ADMISSION: THE PRINCETON REVIEW

DIRECTED BY PAUL WEITZ 

STARRING: TINA FEY, PAUL RUDD, LILY TOMLIN, NAT WOLFF, GLORIA REUBEN with WALLACE SHAWN and MICHAEL SHEEN 

‘Admission’ has a title that is so mundane it is possibly deceitful. Contextually, it is almost obvious that the word refers to the admissions process at a major university. It cannot be any clearer than, say, a film like ‘Accepted’, which was about (not) getting accepted into college. Coincidentally (and unsurprisingly so), both these words could connote their larger meanings as well. A film that offered a shoddy yet amusing line of defence for the misfits by the misfits, ‘Accepted’ tried to discuss the normative role that university acceptances play in a student’s life, in affirming and/or denying merit. ‘Admission’, similarly, could mean either (or both) of two things. On the one hand, there is admission to the university. On the other, however, it could mean an admission of guilt/regret. 

The film begins and ends with a first person confession that Portia Nathan (Tina Fey), an admissions officer at Princeton University, makes to the audience. From the beginning, we see a semblance of the age-old head-hunter remark of “our company is so competitive that I wouldn’t hire myself now if I had to.” Students, parents, teachers and well-wishers – all of them have but one thing to ask Portia. “What’s the success formula?” Alex Hitchins (Will Smith in ‘Hitch’) might have had the courtesy to give you the answer right in the beginning, but Portia drags the question along until the very end – an answer that’s as obvious as the secret recipe to the noodle soup in ‘Kung Fu Panda’. 

But if anything, ‘Kung Fu Panda’ was not about the question, was it? In as far as I remember the film, it was about a fat panda co-opting martial arts in a way that it suits him. It was the Americanization of the east; of bringing about drastic change in the art of Kung fu. There is no one right way to do anything. There is your way. There is mine. 

In that way, ‘Admission’ is not about Portia answering the question she asks herself. She does give you an answer at the very end – the obvious one. But then you realize it wasn’t necessary. In fact, it only serves to dampen an otherwise remarkable film whose only problem was that it wasn’t exactly as sharp as it ought to have been. This failure of ‘Admission’ to be a truly enthralling movie experience has to do with the fact that it doesn’t really define itself. It’s not over-the-top funny. Neither is it overly heavy on its situational irony. A woman who’s in the business of rejecting/wait-listing people learns to accept things for herself and then tries to bring other people on to her side, fails, decides that the only way to beat the system is to cheat it, only to find herself on the other side of the table where someone else ‘wait-lists’ her. As much as ‘Admission’ features pretty much all things mentioned above, it is still not about showing that woman, perhaps as much as ‘Up in the Air’ was about putting the man of cold logic back in his place. 

Still, there are things about Portia that you could comprehensively hate, just about as much as there was in Ryan Bingham (George Clooney in ‘Up in the Air’) that you could hate. They’re people in a tin can with a hand stretched out through a hole in the side as they try to open the lid, lest they suffocate. By comparing it with 'Up in the Air', I only intend to reaffirm the fact that ‘Admission’ had the potential to be something a lot more serious than what it chose to be; what it ended up being. Portia could have been a lot less apologetic about herself. John Pressman (Paul Rudd) could have come out a little stronger with his push. Michael Sheen does a sort of cameo as Portia’s ten-year boyfriend who calls it off because he knocked a Virginia Woolf scholar up. We could have done without that. What Sheen does as Mark is nothing more than tomfoolery that frustrates the film viewer as much as it frustrates Portia herself by constantly showing up, without any real reason. 

