FUNNER THAN EXPECTED!

DIRECTED BY ELIZABETH ALLEN

STARRING: JOEY KING, GINNIFER GOODWIN, JOHN CORBETT, SELENA GOMEZ, BRIDGET MOYNAHAN, JOSH DUHAMEL, JASON SPEVACK AND SANDRA OH

Ramona is the kind of girl you could expect to have her nose pressed against the glass, waiting for you to get back home so she could spring from the staircase, straight on to your shoulder, provided that you father her. She would shine your silver lining bright enough to hide your grays, but she could also be ruthless when it comes to battle – enough to squeeze an entire tube of toothpaste into the sink. And she would resist you as much as her nine-year-old mind could propel her to, but all the same, she could do anything if you could inspire her, even crack an egg on her nicely-curled hair. In short, she’s this budding globule of energy hidden inside a vicious package of killer-cute looks and the firmness of an iguana.

So is Joey King.

That’s what contributed to the success of this story, at least to me. ‘Home Alone’ was only as naughty as Macaulay Culkin could get, as much as the whole of the introversion of ‘Bridge to Terebithia’ rested on Josh Hutcherson’s inability/ability to reflect it. It is almost inevitable that good children’s literature has at its helm not just a representative, but the whole package in itself, in form of the protagonist. A bunch of characters scattered around could dilute the impact, unless each could play a hand like in Enid Blyton’s ‘Famous Five’ – and I’m glad that the makers of this film didn’t quite attempt it, for that could mean distorting the levels of empathy, if not trigger a greater diminishment of creativity by means of scattered attention. It is for this reason that it is better to stick to children’s fiction being more or less titular.

I do not stress this point without reason, by the way. One thing that struck me about this film beyond its emotional voodoo (in not exactly a bad sense!) is its shuttle between reality and magical reality, as I shall prefer to call it, for it is viewership through the child’s eye. From garden-hose armies to rainbow-coloured cars and plastic wedding-rings, juxtaposed on a sort of reflection on America’s economic crisis and real-estate booms, the filmmakers look to threaten us with more serious issues if only we were to probe more, the remarkable achievement henceforth being their feat of reducing us to as old as Ramona or Beezus or perhaps Picky-Picky, the pivotal cat (which is still a substantial age, mind you!) – what I mean to say is that the most this film could do to your naughty nine-year-olds at home is inspire hope and make them feel closer to home and comfortably so. But the effect is not the same for the adult viewer, for the film has this uncanny ability to force a regression and feel great about it.

All said and done, this isn’t a film for your kid to grow up with. This is one where you, the adult film-viewer thirsting for an escapade, grow down with and retreat into those cozy (even if embarrassing) corners of pre-teendom where life meant a lot more, with the little sense that it actually made.

FROSTBITE

DIRECTED BY DEREK CIANFRANCE

STARRING: RYAN GOSLING, MICHELLE WILLIAMS, FAITH WLADYKA, JOHN DOMAN and MIKE VOGEL

I watched avidly into the end credits of ‘Blue Valentine’ looking for a silver lining. Not that I was unmindful of the fact that it had already passed me by, but I had to rack it up all the same looking for some closure, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t offer me any. It’s the open ends that often leave it to you to tie them in your own way – they can’t get any more conclusive than this one.

Perspective substantiates ‘Blue Valentine’ – I could see her for what she was, but it would probably take a woman to take the other side. Unreasonable, irreconcilable separations leave one with a thirst for explanation, while I found self-sufficiency in this. What I saw (which, by all means, could be different from what was shown to me) was a phase, and a one-sided one at that. The other party, unmistakably the guy Dean Pereira (Ryan Gosling) would stay in his skins until as long as they last, namely till the last moment of the film. There is potentially no scope for exploitation, for there is nothing but misery if one were to attempt it in the remotest manner.

