take Me Home Tonight (2011)

Everybody misses John Hughes; his nuanced adolescent outsiders struggling to be understood on the way to maturity became the effigy of an entire generation. He also had a effortless way of embedding family charm without the naivety that shape most PG and PG-13 films nowadays. The filmmakers of Take Me Home Tonight obviously share this affection, unfortunately their love of 80’s paraphernalia, crass humor, and lack of insight obscure any of those poignant touches they may have wanted to take from John Hughes.

The film centers around Topher Grace’s Matt Franklin, a recent college graduate with much more potential than ambition. One of the funniest moments of Ocean’s 12 was a cameo of Topher Grace playing himself going through a mental breakdown. He mentions that he “phoned in that Dennis Quaid movie,” presumably alluding to the charming yet forgettable In Good Company. Well, you get the same phoned in Topher Grace here. And the film totally wastes the immense talents of Anna Faris (although she was nominated for a Teen Choice Award…), who plays his twin who has more ambition than her douche bag boyfriend wants her to have. The siblings’ contrary life problems and situations are carried out in embarrassingly pointed dialogue extracting any chance for subtlety or appeal.

Matt’s less attractive sidekick also fits the John Hughes model, but here he’s only used for extremely broad comic effect, thrown into dumb shenanigans to hit all the stops on the 80’s checklist: cocaine, dancing, sex fetishes, etc. This mixed with the most obtuse soundtrack choices raises the question of why the film is set in the 80’s if not just for a one-note joke, and whether the filmmakers love John Hughes as much of they did the atmosphere his protagonists lived in. The film’s tagline, “Best. Night. Ever.” tries to capture the generic carpe diem attitude of the film’s subjects, but any night spent watching them will likely prove to be the Most. Mediocre. Night. Ever.

Manhattan Murder Mystery (1993)

Woody Allen has always described his Manhattan Murder Mystery as a “vacation film” for himself, coming after one of his most dramatic films to date, Husbands and Wives. How lucky for us fans that even when the man’s on break, we’re treated to such an effortless and enjoyable film.

Manhattan Murder Mystery retains that handheld 90’s aesthetic via Carlo Di Palma from Husbands and Wives, that I really enjoy. Almost twenty years later, though the decor is obviously not contemporary, the film feels fresh. Purely the idea of taking a murder mystery and placing it in the Upper East Side in the hands of Woody Allen and Diane Keaton is humorous. Thankfully though, those farcical elements are only florets of the film and instead Allen more lovingly pays homage to the wonderful murder mysteries of the 1950s, like Hitchcock, or those he visually pays debt to: Double Indemnity and The Lady from Shanghai.

As usual with Allen’s more fantastical plots, there’s a more worldly danger at hand. Here, the couple (the reunion film for Allen and Keaton) discover the insecurities in their marriage and struggle to figure them out as they try to solve the murder. That component adds some meat to film and therein creates a texture and stronger comfort level with the characters; one of the small things that make this film a joy to return to, that and the many one-liners of course.

The Vicious Kind (2009)

I watched Lee Toland Kreiger’s The Vicious Kind on a whim the other night. That whim mostly based on the term “dark comedy” and the leading actor Adam Scott, who reminded me in Our Little Brother how much I liked him. Not too far in to this indie melodrama, I was reminded why I never watch films based on whims.

The Vicious Kind’s trailer is filled with plenty of promising sharp and humorous dialogue, so I knew it might be bleak when all of those moments were through within the film’s first 15 minutes, when it makes way for the “serious” filmmaking about people with problems. It sadly becomes victim to the  major pitfalls of sophomoric indie drama: hand held camera, pseudo-raw filmmaking (sex scene included), somber “hard” protagonist who is actually super vulnerable and has daddy issues, girl everyone thinks is slutty but actually is a virgin, obvious camera effects usually used to convey flashbacks or fatigue, etc. 

In any case, it becomes all too much for Adam Scott to save, or to even attempt at making viable. Most disappointingly is the lack of comedy and I don’t doubt Scott will make his way in the dramatic department, it’s just too bad this overdone work was what he chose for his launching pad.

Eternity and a Day (1998)

Greek filmmaker Theo Angelopoulos opens Eternity and a Day with a memory of the protagonist Alexandre as a child, running to the sea with a couple friends. As the director’s typically languid camera follows behind, we get a perception I can only call adult. Akin to the feeling you get watching children dance at a wedding; a combination of benevolence and maturity. For a second, as the boys run under a gazebo, they are framed by its wooden posts; a frame within a frame analogy for the nostalgia laden recollections Alexandre is riddled with as the film charts his last days.

Angelopoulos is usually mentioned with classic art house directors of past like Tarkovsky or Bergman, whose films are likewise filled with sad memories, dreamy imagery, and glacial pacing, but Angelopoulos’ magic lies in an ability to avoid the austerity that those filmmakers are renowned for. Instead his work feels more like a combination of Tarkovsky and Fellini. His visual metaphors have a great way of coming in from the peripheral and drifting past you without being didactic or heavy.