Nonetheless, if you end up not hating these people, do know that it’s not your fault. For there is something soft and real about snobs like Portia and Ryan, that you might just see them for who they really are. They are people who appear to be in control of their lives, only to break from that grand delusion, reconcile to their limitations and use them as a springboard to mount their successes on. The system ensures that it is impossible to succeed, unless you’re prepared to change the very definition of success itself. Everything changes, then. Like how, to Ryan, giving his protégé (Anna Kendrick) a glowing recommendation is enough of a shot at his own redemption. Like how Portia, for the first time in her life perhaps, fights for something she truly believes in – the candidature of the immensely talented Jeremiah Balakian (Nat Wolff) against the rest of the admissions office, including the soon-to-retire Dean of Admissions (Wallace Shawn) and Corinne (Gloria Reuben), Portia’s competitor for the spot. 

The straitjackets in Dean Clarence and Corinne deliver great performances as people who just can’t empathize anymore. To them, an application makes for light reading; they’d take only as much as they can register. Portia, interestingly, imagines students to be sitting in front of her and talking as she reads out each application. While there are moments where she literally ‘pushes them off’ for the sake of over-the-top ruthless humour, the fact that she can visualize candidates sitting across the table and telling her their stories shows her failure (a successful one, perhaps) to be completely objective. It is interesting to note here that we only see how Portia reads an application – not anybody else. It's like the kid in ‘The Sixth Sense’. We see what he sees, and it does what it does to arouse our suspicion. Similarly, Portia sees candidates instead of applications in a clear representation of the demons she battles. We do not see what Corinne sees, we most certainly do not see what Dean Clarence sees. But we assume it is not the same. 

Where ‘Admission’ I thought failed the most was in the back stories it furnishes for all its characters in an effort to define why they stood where they stood. John Pressman is a man with an inheritance who had it all – went to Dartmouth, made it to Harvard Law. It is the singular case of success losing all meaning when one has too much of it, so much so that John proceeds to seek it in a different realm; that of helping others define and find their own version of success. Portia Nathan is not only ambitious, she is also a woman and here she makes a departure from Ryan Bingham’s ‘Up in the Air’ story. Feminism creeps in, unavoidably, with Portia’s mother Susannah (Lily Tomlin) making the biggest ‘admission’ of guilt when she says Portia was the product of a thoughtless moment of passion and an unplanned pregnancy. Portia, with the grace and doggy-eyed beauty of Tina Fey, admits that she cares for her child after all, and has to distinguish her kind of empowerment from her Mother’s in a battle, which, I thought, was unnecessary. 

Moreover, the feminist allusions are so self-defeating that one worries that might have been the intention. Portia wants a man for herself and the child whom she had given away for adoption at birth. Susannah ‘admits’ to having a similar notion. Corinne, the most pragmatic of the lot, has what she claims is a wonderful relationship with her husband. All these women, in a way, define their successes with their ability to find/have found themselves the ‘right man’ and raising the ‘right child’. Even Helen, the Virginia Woolf scholar whom Mark leaves Portia for, gets pregnant and gets married to him, ultimately. It is here, in defining ‘success’ in the context of a woman, that I felt ‘Admission’ was a little problematic. 

Thus, Portia and John both make their cases in ‘Admission’. Portia makes it to the admissions panel at Princeton - who shoot her down with cruel objectivity - and to you in the audience. John makes his case to Portia. They are played by two of the most endearing comics – Fey and Rudd – that Hollywood has ever produced. Their appeal, thus, holds water in front of the audience. Portia accepts John, you accept the both of them. You shall have it no other way. But as far as the film goes, ‘Admission’ is a 2.0 GPA with a glimmer of extra merit, nothing too serious; shows promise, but not quite. 

Which means to the cold rationale of our Princeton selves, it makes the wait-list at best.

THE INCREDIBLE BURT WONDERSTONE: FEATURING THE INIMITABLE MR. STEVE CARELL!