Snuggled into an awe-inspiring role, Ryan Gosling excels not in ‘apt execution’ but actually enlarges his performance, accommodating dimensions of love, sex, submission, occasional bursts of anger, of gloom but never one of doubt. With this effort, he manages to elevate the not-so-uncommon nice person outfit to superstardom, wherein to call it ‘epic’ would be a criminal understatement. And this line of thought led me to fathom and I could not fathom enough to figure out how writer-director Derek Cianfrance could have come up with something that is this self-demeaning that it eventually comes out to be an uncontested winner! The pedestal that I happened to place Dean Pereira was way higher than that of Cindy Heller (Michelle Williams), who, for all intents and purposes, stands on solid ground.

I am cautious though in crediting people for ‘Blue Valentine’. To Dean Pereira, the triumph is universal, he shall forever be loved even if not entirely understood. To Ryan Gosling, the reaction is plain awe at having induced a naturalism that it doesn’t look induced at all! To Cindy Heller, on the other hand, is hatred – boiling hatred at zero empathy, although it is not entirely impossible to rationalize her stand. To Michelle Williams, I commit my humble applause. The pair of them – irreplaceable. Gosling and Williams pull off a level of anti-chemistry that has seldom been seen before, and they do it with the deadly combination of lucidity and sappy devotion. To call the ‘love’ flaccid would just mean lack of a better word, for it is existent. Nevertheless, it is but an extra piece in a jigsaw puzzle that is complete without it – it is unnecessary and hence, pivotal.

I would not gauge ‘Blue Valentine’ as a ‘first film’ at all – Derek Cianfrance beats that outlook by his very conception, and the film in itself is crucial, and not just an exhibit of exemplary acting and impressive narration. What’s best is the life in it, and what’s even better is that it offers it for public viewership than shy away to critical eyes. It is the truth – both agonizing, and truly beautiful.

DISTASTEFUL

DIRECTED BY DARREN ARONOFSKY

STARRING: NATALIE PORTMAN, VINCENT CASSEL, MILA KUNIS, BARBARA HERSHEY, BENJAMIN MILLEPIED AND WINONA RYDER

Back in home territory after a break in form of his 2008 film ‘the Wrestler’, director Darren Aronofsky looks to further upon his ‘Requiem for a Dream’ footing, with this inept interpretation of the Tchaikovsky classic ‘Swan Lake’. A minor replacement of a similar-looking Jennifer Connelly with a more convincing tragedy queen and a cunning extrapolation of the already-thriving sensuality of a certain Mila Kunis, Aronofsky goes to show once again how no one can leech on actors’ potential than he can, building a psychological drama on the ruins of a so-called script, unimpressive music and disengaging cinematography that is only too real to be dealing with a subject as this.

Having said that, I cannot help but let two icons go headfirst upon each other with an unlikely film-comparison which, I feel, is not entirely inappropriate. ‘Black Swan’ to me felt like an over-dramatized and yet underdone a version of Atom Egoyan’s 2009 film ‘Chloe’. Natalie Portman reminded me only too much of Julianne Moore in the latter and I couldn’t help but sense a trigger. Let me also do another odd but worthy comparison of the kid-interns in the two flicks – Amanda Seyfried versus Mila Kunis. And I see no big difference, with both of them having portrayed roles that people could walk away with (which is predominantly why they both were able to do them and well!) and I seriously do not understand the credit received on either’s part. I mean, I could even sympathize with Seyfried’s titular role of ‘Chloe’, but lauding a mere figment of imagination? I thought the world could do way better than that, I’m sorry.

Here, Aronofsky shows the dancers to be vengeful, spiteful and what not – maybe he could inspire the very same in them, a sort of reverse-osmosis. As ever, he champions the knack of stripping the experts of their clothes and basks in the feat of exposing their nakedness to the world, well, he only takes a step further when it comes to ballerinas. And yet, he finds himself most strongly backed by a fired-up Natalie Portman, who looks determined to grow out of her body as Miss Kunis finds herself at home doing the same. Vincent Cassel, another one of grace and finesse although he goes overboard at times, joins the force in this actor-driven, joke of a film that is as shameless as its maker in hiding behind the skirts it’s supposed to bring to light. Perhaps the intention is contained in self, in Thomas Leroy’s advertisement for seduction than substance; perhaps that is what genius is all about but quite frankly, I don’t care.