 In the film, Alexandre, brilliantly played by Bruno Ganz, is mostly concerned with saving a young Romanian boy who has been thrown into the holds of the black market. He just needs to get him across the border, but the boy keeps escaping if only momentarily. This metaphor for Alexandre’s loss of youth is intercut with his waking memories of his dead wife that manifest themselves before his eyes. As the memories build up, he has to face up to the fact that he spent too much of his life in professional endeavors away from his wonderful wife. He just wants one last day back to live life the way he now knows he should.

What I really appreciate about Angelopoulos’ approach is how focused his poetic symbolism is, it all builds up to viscerally describe Alexandre’s inner turmoil so clearly that even the most abstract moments (i.e. the three bicyclists in yellow) don’t bog down the film but rather still maintain a feeling of levity or the unattainable past and future of the dying Alexandre.

Our Idiot Brother (2011)

Yes, we all know who Paul Rudd is, and he has his share of leading roles under his belt, but they’ve all fallen under his Ben Stiller-like career featuring him playing his middle-upper class, WASPy, down to earth, diegetically humorous self. Heck, take a look at Night at the Museum to catch the unwittingly apropos metaphor for the recently inherited stage of Hollywood as Stiller’s wife leaves him for Paul Rudd. Thankfully, with Our Idiot Brother Rudd gets to branch out with the clueless and haplessly honest Ned, call it his Zoolander if you will. Anyhow, it’s Rudd’s best performance to date.

In fact, the soundest thing Our Little Brother has going for it is the way it draws characters. That and the actors behind them. Save for the Zooey Deschanel/Rashida Jones duo that perpetuates a silly misnomer in Hollywood that lesbians can easily be persuaded towards the male gender. Meanwhile, Ned, on the other hand in an awkwardly funny scene tries so hard to be honest and agreeable, he’s willing to have a threesome with a couple, but can’t get past the homosexual aspect.

Though the dialogue is often hilarious, the screenplay gets caught up in a predictable cycle of scenarios to cement the central idiom “no good deed goes unpunished”. I like the ensemble feel of the film, but just cutting out the lesbian duo would’ve not only omitted the weakest characters, but also alleviated some of the exhaustion of the routine.

What doesn’t help is how the film forgoes a quiet and slight poignancy for a more prevalent indie drama feel. The occasionally somber tone feels obligatory, and I admit this film needs some heart but the filmmaker push their abilities, which at times obscure what they’re actually great at: comedy.

In the Bedroom (2001)

Todd Field’s debut opens with an establishing montage of tranquil Maine before it focuses on Tom Wilkinson’s Matt catching some fresh lobster and during which he explains (to a young boy) that the titular line refers to when a third lobster gets in a trap, they start to get violent. Bringing up the film’s central metaphor before we can even make sense of it brings a wonderful mystique as well as alleviating itself from pointing exactly to which triangle it’s referring to. On this, my third viewing, it meant something different to me than it had before.

Ostensibly, the metaphor seems to be mentioning the violence that strikes the young boy when his girlfriend’s separated husband won’t leave them alone. And then there’s the violence that strikes the husband when the young boy’s parents can’t stand to live in the same place as him, seeing him around town, and are unwilling to move. All of that is important and the feelings that surround them are integral to the film, but I think the more significant trio is the Fowler family; Matt, Ruth (Sissy Spacek), and their son Frank (Nick Stahl).

Now, I am no family man, but I’ve heard that one of the most volatile things a relationship can go through is having a child. As the film goes on, it seems obvious Matt and Ruth have turned their love for each towards their son. All of their conversation even revolves around him. Once Frank is suddenly taken from them, they don’t know how to act together; they deal with mourning in solitude. When together they sit in silence, until a climactic argument where they air out all their resentments towards each other. Once that third proverbial lobster got “in the bedroom”, these two began to be violent towards what they had between them. Though the film has two tense murder scenes, this argument might be the film’s hardest thing to watch due to such a strong sense of verisimilitude.

The film is based on an Andre Dubus short story, which I hadn’t known before, but makes a lot of sense. In the Bedroom benefits from a slow, realistic pace that revolves around delightfully layered dialogue. The acting is excellent, especially from Wilkinson and Field’s compositions are thoughtful but unobtrusive. the film also benefits from avoiding a lot of big emotional scenes for the sake of subtlety and to better bring out the one or two moments that are very loud. For example, when Matt has to go tell Ruth about their son and all we see is him standing in the hall about to approach her auditorium before it fades. I would much rather have the thought than see the film treated like grief porn (i.e. 2009’s The Messenger)

In other words, In the Bedroom is most things he strayed from on his second film, Little Children. I’m hoping the latter was just a case of picking the wrong thing to adapt, not to say it wasn’t adapted poorly, but most of its problems seemed to be naturally rooted in the transformation from page to screen (i.e. that awful narration). Either way, if Mr. Field never makes another good film, I hope In the Bedroom avoids obscurity as it is one of the finer dramas of the last decade.

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