DIRECTED BY DON SCARDINO 

STARRING: STEVE CARELL, STEVE BUSCEMI, OLIVIA WILDE, JIM CARREY with JAMES GANDOLFINI and ALAN ARKIN 

I like to think we’re on a low-tide of humour, lately. This is not to say that Hollywood hasn't been trying. This is to say that most efforts at comedy have been futile, with studios having to turn to the trusted lot to work it out for them. When I say ‘work it out’, I am not talking about box-office returns. I am talking about a funny film that’s actually funny, like ‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’ which rides on some of the funniest men in Hollywood. 

I write this in the aftermath of ‘the Hangover’, of films that have sincerely tried, which have been pushed and pummeled ahead by the financially turbo-charged studio that would do anything for a laugh – anything but anything remotely funny, that is. I write this in the wake of having encountered people like Jason Sudeikis on screen. I write this in the era of the R-rated rom-com where mainstream actors try their hands at comedy, going for your leg but pulling the rug from under your feet instead. I am not lying when I say I have been more disappointed in this so-called comedy lately than even, say, ‘Man of Steel’ where Superman doesn’t realize the joke’s actually on him. 

It is precisely in this department that ‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’ works. It is a funny film that is actually funny, and that’s wonderful, given current standards. 

Even otherwise, ‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’ is an incredible film experience. It is directed by Don Scardino who has directing credits for half the episodes of the Tina Fey vehicle '30 Rock' – possibly the only show I have followed from beginning to glorious end. Though we barely get past star performances on a TV show, Scardino’s ability to run a gag in the subtlest manner possible is evident in almost all episodes that he has directed/overseen on '30 Rock'. And he brings the weight of that experience with directing comedy into a film that desperately needs a hand like that. 

Plot-wise, there is nothing incredible about ‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’. Have you watched the Pixar film ‘Cars’? For the sheer delight of wacky storytelling and an inimitable message that John Lasseter delivered through automobiles in a man-eat-man world, ‘Cars’ would rank highest on my list of favourite animated movies. Anyway, that trivia aside, I could take ‘Cars’ and ‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’, put them side by side and match each plot detail, one after another. Rockstar protagonist who’s lost his love for the game to some fame that he later realizes is inconsequential? Check. Endearing sidekick who lasts till the very end and might possibly have a sequel written around him? Check. Feisty lady-love who’s probably the most normal character, a buffer between the quick and the dead? Check. Moronic, mindless buffoon of a bad guy who’s meant to make your focus clear and not just be defeated? Check. Yesteryear legend who comes around to up the game of the present day, preferably on the hero’s side? Check. 

Let me tell you that having made all these comparisons and perhaps having realized that ‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’ is a live-action rendition of ‘Cars’ at best doesn’t change my mind about how good a film it is, because – and let me tell you this too – it is a good film. It has everything that makes a good film good, and this might sound laughable at first. Every film has that, right? Every ‘good film’, at least? I don’t think so. The summer’s biggest film event (read ‘Man of Steel’) stands as a cutting example. 

‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’ has Steve Carell play a truly incredible Burt Wonderstone. If there is one man who acts while simultaneously providing a commentary on his acting, it is Carell. Like Owen Wilson did with his voice to Lightning McQueen, Carell accentuates Burt Wonderstone with body language that calls for attention to itself. He is the performer who performs while drawing attention to his performance and the fact that he is, actually, performing. Steve Buscemi as Wonderstone’s partner and magical friend Anton Marvelton is the exact opposite – he is the Mater in this movie, oblivious to his own innocence. Olivia Wilde is beautiful as Jane/Nicole, the aspiring starlet magician who sees the human being in the money-machine that is Burt Wonderstone and has the heart to sit him down and talk. 

Two performances need mention. First is the late James Gandolfini as the casino magnate Doug Munny, who is so ruthless it’s actually funny. Gandolfini’s performance and an uneventful death has made me consider watching ‘the Sopranos’. I guess I’d get around to it as time permits, but here as Doug, the over-achieving shark, Gandolfini joins the likes of Andy Garcia and Al Pacino in their respective stints as bad guy in the Ocean’s series. He is unbelievable. 