Incessant theme, indistinctive voiceover from stage to set, ill-deployed homosexuality, cheap thrills? The black swan would be bored to death with this stereotype of cacophonies and let me tell you something – the whites won’t like to do too much with it either. And I’m just talking about swans, mind you.

AN AFFLECK SHOW - NEED I SAY MORE?

DIRECTED BY BEN AFFLECK

STARRING: BEN AFFLECK, JEREMY RENNER, REBECCA HALL, JON HAMM, BLAKE LIVELY, TITUS WELLIVER, PETE POSTLETHWAITE, SLAINE AND CHRIS COOPER

In only his second feature film as director (having previously shared writing credits with Matt Damon for the 1997 Gus Van Sant venture ‘Good Will Hunting’), Ben Affleck looks to take the place of the undisputed crime lord of Hollywood and could even land it in the time to come, what with the pace he’s cruising in. With a reputation to do whatever he does in a way that might not necessarily be called ‘characteristic’ (although there are fingerprints all over this film), he still manages to thrust a level of intelligence and emotional intensity, a deadly combo when it comes to the avid film viewer – one that can potentially turn a remote action thriller to an incredibly substantial crime drama.

But is ‘the Town’ just that? I mean, Hollywood has forever been the place for felons, multiple takes on heist-movies and has seen the likes of Scorsese, Coppola and De Palma. What more does this film have (other than being an intense revisit to the genre) to substantiate itself as a film to remember? Well, the packaging, for one. Subtly written, never boring and gripping one through the 124 minutes that constitute it, ‘the Town’ also finds itself empowered by its actors. At the front is a certain Jeremy Renner, never hear before a year before and now he carries a film on his shoulders, what does it matter if he’s got support! Rebecca Hall leaves a convincing mark on the viewer’s mind with her ‘not so new’ portrayal of Claire Keesey, a bank manager who’s shaken to the bone by the disturbing incidents of the crime in question. Jon Hamm leads the opposition as Agent Adam Frawley, strongly set, has a head on his shoulders and there’s the ever-dependent Chris Cooper who’s given the role of a father this time – if ever a person can stun with a phonecall from the other side!

As successor to the crushing ‘Gone Baby Gone’ that he directed in 2007, Affleck opts to dabble a little more this time with his directorial skills, upping activity levels with sheer rawness in his action sequences, achieving required emotions through audacity. There’s immense set-detailing, more on the metal front and an awful lot of cars getting crushed to drive it in. But where I felt ‘the Town’ to succeed the most is in the fact that it takes a hold of its loose ends and ties it into a loop. Like Krista Coughlin (Blake Lively) for example, who is cheekily intended to be a reminder of Doug Macray’s tragic childhood and of the ruins of his now-broken father. And then there’s the refrain that leaves one with a smile on his face and a thought in his head that’s crystal clear and says, “Damn. This guy knows his stuff!”

One of the best wide-releases of 2010 in an armoured tin-can with a heck of a heart. And not to mention, a promise for more.

A FILM THAT'S FUNNY AND A FILM THAT'S NOT

DIRECTED BY JUDD APATOW

STARRING: ADAM SANDLER, SETH ROGEN, JONAH HILL, JASON SCHWARTZMANN, LESLIE MANN, AUBREY PLAZA, IRIS APATOW, MAUDE APATOW with AZIZ ANSARI and ERIC BANA

It’s a typical dark-side-of-the-moon venture. Think of a Doctor who prescribes for anyone but himself or his family. Of an ascetic who draws sexual favours. Of a Peace-Corp representative goring it on ‘Battle Royale’. George Simmons (Adam Sandler), big time stand-up act and an A-list movie star – a life-sized replica of Sandler himself, in short – takes the stage on a nostalgia trip in the bar where he used to perform. “You people are so un-amusing that you have to pay another person to amuse you!” he says to an audience so quiet that you’d hear a clock ticking if there was one. The crowd is baffled – they don’t know if they’re supposed to laugh or feel offended. It’s the same with you. This is one among those people who have always derived humour from insults, so is it any different this time? Judd Apatow thus extracts the rudeness out of stand-up comedy and extends it at its rawest best. It’s bitter, but not distasteful. And the scene itself is key to a murky film that attempts to show what’s behind the poker-faces so reinforced to earn some laughs.

