A Single Man

Too many heavy movies too close together. Recently, all movies about love seem heavy. First, Up In The Air, and now Tom Ford's A Single Man, a truly heartbreaking story about a British professor whose partner of 16 years dies in a car crash. And, of course, it being set in the 1950s, our Single Man, named George, (an impeccably dressed and tender performance by Colin Firth, looking more handsome here than any man his age) cannot be open about his love, nor is it considered legitimate by even his closest friends, even after Jim, his partner, is killed. So when Jim dies, not only is our Man shunned from the funeral ("family only") but must suffer entirely within himself. In one striking sequence, Firth seems to literally crumble under the vacuum-like force of George's loss.

Of course, Tom Ford throws in his own delusional group of youngsters, all doe-eyed and strikingly similar to those in Ford's fashion campaigns, as potential distractions for our Man, but it doesn't matter one bit, ultimately: Jim's death signified the end of all importance on Earth for George, as his love was the most intense and sincere feeling he's ever experienced. The world of George is muted and lonely.

Love is so rare. And love is the greatest thing in human life, but also the most painful. And sometimes, a life without love is no life at all.

Fraud

Today I was the victim of Up In The Air, the Oscar-ambling flick about a rugged, lonely man (aptly played by a rugged, lonely actor) and his empty relationships. I didn't cry--I didn't know I was supposed to--but I left completely silent. Nothing to say. Nothing to think. My thoughts had been read by some screenwriter, probably living in Williamsburg or Seattle, a few years ago, plucked by some ambitious producer in Hollywood, adapted and cast with my friends and thrown on screen for all to see. The emptiness of daily life is something we mentally push aside, like bills on the dining room table, eventually buried with Crate & Barrel catalogs, grocery lists, our extra salt shaker and possibly even a placemat, just to make sure the Offending Article is hidden. That Which We Do Not Speak Of. But eventually my hollandaise needs a pinch of salt and my grinder is missing, or I need to set the table. And there it is. IMPORTANT, written in red. (It's likely Helvetica, and if the Offending Article didn't involve me having less of something it might even be kind of pretty, in it's perfect proportion and red-on-white design.)

Up In The Air is a bill left on the table. Life is tough, love is rare--exceptionally rare. I learned that from both a summer in Paris and the film Before Sunset. And today, walking out of the theater, I was on autopilot. Movements were slow, deliberate. And deliberation does not necessarily mean there is caution involved. Changing lanes becomes an arduous, "I hope there isn't anyone in the left lane going 80" kind of action, but made without thinking.

If love is life, lovelessness is numbness. I wish I had a better word than "numbness"--it's one of those that seems to be a mistaken combination of syllables--but it's the most appropriate.

Today I was also the victim of bank fraud. I checked my account this morning, one day before leaving for Miami, mind you, to find that my entire checking has been drained. The bank says there's a 90% chance I'll have the money back by morning, but it seems like such a slap in the face on December 30th, 2010. I am love(r)less, penniless, and a bit hopeless. Hopefully the superficiality of Miami will remind me why we Americans live--to eat, drink, and ogle on the beach.

The Girlfriend Experience

Steven Soderbergh's The Girlfriend Experience was released in theaters and in stores simultaneously, allowing those of us not at Cannes the opportunity to watch this stark, surprisingly relevant drama as soon as release. Soderbergh's genius spawns from his wide-eyed curiosity of the unexplained and the mystified; he is also obsessed with the idea of a herione. His female leads (Julia Roberts as Erin Brokovich, Cate Blanchett in The Good German) are flawed but desirable and mysterious. Soderbergh's choice of porn star Sasha Grey as the lead character, Chelsea, in Girlfriend is bold but not shocking in any way. Who else could play a sexually numb call girl than a sexually numb porn star? (Meg Ryan's stint in the horrid In The Cut does not count.)

However, calling Grey "numb" really isn't fair. Her performance in Girlfriend is well studied and enlightening; she struggles with vocal inflection and her emotions seem fairly shallow, but her timing and body language is spot-on for this kind of film. She stretches across the bed for every man she meets, but she never dehumanizes Chelsea with triteness or overly sexual behavior; this is an accomplishment for any actress playing a call girl, but even more so for a non-actress.