The second performance is that of Alan Arkin, who’s the funny equivalent of Paul Newman’s Doc. Hudson in ‘Cars’. Arkin plays Rance Holloway, a former Vegas headliner who lost it for his magic, went into oblivion and, later, to an old age home that Burt Wonderstone ends up performing in. Coincidentally, Holloway has been Wonderstone’s role model and the reason he took up magic in the first place. Together, the two of them contribute to Wonderstone’s rediscovery as Arkin belts out some of the funniest sequences in the film, including and especially his final ‘disappearing act’. 

Out of the six main characters, I have thus knowingly and with full awareness left out one, perhaps the most eye-capturing of performances. Jim Carrey as Steven Gray the ‘Brain Rapist’ (a clear parody of Criss Angel: Mind-Freak, where I thought Wonderstone himself sounded a lot like David Copperfield) might own the role, but the character is as insignificant to ‘The Incredible Burt Wonderstone’ as Chick Hicks was to ‘Cars’. It has to do with the fact that Wonderstone’s problem is with himself and not with competition. Success here gets redefined as his ability to rediscover the magic in himself, which he will and does, with or without Steven Gray. There is a scene where Gray and Wonderstone have a war of words and Wonderstone tells Gray that what he does is “not magic, it is monkey porn.” I took that as a subtle comment on Carrey’s own presence and performance, even though I’m sure it wasn’t intended to be that. To see Carrey invest in such a second-rung character was pitiful to say the least. 

But that doesn’t spoil the fun one bit, and I take the liberty to say here that it is all Steve Carell. Mr. Carell is the perfect reaction-comic. He’s someone who can make stupid knock, knock jokes work, because he’d have the best things to say in return. By that I mean he’d have the worst things to say in response and they would end up being funny, only adding to his character. I’m still haunted by some of his comebacks in ‘Date Night’ as I write this line; as James Franco’s incredulous statement rings: “Is that all you’ve got? Is that your best line?” Carell thus complements Carrey’s monkey-act like nobody can; like nobody ever will. 

I wasn’t kidding when I said that there could be a sequel, and that if there was a sequel, I’d watch it. I would like it to be called ‘The Remarkable Anton Marvelton’ with a bigger part played by ‘The Astonishing Jane’ as Burt Wonderstone sits a quiet life teaching magic to children, heading the Holloway School of Magic. This would mean a return of all these men (and woman) to save Hollywood again from the clutches of its evil witches of comedy, their laughs mirthless. And I would love for that film to be directed by the Skillful Mr. Scardino again – the man behind this self-parody, who performs his tricks as well as he makes fun of them; who is both the Farrelly Brothers on steroids, minus the shit humour.

THE PLACE BEYOND THE PINES: "THERE WILL BE BLOOD"

DIRECTED BY DEREK CIANFRANCE 

STARRING: RYAN GOSLING, BRADLEY COOPER, EVA MENDES, ROSE BYRNE, DANE DeHAAN, BEN MENDELSOHN, MAHERSHALA ALI, EMORY COHEN with BRUCE GREENWOOD and RAY LIOTTA 

I write this line at about fifty minutes into ‘the Place beyond the Pines’ which has a runtime of about two and a half hours, and I believe what I am about to say will most definitely hold true for the rest of the film as well. 

Roger Ebert would have loved to watch this one.

It is the life story of two different men with not-so-different lives and yet could easily be construed as being each other’s foil. One of them is ‘Handsome’ Luke, played by Ryan Gosling who more or less repeats his performance from the Nicolas Winding Refn chiller ‘Drive’. The other is Bradley Cooper who takes the next mature turn after ‘The Silver Linings Playbook’, playing one blue-eyed boy after another. If these two men have their own ghosts to both leave behind and strategically adapt into this feature, director Derek Cianfrance has one of his own in the riveting ‘Blue Valentine’, his debut film, that pretty much set the bar for him as a filmmaker. For him to have made the shift from the broken marriage in the old country house to the steel cages of the phenomenal ‘Ring of Death’ stunt is remarkable to say the least. 