George Simmons is dying, or so he thinks. He has the wisdom of an aging man and yet the heart of a boy, for he looks for a shoulder to lean and a bedside conversation so he could talk himself to sleep. Adam Sandler loads him further with quirks of his own, particularly the determination to stay old-fashioned. “No one wants to hear about how you masturbate”, he counsels Ira Wright (Seth Rogen), his trainee-cum-creative-source. No ‘ASAP’. No ‘Just Chilling’. Sandler in the first hour of ‘Funny People’ gives a kingly performance in familiar territory, one that compares with the likes of Jack Nicholson (in ‘About Schmidt’) or Paul Giamatti (in films as ‘Sideways’ and ‘American Splendor’) except he’s not as down-to-earth. His purgatory is not devoid of perks, he still lives lavish, has his pick of women though he feels he’s got his heart out for none but one. He’s a satire on remorse, purely by virtue of unlikelihood. He wants to be sad, but he’s not. The closest he gets to sadness is dry irony, that which peaks in the song he renders at half-time – the point where the film peaks as well, only to fall back down to ‘usual’.

A biography on stand-up comedy as an organic whole diversifies into a less-impacting bonding venture that concludes that there can be none. Apatow’s super-saturated ‘family film’ turns to a moderately-convincing melodrama even though it doesn’t compromise on comic relief. It’s a lot of things, a lot of different kinds of things, different mindsets to laugh about, which is so taxing that I wished for a simpler, straighter sketch!

So ‘Funny People’, as I saw, was a patchwork of two films with George Simmons. In one, it’s a fame-crazy bunch of youngsters, the next generation that’s all about betrayal, lies and last laughs. In the other, he joins the crowd. Woody Allen as Harry Block in ‘Deconstructing Harry’ remarks, when on a road trip, that his immaturity gives him a boyish quality to match his girlfriend’s age. A similar trip in this film shows its two overgrown boys in Simmons and Wright, trying to reconcile with their own selves. And then it’s back to square one with nothing drastic having happened. It’s not a happy ending. It’s not sad either. It’s just real and inspires empathy, in which it leaves us strangely dissatisfied. The latter half of the film serves to make one forget the first, for the film is awfully long. And in its course, we find ourselves sodden with misery to be dried in indifference with a lean period in between that haunts too much.

For the first time, a mainstream Hollywood comedy shows us that the best of laughs is where you don’t try too hard. And it’s a shame that it had to turn defensive against its own discovery, resorting at times to instances for the sake of humour than vice-versa. Nevertheless, for Adam Sandler, it’s a revelation; a role where for once you take him  seriously. For Judd Apatow, this is yet another, but with a little more maturity than usual at the expense of some. A welcome change that gives reason to hope.

ACTUALLY, WORKS

DIRECTED BY RICHARD CURTIS

STARRING: LIAM NEESON, THOMAS SANGSTER, HUGH GRANT, BILL NIGHY, EMMA THOMPSON, ALAN RICKMAN, LAURA LINNEY and a whole lot of others

Hold your thoughts around, this is a one-minute review that took two (and a little more) hours to come about, so that means I’m not going to be taking much of your time. A kind of staunch opposite of Richard Curtis, who not only wants his audience to slack around until the very end where he has some violins he’d blast and some pipes and saxophones he’d let to flare for the full effect of a ‘finale’ to sink in, but also shows to be cheeky enough to laugh at it through a very depiction of ‘far-fetched’ness in form of the aptly-performing Thomas Sangster.