There are really no co-stars, and aside from an annoying side story about a bunch of men on a plane to Vegas, Grey carries the entire film. Shot without any camera effects to increase the "art" factor (a la Vicky Cristina Barcelona), Soderbergh portray's Chelsea's life as one of both grandeur and heartbreak. She meets high-end clients, is invited on trips, and then returns home to her long-term boyfriend at the end of the day. Early in the film, her boyfriend, who works as a personal trainer, declines a client's invitation to Vegas mentioned earlier, only to find out Chelsea is leaving for the weekend with a new client despite her boyfriend's compromise. "It's my fucking life!" she tells him. And really, it is her own fucking life. It's separate, but in love the lines are hard to draw--and even harder to maintain.

Girlfriend is subtle and entertaining, but is clean enough to be a PG documentary. With the exception of the fight scene detailed above, foul language is never used, and the act of sex is not once portrayed. In fact, we see Grey naked only when leaving the bed of her live-in boyfriend (the "real" relationship). This is where the brilliance of this film is apparent. Chelsea is after self-fulfilment and in search of real love. Her clients have sex with her--often mutually enjoyable--and never appear jealous; even her long-term clients understand the business aspect of what she does, and suggest ways for her to wade through the economic crisis without losing clientele. Her actual boyfriend is whiny and attached, ultimately left cold by her line of work.

Is a relationship like Chelsea keeps with her clients just as loving as that with her boyfriend? Both include "the girlfriend experience," (which simply means deep kisses are part of the deal) but which is better for Chelsea? This question has no answer, and that is the point Soderbergh makes with Girlfriend.

Quietly acted, bizarrely sex-free, and gently directed by Soderbergh, The Girlfriend Experience is a never smutty and always smart look at 21st century love and how the game has changed.

HappiestList 2K8: Number #8, #7 and #6 - Film Edition

#8: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
I left the theater minutes ago, literally, and I am not being typically dramatic when I say Brad Pitt's performance in Benjamin Button is one of the most touched and tangible of the year. Playing a man who ages in reverse, Pitt commands the entire emotional spectrum. He is quiet and mysterious, decisive and adventurous; he's beautiful. I've never been a Brad Pitt fan, but this film moved me, and Pitt was the hurricane force behind that movement.

A sumptuous feast for the eyes, ears and mind, Benjamin Button is an experience that is so much shorter than its physical constraints (that is, a 2:45 hour runtime). Blanchett, as his oddly inconsistent (but ravishing) wife, lover and eventual "mother," is the only weight on this weightless film, not meeting my expectations after seeing the Bob Dylan tribute I'm Not There. The visual effects are most impressive when rendering Blanchett as a youth, however, and her dancing is a powerful metaphor for how she lived her life; so, narratively, Blanchett's character soared, but when her character ignores Button leaving her--sitting on a bed with a stunted expression--one questions whether she deserved him at all.

Blanchett's part is only marginally bad in comparison to how fantastic the movie is as a whole. Before you know it, you will have tears streaming down your cheeks and the credits will fade in. I'll always remember Pitt's performance and the lessons his character told: life is short, and no matter how you live it, live well.

#7: Atonement

2008 was a great year for film, and Atonement was the first sign of life. Keira Knightly, as a stubborn girl suffering from an affliction that only be described as an early 19th century version of suburbia, gave an award-deserving performance, while James McAvoy took all the wrinkles caused by her shuffling and made them smooth. Of course, there's that sex scene. That breathless, steaming few seconds in the estate library, where they peered over their insecurities and faced the open skies of sexual possibility. (This is a semi-quote from Ian McEwan's inferior novel, which I read before the film.)

The credit here really goes to Joe Wright, one of the most plainly named yet most talented directors in the industry. Every frame of the film is a photograph, every set an art installation; he made dolls out of his actors but made them move and act human again.

#6: Speed Racer

For a full review of this unforgettable, kinetic visual workout, click here.

Pineapple ExprYES!! lolollloloolllol

I just saw Pinapple Express, and I have to say, it is one of the funniest films I've ever seen. Compared to other Apatow flicks, the humorous moments in Express came less frequently, but when the jokes hit they hit hard. I would like to compare the gut-busting sequences to different degrees of weed, but I'm afraid my experience is limited to years of running at Town Lake and extra seed at an M.I.A. show. (Jules, I'm talking to you!) Suffice it to say I laughed harder three times during Express than any other comedy I've seen.