‘the Place beyond the Pines’ has Gosling play ‘Handsome Luke’, a motorcycle stunt performer. At the locus of brute aggression and the sense of responsibility and ownership that it brings along, Gosling is not far from home having played the ‘Driver’ in ‘Drive’, who too was, incidentally, a race-car driver who takes to crime. At the very beginning of the film, we are introduced to a relationship that would never quite take off – one that Luke shares with Romina (Eva Mendes). The tension in their little interaction tells us there has been more than meets the eye as Luke tells Romina he would not be seeing her for a year at least and hence would like to ‘get a beer.’ Romina declines saying she has a man in her life. Luke turns tail and goes his own way. 

The next scene takes us to a year later when Luke hits Schenectady again as he said he would. He waits for Romina after his performance. He drops by at her place when she fails to show up. Romina now has a golden-haired infant that is, for all practical purposes, unlikely to have come from her then-partner Kofi (Mahershala Ali). The answer is simple. The baby is his. He has been named Jason and Luke gets the inimitable privilege of watching his kid’s baptism as a visitor at church. 

A man knows his place as the place his son is going to grow. If it is Schenectady, then so be it. Luke tells Romina he knows what it is like to have grown up without a Father. We see what he is talking about. We also see he does not wish the same for his child. Luke wants to be around and also wants to provide for his child. In that we see his predicament. His presence requires him to let go of his only source of income – the circus stunt, which he chooses to quit; which puts a question mark on his next vow. How will he provide for his child? Enter Robin (Ben Mendelsohn), a car mechanic who develops a dangerous fascination for Luke and his skills. In a sequence of sheer muscle and in awe of the same, Cianfrance introduces us to a partnership that compares itself to that of Hall and Oates. Luke is the man in need. Robin is the man who can provide, but he can provide only so much. He has a very simple principle, however, as a means to resolve this predicament: What you cannot have, you steal. 

At this point, I need to give you a little insight into the town of Schenectady. It is a town of orthodoxy in the state of New York, which seems to have the landscape to go with its principles. It is a parish with a Mayor and a police force to protect its banks that are no casino-vaults unlike its step-sisters in Vegas as seen in ‘Ocean’s Eleven’ or any other top-rung Hollywood heist movie. In the aftermath of Ben Affleck’s ‘the Town’, however, one could find resemblances between Charlestown, Boston and Schenectady, where both are places where there is as much of a place for the struggling thief as there is for the police-force-in-command who is ultimately going to prevail. Two brawls and a dire situation brings Luke head-to-head with Officer Avery Cross (Bradley Cooper). The man takes a second to come to terms with his own fall, telling the woman (Romina) to not tell his son. And Avery Cross becomes the accidental hero, the man who had the pluck to stay right through a testing encounter as we walk into the second act. 

Avery wakes up in the hospital with a bullet to his knee as his superior (Bruce Greenwood) presses him to part with detail – who shot first? “Did he raise his hand and did you shoot, or did he raise his hand and he shoots and you shoot? Is that what happened? He shot first? Well, it looks like you’re saying he shot first.” From that moment on, we see this sequence of events get written on the airwaves, about town; in stone, in short, leaving behind a legacy Avery can only half-heartedly defend. 

I come back to the point where I said it is easy to construe Avery as Luke’s foil and vice-versa. But then while they could be men of different make, we find they are governed by similar ideals and, hence, find themselves in the same predicament. If Luke finds himself responsible for an unplanned pregnancy and a child as a consequence, Avery is the cause and effect of his own reputation, much to his discomfort. Both deal with their failure to be the men they would ideally have liked to be. Avery finds failure in his success. Luke had found his in his inability to be a good Father. Only time can salvage these men from their 'failures.'