Inevitably comparable to such peers (or ‘soon-to-come’s) as ‘Paris Je T’aime’ and its New York mimic, or so I felt – I’m doing this not as a quality check or a judgement on entertainment quotient, but as a highlight of the fact that the tales are pretty much disconnected and not interwoven, resulting in the effect of a bunch of films with a Christmas connection thrown in, with a school play being the rehearsal room. What is disheartening (and also, ironically, enchanting) about this film is that there is no effort, not even the slightest assurance from the makers’ side to close-in on the gap that so clearly demarcates the conventional romantic comedy from anything else that’s remotely equivalent to a piece of cinema.

Does that make ‘Love Actually’ worthless? Absolutely not. It gladdens, it helps bring yourself together, it’d probably help bring people together – heck, it definitely did spring up quite an exquisite cast! – the music is good (central song plus sprightly additives) and all this along with a whole show of faithfulness to an existing formula means ‘Love Actually’ could be ‘the’ classic example for a romantic comedy, coming from the man who once helped spice the grammar of it by the very act of writing one of his own. And with his directorial debut, he’s gone on to make the moments stick out to take you through the hours, his attempt at making an anterograde amnesiac out of the avid viewer a considerable success.

I only remember the twinkly-eyes that’s Colin Firth, Laura Linney, Liam Neeson and the Portuguese temptress whose name I do not know. Now, would you blame me for that?

HOLY IT IS

DIRECTED BY ROB EPSTEIN & JEFFREY FRIEDMAN

STARRING: JAMES FRANCO, DAVID STRATHAIRN, ALESSANDRO NIVOLA, BOB BALABAN, JON HAMM, MARY-LOUISE PARKER, TREAT WILLIAMS, AARON TVELT AND JEFF DANIELS

‘Howl’ is the kind of film that makes you want to hear the opposition – the tone of the defence is so empowered and mighty with respect to your contemporary viewership that, perhaps out of pity or out of sheer curiosity, you want to hear what people could actually back their accusations upon when regarding contemporary literature and the acceptance (if not rejection) of the same. It’s like one can’t build something enough to beat the might of a new movement, one that not just reaches out for the masses but also endears, moves and has auditory intercourse with them, the perpetrator being a legend on the rise by the name of Allen Ginsberg (James Franco).

It’s easy playing Ginsberg, if you count the manner of speaking and the homosexual icing off. Agreeable that he isn’t the most celebrated, even in today’s cosmopolitan ambience where people had taken the pains to invent art out of profanity, vanity and insanity, and that’s not negative criticism on my part. But what hooked me in was the idea of a man of today stepping into yesterday’s shoes without a sign of being mortified about the very idea of it, if not shattered out of his senses and sentimentally regressive to be doing it in the first place. Yes, I speak for Ralph McIntosh, (David Strathairn) and more importantly for the actor himself, and in that context I was quite overwhelmed by his personal conviction that probably helmed the essaying of the role. But McIntosh definitely has to be enacted, for ‘to be lived’ is to be identified as alien – a Ginsberg equivalent in the world of now.

All said, James Franco does come up with a performance that helps grab a substantial chunk of the year’s acting potential, although the dimensions are in no way boggling. It’s neat, but not magnificent although it definitely was as lethargic as it’s meant to be, succinct with its depiction of superstardom and most importantly, a level of intensity that suggested that he was indeed having fun. The recitations are dynamite, animations repetitive, which, although helping enhance the psychedelic quotient, acts detrimental to the pace of the film that needs to be thankful to its sonorous backing track (not to mention the stirring score by Carter Burwell). But, with all its commendable thrusts of opinion and conventional standpoints on the idea of poetry, I would settle to view ‘Howl’ as a courtroom drama, a keyhole opening to distinctive reality that asserts itself with a failure to negate. Plus there’s wisdom, with Judge Clayton Horn contributing most of it – reminds me to look out for more of Bob Balaban.

A riveting drama that deconstructs dramatic acting to documentary proportions, thus making it far more endearing, ‘Howl’ necessitates itself with the viewer’s inclination to watch it, where it’s only clear that one’s decision to watch ‘Howl’ is not just an empowerment, but a guarantee to subsequent appreciation. 

It’s 80 minutes of Jizz and Jazz juxtaposed. Work it if you've a feel for it.