James Franco really carried the film, too. He was perfect--better than perfect. He defined his role so well I cannot imagine another actor playing his part. Seth Rogen is always fun to watch onscreen; he's your fun, wild uncle; he's your charming roomate who just can't get a break.

See it.

The Dark Knight: Review Quickie

The Dark Knight is the new reason I love the movies. Without a doubt, it is the greatest film--animated, action, drama or otherwise--of the twenty-first century. Pitch-perfect acting, innovative cinematography, and a plot that grows darker and darker until the

final line of dialogue.

Better than a weekend at sea. Better than the best meal you've ever eaten. The Dark Knight is sublime.

Speed Racer review: A MUST SEE.

I am sitting here, telling any lover of art, film, or storytelling, if you do not see Speed Racer--the energetic masterpiece orchestrated by the endlessly weird Wachowski siblings--you are not a complete being.

The film is being panned by critics all across the nation, which is so bewildering. Snobby critics usually love self-consciously artistic films (No Country for Old Men, Juno), but I have to be honest here: the critics have simply got it wrong with Speed Racer. My instincts are telling me the film is simply too wild for the aged Times critics, but not all film critics are Roger Ebert (in other words...old). So perhaps it's simply a film that you either "get" or you don't.

But, throughout history, isn't media that is the most divisive always the most powerful?

Whatever the case, Speed Racer is one of the best movies I've seen in months. The kitschy characters, literally stunning imagery, and The Matrix-esque live action scenes add up to a fitting summer film in a summer all but devoid of anything nearing original.

The dialogue between the actors is perfectly trite: "Racing, speed...what you do is art," Mama Racer tells Speed in one of the more touching scenes. In fact, Mama Racer's part (played by Susan Sarandon) is the only casting choice I disagree with. Sarandon just can't play down-to-earth cornball. Her arrogance can almost be seen floating in vapors above Mama Racer's 50's-style beehive.

The rest of the cast is near-perfect for what Speed Racer aspires to be. Emile Hirshe captures the heartthrob demeanor of the animated Speed character and translates it into an energy that is infectious: a heroic energy, even. Christina Ricci, playing a line between dirty vixen and schoolgirl eerily well, traps the audience in the bubble of her perfectly round eyes and instantly transmits the anime-vibe the Wachowski's were obviously gunning for.

Surprisingly, the young Paulie Litt (the character of Speed's younger brother, Spritle) nearly steals the entire show. He is charming, and never overacts (a trait many child actors, sadly, do not possess). Even Chimp-Chimp, his pet monkey, is a blast to watch on-screen.

Honestly, though, go see this movie for what the Wachowski's have done. The film is so vibrant you can see the colors pulsing like the aortic valve of a living rainbow. (Yes, I just wrote that.) The visual effects, when not jaw-droppingly gorgeous, still maintain a level of artistry that will carry on when bigger, better graphics are integrated in the coming years. And, as a modest filmmaker myself (not to mention a rabid moviegoer), I can testify that the editing and cinematography is some of the best I've ever seen. Even the score is top-notch. Right now, stop reading this and download the over-caffeinated theme song "Go Speed Racer Go" by Ali Dee and the Deekompressors. Do it. Now. I promise, it will keep you up for hours (in a great way).

You must see Speed Racer. Sure, if you don't, I'll be part of a small, lucky group of people who got to experience one of the best films of 2008 (how special!)--but I'd rather this film go big. Hayao Miyazaki would, too.

Bad Style: Iron Man

Don't see Iron Man.

Well, okay, it's worth seeing. But only so you can let everyone know your disappointment is legitimate!

Robert Downey, Jr. is fantastic. Gwyneth Paltrow is very Pepper Potts. And Terrence Howard is cool, calm, and perfectly suited for his role. The problem is everything else. Choppy, nonsensical story, lackluster action sequences, and one joke of a "twist."

On a rank of things that smell, I'd give this 'salted eggs.' (I'm trying to be original here.)

[Ed. Note: Atonement would be the delicious scent of an authentic Pad Thai. Any Michael Bay film is something like...rotting corpses. There's the scale.]



Okay, I'm never comparing films to food ever again.