‘The Place Beyond the Pines’, thus, deals with the simplest, yet the deepest-rooted desire for a man to be someone whom his son could look up to, and for the son to be someone his Father could/could have been proud of. The last time I saw a film convincingly portray both this aspiration and the failure to meet it is the 2007 James Mangold adaptation of the classic western ‘3:10 to Yuma’. The only thing the ranger wants is for his son to look up to him. It is the only thing he asks of the criminal he escorts across the country. It is the only thing the criminal cannot give, on his part. 

To heed to the call of a film that asks for its men to showcase both their insecurities as well as their little bursts of honest admittance needs some nuanced performances from its actors. Gosling as the ruffian who tries too hard to scrub the grease off of his permanently-tattooed self is only too comfortable playing his part. Cooper too, on the other hand, as the boy who doesn’t deserve to be in the league of men and knows it too, delivers. They both are complemented by Cianfrance’s shot-taking, which caresses its men like lambs who are only too tender for film-butchers to sharpen their knives for. We have long shots of extreme close-ups of either of these men, both blue-eyed, both star-gazing with a loss of an idea on what they could better do. In that way, it is prudent and well-deserving of Cianfrance to say that the director plays the third man burdened with the weight of an immense responsibility – that of having to tell the stories of these two other men in the most striking manner possible. And in that, Cianfrance makes it a three-on-three. All men deliver. 

The third act of ‘The Place beyond the Pines’ is no big surprise. If there is a reason as to why I shall not discuss it, it is to save time, both yours and mine. Let me put it this way. Your great deeds will not just end with you. Daniel Plainview has his adopted son to answer to – the one he renders deaf at about an hour into ‘There will be Blood’. Both Avery and Luke have sons. It is only about time that one will have to answer the other, and needless to say, ‘The Place beyond the Pines’ takes that time to put its men (Avery, at least) in a position where they will have to confront their demons. It is a faithful revival of the fabled morality question, which we saw glimpses of in films like ‘Infernal Affairs’ (remade into ‘The Departed’ in 2005) and Affleck’s ‘Gone Baby Gone’. It is that film which, if you are any human being who can even remotely place yourself in either of these men’s shoes, is sure to knock your socks off. Cianfrance puts a gun to your mouth and hisses, asking you to open. It is a test that asks you to yield. In all likelihood, he won’t shoot. For you will pass his test. You will yield. 

I am aware I have left out two of the most significant characters who also are backed by brilliant performances from their respective actors, both women. I am also aware that I have called ‘The Place beyond the Pines’ a film ultimately about its men. It does not mean that the women do not play a significant part. Michelle Monaghan was about as vital to ‘Gone Baby Gone’ as Casey Affleck was. The film, however, was his predicament that consequentially became hers too. Likewise, the women in ‘The Place Beyond the Pines’ (Romina and Mrs. Cross) find themselves effected by the men in their lives rather than the other way around, ‘Men’ here not limited to Luke and Avery, just so you know. There is also the underlying legitimacy question. While Romina bears and gives birth to Luke’s bastard child, Mrs. Cross (Rose Byrne) is Avery’s lawfully-wedded wife. It takes not just a refreshing perspective, but also an incredible amount of sensitivity and care to handle the above-mentioned detail. In that, ‘The Place Beyond the Pines’ finds itself in safe hands. 

Perhaps there would be a time when this film would be discussed as the next feature after Michael Mann’s ‘Heat’ that carried itself on skill, sensibility and raw adrenaline with its lead characters sharing screen-space for the tiniest possible span of time. There would be a time when Gosling and Cooper would match the stature of the film-giants in Al Pacino and Robert De Niro, in which event ‘The Place Beyond the Pines’ would be seen at par with ‘Heat’, with the likes of ‘3:10 to Yuma’ and ‘Gone Baby Gone’ nearby. For it is nothing short of a classic - all it has to do is bide its time. Much like Jason.